attempt to speak, or plead his innocence, or bow his head, or sob, or shiver. His green eyes, remarkably like the dancer's, blazed with defiance.
Aye, this one was definitely trouble.
In the shadowed darkness, Villeaux looked no more than fifteen. His freckled face held a boyish innocence, yet his quick gaze proved him older than a boy. As Fane curled his fingers around a horizontal bar, Villeaux's manacled wrists, barely visible below his soiled tunic sleeves, jerked, and his hands fisted. His spine went rigid. Fane smothered a chuckle. So. The boy had plenty of pride to accompany his foolishness.
The cold metal chilled Fane's hands. He waited. He would not be the first to look away. Uncertainty crept into Villeaux's intelligent eyes before his face contorted into a scowl. Blowing matted brown hair from his brow, he took a step forward. Then another. Iron links dragged on the dirt floor. He reached his fetters' limits, and the chains snapped taut.
A memory shot into Fane's mind. Once, he had been a chained prisoner facing his Saracen captors from the other side of the bars. He shoved away the unsettling thought. He would not draw flawed parallels between his imprisonment and Villeaux's . He would not sympathize with a traitor.
The boy hissed through his teeth. "Are you Linford?"
"I am High Sheriff Linford," Fane said in a brusque voice. "You will address me with respect, Lord Villeaux."
The lad snorted in disgust. "Release me."
Annoyance pricked, yet Fane stifled the emotion. For now. "I cannot let you go. You were caught in a clandestine meeting conspiring with fellow traitors."
"I am no traitor."
"Is that so?" Reaching under his tunic's hem, Fane withdrew a thin, rolled parchment tucked into the belt of his hose. He unfurled the skin. Trapping opposite corners between his fingers, he held it against the bars. "Recognize this document? It lists men who have pledged to overthrow the crown. Here, near the bottom. Your signature."
Sweat glistened on Villeaux's forehead. Beneath a tangle of hair, his eyes turned cold. "How did you find —"
"I have my sources."
Villeaux's mouth tightened. "What do you want from me?"
Ah. The crux of the matter. "For a start, I expect you to cooperate with the guards. I expect you to answer my questions to the full extent of your knowledge, and to provide the names of every other traitor participating in these plots against the crown."
"Then you will free me?"
"Then we will discuss your punishment."
The boy's eyes flared, as though he found the statement insulting. Then, tipping back his head, he laughed. The insolent sound grated down Fane's spine.
"I see naught amusing in your predicament."
Villeaux's lips eased into a mocking grin. "Do you know the full extent of my late father's influence, Sheriff? He belonged to King Richard's innermost circle of loyal friends and advisors. He personally knew the king's ministers —"
"Your father is dead. A most unfortunate loss."
Anguish clouded the lad's gaze. Jerking his head to one side, he stared at the mildewed wall.
"You are unwise to provoke me, and foolish to waste your young life." Drawing away from the bars, Fane returned the missive to his belt. Anger charged his words. "Do you wish to stand trial in the King's Courts? To be beheaded? Tell me what I wish to know, and I may plead for leniency."
"Burn in hell, bastard."
Fane laughed and smoothed the front of his tunic. "Very well. Do as you will, but I urge you to at least consider the consequences." Dropping his voice to a rasp, he added, "Not just for yourself."
Villeaux's head whipped around. "What do you mean?"
Moisture glinted in his eyes. Tears of humiliation? Regret? Mayhap he was not as immune to persuasion as Fane had first thought. ' Twould be a pity for one so bright and full of potential to be condemned to death.
Choosing his words with care, Fane said, "I am told you recently inherited a large estate. Many villeins and lords depend upon you for leadership.
Aye, this one was definitely trouble.
In the shadowed darkness, Villeaux looked no more than fifteen. His freckled face held a boyish innocence, yet his quick gaze proved him older than a boy. As Fane curled his fingers around a horizontal bar, Villeaux's manacled wrists, barely visible below his soiled tunic sleeves, jerked, and his hands fisted. His spine went rigid. Fane smothered a chuckle. So. The boy had plenty of pride to accompany his foolishness.
The cold metal chilled Fane's hands. He waited. He would not be the first to look away. Uncertainty crept into Villeaux's intelligent eyes before his face contorted into a scowl. Blowing matted brown hair from his brow, he took a step forward. Then another. Iron links dragged on the dirt floor. He reached his fetters' limits, and the chains snapped taut.
A memory shot into Fane's mind. Once, he had been a chained prisoner facing his Saracen captors from the other side of the bars. He shoved away the unsettling thought. He would not draw flawed parallels between his imprisonment and Villeaux's . He would not sympathize with a traitor.
The boy hissed through his teeth. "Are you Linford?"
"I am High Sheriff Linford," Fane said in a brusque voice. "You will address me with respect, Lord Villeaux."
The lad snorted in disgust. "Release me."
Annoyance pricked, yet Fane stifled the emotion. For now. "I cannot let you go. You were caught in a clandestine meeting conspiring with fellow traitors."
"I am no traitor."
"Is that so?" Reaching under his tunic's hem, Fane withdrew a thin, rolled parchment tucked into the belt of his hose. He unfurled the skin. Trapping opposite corners between his fingers, he held it against the bars. "Recognize this document? It lists men who have pledged to overthrow the crown. Here, near the bottom. Your signature."
Sweat glistened on Villeaux's forehead. Beneath a tangle of hair, his eyes turned cold. "How did you find —"
"I have my sources."
Villeaux's mouth tightened. "What do you want from me?"
Ah. The crux of the matter. "For a start, I expect you to cooperate with the guards. I expect you to answer my questions to the full extent of your knowledge, and to provide the names of every other traitor participating in these plots against the crown."
"Then you will free me?"
"Then we will discuss your punishment."
The boy's eyes flared, as though he found the statement insulting. Then, tipping back his head, he laughed. The insolent sound grated down Fane's spine.
"I see naught amusing in your predicament."
Villeaux's lips eased into a mocking grin. "Do you know the full extent of my late father's influence, Sheriff? He belonged to King Richard's innermost circle of loyal friends and advisors. He personally knew the king's ministers —"
"Your father is dead. A most unfortunate loss."
Anguish clouded the lad's gaze. Jerking his head to one side, he stared at the mildewed wall.
"You are unwise to provoke me, and foolish to waste your young life." Drawing away from the bars, Fane returned the missive to his belt. Anger charged his words. "Do you wish to stand trial in the King's Courts? To be beheaded? Tell me what I wish to know, and I may plead for leniency."
"Burn in hell, bastard."
Fane laughed and smoothed the front of his tunic. "Very well. Do as you will, but I urge you to at least consider the consequences." Dropping his voice to a rasp, he added, "Not just for yourself."
Villeaux's head whipped around. "What do you mean?"
Moisture glinted in his eyes. Tears of humiliation? Regret? Mayhap he was not as immune to persuasion as Fane had first thought. ' Twould be a pity for one so bright and full of potential to be condemned to death.
Choosing his words with care, Fane said, "I am told you recently inherited a large estate. Many villeins and lords depend upon you for leadership.
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