LaBarque’s claret was doing an admirable job of calming the jittery weakness that had washed through his legs in the aftermath of the assassination attempt. Gods of the deep places, he had nearly been killed by his own countrymen! He expelled a shaky breath and helped himself to another long swallow. Better. Easy, he warned himself. Don’t want to be pie-eyed when they come to hear your charges. Not relishing a visit to the lockup cheek-by-jowl with LaBarque, Tristan had instructed his guard to send the law clerks to hear him right on the premises. He straightened up at the sound of hurried footsteps in the hall. That was fast, he thought. But instead of the liveried clerks he expected, Red barged through the door, followed closely by Normand. “You again! I thought I told you to clear off.” The man fell extravagantly to his knees. “M’ Lord. Sire. Forgive me. I only just thought of it. I should’ve said earlier but it fair slipped my mind and...” “What?” demanded Tristan, alert now.
