Caught Red-Handed by Denise Domning

Author:Denise Domning [Domning, Denise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-25T21:00:00+00:00

"Do they now?" Heyward replied, an eager note in his voice. "Help me up then, sir, if you don't mind."

Faucon came to his feet, then offered the oldster his hand. By the time Heyward stood upright, the first man had entered the church. It was Watt, the heavy-set villager who had joined Heyward and Mancetter's reeve in confronting their Crowner prior to sunset. Dark of hair, his graying beard reaching the center of his chest, he wore a green tunic and red chausses. Like Heyward, he brought straw caught in a thick blanket over his shoulder, with a large, stoppered jug caught in the crook of his other arm. The clay vessel was the same color and style as the pitcher Godin had used to serve his cider. Watt's wide grin and easy nod of greeting to Heyward and an unknown knight belied any fears he might be harboring over what might happen in the coming hours.

Entering on Watt's heels was Tom, the slightest and youngest of the men who had earlier stood with Aldo. Wearing a tunic and chausses in mismatched shades of blue beneath his brown cloak, Tom's round face was framed by his thinning fair hair and a patchy beard. Like Watt, his expression was alive with anticipation rather than dread. He bore a basket in one arm and a woven hempen sack in his other hand. Whatever that sack contained was large and round, and heavy, for it strained at the weave.

Faucon didn't recognize the two men who followed. Both were tall and thin, with dark hair and beards. Their long faces and narrow features were similar enough to proclaim kinship. One carried a jug in one hand and more blanketed straw over the other shoulder. The other held a torch in each hand. Both torches smoldered and shed dirt, saying the man had sought to smother them just before entering.

"Bertie! Is that your plum wine in that jug?" Heyward called out with a laugh.

That had the man carrying the jug grinning. "You know it is, Heyward. When Gervis here—" the movement of Bertie's head indicated his torch-bearing kinsman— "said Watt would be bringing his swill, I decided I'd come with something decent to drink or the night would drag."

Edmund stood up on the other side of the altar. Exasperation filled his face. "I think I'll go to the priest's house. Perhaps he has a prie-dieu I can use," he told his employer

"Of course," Faucon said. "Return when you will, or I'll send for you if you're needed."

As Edmund departed through the sacristy door, Mancetter's reeve entered the church behind Bertie and Gervis. The big man had thrown a cloak over his shoulders to ward off the cold during their vigil. Rather than baskets or jugs, he carried a goodly length of rope and folded hempen sacking.

As Aldo saw the old man standing next to Faucon, he stopped short. "Heyward, what are you doing here?" There was a hard edge to his voice.

"Waiting for all of you to arrive," the old man called back, as if startled by the question.

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