Page 7 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Sherborne moved closer to the front bars. “How old is your son?”

Pitt hesitated. “Five.”

His lordship’s expression turned thoughtful. “You must have heard stories of treasure buried in Warwickshire.”

Disbelief rippled through Pitt. “The folk tales?” He exchanged a glance with his fellow guard.

“The stories are true,” Sherborne said.

Pitt fought not to laugh. The tales of lost riches of the Kingdom of Mercia were no more than the fanciful imaginings of penniless folk and drunkards. Any treasure hidden long ago would surely have been discovered before now.

“I know what you are thinking.” Sherborne said. “You do not believe there are riches.”

“I don’t,” Pitt agreed.

Sherborne’s eyes glinted. “I have seen proof.”

“What kind of proof?”

“A drawing.”

Pitt cursed. “’Tis hardly—”

“The drawn item was found not far from here.” Sherborne’s hands clenched and unclenched. “Other gold was found, too.”

Sherborne could well be lying. Next, he might offer some of the riches in exchange for his freedom. Pitt couldn’t be bribed. But, if there really was treasure, the sheriff should know about it—if he didn’t already.

“There is gold,” Sherborne said evenly. “Enough, I warrant, to put a new sovereign upon the throne—”

God’s blood.

“—and to make you two guards very rich.”

“Enough,” Pitt growled.

With the scrape of his boot heel, the curly-haired guard eased away from the wall.

“Think of your son, Pitt,” his lordship said. “Think of the good life you could give him.”

“I said, enough.”

“How unfortunate you feel that way.” Sherborne’s gaze slid to the other guard. He nodded.

Pitt’s mind screamed a warning. He reached for his sword, but his colleague’s fist slammed into his throat. Pitt’s head banged against the stone wall.

The room spun in a blur of browns and grays. Gasping, fighting to breathe, Pitt clutched at his neck. His knees folded.

Do not faint.

Through the shrill humming in his ears, he heard the grate of a key in a lock. He collapsed on the dirt floor, his teeth knocking together. Darkness hovered at the edge of his vision.

Do not lose consciousness. Get up. Fight!

Dizzy, his head pounding, he struggled to rise. His throat hurt. His eyes streamed from the pain. Close by, chains rattled then clanked; the sound of metal hitting the floor.

Damnation!

Sitting up now, still gasping, he blinked to try and focus his vision. The black-haired guard had freed Sherborne and tossed him Pitt’s cloak. As the two men left the cell, Sherborne donned the garment.