The man’s eyes widened. “What? Yer kidding, right?”
The other bandits burst into laughter.
Sigvald didn’t laugh. He stood on the other side of the fire and watched, unemotional, with his arms crossed over his chest. The firelight glinted on his bald head.
His eyes met Johanna’s. They were cold, calculating. She feared that he knew exactly who she and Roald were. If he came regularly to the towns on the Rede River, he might know the Lady Sara or the Brouwer Company flag. He would certainly recognise the marks of the Saarlander royal family, and if not . . . the bandits only needed to search their prisoners, and they would find the ring on the chain around Johanna’s neck, and they would find the Carmine crest on Roald’s underclothes.
Roald said, “I was only going to protect you from that
