With Borden’s help, Cyn quickly restored the room to the way it had been moments ago. Voices sounded outside, along with hoof beats and the jangle of tack. Just as Cyn put the stag back on its shelf, a brisk knock pounded on the door.
“I will greet his lordship,” Borden said, collecting his basket on the way out of the room.
Cyn ordered the dogs to lie down at the hearth, as if they had lounged there all morning—and where William would expect to see them. Then, setting his hands on his hips, Cyn exhaled a harsh breath. He needed to be patient, to keep under control the fury that seemed to grow hotter within him with each passing moment: a rage entangled with his feelings for Magdalen.
He’d vowed not to care for her, but he couldn’t deny that he did. Never would he allow her out of his protection, even if that meant standing between her and William. Even—God help him—if it meant jeopardizing that old friendship and exposing the terrible secret William had kept for Cyn since that fateful day on Crusade.
The front door creaked open. “Good day, Lord Langston,” Borden said.
“Where is Cyn?” William spoke politely enough, but Cyn sensed the steel threading through the words.
“He is in the main part of the house, milord.”
Tension gathered between Cyn’s shoulders as William entered the room, his brown woolen mantle drifting as he walked. His fashionably-cut, wavy blond hair, tailored garments, and fine leather boots all added to the impression that he was a respectable nobleman of the realm, and yet, he likely was involved in a scheme to kill a crown official.
Cyn balled his hands into fists; he would have all of the details of that plot by the end of this meeting; if he couldn’t get them as William’s friend, he’d demand them as sheriff.
“Good morning, Cyn.”
“William.”
William’s assessing gaze took in the cot and the items on the table near it before returning to Cyn. Gesturing to the bed, William asked, “Is that where you tended Magdalen?”
“I did.”
“How is she? My men told me she was injured yesterday.”
“Her leg wound is healing well,” Cyn said, keeping his tone carefully neutral, “although ’twill be many days before she is fully recovered.”
Regret tautened William’s features, bronzed from days riding on his estate. “I am sorry she was hurt. If only she had not run from me and my men. Then she would not have come to harm.”
Cyn suppressed a rough laugh. Did William really expect him to believe that all would have been well if Magdalen had surrendered? In his years working as a sheriff, Cyn had investigated the slayings of men who’d died for far less damning information than she’d discovered. “Hellfire, William—”
“Edwina is very worried about her, as am I. I have come to take her back—”
“Nay.”
“Nay?” William’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean she is not leaving with you.”
William’s chest rose and fell on an irritated breath. “Look, Cyn—”
“Tell me what is going on.” Cyn held his friend’s stare. “I want the truth.”
William laughed, a sound devoid of mirth. “There is no need to be confrontational. There has obviously been some kind of misunderstanding. I do not know what Magdalen told you—”
“A misunderstanding? Shall we discuss what she showed me, then, that she found yesterday in your chamber? Borden would be interested to hear. No doubt so would your men-at-arms; I can call them in from outside.”
Anger flashed in William’s eyes. “Do not dare to threaten me.”
“If ’tis the only way to get you to tell me what is going on—”
“I do not have to explain my actions to you.”
Cyn didn’t flinch at the biting words. “In this instance, my friend, you do.”
Hissing air between his teeth, William scowled. “Where is Magdalen? As lord of these lands, I demand that you release her to me so I can be on my way.”
A hard smile tilted Cyn’s lips. “She is safe, and will remain safe, in my care. Now, are you going to be honest with me? In all fairness, you should know that I have written a letter about the matter in question and am prepared to send it to London.”
William’s face paled. His right hand pushed aside the folds of his cloak and settled on his hip, near the hilt of his dagger—a gesture Cyn recognized, after years of knowing his friend, to mean William was uneasy.
“God’s blood, William. You are my closest friend. I want to help you,” Cyn said, his tone a low rasp. “However, I need to know—”
“You asked me once, a couple of weeks ago, what was weighing upon my mind,” William said quietly. “I could not tell you then. I still cannot tell you.”
