and spiraled down, swirling in the dim ray of light not two feet from Sybilla.
“’Tis a poor excuse for a barn, Simon,” he called across his shoulder, his deep voice resonating bravado. “But it keeps out the wind, and given that we’ve lost our horses, it matters not.”
“Hell to the devil, Guy. Hamon set us up. Those men were his soldiers, not common thieves. They waited for us and ’twas more than just our horses they meant to take. You should have finished off the one you pinned, not given quarter. Do you have to be so bloody noble?”
The tall knight ignored the comment and leaned across the stall boards. “Hah! There is actually a beast in here.” He offered up his open palm and clucked. “Old girl, would you like some company tonight?” He patted Addy’s neck while the foal, trembling on his spindly legs, took a few cautious steps and sniffed at the intruder.
The tall knight chuckled and let the foal lick his glove. “This one’s just hit the ground. Within the hour I expect.” He squatted and peered between the stall boards. “God’s teeth, Simon. Look at it! Four white socks and born in Cornbury. It’s him. My horse. Marked just like Morna said he would be.”
Simon squinted. “Blessed saints. Would you look at that?”
The foal nickered, flagged his tail and stared, unblinking, at the knights.
The tall knight stood and faced his friend. “I am not a superstitious man, but I do believe I have found my horse, the one who will help me on my quest.”
Sybilla’s breath caught in her chest. Her colt? His quest?
Simon grunted. “You of all people should know you cannot trust the Lady Morna. The colt’s got a white blaze down his forehead, like she said he would, but marked with four white feet, every horseman from here to France knows he won’t amount to much. You know that too, but you’ve had too much to drink.”
Sir Guy frowned. “Or Hamon’s robber-man-at-arms knocked me silly.” He rubbed his swollen cheek and studied the foal.
The wicked lump beneath his eye was so prominent it was visible even in the shadows.
Sir Guy spun around and slapped Simon on the back. “But I have a feeling about this colt. A feeling that I did not get with any of the others. This one is The One.”
Simon furrowed his brow. His small eyes darted ’round the barn as if he sensed they were not alone. “You said that about the Lady Constance, and Mary Tanner, and the butcher’s daughter, too. Proving that you cannot recognize a decent woman…or decent horseflesh either. This wobbly-legged farm colt is not The One. His rump is higher than his withers and his ears curl like a lady’s slippers. Now let’s bed down afore the sheriff finds us. He’ll be looking for the man who stole Lord Hamon’s emerald.”
Sir Guy scowled. “You know I didn’t pinch Hamon’s necklace. I am many things, but I am not a thief.”
Simon strode a few steps back to the barn door and looked through the crack, his gaze assessing. He spread his cloak out in the straw and laid down, but kept his sword at his side. “You are true and honest, and I know you are no thief. But Hamon is a rich nobleman and we are both poor knights. He considers men like you and me just one step above the peasants. He was looking for a fight and it didn’t help that you groped his sister. Bloody all, Guy, why do you provoke him? The rift between you two will never end.”
Sir Guy stabbed his sword upright in the soft dirt floor. “I am falsely accused. I’ve never groped a woman, any woman. Certainly not the Lady Avelina. She’s the spiteful type. I refused her advances and she got angry. ’Twas she who stole the emerald.”
Simon rose to his elbows. “Why do dangerous women always seem to find you? You can spot a man who plots against the king when no one else suspects. Why can’t you can tell the difference between a woman you can trust and one you cannot?”
Sir Guy surveyed the dark barn while he spoke to his friend. “I may miss my mark with the fairer sex, but not with horses…” He pulled his sword from the dirt and pointed the weapon at the colt. “This colt is The One. I’ll have a horse with four white socks when I avenge my sister’s and my nephew’s murderers. Morna said so.”
Simon spoke, his voice tense. “Morna isn’t always right. You’ve searched for months now, and the killer’s trail has gone cold. Guy, give it up.”
“Never. Especially, not now that I’ve found my horse. This horse was meant to be mine.”
Sybilla nearly sprang from her hiding place. Sir Guy was talking about Regalo as if he owned him.
The wind howled and a shutter beat against the barn.
Simon jumped up from his resting place, his weapon drawn. He raised his face to the rafters and searched the darkness above. “Let’s move on. This place is not safe, and that colt is strange, not magic…”
Guy shook his head. “We stay. His magic has yet to be revealed. If I’d had more coin to pay Morna, she would have told me what it was.”
Simon snatched his cloak from the floor and flung the garment round his shoulders. “Mayhap she told you all she knew. Now let’s go. I’d rather brave the wind than stay here. Hamon’s men will find us if we don’t keep moving.”
Guy thrust his sword into a round of brown hay leaning against the wall. Dust swirled around him. “Then let them find us. I feel like fighting. When Hamon and his men stumbled into the inn, I could not resist his challenge.” He drew his sword back and held it high over his head. “He weighted his dice. I did not run the cheat through on the spot because we were outnumbered. I will stay the night with the colt. I will fight Lord Hamon and his men should they find us, I will…”
Simon swore. He flung his cloak back down. “God’s feet, you’re as stubborn as a boar. ’Twill be a frost in hell before I go out drinking and gaming with you again.”
Sir Guy swung the blade tip ’round to point at the foal. “Imagine, Simon. Imagine being born to greatness in a barn as poor as this one, to a swaybacked mare too long in tooth to live another winter, and with no one to witness the event but the pigeons in the rafters.”
Simon crossed himself, but kept one eye on the barn door. “Jesú, forgive him. He knows not what he says. He hasn’t been the same since you took his sister and his little nephew.”
Guy scowled. “’Twasn’t God who took them, Simon. ’Twas a man. I intend to find him.” He leaned across the railings, and scratched the foal on the rump. “You will never lack for anything, from this day forward, my fine young steed. If it’s oats and barley cake you want, you will have them. If you want a saddlecloth of silk, you shall have it. There are wrongs I must set right and deaths to be avenged. You are destined to help me.”
Sybilla’s blood boiled. God’s teeth, the man presumed too much.
The wind stopped for a moment, and all was silent, but Simon stood on guard, his jaw muscles tight, his fist wrapped around his sword hilt. “Then I’ll take first watch. You get some rest and figure out how you can pay to keep the colt for the next three years or until he’s big enough to ride. By then you could be dead, given that you fight like a man who doesn’t care much if he wins or loses, or lives or dies.”
Guy clenched his sword hilt, his voice low and resolute. “The man who killed Roselynn and my
