If anyone should come looking for Bowman, Richard would claim he’d never read Fitz-Clifford’s missive before Bowman left Birkland. It should work; his ability to feign innocence had served him well all his life. He’d no reason to believe the skill would abandon him now.
After all, ’twas possible Bowman had forgotten to deliver the letter, was it not?
’Twas a shame he hadn’t dared to relieve Bowman of the other messages he’d carried. He’d like to have gotten his hands on them, since Bowman had been on his way to Pembroke’s camp at Lincoln. There was no telling what important missive he might have brought; perhaps something useful to Richard’s plans, or his associates’ goals. What a feat ’twould be if he could gain possession of important information to pass along to the leaders of their rebellion!
If his men had not only stopped Bowman, but brought back his pack…Hell, he cared little if they didn’t stop Bowman, if only they’d stolen the letters.
Straw rustled deep in the far corner of the large building, distracting Richard from his musings. “There ye are, milord.” Johan spoke from the gloom. “I been waitin’ for ye a long time. Beginnin’ to think ye mightn’t o’got my message.”
His eyes still adjusting to the dim light, Richard crossed to where the leader of his small, private troop of mercenaries leaned against the door of a narrow stall tucked behind the hay crib. As always, insolence lent the man’s pox-scarred face a leering appearance that made Richard wonder how far Johan could be trusted.
Thus far he’d obeyed Richard’s directives. He’d proven he could be relied upon—indeed, that he was highly skilled—in carrying out any task, including murder, abduction and questioning obstinate prisoners. So long as his price was met. Richard had had no cause for complaint.
Thus far.
“Your message said you’d something important to show me, something to do with Bowman,” he said, low-voiced. “I didn’t intend to await you in the bailey to see it, along with everyone else out there.” He peered into the stall, then spun round to Johan and, using both hands, hauled him up by the front of his tunic and shook him. “You lack-wit,” he ground out. “You called me to the stable to see a horse?”
Johan’s feet skimmed the dirt floor; he grabbed hold of Richard’s hands, wrenched them from his tunic and thrust them away from him. He stumbled, caught his balance and lunged back into Richard’s face. “Ye better watch yerself, milord,” he snarled. “Don’t want to push me too far. Could be my price’ll go up, to account for yer ill manners. Or mayhap I’ll find me another master, one who’ll treat me better.” He jerked his tunic and belt into position, his right hand lingering on the long dirk sheathed at his waist. “Then where’d ye be, eh, milord Richard?” Johan’s ugly face twisted into a sneer. “You’d not find another could take the place o’ me so easy.”
His foul breath gusted over Richard’s face, nigh strong enough to overpower the usual stable stench. Muttering a curse at the unfortunate truth of Johan’s threat, Richard turned away and stared into the stall again.
“Tell me about this horse,” Richard demanded. He unlatched the door and entered the stall to take a closer look at the sturdy black gelding. “’Tis a fine enough animal, but I see nothing remarkable about it.”
Johan leaned against the doorframe and nodded. “Aye. It ain’t nothin’ special, ’cept when ye know who it belongs to.” He grinned. “Or belonged to, mayhap. This be Sir William’s mount, milord, what he rode into the wood. We found no sign o’ Bowman, but his horse, still wearin’ his saddle and all his gear, we found wanderin’ out near the border wi’ the Tower.”
“Christ’s bones!” Richard slammed his hand against the wall. The pain provided an adequate substitute for the urge to roar his frustration. “What about the men I sent after Bowman? Why didn’t they have the beast? And Bowman’s body, for that matter.” He took a calming breath. “I don’t imagine you found any signs of a struggle, something to show they found him, at least?”
“No one’s seen ’em since they set out after him yesterday afternoon.” Johan shrugged. “Could Bowman have killed ’em, d’ye think?” he added, his repulsive features slanting into a curious smile. “If he had, we’d ha’ found ’em out there, most like. I’d wonder if they took their pay and run off, ’cept they only got a part o’ it.” He slipped his knife free, used the point to pick at his teeth and spat. “Besides, they know what I’d do to ’em if I caught ’em at that.” He sheathed the dirk. “It’s bad for business.”
Calmer now, Richard reached out and stroked the gelding. The beast shied away, nearly crushing Johan against the doorframe before he could leap aside. “Nasty bastard, he is,” Johan muttered from a safe distance away. “He gave us nothin’ but trouble most o’ the way back here. Miserable bastard! Never did care much for horses.” He turned and dug through the hay piled near the stall and dragged out a saddle and several packs. “Here’s all we found,” he said.
Ignoring the saddle, Richard grabbed the packs and began to paw through them. Naught but clothing and some supplies…Not a sign of what he sought, however. Disgusted, he shoved the packs aside. “Was there a small leather pouch tied to the saddle? About so big—” he gestured with his hands “—with a strap long enough to sling it over your shoulder.”
Johan shook his head. “This is everythin’. Maybe Bowman was wearin’ it, or dropped it someplace.”
“Then we need Bowman. Send someone out into the forest again, and tell them to look more carefully this time! Sherwood’s got hiding places aplenty—far too many for there to have been a thorough search so soon.” He knelt beside the packs and rummaged through the contents once more. Nothing! He stuffed everything back inside them and held them out to Johan. “Take these with you—the horse, too. I don’t want anyone asking questions about Bowman. ’Tis best if it looks as if he disappeared far from here, so no one suspects we had anything to do with it.”
Richard stood. “Keep looking.” Turning, he began to walk away, then paused and looked back, giving the mercenary his most menacing glare. “The next time I see you, you’d better have something valuable for me.”
Chapter Five
Julianna kept tight hold of the missive she’d found in her patient’s pack, despite his unyielding grip on her fingers and the way his body pinned hers to the rough plaster wall. He might be bigger and stronger than she, but from the way he trembled and rested his weight against her—as much for support, she’d guess, as to hold her in place—she’d only to remain patient and wait a bit before she won this battle.
Before she could read the rest of the letter addressed to her enemy.
His warmth sank through her clothing and into her flesh, tempting her traitorous body anew and reminding her what a fool she’d been. To trust a stranger for even a moment, to lust for a stranger’s touch, when she knew naught of whether he be ally or foe.
Dear God, she must be mad!
The sense of betrayal gave her the determination to slip from beneath his weight. He tightened his grasp, however, his hand fisted around hers, the parchment crumpling within her hold as he spun her around to face him.
“Have a care who you call traitor, milady,” he warned, bending so close to her, his whiskers scraped along her jaw. “Else I’ll be forced to judge you traitor instead.” A swift glance at his face showed no weakness now, only a steady resolve she’d do well to heed. Though his blue eyes burned with fever and pain, she couldn’t mistake the outrage lurking there. Had she insulted him? Could it be that he was no more a traitor than she?
Or mayhap he was simply better at disguising his true nature.
She