The sky was just beginning to darken when Adam spied what appeared to be a little town off in the distance, tucked away in a valley along the river. It would be a good place to stop for the night, he thought with relief. He had ridden through the early morning and for most of the day, only stopping occasionally for food or rest. His horse was overdue for a longer break, and, he mused as he shifted his weight in the saddle, so was he. Still, he couldn't help but feel a certain amount of exhilaration in spite of his weariness. If his father had had his way, Adam would probably be rubbing elbows with his wedding guests at this very moment. Instead, he was - well, he wasn't quite sure where he was. The town was so little that it didn't even seem to merit a mention on his map. But the name of the place didn't really matter, he reasoned as he steered Étienne down the hill. By morning, he would be back on the road, and the town would be nothing more than a distant memory.
The sun had set by the time Adam finally crossed the little bridge that led into the village, and candles burned brightly in the lanterns that hung above the wide cobblestone streets. The modest buildings that he rode past were clearly built some time ago, but they appeared to be well-maintained. The shops that they housed were shuttered for the night, but the signs above the doors advertised the typical types of businesses: a baker, a butcher, a tailor, and even a book seller. He reached the center of the town - an unremarkable little square occupied by a small stone fountain - in barely more time than it took him to blink. All in all, there wasn't much to distinguish this place from any of the other poor, provincial towns that Adam's mother used to take him to visit when he was a boy.
There was one storefront overlooking the square that, unlike the rest, appeared to show some signs of activity. Light glowed warmly through the windows, and a thick plume of smoke rose up from the chimney. Looking more closely, Adam determined that it was an inn, which was exactly what he had been hoping to find. He hitched Étienne up to the post in front of the inn and gave him an affectionate pat on the nose; Étienne nuzzled his hand expectantly in response. "All right," Adam laughed. "I know what you're looking for." His horse had done his job today, and Adam would see to it that Étienne was rewarded with a well-deserved meal once he located the owner of the establishment.
Adam pushed open the heavy wooden door and was immediately greeted by a roar of raucous laughter. The streets outside had been quiet and desolate, but that was clearly not the case in here; it looked as if half the town was gathered around the tables of the first-floor tavern. The place was so noisy and crowded that no one seemed to notice the stranger hovering in the doorway - or if they did notice, they paid him no mind. In fact, Adam found that it was nearly impossible to get the attention of anyone who seemed to be in a position to assist him.
A slightly flustered-looking blonde woman in a red dress bustled quickly past the door, clutching a handful of empty mugs and a damp bar towel. Something about her purposeful gait suggested that she knew her way around the place, so Adam made to follow her when he was stopped by a sudden tug on his cloak.
"Are ya looking for something?" a nasally voice asked.
Adam turned in the direction of the voice, and frowned when he found himself facing nothing but empty air. And then he looked down. Standing before him was a short, homely fellow with a large nose and a goofy, gap-toothed grin. If it weren't for the bags under his eyes and the smattering of broken capillaries across his cheeks, Adam almost would have mistaken him for a child.
"Are you the proprietor?" Adam asked.
"Am I the what?" The man gawked at him, confusion evident on his flushed face.
"Is this your tavern?" Adam asked impatiently. Peasants, he thought with disdain.
"Oh! No - but hang on a second and I'll get him." The little guy turned back toward the crowd and drew in a deep breath. "Gastoooon!"
All conversation seemed to cease for a few brief seconds as he bellowed across the room, and heads turned in unison toward an armchair sitting beside the fireplace. There was a man reclining in the chair, but he straightened abruptly when Adam's diminutive companion called out. The man rose slowly from his seat, with all the grandeur of a king rising from his throne, and Adam could hardly stop himself from gaping when he finally got a good look at him; he was enormous! He was at least as tall as Adam, but with broad shoulders and bulging muscles that threatened to split his tightly-fitted tunic. His bright blue eyes were set above high cheekbones and a square jaw, and his chin boasted a cleft so deep it could crack a walnut.
"What is it, Lefou?" he asked, as he approached the spot where Adam was standing. He didn't shout, and yet his deep, booming voice seemed to fill the entire tavern.
"This guy was looking for you," the little man replied, jerking a thumb in Adam's direction.
"I was hoping to rent a room for the night," Adam explained.
"Is it just you?" Gaston asked.
"Yes. Well - I've also got a horse. He's out front," Adam responded.
"Lefou, bring the man's horse into the stables." Lefou nodded and scampered away obediently. As the door to the tavern swung open, Adam caught a brief glimpse of Étienne hitched to the post outside. "What's your name?"
Adam turned back to Gaston. "Huh?"
"Your name?"
"Oh, uh ...," Adam trailed off, looking again toward the door. "It's ... Étienne."
"Follow me, Étienne. I've got just the room for you."
