There was a long silence, then the sound of slow movement inside the wagon. The door opened a crack. Timothy peered out at them then opened the door wide. Even in the dim light of the torches he looked pale and shaky. He leaned against the door frame, his breath ragged.
“Are you all right?” asked Eileen.
“Aye, I am.” He scanned the clearing before stepping out of the wagon. “I can’t say as I’m liking your village folk too much, though.”
“They weren’t from our village,” said George. “I’d have recognized them.”
“Maybe they were bandits,” suggested Eileen. “Though there’s not been a bandit around here for twenty years.”
“Maybe they’re with the bishop,” said Thomas. “They said they were going to take you to ‘his Grace.’ ”
“The bishop has no reason to want the likes of me.” Timothy’s word
