Crispin Guest 05 - Blood Lance by Jeri Westerson

Author:Jeri Westerson [Westerson, Jeri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Crime, General, Mystery & Detective, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9781250000187
Google: 4T5edKo061MC
Amazon: 1469222213
Goodreads: 13538804
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2012-10-15T22:00:00+00:00

14

HE HAD CALMED COTEREL with wine and busily set about lighting all the candles he could find. Light helped in terrifying circumstances.

After a time he settled opposite the tailor, leaning in. “Who were they, Master Coterel?”

“They were knights. Men in surcotes of different colors. But I do not know their names or houses.”

“What did they look like, then?”

“There were three of them. One had blond hair down to his shoulders and a scar crossing his cheek. He was the one who spoke to me, s-slapped me.”

Anabel was right and Jack had been right to question them. If only he’d gone about it better.

“I have an idea where they might be. Are you well enough for me to leave you, Master Coterel?”

“I will go with you!” He snapped to his feet, but his legs wobbled and he fell back to his chair again.

“No, you won’t. Stay here. I will go.”

“But Master Crispin! My daughter…”

“Trust me on this, Master Coterel.” Crispin bowed and quickly took his leave. When he had stepped outside, he raced down the lane and out the gate before anyone could stop and question him. Gutter Lane. He had to get to Gutter Lane. If the knights favored that particular stable to carry out their illicit proceedings, then he would find her there. If they favored it.

And then what? He was still a man alone against three knights.

Well, he’d had worse odds.

It took some time to get to Gutter Lane and Crispin slowed to a halt near the crossroads of Gutter Lane and West Cheap, breathing hard. Peering around the corner, he was relieved to see three horses tied to posts outside the stable. The street seemed fairly deserted. Up the lane stood the Boar’s Tusk and men were coming and going from the tavern, but no one he knew, no one he could trust. In the end, he didn’t want to involve anyone who might get injured. And there wasn’t time to get the sheriffs.

He pulled his dagger and headed for the door. Leaning in, he listened. His eyes scanned the dingy walls, their plaster now gray from mud, hay dust, and dirt. Shadows moved, circled. Anabel was tied with her back to a post, standing in a shaft of murky sunlight. A purple bruise puffed her cheek directly below her left eye.

A furious rage suddenly broiled in Crispin’s chest, and his senses roared with renewed vitality. He slipped away and carefully circled the stable, looking for another way in. A small door near the back afforded an entrance. He pulled it open soundlessly. Creeping along the walls, he drew as close as he dared.

It was them, the same men who had harassed Jack. The one with the lank blond hair and scar pushed his face close to Anabel’s. With lips tight, she turned away, but he grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. He smiled, and then made a slow perusal down her body. There was no mistaking his intent. “Wench, this will go very badly for you unless you tell me now.

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