"Just the room" for him turned out to be a tiny little space crammed beneath a second-story dormer. There was barely enough room for a bed, a nightstand, and a chair, and Adam had to duck in certain spots to avoid striking his head on the sloping ceiling. It was a far cry from his lavish suite in the West Wing, but he reminded himself that it was only for the one night. He stretched out on the narrow bed and closed his eyes, but realized quickly that he wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon; no one could sleep through the racket coming from the floor below.
Since sleep didn't seem to be in the cards at the moment, Adam decided to settle for the next best thing: food. He made his way back down to the tavern and found himself a vacant table close to the fireplace. He slid the empty mugs that the table's previous occupants had left behind out of the way as he scanned the floor for the barmaid, but she was nowhere to be seen.
As he took in his surroundings, one thing struck him almost immediately: whoever had decorated this place sure did like antlers. They adorned the chandeliers, the hearth, the frame of the portrait hanging above the mantle, and the armchair that Gaston had been lounging in earlier. And that didn't even include the magnificent array of hunting trophies mounted on either side of the portrait. In addition to the heads of several large bucks, the display included a boar, a ram, a bear, an eagle, and a moose. A full bearskin rug even graced the floor before the fireplace. Adam had never enjoyed hunting much; he typically preferred the carousing that followed a successful hunting expedition to the outing itself. However, he had seen his fair share of trophy collections in the estates of various local aristocrats, and this one easily topped them all.
"Gaston killed every one of them himself."
The unfamiliar voice in his ear nearly made Adam jump. He turned to see the barmaid leaning on the edge of his table, so close that she could practically share his seat. She was gazing up at the wall with an expression of such reverence that he almost felt as if he were intruding on a moment of private meditation. Should I say something? he wondered, as she continued to stare, silent and starry-eyed, at the display. Immediately, he chided himself; she was the one imposing on his solitude, not the other way around. And he definitely wasn't keen on the idea of some dopey stranger hovering over him all night. "That's ... uh ... that's very impressive," he finally stammered out in an attempt to shake her from her reverie.
The praise seemed to please her. "Isn't it?" she sighed. "There's no beast alive that stands a chance against him." He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, but she saved him from having to by abruptly changing course. "You're not from here," she observed, fixing her wide green eyes on him.
"No," Adam agreed uneasily. He wasn't sure if he liked the personal turn that the conversation had suddenly taken, or the validation of the fact that he stood out even in this crowded tavern. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention to himself.
"Where are you from?"
"Nowhere you've been, I'm sure," Adam responded curtly, hoping that she would take the hint and stop asking him about himself. Unfortunately, the hint seemed to sail right over her pretty blonde head.
"Oh, I'm sure it isn't that bad," she assured him cheerfully, lightly touching his shoulder. Adam grunted noncommittally. "Are you visiting someone here, then?"
"I'm just passing through." Are ordinary women always this chatty? he wondered uncomfortably.
"That's a shame," she replied, pouting playfully at him. Is she flirting with me? Adam realized incredulously. Not that the idea itself was so hard to believe; he was aware that women found him attractive. And he was used to fielding fairly regular advances from some of the bolder young ladies of the court (and even, in some cases, from their mothers). But he doubted that this simple barmaid would have the cheek to be so forward with him if she knew who he really was. "Where are you going?" she pressed on, when he failed to respond to her friendly banter.
"I'm visiting family," Adam replied, with a trace of impatience. He needed to change the subject, and quickly. But before he could figure out how, one of his fellow bar patrons did it for him.
"Camille!" a heavy-set, bearded man hollered. "My beer is empty!"
The woman exhaled in a huff of exasperation. "Well maybe that's because you drank it too fast, Thomas!" she shouted back.
"Maybe you should get me another!" he countered.
"Maybe you should say 'please!'" she suggested sweetly.
"Would you pleeeease stop batting your eyes at the customers and bring me another beer?"
She sighed and turned back to Adam. "Just for that, I'm going to make him wait even longer," she confided mischievously. "While I'm getting his beer, do you need anything?"
"Yes," Adam replied emphatically, grateful to steer the conversation toward less personal matters. "Please," he added, when she raised a brow at him.
"What can I bring you?"
Adam glanced over at the nearest table, where three men were feasting upon plates piled high with what looked like melted cheese, a few small potatoes, and some kind of dried meat. Just the sight of it made his mouth water, and it occurred to him that it had been at least a full day since he'd eaten a proper meal.
"What is that?" he asked, gesturing to their plates.
She gave him a curious look. "Haven't you ever had raclette?"
"No."
"Where did you say you were from again?" she asked coyly.
Adam chose to ignore the question. "I'll have that. And some wine." She gave him another queer look, and he caught himself. "Er - beer," he amended. She nodded approvingly before hurrying off to collect Thomas's empty mug.
