Crispin eyed the blade again, feeling himself at a distinct disadvantage with no sword and the use of only one arm. “What is your intention, Miles?”
Miles whipped the blade through the space between them. The steel sang in the cold air. “Cut you down to size, perhaps. And pray, what is yours?”
This time, Crispin’s smile was wide. “To beat the shit out of you.”
Miles flicked a dismissive eyelash at Jack and directed his gaze again to Crispin’s bandaged arm and sling. He laughed. “With what?”
“With this.” Before Miles could react, Crispin kicked Miles’s sword hand with all his might. The sword flew across the room.
A surge of hot blood pumped through Crispin’s chest. That had gone better than he hoped.
Miles shook out his gloved hand and looked back at the now distant sword. “Damn you, Guest!”
But Crispin wasn’t done. He slammed his foot to Miles’s kneecap, and the archer went down. Without hesitating, Crispin threw a kick into Miles’s chest. A whoosh of air expelled from the archer’s lungs and he folded, legs splayed.
Crispin panted and stood over him. “Well now. Maybe you will tell me—”
Miles’s fist arced upward and caught Crispin in the gut. Crispin stumbled back a few steps, his good arm pressed to his belly. Miles tried to rise but his buckled knee would not allow him. Instead, he half-limped, half-slid across the floor like a beached whale. He pulled his dagger free.
Crispin gasped, looked up, and saw the knife. He yanked out his own and slashed at Miles. Miles jerked back.
Crispin’s mouth set grimly and he jumped away from Miles’s blade and instead caught the side of the archer’s head with his boot. Miles fell forward and the dagger skidded free across the floor. Jack scrambled to retrieve it and held it aloft, aiming it toward Miles.
Miles leaned on his arms and heaved his shoulders, sucking in air. Blood rimmed his lips and plastered the hair on the side of his head where Crispin kicked him.
Crispin looked down at him, satisfied he’d done sufficient damage. He turned to Jack. “Go get the duke’s men.”
“Right, sir!” Jack saluted with Miles’s dagger, turned on his heel, and ran, feet slapping hard on the floor.
Crispin faced Miles. “Now, you turd. I have a few questions for you.”
“Go to Hell, Guest.”
“I’ve already been there. And I will soon see you there. Save your breath and keep your lying to a minimum. I know all about your association with Lancaster.”
Miles snapped up his head, eyes wide. He slid his jaw but said nothing. A trickle of blood painted a crimson line down his chin.
“Yes, I know. Tell me why you stole those arrows. Trying to make it look as if Lancaster were guilty?”
“Enough, then! I stole the goddamned arrows. But that was seven years ago. You didn’t think I was going to go to France without some proof of Lancaster’s involvement, did you?”
“He could have killed you. He should have.”
“No, instead he exiled me.”
“With money enough to set you up well, I imagine.”
“That was all very well—for a while. But a man gets a hunger for his homeland. So I joined the king’s army.”
“As an archer.”
“Yes, as an archer.”
“And you used that skill for treason, trying to kill the king.”
“No, damn you! How many times must I say?”
“Why do you lie now? You are a dead man already. Lancaster’s men will be here soon. Torture will extract the rest.”
Miles’s brows winged outward. Sweat dotted his face and trickled down. “I tell you I did not try to kill the king. It is impossible.”
“Not for the likes of you. You are a deceiver, an extortionist, a murderer. There is no honor in you. There is nothing but evil and death, and that is what you shall receive.”
Miles tried to rise but Crispin used his foot to kick him back down. “Stay on the ground where you belong, dog!”
“I tell you it is impossible! I did not try to shoot the king!”
“And why is that so impossible?”
Miles grimaced. He glanced back toward the archway where Lancaster’s men would soon emerge. His face shone with sweat, his tunic equally dark with perspiration. Breath trembling, he looked up at Crispin and locked eyes with him. “This is why.” He raised his gloved hand to his face and grasped the leather fingers with his teeth and yanked off one gauntlet and then the other. He tossed the gauntlets at Crispin’s feet.
Crispin looked.
Miles had only a thumb and two small fingers on each hand. The forefingers and middle fingers had been hewn off.
26
“THEY CAPTURED ME,” RASPED Miles. “The damned French. And they did what they do to all captured English archers: They made certain I could never use a bow again. And I can’t. Satisfied?”
Crispin stared at the gloves. Yes, he saw it now. Some of the gloves’ fingers were artfully stuffed so that no one would be the wiser. And if Miles kept his gloves on at all times, as he had, no one would know. No one did.
Crispin kicked the gloves toward Miles, but Miles ignored them. “So, you did not use the bow yourself. You hired someone.”
“No.”
“Then how do those French couriers know you? Don’t deny it. I already know they do.”
Trapped. Miles knew it. Crispin saw it on his face. And it was only a matter of time before Lancaster’s men arrived. Miles glanced again at the empty archway.
“The more you tell me now, the less torture you will endure.”
Miles rubbed his hand over his lips, those misshapen fingers. “After . . . after my capture, I used my wiles to work my way into the French court. That’s where Lancaster’s funds made their mark. I could live well on English coins and also be in the French king’s employ.”
“You are the fourth man.”
His lips snarled and he shook his head. “You are very cunning, Guest. How did you know?”
“Their companion never reappeared. When they saw you they were surprised, perhaps not expecting to see you here. I simply put two and two together. But a question remains. Why did you force the couriers to meet you at the King’s Head? If you are so innocent, why were you plotting? Who told you to bring them there?”
“I was to warn them.” He looked uneasy, scraping his bottom lip with his teeth. “They were to delay going to court.”
“To give the assassin time to work his will.”
He continued to chew on his lip. His eyes darted to the archway. Without raising his head to Crispin, he nodded.
