Page 66 of Paladin's Faith

Shane fell into step behind her. Probably safer back there. Less chance of being blinded by cleavage.

“Break a leg,” called Wren. “Or…err…whatever you say in these circumstances.”

Marguerite could think of at least a dozen options, most of them filthy. Sadly, Shane did not seem like the right audience. If I turned and said, “Sprain a pelvis,” I’m afraid he might faint.

Oh, well. At least I keep myself entertained.

Hopefully I can keep the Baron entertained long enough to knock him out, too.

She pulled her cloak more tightly around herself and, paladin in tow, went to do her job.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Shane stared around the Baron’s outer chambers. It was not a place he’d expected to be. It was not a place he particularly wanted to be.

The room was not large. Even a baron did not rate much space within the fortress. Maltrevor merited several chairs and a small desk scattered with papers. There was an even smaller desk, almost a lectern, wedged in the corner, presumably for a personal secretary to take notes. The secretary did not rate one of the chairs, which were arranged around the desk for the Baron and any guests he might entertain.

Assuming, of course, that he was not entertaining them in the bedroom itself.

Shane closed his eyes. It had taken a lifetime of discipline not to intervene when Marguerite had greeted the Baron, her voice low and throaty with feigned desire. Maltrevor had pulled her hard against him, making her gasp, and Shane had taken an involuntary step forward.

“Don’t mind him,” she said, shooting Shane a sharp look. “All muscle, no sense. He’ll be staying out here.”

The Baron narrowed his eyes. He was not a complete fool, and doubtless he recognized that Shane could have chopped him in half without even breathing hard. “Why is he tagging along after you anyway?”

She stroked her fingers down the side of Maltrevor’s jaw. “When you see what I’m wearing under this cloak, you won’t wonder. The halls are safe, but not that safe.”

The Baron’s nostrils flared. The door slammed behind them and Shane was left alone in the tiny antechamber.

Marguerite’s orders filled his head. He welcomed them, because otherwise he would have to listen to the noises from the next room, and he could not think of anything he wanted less.

Pick up each letter, read it, then place it back exactly where you found it. Test each drawer, quietly. If it does not open, do not rattle it and certainly do not force it. I will look everything over myself, but it will go much more quickly if you can tell me what is and is not a waste of time.

Rifling through a stranger’s mail did not come naturally to him, but he steeled himself to the task. Marguerite was sacrificing a great deal for the mission, and he was not going to let that sacrifice go to waste.

The door to the main chamber creaked. Shane had not yet touched the papers, and was damned glad of it when a manservant poked his head around the corner. “The master’ll be a bit,” the man said in an undertone. “We’ve a game going, if you want to join us.”

Shane shook his head. “Not good at cards,” he said gruffly.

“No?”

One of the side effects of being handsome was that people assumed you couldn’t be very bright. Shane leaned into it. “Can’t keep the numbers straight. Always lose.”

“You sure? We’ll spot you ten points.”

And then proceed to fleece the ignorant swordsman for all he’s worth. Shane shook his head again. “Milady said to stay here, in case she calls for me.”

The manservant’s eyes flickered to the door. “Have a care you don’t interrupt the master, then. Even if she screams.”

Shane’s gut turned over, but he only grunted. Grunts were useful that way. The servant closed the door and Shane heard muffled voices from the next room, and then another muffled voice from the room behind him. It sounded like the Baron.

The papers. The only things that mattered right now were the papers on Maltrevor’s desk.

He scanned the first one, moved it aside, and scanned the one beneath it, then replaced the first one exactly where he’d found it. Invitations to dine with other nobles. Probably not important, but how would he know for certain? He scanned the next one, and the next, gleaning nothing more useful than the Baron’s schedule for the next few days. There were no convenient letters stating, “Ashes Magnus has arrived at this address, and requests that you forward their mail.”

Laughter on the other side of the door. Shane tested the drawers, holding his breath. Only one opened, and it contained nothing more exciting than writing equipment: quill and pen-knife, inkstone and blotter. He lifted the blotter, but did not find any letters tucked behind it.

He checked the lectern. It held a stack of papers, which was briefly exciting until he realized that they all said the exact same thing—“His Lordship Baron Maltrevor is pleased to accept your invitation.” The secretary had clearly saved time by writing them up in advance, so that Maltrevor could grab one, sign it, and pass it to a page. Shane tucked one of the acceptances into his surcoat, on the off chance that it might come in handy. Perhaps I will learn to think like a spy yet.