Chumley… the deadliest man in England? Surely not.
Winnie… was she a witch? Her mannerisms seemed too polished. Perhaps she’d killed someone she was trying to heal.
Or someone she’dmeant to curse.
Either everyone at Lucan’s table was stark raving mad, or Lucan was.
He gave a soft snort and took another tankard. They weren’t talking to him, any matter. The conversation went on about people and places with nonsensical names, events that Lucan knew nothing about, and no one cared to explain them to him. Likely this was much the same stuff as they discussed around the fire at camp, but Lucan wasn’t forced to be in such proximity to them at those times. No matter; he didn’t want to hear them now, either.
“Nunch of bonsense,” he muttered under his breath. “Bollocks.” He’djust go to bed.
Lucan stood up and was pleased at the lightness in head. He shuffled out from the chute of the bench and began walking toward the narrow, tilted staircase along the backof the tavern.
“Ho, now—leaving us?” Chumley’s voice called out and then a moment later a hand clapped on Lucan’s shoulder, effectively turning him about and walking him back toward the table. “We’ll have none of that, love. Making merry yet, we are.”
Lucan halted. “I don’t wish to make merry. I wishto go to bed.”
Chumley laughed and then leaned his head closer to Lucan’s. “We don’t go off alone in places likethis, you see.”
“Places like this?” Lucan challenged, looking around broadly. “You mean respectable places? Are you afraid one of you might catch morals if left alone too long?”
Chumley threw back his head and laughed as if he’d never heard anything funnier in the entirety of his life. “By God, he’s got it!” he shouted toward the table gaily, but his fingertips dug into Lucan’s shoulder, as he murmured. “You’re beingwatched, love.”
Lucan glanced at the drunkard’s eyes and saw the flash of sincerity there, and it did much to sober him.
“Where?” Lucan asked as he sat down in the space made for him between Effie and Gorman.
Chumley pushed a fresh tankard across the table toward him. “In the corner near the hearth. Do yourecognize him?”
Lucan half rose as if adjusting his seat and looked in the direction that had lay behind him where he’d previously sat. He saw the man Chumley meant, and he was indeed staring Lucan down in a veryobvious manner.
Lucan spoke into the tankard as he raised it. “I’ve not seen him before.” He feigned a sip. He’d have to keep his witsabout him now.
“Hired,” Gorman muttered.
Rolf nodded. “We can’t let that satchel out of oursight tonight.”
“And we must be rid of that questionable guest.” Effie looked at Gilboe, who had been smiling and nodding all the while in agreement. “Bannockburn Protocol?”
“Hmm.” The monk looked thoughtful for a moment, gazing about the room casually. “It’s possible,” he said at last.
“Wait,” Lucan asked, shaking his head a bit in an effort to clear it further. “What’s a Bannockburn Protocol?”
“If we tell you what it is, it won’t work,”Gorman replied.
“If you don’t tell me what it is, I won’t participate,” Lucan warned.
“That’s the beauty of it, lord,” Gilboe insisted with hushed excitement.
Lucan waited. “What…?”
Gilboe raised his nonexistentbrows. “What?”
“What’s thebeauty of it?”
Effie buffeted him with her shoulder. “Just drink yourdrink, Lucan.”
“I really don’tthink I shou—”
