Nottingham

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Nottingham Page 7

by Anna Burke


  Or suffocate.

  At the top of the hill stood a circle of ancient standing stones, green with moss and lichen, no taller than her hip. Walking through them raised the hairs on her arms. There was something about these particular stones that felt oddly sentient.

  A flicker of movement from below caught her gaze. She crouched behind one of the chestnut trees and squinted at the small figure approaching. When it did not get much larger as it grew closer, she knew it was Midge.

  “I got lost,” Midge said, sinking to the ground when she reached the top of the hill. “I told my mother I went to visit Gwyneth, though, so if I don’t make it back tonight she won’t worry.”

  Robyn found she couldn’t bring herself to ask after her sister-in-law.

  “I brought more arrows, like you asked. And ale and some pie the baker sent over when he heard that you, well, you know.”

  “I can’t eat my own funeral pie.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll eat it. Everybody else is too upset to eat. But I did carry it all this way.”

  “I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant.” An unpleasant silence fell between them. “She will hate you for this, Robyn.”

  Robyn dropped her head to her knees and willed the world to stop spinning around her. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I saw Cedric. He wouldn’t meet my eye, and he looked like he’d been crying, so you don’t have to worry about him anymore, I reckon. My mum’s a wreck. You better hope she never finds out you’re still alive, because she’ll give you a slower death than a hangman’s noose. She practically whipped me for bringing her the news in the first place and told me I was mistaken, which was almost funny, seeing as you are still alive after all. All of them were crying. It was awful. I have half a mind to stay out here with you.”

  “You can’t.”

  “That’s the other thing. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do, ever again.” She pulled out a hand pie and bit into it. “You’ve lost all moral authority.”

  “Midge . . .”

  “Don’t ‘Midge’ me. I feel like shit, and it’s your fault. Figured out what you’re going to do yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “So what have you been doing?”

  Robyn contemplated telling Midge that she’d spent the better part of the last two days asleep under a log, then thought better of it. “Laying low.”

  “Got any meat?”

  Robyn produced three pheasants and two plump rabbits, which Midge shoved into the sack she’d just emptied.

  “Have you chosen a place to camp?”

  “I found a log.”

  Midge closed her eyes. “A log?”

  “I didn’t want to get lost either,” Robyn said in her own defense. “I wanted to find my way back here to meet you.”

  “Well, you’ve met me now.”

  The ugly silence fell again.

  “How . . . how did she take it?”

  “How do you think she took it, Robyn?” Midge fussed with the kerchief covering her curling hair and avoided Robyn’s eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have shot the deer.”

  “No,” Midge agreed. “You shouldn’t have, but you did. You can’t take an arrow back once you’ve loosed it. Isn’t that what your dad always said?”

  “Something like that.” She took the offered pie and forced herself to eat. “Midge, I don’t know what to do.” Saying it out loud brought an odd sort of relief.

  “I know you don’t.”

  Slanting sunlight cast long shadows behind the stones. Midge would have to stay here tonight, and Robyn didn’t bother trying to hide her gratitude as she watched the twilight settle over the forest around them.

  “Are there wolves nearby?” Midge asked as she followed Robyn’s gaze.

  “Probably.” Wolves hadn’t been at the fore of Robyn’s mind as she lay despondent in the leaf litter, but now that Midge was here, she eyed the darkening forest with apprehension. Wolves usually preferred sheep and deer to men. Usually, however, didn’t offer the same level of comfort beneath the trees as it did beside a warm hearth. “Fire would scare them off, but we’re too close to the river.”

  As if on cue, a distant howl shivered in the air.

  “What about a small fire?” Midge inched closer to Robyn. “We don’t know for sure if there are people out there, but now we definitely know there are wolves.”

  Robyn hesitated. Alone, she would have climbed a tree and done her best to sleep tied to a thick limb. She couldn’t risk Midge falling out of a tree, however, and so she relented despite her trepidations about Siward.

  “A small fire. But not up here. It’s too visible.”

  They climbed down the far side of the hill, putting the bulk of rock and earth between them and the river. Robyn chose a spot in the middle of a cluster of trees and began to claw at the dirt with her hands.

  “What are you doing?”

  “If we lay a fire in a hole it won’t be as visible.”

  Midge scrabbled a stone free from the roots of a nearby tree and knelt to help. The end result wasn’t very deep, but it was better than nothing, and they parted ways briefly to gather fallen wood. That, at least, was within the law. Robyn scanned the forest for signs of movement, animal or otherwise, but the only things she saw were a stoat about its business and a nervous rabbit returning late to its burrow.

  Their fire, meager though it was, kept the darkness and its attendant thoughts at bay. Neither of them spoke much. Robyn’s thoughts careened between guilt, despair, and relief, and back again. Midge kept her own counsel.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Robyn offered, laying her strung bow beside her.

  “Okay.” Midge made no move to lie down to sleep. “Will you promise me something?” Across the fire, her eyes loomed huge and dark in her young face.

  “What?”

