King's Warrior (Renegade Lords)

Tadhg’s hand snapped out and almost closed around the man’s throat before he forced it back down to his side. “You toy with treason. Tell your master who is here.”

Perhaps it was something in his tone, or his eye, but the door guard did as bid, left, then came back a few moment later with a derisive scowl. “Said he doesn’t know any king’s men.”

For a second Tadhg stared in amazement, then quickly turned them back around, out into the streets, whisking Maggie with him.

“Where are we going now?” she asked.

Fear and impotent fury tangled inside him like a rope, thick and prickly. What if every door was barred to him now? What if the next one he tried hid the treasonous men who had flocked to Prince John? What then? It would be madness to keep trying.

“Tadhg,” Maggie said softly. He turned his troubled gaze to her. “Think not of these men’s greatness and wealth. Think of their character. In a battle, who of the men who live in this place would you trust at your back?”

Not one of them, not now. They’d all toppled at the first gust of uncertainty. Yet, now that he allowed himself to think through it, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Like the merchant, they were loyal to their coffers.

“Is there not one?” she prodded.

And a name filled his head. “Merek,” he said softly.

He and Merek had rarely seen eye to eye, but more than the others, Merek had been loyal to the king. In that they had been united. He could not believe Sir Merek would turn traitor.

“Then let us go see this man, Merek,” she said with all the confidence of a queen summoning her subjects.

“Yes,” he said, grabbing onto the plan, hoping it wasn’t a fool’s decision. “We’ll find aid with Sir Merek.”

But even as he spoke, he feared. He could only imagine the doubts running through her mind. The fear she surely hid.

Why do these men not know you?

Who are you?

What have you done to my life?

THEY REACHED Merek’s home as the sun westered behind the spires of the cathedral. Like knobbly bones, the dark stone bisected the yellow and blue sky.

Maggie waited by the gate as he climbed the steps alone to hammer on the door. It swung open and he said without preamble, “Tell Sir Merek the king’s swordarm is here.”

The servant hesitated a moment, then was pushed out of the way by a powerful, blonde-haired knight who loomed in the doorway. He stared at Tadhg. “Christ’s mercy, Irish, I didn’t think you’d ever make it back alive.”

A cold river of relief washed down his spine. He blew out a gusted breath and stepped forward. “Thank God, Merek. The Marshal is missing, and everyone else is declaiming the king, and me. We must speak. I have news, and I need—”

The knight put a hand on Tadhg’s chest. “Get out.”

Tadhg stared down at the hand, then slid his gaze back up in low-banked fury. “What did you say?”

“You’re poison now, Irish. Go on, get out.”

The sweat on his neck turned cold. “Not you too, Merek. You cannot believe the lies Prince John is spreading. I swear to you, the king is not dead. I was with him when he was captured—”

“So be it,” the wealthy knight hissed. “The king is in Vienna, or Dubrovnik or heaven or hell, or God knows where, but what does it matter? Prince John is here. And King Philippe’s army has arrived now too.”

“All the more reason for us to gather our forces.”

“All the more reason for men like you and me to hunker down for the coming storm.”

Tadhg stared at this man who had been part of Richard’s inner circle of bachelor knights, one of his trusted confidantes. “You jest,” he said, but this was no jest. This was treason staring him in the face.

Merek’s handsome face twisted. “If Richard wanted his kingdom, he ought to have come back for it. He cannot expect it to simply sit by and wait for him while the vultures circle. Indeed, John has promised much to those who join him.”

Cold fear and hot fury knotted in Tadhg’s spine like barbed wire. “You bastard. You traitorous—”