drew Darian up to the wall walk. Though ’twas nigh on supper, the light fading fast, he had no trouble identifying the group of four men thundering toward the castle. “The earl!” Darian called to the gatekeepers, who immediately set chains and winches to motion to allow their lord’s entry. As they neared, Darian more clearly saw William of Ypres in the lead. With him were Armand and Marc— who, Darian imagined, might still be angry over the heated words they’d exchanged in the barracks the other morning—and Thomas, the eldest of the mercenaries, both in years and time in William’s service. King Stephen was supposed to have left for Walling-ford this morn. Earl William should have accompanied the king. Either there’d been a delay, or William bore news he wanted to deliver himself. Good or bad? Darian dashed for the stable and arrived as William dismounted. “What news?” “None of it good. What in the devil’s name did you do to vex Bishop Henry?” As far as Darian knew, the bishop didn’t need a reason for vexation at a Flemish mercenary.
