A Spy for the Redeemer by Candace Robb

to follow him once he was outside. He bade the Welsh servant a goodnight in his own tongue and stepped out into a cold, wind-driven rain. It quickly woke him from his heavy-lidded, swollen-headed state. Blinking rapidly, he pulled his hood over his head and leaned into the storm. Then paused. Beneath the dripping eaves, he sensed more than saw a familiar shadow to his right. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered, joining Iolo, ‘we are followed.’
    They were out of the lantern light when the first guard appeared, squinting into the wet night. The man looked this way and that, muttering to himself. Owen could not hear him above the wind and the rain.
    ‘How many?’ Iolo whispered.
    ‘Two.’
    The second one appeared, quickly understood that they had lost their man. The two began to argue.
    ‘Shall we fall upon them?’ Iolo asked.
    ‘To what purpose? Let us rather fall behind them.’
    *
    It was late and most of the guests lodged in the great hall were already settling in for the night. Owen and Iolo shrugged out of their wet cloaks and picked their way to the fire circle in the centre of the room to spread out the cloaks and dry out a bit before finding their pallets. Folk made room for them, whether because of their dripping condition or their grim faces, Owen could not guess. Sam must have been watching for them. He picked his way through the drowsy crowd, bearing a full wineskin.
    Iolo grabbed it and drank greedily. His wet tunic hung unevenly and his leggings sagged at the ankles. His thinning hair looked even thinner slicked back, making his bony face and pale eyes almost sinister. Just how long had he stood beneath those eaves, Owen wondered. He shook his head when Iolo handed him the skin. ‘I have had my fill of that for one night. Some feverfew in warm water would suit me better.’
    Sam slumped with disappointment. ‘I do not know where I might find such a drink.’
    ‘The water is all I need,’ said Owen. When Sam had gone off in search of water, Owen turned to Iolo. ‘You were foolish to follow me this evening – you must have a care not to hurt your chances for a post in this city.’
    ‘I have other plans for my future. You can use a shadow. I am coming to York with you.’
    ‘When did you decide this?’
    ‘Today. Though it has been much on my mind.’
    ‘Ah. York is no paradise. Bitter cold in winter. The city is crowded and stinks of man and beast.’
    ‘I have been to London. It cannot be worse than that.’
    ‘Colder.’
    Iolo looked unimpressed.
    ‘Iolo, you honour me with your offer. But you are young. You can make a life for yourself here, in your own country.’
    ‘I am decided.’
    How had Owen inspired such loyalty in the young man? For young he was, despite the chiselled planes of his face and his well-honed skills. ‘In York you would always be a stranger, as I am. If nothing else, our manner of speech sets us apart. I know. And so I warn you.’
    ‘I have been among the English,’ Iolo reminded him. ‘I know what it is like.’
    ‘But it was only for a time. You always knew that. Look how quickly you stepped forward for our mission, eager for the chance to come home. What happened?’
    ‘I found an honourable man to serve.’
    Fortunate man, to think so. And a great burden to Owen to prove so. ‘But you wished to return to Wales.’
    ‘I was under orders from the bishop to return at my first opportunity, though not before making note of all I could about the duke’s household.’
    Iolo could do well in the service of the ambitious Adam de Houghton. Owen had no doubt that this bishopric was not the loftiest position Houghton would attain. ‘Did he wish you to continue in his service?’
    ‘If it so pleased me.’ Iolo raked phantom hair back with a long-fingered hand.
    ‘And you would give this up to serve me?’
    ‘I would. And gladly. You need me. I wish to serve you.’
    Owen could certainly use him here. And sometimes in York, when Thoresby involved him in troublesome