Adam sat back in his chair, relaxing a bit now that his nosy new friend was finally gone. His eyes slowly swept the tavern, observing the clientele with mild curiosity. They were clearly all commoners, and residents of the village most likely, because who in his right mind would have any reason to visit such a mundane little town as this one? The scrawny fellow with the sooty cheeks and the barking cough was surely the local chimney sweep, and the group of men sitting at the next table, with the weathered faces and sweat-stained bandanas tied around their necks, were probably laborers of some sort. As Adam's gaze drifted from table to table, he amused himself by trying to figure out what the occupants of each did for a living.
The only ones he couldn't quite place were the two large red-haired men who sat hunched over the table in the corner, talking intently. Well, one of them was talking anyway. The other - the one with the eye patch - seemed to be doing much more listening than talking. His face was grim, and every now and then he would scratch his sideburn and nod firmly at something that his companion said. For some reason, the pair fascinated Adam; he couldn't tear his eyes from them as he imagined what they could possibly be discussing with such seriousness. And then, suddenly, the quiet one looked up. His eyes locked with Adam's, and he grinned slowly. Adam shuddered and quickly looked away. Something about the man's smile unsettled him, and it had nothing to do with his eye patch, or the long, jagged scar that marred his chin. These were not some harmless rubes from the village, Adam realized. They were dangerous, and it would be best to avoid crossing paths with them.
The barmaid returned with his food, but it wasn't until after she had moved on to attend to another patron that he realized she had forgotten the beer. Too hungry to wait for it, Adam eagerly dug into his meal and was surprised to find that it wasn't half bad. It was salty and rich, and it quelled the ferocious rumbling in his stomach quite nicely. After a few more bites, the warm, starchy raclette started to make Adam feel pleasantly drowsy - drowsy and thirsty. Suddenly, he did want that beer - but where was Camille?
He looked around and spotted her just coming in from outdoors, wrapped in a cloak and carrying an armful of firewood. He beckoned to her, and she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. She turned back to look at him, eyes wide. Me? she mouthed. Adam nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, and waved her over again. A look of slight puzzlement crossed her face, but she deposited the kindling next to the fireplace, wiped her hands on her cloak, and approached his table.
"Do you ... need something?" she asked uncertainly.
She sure isn't batting her eyes at me now, Adam thought wryly. "Where is my beer?" he asked.
"Your beer?" She frowned, and Adam thought she looked noticeably more tired than she had only a few minutes ago.
"The beer I asked you for earlier?" Adam reminded her.
Her frown deepened, as if she were searching her memory for some trace of this request. "You did?" Adam nodded.
She shrugged, finally seeming to give up on her attempt to remember their earlier exchange. "I'll be right back."
She reappeared almost impossibly fast, this time with three large steins of beer in hand and the sunny disposition firmly back in place. "Here you are," she announced cheerfully, if somewhat breathlessly. Thick foam slopped over the rim of the mug that she set down in front of him and dribbled onto the table. "I'm sorry I didn't bring this sooner; I had to find someone to help me tap a new cask. I see you like the raclette," she added with a wink, gesturing to his half-empty plate.
No sooner had she disappeared to deliver the other beers, than she appeared at his table again, and set a second stein in front of him. She blinked slowly as her eyes landed on the first mug. "When ...?" she trailed off.
"You just brought this!" Adam groaned.
"I did?" she asked.
"How can you not remember?" Adam realized he wasn't dealing with a scholar, but could she really be that empty-headed? "You were just here! You were standing right there," Adam pointed to a spot on the floor, to his left, "and you ... and you ..." He suddenly faltered. "And you were wearing a red dress. But now ..." His head was starting to ache. She had been wearing a red dress just a moment ago, he was sure of it. But now her dress was green. What was going on?
For the first time that evening, comprehension seemed to dawn in her eyes, and she smiled at him. "I think I know what happened. Is that the woman who brought you your beer?" She pointed across the room, to a pretty blonde wiping down a table. She was a duplicate of the woman standing before him, except that she was wearing a red dress rather than a green one.
Adam's jaw fell. "You're twins?"
"Triplets, actually. I'm Catherine. That, over there, is Camille. Our sister Clothilde would normally be here too, but she's home taking care of our mother, which is why we're a bit short-handed tonight."
"There are three of you?" Adam muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You look tired," Catherine observed, her brow furrowing in concern. "Maybe you should get some rest."
Adam actually laughed. That was the smartest thing he had heard all night. He finished the rest of his raclette, and both of the beers - there was no sense in wasting good alcohol - before dragging himself up the stairs to his tiny guest room. The mattress of the snug little cot was much lumpier than the one on his roomy bed at home, and the blankets weren't nearly as soft as the ones to which he was accustomed. And yet, within minutes, the exhaustion of his day overtook him, and he fell fast asleep.
Thank you to TrudiRose for beta-ing this chapter!