“I didn’t do it,” Myghal retorted. “You did. The night Gawan died, I spent the entire evening in the tavern and plenty of people saw me there.”
“That is true, but if I am caught by the vicious Sir Ranulf, I may be forced to confess that you paid me to do it, so I should think you would want to make sure that I am never captured.”
Myghal’s stomach turned and he felt as if a trap were closing around him, a feeling that had been growing ever since the terrible day he’d made his devil’s bargain with Pierre. “Then you shouldn’t come back to Penterwell for a long time, and not just because of Sir Ranulf. The villagers have their suspicions, too, and some of them are planning to take you prisoner if you set foot ashore. They think you killed Rob and Sam, too.”
Pierre’s face was the epitome of innocence. “Who, I?”
“Yes, you, or your men.”
“Well, well, I say we did not, but it seems your friends in the village have other ideas. Perhaps it would be wise to stay away.” He grinned at the young man. “You see? You did have something with which to pay me.”
And, Myghal realized with a horrible foreboding, he would likely continue to pay for Pierre’s silence, either with tin or information, for the rest of his life.
“But let us speak no more of murder,” Pierre said amicably as he pulled a small wineskin from beneath his tunic. “Let us talk of more pleasant subjects. How goes your wooing of the widow?”
He offered the wineskin to Myghal, who swiftly shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about her.”
The Frenchman chuckled. “Not well, I take it. You should ask this Sir Ranulf you seem to admire for assistance. He once made a wager he could seduce fourteen virgins in a fortnight—one for every night—and he won.”
Pierre smirked. “You look shocked, my young friend. But he is a comely fellow, or so I’ve been told, and skilled in battle as well as the bedchamber. Such a combination is hard for women to resist. No doubt that explains the young beauty living with him now.” Pierre kissed his fingertips to the air. “Magnifique!I could get a fortune for her at the slave market in Tangier.”
Ignoring what Pierre said about that mind-boggling wager, Myghal stiffly said, “Lady Beatrice is a noblewoman and the cousin of the lady of Tregellas.”
“Sir Ranulf aims high, but clearly, he succeeds.”
“She’snothis leman,” Myghal said, disgusted by the man’s carnal assumptions. “I told you, she’s the cousin of his overlord.”
Pierre laughed as he tucked the wineskin back into his tunic. “Such a romantic innocent you are! Just because you have not the courage to seduce the woman you want, you think all men have such delicate scruples, or that noblewomen have? Sir Ranulf, at least, does not. Those women who succumbed to his efforts were all nobly born women of the king’s court.”
“I’mcertainLady Beatrice isn’t his leman,” Myghal insisted. “He doesn’t even seem to like her very much—but you still shouldn’t get any ideas about trying to steal her away. If anything were to happen to her, Sir Ranulf and the lord of Tregellas would never rest until they found the men responsible, and it’d surely mean a slow and painful death when they did.”
Pierre put his hand to his breast as if offended. “Have I said anything about abducting her? Although now that you speak of it, a woman like that might be worth the risk.” His lips curved up into a sinister smile. “Especially if she was properly trained.”
Myghal felt sick to think of any woman in Pierre’s clutches, raped and beaten and bound for slavery.
“I would be willing to offer a portion of the profit if you would help me catch her,” Pierre proposed. “I might even share the training with you.”
Thoroughly revolted, Myghal shook his head.
Pierre sighed and shrugged. “Very well, but now I have a desire to do a little slaving, for there is great profit in that trade.” His eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “Your Wenna is a pretty woman. Big with child now, of course, but in another month or two, she might fetch a fair price.”
“Wenna?” Myghal gasped, staring at him with horror.
Pierre grinned, and there was scorn in his beady brown eyes. “Yes, your pretty little Wenna. So let us make another bargain,mon ami. Help me get the noble beauty, and your Wenna will be safe. More, you will never see me again. But if you do not help me, I will take the woman whose husband you paid me to kill, and the villagers will find out what happened to your rival.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THREE DAYS LATER, it was still raining and Ranulf was still frustrated and exasperated as he made his way to the sheriff’s house on the outskirts of the village, on the side away from the sea. Water streamed from his cloak and his boots were soaking, but Ranulf didn’t care. Although he and Bea had achieved a sort of truce, it was better to be drenched than around her, with her cleaning and her smiling and her busy chatter about what she was doing and what still needed to be done, or trying not to watch her and imagine what it would be like if she could stay. If she could be his wife.
He’d contemplated riding out with the patrol today, but he wasn’t willing to expose the expensively purchased Titan to the risk of a broken leg from slippery mud, or a lung ailment from the damp.
Besides, the patrol had already gone without him. He’d overslept again. Bea refused to allow any of the servants to wake him, and he’d had another wretched night, not dropping off to sleep until nearly dawn. Then he’d dreamed of making love with Bea on the black bear pelt, her honey-blond hair spread out about her like a halo, her naked body undulating beneath him.
With that memory to torment him, he reached the sheriff’s two-storied stone house and rapped sharply on the wooden door with his bare knuckles. Since Hedyn wasn’t married, they could have a conversation about important matters without the distraction of wives, or women who acted like them.
A male servant, dark haired and middle-aged, opened the door. His mouth fell open when he saw Ranulf standing on the threshold, but he quickly recovered, bowed and opened the door wider to allow the castellan to enter.
“S’truth, my lord, I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning. The weather’s fit to drown a man!” Hedyn cried as he hurried from his comfortable seat near his hearth to welcome Ranulf.
