Thomas swore—short, specific and with great feeling, bringing raised eyebrows from nearly everyone in the room save the sheriff, who looked entirely unmoved. “And that means you are going to do what?”
“I’m going to face the magistrate,” said Thomas, still seething. “I’m not serving the bishop.”
“Because you believe he had Timothy killed?”
It was a good enough reason, Thomas thought, and a much easier one to explain. “Aye.”
“And you think he was trying to have Ailbe killed as well.”
“Aye.”
The sheriff sighed, took a pull on his beer. “Unfortunately, the three that could prove it are all dead.”
“We only killed two of them,” said Thomas.
“So you said,” agreed the sheriff. “The bishop seemed to think you stabbed the last one in the back.”
“I was too busy fighting for my life, at the t
