Page 27 of One Knight in the Forest

A spy.

Lying in the dark cavity in the floor, Magdalen smothered a gasp. How she wanted to believe William. Was that the truth, though? Or, knowing Cyn’s strict code of honor, had William just said what he thought Cyn wanted to hear?

Her eyes burned, and not just from the cold or the dust coating the floor. She wanted William to be innocent of wrongdoing. He was a loving husband, doting father, and had always been kind to her. She’d never forget his expression when he looked upon his newborn son for the first time; William had wept tears of joy and wrapped his arms around Edwina and their babe, then kissed them both, so tenderly.

If he was a spy, wouldn’t he have told Cyn? It made no sense that William would have withheld such crucial information.

As though attuned to her thoughts, Cyn said, “You should have told me you were spying for the King.”

“I took an oath.”

“When? During your meeting in the forest days ago?”

“How the hell do you know about that?”

“I know most things that go on in these woods,” Cyn answered.

“If you must know, I took the oath months ago. I did not confide in you because I wanted to act alone. I did not want anyone else in danger, especially my wife and child. Now, what has happened to the missive? Does Magdalen still have it, or do you?”

“I do.”

“I must have it back, Cyn.”

“Why? You know when and where the murder is to take place.”

“I need the missive…” William swore again, a bitter sound of frustration. “’Tis part of the proof I am gathering, which I will forward on to the King’s men.”

Cyn was silent a long moment. Magdalen heard the scrape of boots on the rug, as though he’d shifted position in his chair. “Tell me, is there a greater reason for what you are doing? I sense there is more to your actions than just demonstrating your loyalty to the crown.”

“There is. If the information I have gathered pleases the King, he will grant me an estate closer to London. Edwina likes Glemstow well enough, but she has always wanted to live near the great city. If I can achieve dream that for her, I will, especially if I am granted a fine castle that Timothy will one day inherit.”

Shivering, Magdalen drew the blanket closer about her neck. Edwina had told her how much she loved the excitement and wonderful shopping in London, and that she’d always longed to live within a morning’s journey of the city. If William had spoken the truth, ’twas most romantic and generous of him to try and realize that dream for Edwina.

“This proof you mentioned a moment ago,” Cyn said. “Will that also include the vial spoken of in the letter?”

William cleared his throat, a nervous sound.

“Magdalen could not find the vial,” Cyn pressed, “although she searched for it.”

“Magdalen.” William groaned. “Why did she have to become involved? ’Twould have been so much simpler if she had never found the missive.”

A dull ache clenched her innards, and her hands tightened on the blanket. She hadn’t intended to find the missive; it had just happened.

“Tell me, William. Did the vial accompany the missive, or—”

“I received it a few days after the letter,” William muttered.

“’Tis hidden in the castle?”

“Aye. I will not say where, but I hid the vial separately from the letter. The vial has a cork stopper tied with twine, and I feared the vial might leak. I did not want anyone to be accidentally poisoned.”

“You will have it, though, when you are to meet Redmond at the tavern on the twenty-first.”

“I have to take it. I must prove to my watchers that I intend to go through with the killing.”

“Will you? Go through with the murder?”

William made a sound of disgust. “Of course not! I was supposed to meet with my contact from London yesterday, to share what I had recently learned. He had promised to send men-at-arms to the tavern on the arranged day, to protect me and to arrest the traitors I recognized there, but with the storm and the hunt for Magdalen…”