Page 37 of One Knight in the Forest

William stood in profile, candlelight playing over his twilight blue cloak, one arm resting on the bar’s polished wooden surface. He drummed his fingers. In the light of nearby candles, his brow glistened, as though he was sweating.

Cyn’s lip curled. For the dishonor William was bringing upon himself, he deserved to be uneasy. If he had any sense, he’d walk out now, while he still could—

Magdalen tugged on Cyn’s sleeve again. “The black-haired man to our left, moving his chair. He is the one I saw in the town.”

Cyn glanced in the direction she’d indicated. “Lord Northcliff,” he murmured. Northcliff had just risen from one crowded table and joined another. Cyn’s jaw hardened, for while he’d broken up a few late night brawls involving the young lord, who enjoyed his drink and had a short temper, Cyn had never imagined him to be a traitor.

The tavern door opened again. A corpulent, gray-haired man strode in, his cinnamon-colored cloak, embroidered in black thread at the collar and cuffs, drifting as he walked. Two armed guards followed. Seeing William at the bar, the man grinned and raised his hand in greeting.

“Lord Redmond,” Magdalen whispered.

“Aye,” Cyn muttered. “Earlier than expected.”

“Oh, God.”

Picking up his mug of ale, Cyn rose, his chair scraping the floor. “I must get closer. I need to hear what they are saying.”

“Be careful, Cyn.”

“You too.” Keeping to the shadows, he made his way toward the hearth, where men had gathered to watch the musicians. Cyn leaned against one of the vertical wooden posts supporting the roof, where he was partially blocked from William and Redmond’s view but could still see what was going on—and keep watch on Northcliff’s table.

“—did not expect to see you here,” Redmond was saying. He signaled for his guards to stand watch from a discreet distance. “What brings you to The Merry Hen?”

Good. Redmond was doing just as Cyn had asked in the missive he’d sent to London after his conversation with William; Redmond was acting as though he had no prior knowledge of tonight’s plot to kill him.

“—to see you, of course,” William said.

Redmond appeared puzzled. “I do not recall your name on my list of meetings. Did my clerk make a mistake?”

William eased away from the bar, his stance nonchalant, yet his broad smile seemed forced. “I heard you would be in this part of Derbyshire and hoped to have a chance to speak with you. I hope ’tis all right?”

“Of course.” Unfastening his cloak, Redmond caught the bartender’s gaze and motioned to the nearest table, cleaner and less battered than most of the others. The bartender swiftly shooed away the folk already sitting there. After he’d wiped up some spilled ale, the man bowed and motioned for Redmond to be seated.

“I reserved yer favorite room upstairs, milord,” the barman said. “Would one of yer guards like ta check all is ta yer satisfaction?”

“Aye. Give one of them the key.” The older lord tossed his cloak over a vacant chair and sat. William took the chair opposite. He hadn’t unfastened or removed his cloak. The vial of poison must be inside the garment, within easy reach.

Cyn’s white-knuckled grip on his mug tightened. He was going to have to get that vial. Somehow. Moreover, he’d told his men that he wanted the traitors captured, not slain, for he had no doubt the treachery extended to far more men than those in the tavern. A good job he’d learned at a young age how to fight well with his fists as well as his weapons.

As one of Redmond’s guards climbed the staircase to the upper level, the busty red-head strolled over to Redmond, bent, and kissed his cheek. Redmond beamed and kissed her back, and Cyn’s brows rose. The renowned food and drink were obviously not the only reasons why Redmond stayed here.

“Yer usual ale, milord?” She straightened slowly to prolong his view of her cleavage.

Redmond nodded. “Bring us a pitcher and two mugs.”

“’Twould be me pleasure, milord.” The woman walked away, her hips swaying. Redmond watched her bottom until she disappeared behind the folk gathered near the hearth.

“What is the latest news from your estate, then?” Redmond asked, and Cyn listened as William talked with obvious excitement about the birth of his son and adapting to becoming a father. With each glowing account of Timothy’s progress, the knot in Cyn’s belly tightened. ’Twas madness for William to risk his family that he clearly loved.

The serving wench returned with the pitcher and mugs. She set them down, poured out some ale, and then went to another table to take an order.

Redmond’s bright-eyed gaze followed. So did the gaze of Redmond’s remaining guard.

Clearly taking advantage of the distraction, William slipped his hand down to his waist. Cyn stepped around the post to better see. A leather bag was tied to the right side of William’s sword belt. A pulse of warning raced through Cyn as William lifted his hand, now curled into a loose fist, cloth poking out between his fingers. Was he holding a handkerchief?

Open your hand, Cyn silently commanded. Let me see what you have.

Redmond was still watching the wench. Warning again rippled through Cyn, for he sensed movement a short distance to his right; Northcliff had risen from his chair.

As Cyn glanced back at the London official, still ogling, William dropped the handkerchief on the table. There was most definitely still an object in his hand.

A vial.