Madeline and Rhys spent precious hours winding a path back and forth around Moffat, trying to ensure that their destination appeared to be Carlisle when it was not. Rhys wanted to ensure that many souls saw them upon that road, and only when he was satisfied that there had been enough witnesses did he take to the concealed track that the farmer had mentioned.
“How do you know that he will not tell another what he told you?” Madeline demanded.
“He was drunken enough that he will be asleep himself by the time any other party catches up with him,” Rhys said grimly.
“And on the morrow?”
Rhys shrugged. “I doubt he will recall his own name, let alone the nameless mercenary who bought him ale.”
“How much ale did you buy for him?”
Rhys chuckled. “Enough to ensure as much, though he had an un
