The man sat just inside the orange glow of several low-burning braziers, but Edwin could see there was some emblem, some crest of nobility stitched across it. He took another step inside.
“Well, sir, if you will tell me what you need—”
He stopped short as he drew near enough to see what was scattered across the table in front of his unwanted guest. Page after page of forged writs of safe passage.
“Oh dear,” he said softly.
“Yes, I think the king would be quite interested in making your acquaintance,” the man said. From the walls stepped several other men, all tall and bearing weapons.
“Oh dear,” Edwin said again, his heart hammering.
“I concur,” said his ‘guest.’ He patted the table. “Come, sit and let us speak. I am sure we can come to an arrangement that will prove amenable to us all.”
Edwin’s knees collapsed, depositing him on the bench at the other end of the table. He wheezed faintly and chose to stare at one of the braziers rather than the menacing nobleman. “What do you want, sir?”
“I am Lord Geoffrey, Baron Sherwood, on mission on behalf of your king.”
“All right,” he said miserably. “But I don’t know what I could do to help a king.”
“You are a business partner of one Mistress Magdalena, from Saleté de Mer?”
Edwin looked up sharply. “I knew it.”
The strange baron smiled. He reached into a pouch and shook out a handful of coins. They fell on the table and shone dully in the light from the soldiers’ torches as they arrayed themselves around Edwin, who felt his throat constricting in fear.
“Tell me everything, merchant, and I will make it worth your while.”
Edwin swallowed.
“When did you last see her?”
“Noon.”
“Was she with anyone?”
Good God, what had Magdalena got herself involved in? “I swear on my dead wife’s grave, sir, I don’t know anything, sir,” he squeaked. His heart thundered as the baron folded his gloved hands together.
“Needleman,” he said softly.
“Yes, sir.” The coins were at the edge of his vision.
“Have you any contracts with the king?”
He shook his head.
“Would you like some?”
Edwin’s jaw dropped.
“As I said, I can make this worth your while.” He pushed the coins with his gloved fingertips, nudging them across the table, until they sat in a little pile in front of Edwin. “Or I can make it very, very difficult.”
“Well, to tell the truth, sir, I am glad you’re here,” he began slowly. “Mistress Magdalena is an old, old friend, a good business partner, and I must say, I thought her in over her head with that one.”
Lord Sherwood smiled. In the light of the braziers, his face glowed rather demonically. “So she was with someone.”
“I should say. A coarse, rough man with very cold”–eyes, weapons, everything— “attitude. And yet, I marked how they looked at one another.”
“And how was that?”