Insurrection: Renegade [02] by Robyn Young

the table. ‘We have salmon and boar. And Ned has a pitcher of Gascony wine that’s fit for a king.’
    As Stephen leaned in, Robert could smell the tang of ale on his breath. ‘Have Earl Richard’s guests all arrived?’ he asked, picking up one of the silver knives that had been set beside the plate of boar meat. Next to the knives were linen cloths for them to wipe the grease from their hands.
    Ned had moved around the table, close to Cormac, and was pouring the wine.
    ‘Oh, indeed, the revelry is well under way in the great hall.’ Stephen chuckled. ‘I think it will be a late night.’ He inclined his head. ‘Enjoy your meal, Sir Robert.’
    ‘Bank the fire before you go, Stephen,’ Robert said, digging out a sliver of meat with the knife and sliding it on to his plate.
    ‘Of course.’
    As Stephen crossed to the hearth and crouched over the basket of logs, Robert met Cormac’s gaze.
    His foster-brother moved quickly, while Ned still had hold of the jug and goblet. Snaking an arm around the spotty youth’s throat, Cormac brought the knife he had grabbed from the table up to his face. ‘Cry out and I’ll stick this in your eye,’ he breathed in the man’s ear.
    In two strides, Robert was across the chamber, knife in one hand, linen cloth in the other. Stephen, thrusting logs into the embers of the hearth, was still talking jovially, as Robert ducked down beside him, poking the tip into his fleshy side. ‘Do as I say.’
    Stephen froze, a log gripped in his hand. His eyes moved from Robert’s face to the knife that was pushing into him.
    ‘Tie this around your mouth,’ Robert ordered, handing him the linen cloth. ‘Tightly.’
    Lowering the log, Stephen took the folded cloth with shaking hands. Drawing the material over his mouth, he secured it in a knot at the back. Over at the table, Cormac was instructing Ned to do the same.
    ‘Now move.’ Robert didn’t allow the knife to falter as he ushered the gagged servant to the table. ‘Sit. Both of you.’ When they had done as bid, Robert motioned to Cormac, who hastened to his bed and snatched back the cover, revealing a twisted length of material. It was his sheet, torn and knotted for the purpose that afternoon. Robert crouched in front of the servants. He kept his knife poised over them, but it was clear neither man was going to struggle. They were terrified. A thin line of snot trickled from Ned’s nose.
    Cormac looped the knotted length of material around both men’s wrists, securing them to each other and then to the table leg. It wouldn’t hold them for long, but it wasn’t designed to. Robert just wanted to make certain he and his foster-brother wouldn’t be overpowered as they left the chamber. He took a log from the basket and made for the door. Cormac followed, the knife in his hand.
    Robert rapped on the wood three times: Stephen’s customary signal. The door opened and one of the guards appeared, grinning at something the other had just said. His expression sobered instantly when he saw them. Robert didn’t give him a chance to react, ramming the rough end of the log into the guard’s face. As the man staggered backwards, Cormac ducked under Robert’s arm and out through the door, swiping at the second guard. The dinner knife was a feeble weapon, but it served to shock and disorient the man as it scratched across his face, causing him to throw his arms up to defend himself. As he did so, Cormac grasped the man’s sword and pulled it from its scabbard. The guard Robert had struck with the log had reeled with the impact into the wall, cracking his head on the stone. With blood pouring from his mouth and nose, he tried to fend Robert off. He was no match. Robert disarmed him swiftly, tossing the log aside as he dragged the man’s sword free. ‘Get in,’ he growled, grabbing a fistful of the wounded guard’s surcoat and hauling him into the chamber.
    ‘Sir Richard will have your balls for this,’ spat the other.
    Cormac