“Then our conversation is done.” Turning on his heel, Cyn strode for the doorway, pausing a moment to reach up to a shelf and snatch a folded parchment out of a pewter tankard. Reaching the doorway, Cyn yelled, “Borden!”
The steward appeared. “Aye, milord?”
Cyn handed over the parchment. “This is to be sent to London. Without delay.”
“All right,” William snapped. “Send your steward outside. No one else will hear what I have to say.”
No one except Magdalen, Cyn silently added.
Once Borden had left the home, William sank into the chair Magdalen had occupied a short while ago. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and plowed his hands into his hair, while he stared down at the rug.
How ironic, that William was staring almost at the spot where Magdalen was hidden.
Cyn dropped down into his carved chair and waited for his friend to speak.
“Is that the missive, then?” William pointed to the document Cyn still held.
“The missive you are referring to is safely hidden. This”—Cyn tossed the parchment on the nearby table—”is a list of herbs Borden purchased at a market three months ago.”
William lifted his head, fury in his eyes. “You tricked me.”
“I had to. If you do not tell me the truth here and now, though, I will send a letter to the King.”
“Damnation, Cyn. I swore an oath not to discuss what I am to tell you,” William said, his voice a low growl. “I am not a man who breaks a vow.”
He’d sworn an oath? Cyn frowned. Keeping his tone hushed, he said, “The missive Magdalen found had instructions for committing a murder.”
William sighed. “Of course it did.”
“Of course?” Cyn choked back a shocked cry. “You had best explain, before—”
“Hold.” William raised his hand, palm up. “I understand your concern regarding the letter. Yet, ’twas my goal to get such missives.”
“Goal?” Disquiet skittered through Cyn, even as William nodded.
“It has taken me months of painstaking work, all of it done in secret, because I did not want to endanger my family. Finally, a few sennights ago, I was accepted into the circle of men in these lands who are determined to overthrow King John.”
Cyn had no doubt the King was corrupt. He was well aware of the discontent among local lords caused by the sovereign’s high taxes, his determination to keep a firm grip on his French holdings, and his confiscation of lands and castles for no justifiable reason. Cyn had arrested brigands who’d robbed officials returning to London with collected tax money; from the staggering amounts of coin that the officials had reported stolen, ’twas clear to Cyn that more than just taxes had gone missing. Sometimes, the more efficient officials even carried records noting just how much had been received in bribes, from whom, and for what purpose.
While Cyn didn’t agree with the way King John ruled England, he was a knight of the realm and a crown-appointed sheriff. He was duty-bound to be loyal to the King, whoever that King might be, just as he was duty-bound to arrest William if he’d just confessed to treason. “You have turned traitor, then,” Cyn said, dreading but needing to hear confirmation of what he suspected.
William shook his head. “I thought you knew me better than that. I have infiltrated the ranks of traitors not to become one, but to send information on them back to the crown.”
Cyn sucked in a breath. “Are you saying—?”
“Aye, I am a spy.”
***
A spy.
Lying in the dark cavity in the floor, Magdalen smothered a gasp. How she wanted to believe William. Was that the truth, though? Or, knowing Cyn’s strict code of honor, had William just said what he thought Cyn wanted to hear?
Her eyes burned, and not just from the cold or the dust coating the floor. She wanted William to be innocent of wrongdoing. He was a loving husband, doting father, and had always been kind to her. She’d never forget his expression when he looked upon his newborn son for the first time; William had wept tears of joy and wrapped his arms around Edwina and their babe, then kissed them both, so tenderly.
If he was a spy, wouldn’t he have told Cyn? It made no sense that William would have withheld such crucial information.
As though attuned to her thoughts, Cyn said, “You should have told me you were spying for the King.”
“I took an oath.”
“When? During your meeting in the forest days ago?”
“How the hell do you know about that?”
“I know most things that go on in these woods,” Cyn answered.
