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outside Auxerre. They had left the road twice more at the sound of horses approaching—the first proving to be a young courting couple riding out together, the second a hay wagon—each encounter leaving them with heightened pulses despite proving to be innocuous. By the time they made it to the inn, Léandre was more than ready to call for dinner and a bottle of the local wine.
    Perrin left orders for their horses to be cared for, too tired and parched to take the time to do it himself. Gesturing for Léandre to follow him, he grinned jauntily at the look of horror the aubergiste gave them as they strode inside. “A room for the night,” he ordered, “the one we had last night will be fine. And a meal and a bottle of your best wine. Quickly, man, we’ve had a trying day!”
    “Will your—friend—be joining you?” the innkeeper stammered, looking about for the third member of the raucous trio. Well remembering his guests’ behavior during their previous stay, he escorted the two men into a private parlor unasked, his eyes widening as the blond dropped into a chair, resting his dust-caked boots on the table.
    “No, but I’m hungry enough to eat his share too,” Léandre answered, stretching his arms over his head to work out the kinks from a day of riding.
    As soon as the innkeeper moved away to arrange their meal, Perrin leaned forward to whisper, “I’m hungry enough for his share too. His share of your arse anyway.”
    “If that’s what you want to eat, be my guest,” Léandre invited with a grin. “I was thinking roast chicken myself—at least to start.”
    “Roast chicken or your arse,” Perrin mused aloud, leering at the long, lean form as Léandre continued to stretch. “That’s quite a difficult choice.” He paused before adding, “But then, I don’t have to choose, do I? I can have both.”
    “You usually do,” Léandre retorted, pausing when their host returned with a bottle of wine and two mugs. “Tell me, my good man, do you have any sausage? I have a powerful hunger for a long, hot sausage.”
    “I… I don’t know,” stammered the innkeeper as he set down the wine. “Let me check with the cook.”
    “Don’t scare off our host,” Perrin scolded once the door closed behind him. “If it’s something long and hot you want, I’ve got just the thing for you to feast on when we get to our room.”
    “I want a meal, not a snack,” Léandre retorted, biting his lip as the innkeeper returned to reply nervously that the cook had no sausage at present. “Never mind, fellow, I’m sure I can put my hand on some in due course,” he answered magnanimously.
    Flushing but not daring to speak against two musketeers, the innkeeper left them alone, resolving to send one of the slatterns who worked for him to tend the men from now on. They would be far more capable of dealing with two such blackguards than respectable folk like himself or his wife.
    “Just for that,” Perrin threatened, “you’ll have to make do with your own meat tonight.”
    “I’m more like to find another means to slake my hunger than you are,” Léandre answered easily, winking at the serving-maid who’d entered to drop a platter of chicken and roast vegetables onto their table before departing with a smile. He was as happy to take his pleasure with a woman as with a man, while Perrin was strictly a cock-whore, and Aristide—well, Aristide was too particular in his tastes altogether, from what Léandre could see. Except when it came to himself and Perrin, of course.
    “Not with her,” Perrin retorted, spearing some vegetables and pulling a leg off the chicken, “not if you’re looking for sausage anyway. She doesn’t have the right equipment.”
    “Ah, but as I keep telling you, I’m very flexible,” Léandre countered. “In fact, I think you’ll have to earn the privilege of my arse—or any other part of me—tonight.”
    Perrin considered the challenge as he ate. “I suppose I could just tell