“It’s more than enough,” his companion rasped.
“You must release us,” Beryl said from behind, and Padraig turned his head slightly to look at her. He hoped she could read the expression on his face. “Should he not receive attention immediately, he’ll die. I demandyou let us go.”
The bandits paid her no heed at all, the masked thief gesturing to those remaining in the circle with a wave of the dangerousend of the bow.
A short, plump man with straight, dark hair worn in the old style cut around his forehead slung his bow over his shoulder and stepped from the perimeter. He opened the flap of the leather satchel he wore across his considerable girth, his long robe flapping with each step of his approach. His face appeared jolly and flushed as he drew near Padraig, not at all like the countenance of a bloodthirsty brigand.
“Good day, fine sir,” the man said, beaming up at Padraig. He held the open satchel toward him. “Almsfor the poor?”
Padraig frowned down at the strange man. It appeared as though he had shaved off his eyebrows.
“We’re building a children’s home,” he confided with a wink and a proud grin.
“You are not!” Lord Hood shouted in disgust.
The man turned an offended expression toward Edwin Hood. “I say we are!”
“Thieves, the lot of you,” the nobleman rejoined.
The robber looked back at Padraig and shook the bag for emphasis. “It’s to have a cockhorse. I built it myself.” He waggled the skin where his eyebrows should have been. “Real horse hair.”
“I’ve nae coin,” Padraig said. “And even if I did, I’d nae give it to you.”
“No need to be ashamed of your poverty, my Scottish friend,” the robber assured him. “I’ll take your sword, in lieu. The poor little orphans need playthings as well, you know.”
“That sword is property of the king’s army,”Lucan objected.
The masked bandit had aimed and fired the bow before Lucan could finish, the arrow striking through his boot, pinning his foot to the forest floor. Lucan let out a cry of agony and bent to clutch at the arrow, while Padraig knelt to his aid.
The round man swept in and pulled Padraig’s sword from its sheath. “Stinginess is definitely not next to godliness,” he sniffed in disapproval as he moved on to Lucan, cutting his fine black leather purse from his belt even as the knight grasped at the arrow piercing his foot.
Padraig quickly snapped the shaft of the arrow—it was thin and finely made and broke cleanly, thank God—and then grasped Lucan’s calf just above the ankle and yanked his foot upward, dislodging it from its anchor as Lucan gave a guttural shout.
The faux friar bowed. “I thank you, sir. And the children thank you.” He moved out of the periphery of Padraig’s vision toward the trees behind them. “Alms for the poor, gentle sir? We’re building a children’s home. Ah, thank you. So generous.”
“Help me,” Lord Paget gasped, reaching up his hand toward the apparent leader of the group and his masked underling. But he could not support the weight of it, and so his arm fell back to the leaves as the man began to sob silently, descending into choking coughs. Blood speckled hislips and chin.
Padraig looked over his shoulder toward Beryl. He knew she had nothing to give the thief, and his anger increased as he watched her undo the pretty ribbon holding back her coils of hair and drop it in the man’s open satchel.
“You’re scum,” Padraig accused. “None of us have done aught to deserve such injury.”
The red-headed man smirked. “Were I you, I’d be cautious, throwing my lot in with the likes of this innocent.” He nudged Adolphus Paget’s shoulder roughly with the toe of his boot. “His riches are made from the sale of slaves. Young slaves. Girls, stolen away. Lads as well. Isn’t that so, Adolphus?” He crouched down suddenly so as to look into the nobleman’s anguished expression, upside down to him.
Lord Paget’s only response was his rattling breaths.
Beryl’s voice rang out. “What do you mean?” she insisted.“Stolen away?”
Bolstered against Padraig’s arm, Lucan tensed further and sounded as though he spoke through his teeth. “Is that an excuse you use to ease your conscience? Your band has terrorized this land for years—it’s unsafe for any traveler, not only those with coin.”
The man retrieved his bow and rose, continuing to stare at them with his hard smirk. “We’re only taking back what was taken from us.” He used one long arm to indicate the band standing ready at the perimeter of the clearing. “All of us here have been robbed of something by these thieving nobles. As you well know,Montague.”
“I’ve taken nothing from you,” Padraig said, and again he was struck by the idea that Lucan was so well known in Northumberland—evenunto thieves.
The masked accomplice suddenly touched the man’s biceps to gain his attention and then gesturedtoward Padraig.
“That may be true, my Scots friend,” the man allowed. “You’re no servant, and yet you’re part of Hargrave’s hunting party.” He looked Padraig up and down. “Not dressedquitewell enough to be noble—certainly no appreciable fortune to your name. Perhaps you are better offone of us, no?”
“Don’t answer him anything,” Lucanadvised grimly.
