Page 36 of One Knight in the Forest

Sadness flickered across his face. She knew how much Cyn hoped William was still an honorable man; the truth would be revealed tonight.

A bang and a loudening of the music snapped her attention to the tavern door, now directly ahead on her right. Several drunkards staggered out into the street. Cyn spurred his horse to a trot, putting himself between her and the men. Always the gallant hero.

She followed Cyn into an alley that opened into a dirt yard between the tavern and the stables, a large enough area to park several wagons if needed. The earthy smells of straw and horses wafted to her as Cyn dismounted, handed his mount’s reins to the stocky stable hand, and then helped her down from the gray, his hand securely around her waist so she could lean on him and not have to put her full weight down on her injured leg.

As the stable hand took her horse’s reins, Cyn asked, “Can you tell me who else has arrived? I am curious to know if our friend is here.”

“Are ye now?” the man said, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

Cyn tensed against her, but the stable hand couldn’t know he was speaking with the local sheriff. Reaching into his cloak, Cyn drew out a few pieces of silver and handed them to the man. “I heard that Lord Redmond, one of the King’s men, was going to be staying the night.”

The lackey took the coins. “If so, ’e ’asn’t turned up yet. ’E usually arrives with ’is men near twilight.”

Relief washed through Magdalen. Cyn had hoped to reach the tavern before Redmond.

As the man took their horses into the stable, Cyn helped her toward the tavern’s main entrance. The building looked fairly well maintained, its walls painted and the thatched roof in good repair. Shouts and bawdy laughter carried from inside though, and the sounds reminded her that their night’s adventure was only just beginning.

She silently thanked Cyn again for the dagger, which she’d tied to her bandaged lower leg with extra strips of linen; the ankle-length gown kept the weapon hidden. Still, she couldn’t ward off misgiving as they approached the weathered front door banded with iron. Cyn opened the tavern door and helped her inside.

One step over the threshold and Magdalen’s eyes began to water from the hazy smoke from the fire across the room and the burning candles on the tables. The tavern, its floor no more than hard-packed dirt covered with straw, was crowded with all manner of folk: farmers, shopkeepers, and travelers. Musicians seated near the hearth launched into another jaunty tune.

She limped alongside Cyn, until they reached the shadows at the far end of the room where he helped her to a small table. As she sat and stretched out her bandaged leg to rest it, a red-haired serving wench strolled to them and asked if they wanted drinks.

“Two mugs of ale,” Cyn said, his gaze flicking down to the woman’s generous breasts.

The wench smiled, revealing the gap between her front teeth. “Is that all ye want?”

“For the moment.”

As the woman sauntered away, Magdalen huffed.

“Do not be annoyed with me. I am only playing my role. Do you see anyone you recognize?”

She fingered aside the edge of her hood to better view the room. Some areas were too shadowed and smoky to clearly see the folk sitting there; once she’d rested her leg, she’d suggest that she and Cyn take a short walk about the interior.

The red-haired wench returned with the ale and, after setting it down on their table, wandered off to serve other customers.

Magdalen sipped her drink, the brew strong and bitter. Cyn draped his arm around her, and in hushed tones, pointed out his men, some at tables by the musicians, others near the tavern door.

Over the robust melody, Magdalen caught a noise drifting in from outside through cracks in the wall: laughter.

Her misgiving furrowed deeper, for she recognized that laugh.

She tugged on Cyn’s sleeve, but before she could say a word, the tavern door opened, and the smoky haze in the room shifted on an incoming draft.

In strode William and two of his men-at-arms.

***

Magdalen’s face had paled.

A warning buzz spread through Cyn’s skull, just as William walked in, accompanied by armed guards.

Cyn’s anger flared, obliterating the part of him that had hoped—prayed—that William wouldn’t follow through with the wretched plan. The damned fool! How could William risk his hard-earned reputation, not to mention the welfare of his wife and child? Why would he, when the King had granted him so much?

Meeting Cyn’s gaze, Magdalen’s eyes flared with anxiety, before she dipped her head and studied her ale. William’s gaze swept the room, and Cyn dropped his attention to the marred table top. He slowly counted to ten, allowing William to complete his assessment of the interior.

Daring to steal a glance, Cyn saw that William had crossed to the bar. He and the barman were talking, but their words were drowned by the music.