“If you must know, I took the oath months ago. I did not confide in you because I wanted to act alone. I did not want anyone else in danger, especially my wife and child. Now, what has happened to the missive? Does Magdalen still have it, or do you?”
“I do.”
“I must have it back, Cyn.”
“Why? You know when and where the murder is to take place.”
“I need the missive…” William swore again, a bitter sound of frustration. “’Tis part of the proof I am gathering, which I will forward on to the King’s men.”
Cyn was silent a long moment. Magdalen heard the scrape of boots on the rug, as though he’d shifted position in his chair. “Tell me, is there a greater reason for what you are doing? I sense there is more to your actions than just demonstrating your loyalty to the crown.”
“There is. If the information I have gathered pleases the King, he will grant me an estate closer to London. Edwina likes Glemstow well enough, but she has always wanted to live near the great city. If I can achieve dream that for her, I will, especially if I am granted a fine castle that Timothy will one day inherit.”
Shivering, Magdalen drew the blanket closer about her neck. Edwina had told her how much she loved the excitement and wonderful shopping in London, and that she’d always longed to live within a morning’s journey of the city. If William had spoken the truth, ’twas most romantic and generous of him to try and realize that dream for Edwina.
“This proof you mentioned a moment ago,” Cyn said. “Will that also include the vial spoken of in the letter?”
William cleared his throat, a nervous sound.
“Magdalen could not find the vial,” Cyn pressed, “although she searched for it.”
“Magdalen.” William groaned. “Why did she have to become involved? ’Twould have been so much simpler if she had never found the missive.”
A dull ache clenched her innards, and her hands tightened on the blanket. She hadn’t intended to find the missive; it had just happened.
“Tell me, William. Did the vial accompany the missive, or—”
“I received it a few days after the letter,” William muttered.
“’Tis hidden in the castle?”
“Aye. I will not say where, but I hid the vial separately from the letter. The vial has a cork stopper tied with twine, and I feared the vial might leak. I did not want anyone to be accidentally poisoned.”
“You will have it, though, when you are to meet Redmond at the tavern on the twenty-first.”
“I have to take it. I must prove to my watchers that I intend to go through with the killing.”
“Will you? Go through with the murder?”
William made a sound of disgust. “Of course not! I was supposed to meet with my contact from London yesterday, to share what I had recently learned. He had promised to send men-at-arms to the tavern on the arranged day, to protect me and to arrest the traitors I recognized there, but with the storm and the hunt for Magdalen…”
Guilt poked at Magdalen’s conscience, and then anger stirred within her. She blinked to ease her stinging eyes. She wasn’t responsible for William’s decisions. She was only responsible for her own, and she’d done what she’d thought was right.
“None of this situation is Magdalen’s fault,” Cyn said.
The firmness of his tone brought a lump to her throat.
“Well, I see where your loyalties lie,” William muttered.
“You know I am right.”
“Nay, Cyn. What I know is that I have told you far too much. You still will not give me the missive, and you are protecting the woman who, if she confided in the wrong person, could jeopardize my holdings, my life, and the lives of those I dearly love. I ask you one last time; give me back the letter.”
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Every day in these lands, good men—honorable lords, just like you and I—are breaking their vow to the King in order to undermine his authority.”
“So they may be,” William said. “But—”
“Forsaking one’s sworn duty is wrong. So is murder.”
“I told you, I do not intend to commit murder!”
“I hope not. All that I have seen and heard so far, though, indicates you are one of the lords who has turned traitor.”
Silence lagged, and then she heard the thump of boots overhead; William had risen from the chair. “God’s bones, Cyn. Do you really believe I have forsaken our King?”
“As sheriff, I—”
“Forget your damned duties for one moment! You and I have been friends since we were boys. You know me. Do you not trust me, even after all I have done for you? Especially after what happened on Crusade?”
In the darkness, Magdalen held her breath. Waited.
Cyn didn’t answer.