Page 11 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Sherborne knew his son’s name.

As his lordship calmly wiped his lip, questions screamed in Pitt’s mind. But, Sherborne could well be speaking false.

“My son is safe.”

“Is he?”

Two little words, and yet they held tremendous power.

“He is at Wallensford Keep—my castle, now ruled by its new lord.”

Fear threatened to constrict Pitt’s lungs, but he fought to remain calm. He needed to keep a clear head. “How did you—?”

“I asked friends. They found your boy for me.”

Dear God. “Friends? Other noblemen? Servants at the keep?”

Sherborne shrugged. “Folk who owed me or my sire. People who, for one reason or another, would not dare to refuse me when I called upon them.”

Pitt’s hand tightened on his mug. The crown had appointed Wallensford Keep’s new liege. Surely, the man, who’d once worked with Pitt’s sire to settle disputes for the crown, wouldn’t have been granted the fortress if he had ties to Sherborne?

“You were lucky this summer,” his lordship said. “I thought for certain the other guard at the gaol would die, but he survived.”

Memories of that day still haunted Pitt. He’d barely managed to drag himself to the doorway and summon help. The town healer had worked day and night and had saved the other guard’s life. When questioned by the sheriff, the man, ashamed of his actions, had apologized for betraying Pitt and had admitted to being swayed by Sherborne’s promise of a share of the gold. He’d also confirmed Sherborne had stabbed him, not Pitt. While Pitt had not been charged with murder, he had been let go from the gaol. Since then, he’d done odd jobs that didn’t pay well, but at least earned him some coin.

“My sword,” Pitt growled.

His lordship nodded. “A fine weapon.”

“I would like it back.”

“Not possible.”

Hatred for Sherborne burned in Pitt’s blood. “Why not? Do you no longer have it?”

“I have it, but I will not return it to you.”

Pitt longed to rise and slam his lordship’s smug face down on the table. But, he mustn’t be rash. He mustn’t risk Fenton’s life. He must learn Sherborne’s intentions.

“Why did you summon me here? What do you want?”

“Your help.”

Pitt shook his head.

“Back in the gaol, I saw potential in you—”

Pitt abruptly rose, his chair scraping on the dirt floor.

At the same moment, three thugs stood, menace in their gazes.

A sudden hush in the noise level warned Pitt other patrons were watching. If he wasn’t careful, he’d draw other folk into what was going on.

“Sit down,” his lordship demanded.

Air hissed between Pitt’s gritted teeth. He didn’t want to sit. He wanted to get the hell out and ride far away from this wretched tavern. He shook with the effort of restraint.

“Sit. Down.” Sherborne’s unwavering stare warned he wouldn’t issue another warning.