Hot, sharp, excruciating pain spread through Cyn’s torso. As the roar died in his throat, he staggered back. Northcliff brought the dagger plunging down again, narrowly missing Cyn’s arm. Recoiling, Cyn retreated several more steps, his right boot knocking against a chair leg.
Ah, God, but his head reeled with the pain in his shoulder. The interior of the tavern spun before his eyes, making him want to drop to his knees and retch.
Never would he yield. He had to save Redmond and Magdalen, to ensure that justice triumphed. Never would he fail to fulfill his duty.
Oh, God, Magdalen. He’d finally found a reason to start living again. If anything happened to her…
A woman’s cry carried over the noise of vicious fighting. Magdalen had seen his wound.
The devastation in her voice tore at him, but he didn’t dare wrest his gaze from Northcliff, who was stalking him, his knife raised, waiting for an advantageous moment to attack. Pain and rage coiled within Cyn, for this fight would end. Now. If Northcliff was prepared to stab a sheriff, he might harm a lady, and Cyn would die before he let anyone harm Magdalen.
As he held Northcliff’s challenging stare, Cyn heard William shouting. He was issuing orders. However, his words were indistinct over the crashes, yells, and grunts from squabbling drunkards and his men battling traitors. Was William ordering his guards to subdue the traitors, or was he telling them to overpower Cyn?
Northcliff dropped to a crouch. Spurred by a surge of fury, Cyn lunged, careening into the lout and sending him backward into the vertical wooden post. As they collided, agony jarred through Cyn. He ground his teeth, smothered a pained yell. Northcliff’s head knocked against the post, briefly stunning him, and Cyn grabbed the dagger from the younger lord’s hand and tossed it onto the floor, where it skidded under a table.
“Bastard,” Northcliff choked out. He clawed at the front of Cyn’s cloak, trying to sink his fingers into Cyn’s wound.
Cyn slammed his fist into Northcliff’s jaw, causing the lout’s head to hit the post a second time. Groaning, his eyes rolling, Northcliff slowly slid down to the floor.
As Cyn straightened, grimacing at his discomfort, he saw William intercept two men trying to reach Redmond, who had retreated halfway up the stairs. Cyn’s heart kicked hard in his chest, for William was defending the London official. Relief rippled through him, along with intense gratitude.
Metal clashed, drawing his gaze to Redmond’s guard who had returned from the upper level and was protecting not only the London official, but his fellow guard, bleeding and crumpled on the bottom stair.
And Magdalen…
Cyn’s frantic gaze swept the room of fighters that included William’s men-at-arms, who were preventing anyone inside from leaving. A wise strategy. Magdalen wasn’t in the front part of the room, though.
Dread settling like a stone in his gut, Cyn wiped sweat from his eyes and continued to search for her. Had she found a safe place to hide until the brawling was over? Mayhap she’d gone behind the bar, where the proprietor and serving wenches were huddled, only their heads visible. He couldn’t see her there, but—
Two men crashed into a table, and as they fell, he spied her. Her hood had fallen away from her head, and her cloak had become unpinned, baring her left shoulder. Her long braid swayed at her back as she limped to the hearth.
What in hellfire was she doing?
He hurried toward her. “Magdalen,” he bellowed, hoping she’d hear him over the cacophony. By some miracle, she did. Turning, she held up her left hand, clasping a small, wrapped object: the vial of poison.
She was going to destroy it—
Northcliff shoved past, pushing Cyn sideways into a vacant chair. Cursing, Cyn tried to break his fall. He caught hold of the chair and steadied himself against the sturdy oak table, while his blood dripped onto the furniture. Willing his pain and dizziness to abate, he staggered after Northcliff.
Eyes widening, Magdalen hobbled for the fire. No doubt she was moving as fast as she could, but her injury was slowing her down.
“Hurry, Magdalen!” Cyn cried.
Coming up behind Northcliff, Cyn grabbed the back of the lord’s tunic and yanked, but Northcliff fought, punching Cyn’s wound. In acute agony, Cyn reeled back. Vomit scalded the back of his mouth.
Just steps from the hearth, Northcliff grabbed hold of Magdalen’s braid. She shrieked and lashed out with the knife Cyn had given her, but Northcliff knocked it from her hand. It fell to the hearth tiles, out of her reach.
Swallowing what was in his mouth, Cyn plowed forward. He had to save Magdalen. Her head pulled back at an awkward angle, she struggled in Northcliff’s grip.
“Give me the vial,” the young lord shouted.
“Nay!” She gasped.
Cyn clamped his right arm around the young lord’s neck. He squeezed hard. Choking, Northcliff clawed at Cyn’s arm, but Cyn held tight.