  “Promise me you won’t disappear.”

  Robyn shifted where she sat and tried not to let Midge see the flash of guilt that had crossed her face. Disappearing would be easier for everyone. She couldn’t tell Gwyneth she was alive. She saw that now. It was too risky and too cruel. Better Robyn left her family to grieve and move on instead of worrying about her. Gwyneth would only blame herself if she knew Robyn had risked so much, and the thought was more than she could bear.

  “I’ll tell Gwyneth if you do.”

  Midge’s threat hit its target. “You can’t,” Robyn said, meeting her cousin’s eyes with horror.

  “Then don’t do anything stupid. Promise me.”

  A chunk of wood shifted in the fire pit, sending a shower of sparks up into the night air.

  “What do you want me to do, stay here forever?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t want to lose you.” Midge’s voice broke.

  “Fine. I promise.”

  The weight that settled over her as she said the words pressed her down into the earth at last, a bitter seed unwillingly planted.

  • • •

  Robyn scanned the stream bank several days after she escorted Midge home, fingering the quarterstaff she’d cut for herself. Her bow hung unstrung on her back. She’d found that otherwise it tangled with the undergrowth as she moved through the forest, impeding her progress and making more noise than was wise. She only strung it for hunting purposes now, or whenever she thought she heard the sounds of something larger than rabbit or deer moving toward her.

  This stream marked the outer boundary of the territory she’d explored so far. She kept her progress gradual, bordered always by a landmark she knew so that she did not become hopelessly lost. The exercise gave her purpose, and she’d even dared set up a series of snares, though this was risky. All a forester had to do was wait by her snares long enough to catch her checking them and she’d be dead again.

  The stream was just wide enough that she’d have to wade through it in order to cross, and too deep in places to cross comfortably. Centuries of spring floods had worn a small ravine b
etween the hills here, but a stout log lay over the water only a few paces from where she stood.

  Something about the log bothered her. It was too conveniently placed, and the trees on the far bank stood closely together. Anybody could watch the bridge from behind the scruffy branches of the squat pine, not that anyone in their right mind would be walking this deep in the woods.

  I don’t need to cross here, she told herself, but the thought seemed silly. There was no reason for anyone to lie in wait here when there were forest roads and paths that received more foot traffic than the occasional deer. She stepped out from behind her tree and set one foot on the log. It held, and she stared down past the mossy bark to the rocky streambed below. The fall would hurt if she slipped, but wouldn’t break anything. She tucked her staff under her arm and made it a few more feet across before a gruff voice stopped her mid-step.

  “No farther.”

  A burly man wearing a patched tunic beneath a stiff leather jerkin placed himself between her and the opposite bank. He too held a quarterstaff, and Robyn noticed with unease that his bore the scars of frequent use. She did not dare speak for fear of giving herself away, and so she waited for him to elaborate on his position, with sweat prickling her skin.

  “These woods are ruled by Siward Ironarm,” he said, and Robyn noted through the jolt of fear those words sent through her that the man’s head was shaved like a Dane: short on the sides and long on the top.

  “I thought these woods belonged to the king.” She pitched her voice low in an attempt to hide her sex, but it had been nearly a fortnight since she’d last spoken to another human. The words cracked like a boy’s.

  “These woods haven’t seen a king in half a century.”

  “And Siward, does he think himself a king?”

  The man laughed. It was not a wholly unpleasant sound, and something about it gave her the impression that he did not much care for Siward.

  “We’re rich in kings these days and poor in everything else. What’s your name, boy?”

  “My name is my own business.”

  “Fair enough. You’re not a forester.”

  “Neither are you,” she said.

  “Siward might have a place for a likely lad if you’re down on your luck and don’t mind kneeling in the dirt.”

  “I don’t need another king.”

  The man shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I’ll be taking you to him nonetheless. Can’t have you running off telling stories.”

  Robyn didn’t bother arguing. She turned to run, and it was only when she emerged, sputtering, from the cold water of the creek that she realized he’d flung his staff between her legs. Her own staff was nowhere in reach, and she wiped the hair out of her eyes as she struggled to free her bowstring from its pouch.

  “None of that, lad.” The big man landed in the shallows and sent a splash of water into her face as she staggered to her feet. Two staves twirled idly in his hands; one of them was hers.

  “You could just let me go,” Robyn said, backing away from him until the roots protruding from the bank dug into her spine.

  “I could,” he said, “but . . .” He trailed off, and Robyn followed his eyes down to her chest. Her wet tunic and half-laced jerkin clung to her breasts, leaving little to the imagination.

  “God’s toes,” he said. “You’re a bloody woman.” The big man dropped the staves. The motion was so deliberate that Robyn’s hand hesitated over the knife in her belt, though her heart still pounded. When she didn’t move or answer, he spared a glance over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. “You need to get out of here.”

  Robyn nodded and edged along the creek bed. The man spared another glance into the forest, cursed, then picked up both staves and followed her.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “What the hell are you doing out here? No, never mind. I don’t want to know. I’ll get you out of Siward’s territory, and then I’ll leave you be. Hurry up now.”

