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I sighed. Alas. I could be wrong.
I pivoted to the side, sweeping my arm out in an exaggerated bow. “By all means, sir.”
The boy gulped and nodded curtly. “T-Thank you, sir.” Then he hurried past me, no doubt knowing I’d be nipping at his heels if he didn’t move fast enough.
As he climbed the stairs and headed for the conference room where George was currently residing, I angled off to the left and took my own route . . .
Through the little-known corridors and walls of the keep that kept me hidden from plain sight, enabling me to move invisible through Nottingham Castle.
I hadn’t used the secret hallways in ages, because I hadn’t needed to. Now, I was rankled by the notion Sheriff George saw it fit to hide this message from me. To hide any message from me. Where is the loyalty in that?
I came to a dead end after winding my way through cobwebbed corridors and empty, dusty, narrow halls.
I put my eyes to the wall and peeked through a pair of barely discernible eyeholes.
Seconds later, the messenger boy entered the room.
There were two men seated at the oak table: Sheriff George, and that annoyingly affable, elderly bishop who had been lingering in Nottingham for too long, called Sutton.
Interesting, that wrinkly-faced holy man being in a closed-door meeting with George.
“S-Sire,” the frightened lad said, bowing deeply. “Apologies for the intrusion.”
“What is it, whelp?” George asked, crossing his leg over his knee and sipping from the wine at his table.
“An urgent message for you, my lord.”
George flapped his hand at the messenger and snatched the letter from his hand. He waved off the boy with another flap, and the lad exited the room.
George tore open the letter and read it. His leg fell off his knee. His face twisted with contempt, nostrils flaring.
Then he pounded the table with his fist and a loud thud.
“Peace, Sheriff,” Bishop Sutton begged, raising his hands. He wore a charming smile on his face.
“Peace, Bishop?” George barked back. He wagged the letter in the bishop’s face. “The carriage has gone missing.”
My brow perked. He’s telling secrets to the bishop, now?
“And?” Sutton asked, still calm. He settled his hands in his white-robed lap.
“It means the money is gone,” George growled, and tossed the letter onto the ground.
“You mean my money, Sheriff,” Sutton said.
His affable face twisted into something I’d never seen from the man before. It shocked even me—and I was a hard man to shock.
The severe sagging of Bishop Sutton’s jowls made me reappraise everything I’d know about the beloved, benevolent priest. For the first time, perhaps in my life, I shuddered in the presence of another man.
I hummed to myself. Not so benevolent after all, are you, dear bishop?
“You’ve failed me again, George,” Sutton said.
“I’ll get your money back, dammit.” George flapped a hand at the bishop, annoyed and aggravated.
Sutton steepled his hands on the table. “And the other export?”
“The girls are gone, too.”