The lord’s face reddened, but he refused to let go of Magdalen’s hair; he twisted it around his hand, tightening his imprisoning grip even more. Increasing the pressure of his arm, Cyn forced Northcliff to turn sideways, in hopes of easing Magdalen’s torment. Her head still twisted at an odd angle, she was fumbling with the bag at her hip, while keeping the vial out of Northcliff’s reach.
“Beware.” Cyn tried to speak calmly. “Do not drop the vial. If it falls, shatters, and splashes poison on you—”
“I know.” She pulled her hand from the bag. Silver flashed in her fingers: the doe.
Her eyes hardened with resolve. Turning the deer so that its ears pointed down, she slammed it into Northcliff’s hand imprisoning her hair.
He howled.
Again, she struck him. Blood beaded on his skin.
“Bitch,” he croaked, spittle flying from his lips. His face was purple now.
“Let her go,” Cyn commanded.
She hit Northcliff again, this time smacking the doe against his cheek. Northcliff yelped. His hold on her slackened.
With a sharp cry, Magdalen broke free. She lunged for the hearth. The vial flew from her fingers. The linen-wrapped parcel was briefly illuminated in the fire’s glow before it fell into the flames and shattered.
The blaze hissed. Black smoke rose in an inky cloud, and then the fire returned to normal.
Her head drooping, Magdalen collapsed to sitting on the hearth tiles, her cloak and gown spilling around her. With a metallic clatter, the doe landed beside her. Magdalen looked exhausted, but never had Cyn seen a more beautiful woman. Pride swelled within him for what she’d done.
Still in Cyn’s grasp, Northcliff made a strangled sound. Cyn became aware that William stood beside him.
“My guard will take him now,” William said, summoning over one of his men.
Cyn held tight to Northcliff until the young lord’s hands were bound. After grudgingly releasing Northcliff into the guard’s custody, Cyn assessed the rest of the room. Five traitors, their hands tied in front of them, were sitting on the floor, being watched by William’s men-at-arms. Others were being restrained by Cyn’s lackeys. Still more men were sprawled between tables, some unconscious, others examining their bruises and bleeding wounds. Redmond stood at the bottom of the stairs, talking to his wounded guard while the other guard tended to his colleague’s injuries.
Catching Cyn’s gaze, Redmond crossed to him. “I am very grateful for your efforts tonight, Sheriff. You as well, Lord Langston.”
Cyn bowed. “I am glad all went in our favor. You did exceptionally well, milord, acting as though you had no forewarning about tonight’s plot.”
“Plot?”
William shifted his stance, clearly uneasy.
“The plot to poison you, milord, as I detailed in my missive. The one I sent you a few days ago?”
Redmond’s face creased into a worried frown. “I did not receive a missive from you, Sheriff.”
Shock plowed through Cyn. He’d sent the missive through contacts he trusted. “Are you certain?”
“I am. I will ask my clerk about it, though, the instant I return to London.” Frowning, Redmond added, “The King has suspected for months that the treachery growing throughout England has taken root in his London court like a foul weed. I will do my utmost to see it destroyed.” Spying the red-haired wench, tears streaming down her face, Redmond nodded to Cyn and William, and then hurried to comfort her.
“You sent a missive to London after all,” William said quietly.
“I did. ’Twas my duty as sheriff. I did not mention your name, though, only that I had discovered the parchment and what was written on it.”
A faint grin tilted William’s mouth. “I told you I could be trusted.”
“Indeed you did.”
One of William’s men summoned him. When he strode away, Cyn crossed to the hearth and dropped down beside Magdalen, taking care not to jostle his wounded shoulder. She raised her head, wisps of loosened hair framing her face. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and with a tender smile, he brushed them away with his fingers.
“Well done,” he murmured.
“You as well,” she said softly.
“Why are you crying?”
She sniffled. “Moments ago, I was not sure…that I would manage to destroy the vial. I wanted so much to succeed—”
“And you did.” He kissed her brow. Thank God she was finally safe. “You were incredibly brave. Come. Let me help you to your feet.”
She gestured to his wound. “Your shoulder—”
“I will have it tended to shortly. You are more important right now.”
A blush warmed her cheeks. “Do not be silly.”
“I am never silly,” he said with a wink. “If you do not believe me, ask Borden.”
She chuckled and then wove her fingers through his. “You are always very gallant, though, and honorable, and clever.”
Now she was embarrassing him. “All right. Enough.”
She held his gaze, her stare breathtakingly poignant. “Promise me one thing.”
Ah, God. Was she going to ask for his ever-after love, the one thing he couldn’t offer her? Remorse weighed upon him, even as he said lightly, “What is that?”
“Promise me tonight’s adventure is over. I have had quite enough for one day.”
He squeezed her hand, leaned in, and kissed her on the lips. “That, Fair Maiden, I will gladly promise.”