“It … it comes from the Lord High Sheriff, my liege. F-from Onfroi de la Haye.”
“We know full well who the sheriff is,” came a belligerent voice from the inner chamber. Nicolaa de la Haye appeared a moment later in glorious dishevelment, the sheet she had snatched up off the bed held haphazardly around her waist and looped over one shoulder.
The sight was so startling, the guard was struck dumb. He gaped first at the mottled pink splendour of a nearly bared breast, then at the telltale scratches and bitemarks that scored the baron’s virile body.
“Well?”
“Th-there was an ambush, my lord. In Lincolnwood. More than a score of brave men slain, the rest robbed and forced to leave the forest on foot.”
For several tense moments, Wardieu continued to stare expectantly at the guard, his brain slowed by a night of wine and sexual excess. It cleared, however, on an oath so violent and graphic, the squires looked over, startled.
“The Lady Servanne!” he exploded. “Where is she?”
His eyes bulging with fear, the guard stammered what he had been told to report of the ambush. “The cavalcade was set upon by outlaws, my lord. Their leader … called the Black Wolf by his victims … took the Lady Servanne hostage and advised the remainder of the guard to remove themselves from the woods ere they drown in their own blood along with their fallen comrades. H-he also insisted a message be delivered to”—the guard’s eyelids shivered closed and he swallowed hard—“to the Dragon of Bloodmoor Keep, advising him that a ransom of ten thousand marks is necessary for the safe return of the hostage.”
Wardieu’s icy blue eyes narrowed to slits. “Ten thousand marks! Who is this madman, this … Black Wolf? Why have I not heard of him before now? And where, by Christ’s holy rood, was our vainglorious high sheriff while this travesty was being committed?”
The golden knight advanced upon the cowering guard as he spoke, his hand once again clenched around the hilt of his sword. So terrifying a visage did he present, a naked and unyielding wall of solid muscle, that the guard could not have answered had he wanted to.
“The Black Wolf of Lincoln,” mused Nicolaa de la Haye. “Onfroi has mentioned him on occasion.”
Wardieu spun around to confront her. “What? Why have I not heard of him before today?”
“Good my lord, as you well know, my husband never boasts of his failures. This wolf’s head has been playing at skittles with Onfroi’s bold guardsmen for … oh, a goodly month or more, at least. I am sure he would have had to tell you eventually, since the rogue seems to be encamped within hailing distance of your own borders. In his defense, however —though God knows why I should bother—his mind has been strenuously taxed with other matters of late.”
Wardieu deliberately ignored the veiled reference to the sheriff’s current round of revenue collecting—taxes supposedly levied to help finance the king’s army, but in reality, going to finance Prince John’s feral ambitions.
“If your husband required help ridding the forest of a nest of thieves,” Lucien growled, “why the devil did he not come limping to me as usual?”
“Perhaps he was trying to stand on his own at long last?” Nicolaa suggested, her voice so heavy with sarcasm, the words dripped. “Perhaps he feels his manhood has been threatened enough by your superiority in other matters?”
Wardieu clamped his jaw into a steely ridge. “Rolf—fetch my clothes and armour. Eduard—call out my personal guard and tell them to be prepared to ride within the hour.”
As the squires moved hastily to comply, the frosted blue gaze flicked back to the guard, who was endeavouring to restore circulation to his twisted elbow. “Where is the sheriff now, and where are the men who were escorting the cavalcade? I want to question them personally.”
“My lord sheriff anticipated you might. He has set up temporary camp on the green above Alford Abbey to await your pleasure. Meanwhile, he has sent patrols back to the point of ambush and expects, what with the rain and damp we had earlier in the week, the tracks will not be too difficult to cipher.”
“Onfroi has difficulty tracking his way to an over-full latrine,” Nicolaa drawled, stifling a yawn. “I expect I should dress and accompany you, Lucien. The men are so much more eager to prove their worth to me in fulfilling their duties.”
“Please yourself. I’ll not be stopping or humouring any delays