Page 38 of One Knight in the Forest

Chapter Thirteen

Still seated at the back of the tavern, Magdalen stiffened, for Cyn had stepped out from behind the post. His face a mask of barely-leashed fury, he strode toward William.

Northcliff, who’d also been watching what was happening at Lord Redmond’s table, had pushed to standing, stepped away from his friends, and was headed for Cyn.

Fear lashed through Magdalen. She lurched to her feet, knocking over her ale. Ignoring the puddle dripping onto the floor, she hobbled forward. She had to help Cyn. She’d never forgive herself if she could have helped him but hadn’t done so.

As she limped past the closest table, heedless of the gawking stares of the drunkards seated there, a man with curly brown hair rose from a table near the hearth and headed for Cyn.

Oh, God!

“Cyn!” she shrieked. Her cry was drowned by the music.

“Cyn!” she shouted again.

“Shut up, wench,” a farmer snapped. Wench? She glowered at him and pushed herself to a faster hobble, for Cyn had almost reached William.

The curly-haired man stepped between Cyn and the table.

“Stand aside,” Cyn commanded.

“I would say the same to you,” the man answered with a sneer.

Northcliff was moving in behind Cyn, as though to entrap him. William, his face white with shock, was looking at Cyn, no doubt having recognized his voice.

“Cyn!” she shouted. “Beware!”

His sharpened gaze flicked to her, while she tried to indicate the man behind him. He stole a glance over his shoulder, while pushing back his hood to reveal his face. “Lord Northcliff,” Cyn said. “Imagine meeting you here.”

Scowling, Northcliff halted. Facing the curly-haired man again, Cyn said, “Lord Garroway.”

Cyn knew both of the men’s names. He’d said them loudly enough for others in the tavern to hear. Surely the lords would be wise enough to retreat?

“Whatever is the matter?” Redmond demanded. “If you men have a disagreement to settle, take it outside.”

“Milord, I am Sheriff Cynric Woodrow. You—”

Lord Garroway slammed his fist into Cyn’s stomach. Grunting, Cyn doubled over and then barreled headfirst into his attacker, driving him sideways into a stocky farmer seated in a nearby chair, which overturned and sent all three men crashing to the floor.

The music faltered. Ceased.

Lord Northcliff drew a knife. More men rose from the tables, while uneasy murmurs rippled through the tavern. Cyn’s lackeys, knives drawn, were elbowing their way toward him.

Men moved in to block their way. Other traitors were confronting Redmond’s lone guard.

She had to hurry. Hurry! Only a couple more steps and she’d reach William.

Cyn scrambled to his feet. As she reached the table, he dodged the downward slash of Lord Northcliff’s dagger. “Redmond,” Cyn bellowed. “Run! Now.”

“Run?” Anger lit the older man’s eyes, and he drew his sword. “Why?”

“Your life is in danger!” Magdalen cried.

Breathing hard, she stopped at William’s chair. He’d pushed to standing, his right hand closed into a fist. She’d kept close watch on him. He hadn’t managed to pour the poison into the London official’s ale…and she’d make sure he never did. She grabbed the jug and tossed it to the floor, where it shattered, along with the two mugs.

“Guards!” Redmond yelled over the escalating sounds of a fight. His remaining guard had tried to draw his sword, but men had grabbed hold of his arms, pinned him against the wall, and were pummeling him with their fists.

Wide-eyed, Redmond hurried backward toward the stairs, his sword raised.