  Robyn’s boots slipped on the roots as she clambered up the bank, and she contemplated making a run for it. The man moved quickly, however, and so she accepted the proffered staff in silence. He set off back the way she had come. His boots were nearly soundless on the forest floor despite the water that dripped from his clothes. Robyn left a trail of puddles in her wake and her feet protested the sudden abuse of sodden leather with the promise of blisters.

  “Stay on this side of the River Maun,” he said, pausing twenty minutes later. “More foresters here, but trust me when I say you’d rather meet one of them than Siward’s boys.” He gave her a critical look. “And bind your chest for Christ’s sake.”

  “Thank you,” she said, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her breasts.

  “Don’t mention it.” He gave her a quick smile. “And I mean that. It’ll be my hide if you do.”

  “Why do you follow Siward then?” she asked as she wrung water out of her tunic. “You don’t seem overly fond of him.” And he’s a raping bastard, she added to herself. Antagonizing him didn’t seem like a wise idea, however, so she kept her simmering anger under wraps.

  “There’s safety in numbers out here, even if the company is filth.”

  Robyn thought about the days she’d spend in the forest, jumping at every breaking branch, and, though she hated the thought, understood why a decent person might settle for safety over morality if they grew hungry and scared enough.

  “You should go home, girl.”

  Robyn gave a short, humorless laugh. “Do you think I’d be here if I had anywhere else to go?”

  “Bind your chest and do something about your hair then if you want to live out the month.”

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “Too long.” He turned to leave, shaking his head, and Robyn placed two fingers on his wrist to stop him. The gesture seemed to surprise him. He froze, muscles cording beneath her touch, and Robyn pushed aside a sudden, vivid memory of Michael. Something about this man’s kindness reminded her of her brother.

  “You said there was safety in numbers,” she said, speaking quickly. “Are there others like Siward out here?”

  “A few.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s hard to say. There’s a small group a few miles south you’ll want to steer clear of, but they’ll leave you alone more likely than not. Siward’s the one to watch out for.”

  “I know,” she said, releasing her grip on the muscled forearm. “He’s robbed my uncle’s village four times in the past two years. Raped my cousin, too.” She turned to leave, not wanting to think about Mary, but the stranger spoke again.

  “Wait.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he appeared to weigh a decision in his mind. “Damnit,” he said. “My name’s John.”

  “Robyn.”

  “You’re going to die out here or worse, Robyn, unless I come with you. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

  “What about Siward?”

  “He won’t miss me.”

  “Why should I trust you?” Robyn crossed her arms and met the stranger’s brown eyes. “How do I know you aren’t just as bad as Siward?”

  John rolled his shoulders, then sighed. “Look closely,” he said.

  Robyn studied him in confusion. He had a square jaw and a crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken several times, and the muscles cording his neck and arms reminded her of Tom the blacksmith. Nothing about him revealed anything that made her feel much better.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  John looked over his shoulder before lifting his damp shirt.

  At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. A bandage was wrapped around his muscled torso, and his hairless stomach was just as chiseled as the rest of him.

  Bind your chest and do something about your hair, he’d said. She examined his face again. Dirt smeared his cheeks, making it impossible to tell if there was stubble on his chin, but a clean-shaven outlaw seemed improbable, somehow, even with his shaved head. Much easier to
just grow a beard. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, but it suddenly occurred to Robyn that what was pleasing about his face was the contrast between his broken nose and his youthful skin, skin that did not quite belong on a man of his size.

  “God’s nails,” she said, taking a step back. “You’re a woman, too.”

  “No,” John said. “I’m not. Call me John. That’s who I am. Forget it, as others have before you, and I’ll leave you to fend for yourself.”

  “But you . . .” she trailed off.

  “Look like an ox?”

  Robyn hadn’t been thinking of those words exactly, but the description fit. “As strong as one anyway,” she ventured.

  “That’s what my late husband called me. Joan the Ox.”

  “I . . . I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t be. I got the last word.”

  Robyn wondered exactly what had happened to Joan’s husband. John, she corrected herself. He’d said that was who he was, and it was no business of hers to decide otherwise.

  “Can you use that bow?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Out here you’ll need it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Marian knelt in Harcourt’s small chapel. The church was empty of people, and the only sounds were the bleating of a nearby flock of sheep and the fluttering of the swallows in the eaves. She breathed in the emptiness and tried to pray.

  Lord, please cleanse me of impure thoughts. No, that just made her think more of them. Emmeline’s lips. The way Willa’s body had arched against Alanna’s touch. She stared up at the cross and tried again. Merciful God, please let my father choose a different husband for me or let me join the church and serve you. A life of quiet contemplation, of prayers and gardening and sisterhood—that was what she wanted. It wouldn’t matter, then, if she thought of Willa’s blazing green eyes or the creamy swell of Emmeline’s breasts. Every day would be a penance. She’d be safe.

 

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