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the event Bowman’s effects should survive though he did not, the message from Lord Rannulf, slipped back into the pack while Bowman slept, had been resealed with wax so neatly, anyone examining the contents of Bowman’s pack would never realize it had already been opened.
    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 missivehe 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 questioningobstinate 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