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to go to Kent. Unfortunately, William’s reasons were sound.
    “I did not kill de Salis. Someone must have taken my dagger from my pack this morn. Did any of you see anyone rummage through my satchel?”
    Philip shook his head. “I was not here. Thomas and I slept in the stables to watch over the horses. I came in but a few moments ago.”
    “I heard you come in,” Marc said. “Once I realized who it was, I went back to sleep.”
    Armand confessed, “I did as Marc—woke briefly, then went back to sleep. Are you sure you did not misplace your dagger?”
    All mercenaries were light sleepers. Their profession demanded they be alert, even in the comparative safety of the barracks. Even in his sleep Darian knew which men came and went from the sound of their footsteps and didn’t doubt his fellow mercenaries possessed the same ability.
    “I did not misplace it. I put my dagger in my satchel this morning before meeting with William. Someone took it out and then used it to kill de Salis—or at the least handed it over to Bishop Henry.”
    That possibility gave Darian pause. Perhaps the dagger hadn’t been used to murder de Salis, only handed over to make it appear Darian had committed the murder.
    Which would mean the bishop might be more involved than simply seeking justice for a murdered man who deserved no justice. But that made no sense. Why would Henry become involved in the murder of a man whom he’d staunchly objected to being assassinated the day before?
    “No one enters the barracks except those who belong here,” Marc insisted; then his eyes narrowed. “Are you saying one of our own stole your dagger and killed de Salis?”
    Darian still felt ill. Marc was right. No one entered the barracks except the men the earl considered his personal band among the many bands of mercenaries he commanded. These were the men to whom the earl gave special privileges and entrusted with challenging, sometimes perilous duties.
    All men Darian had trusted—until today. One of them had to have stolen his dagger. “If not one of our own, then who?”
    Philip puffed with indignation. “You are mistaken, Darian.”
    “Am I? We all know when we each come and go. Were an outsider to enter the barracks, neither Marc nor Armand would so quickly fall back into slumber, would they?” Darian suddenly wished he’d paid better heed to which men had been on their pallets when he’d entered the barracks. In his haste he’d not noticed, nor had reason to notice. “Anyone who heard me enter could have waited until I left, taken my dagger, and walked out without question or suspicion.”
    Marc rubbed his chin. “We would be alert to those entering but not going out, I grant you. But tell me why, Darian. We have all been together for an age, guarded each other’s backs. I know of no dissention among us, do you?”
    Armand rocked back on his heels, grinning. “Well, there is that matter between Julian and Lyle over a sweet little doxy in Southwark. And if I remember aright, Perrin still owes Darian twenty pence from a wager over a—”
    “Stop it!” Philip snapped. “Perrin would not steal Darian’s dagger. ’Twould only add to his debt. And irritation over a lost wager is not dissention.”
    Marc nodded. “True. But if not one of us, then—” “
Not
one of us!” Philip insisted. “And I resent Darian’s accusation and demand he withdraw—”
    “Enough!” William strode into their midst—and not a one of them had heard him coming. “Darian, out. The rest of you, I will speak with later.”
    Philip flung a hand in the air. “My lord, you cannot truly believe one of us would betray Darian!”
    “I am not sure what to believe, and until the puzzle is solved, everyone is suspect.”
    Darian walked out of the now-silent barracks beside William and headed across the busy palace yard for the stables, both to fetch his horse and arrange for a cart to carry Lady Emma and her two trunks.
    “I sent the stable boy to the