James had been quiet, but now he shifted his weight, indicating he had something to say. “Going to the sheriff would be dangerous. But intervening ourselves could be even trickier.”
Will gestured to James. “You see? The friar knows. If I wanted to stick my neck out for an unlovable tyrant, I could have stayed in Brittany and fought for my father.”
“Is this the thing that splits us up, Will?” I asked. “That you won’t trouble yourself to stop a man from being killed?”
“That man? No. I won’t trouble myself.” He walked over to Little John’s side of the fire and sat, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Maybe you should take your theory to Captain Guilbert. I’m sure he’ll be happy to listen to your suspicions while he recovers from you shooting him. After all, he’s in service to Prince John, so it’s his job to protect him. Not yours, not John’s, and especially not mine.”
I kept waiting for him to tell me he was kidding, but he just laced his fingers and put them behind his head.
“Little John?” I asked.
He met my eyes briefly. “I’m sorry, Rob. The sheriff put my boy on the chopping block. I’m with Will.”
I felt ill, and not from my empty stomach. It came from anxiety and pain and my heart squeezing until my insides flipped over.
If I was supposed to be Robin Hood, could I do that without my merry men?
I had to try. Even if my morals weren’t anti-murder in the first place, there was the “Don’t Change History” protocol to abide by. The decision was clear. If I let Prince John get killed before he became King John, God only knew if I’d have a home to go home to.
The question of how to stop the assassination was not as clear-cut. There were just over twenty-four hours to figure it out.
We knew—or, at least, everything pointed to the possibility—that someone planned to kill Prince John while Nottingham Castle was open for the feast. If the specifics had ever been in the message, they’d been lost when the scroll got wet. Brother Thaddeus, the pigeon friar, was one conspirator, but maybe his role had been played out and someone else would take over. Or maybe since I’d shot down his messenger pigeon, nothing would happen tomorrow.
But I couldn’t risk it with at least eight centuries of history riding on that.
James, Much, and I left Will and John at the camp and headed toward Nottingham, cutting through the greenwood and avoiding the highway. Just like old times, except I was on my own horse, and Much was as glum as I’d ever seen him. I felt the same, splitting up from Will and John, but kept focused on the big picture.
“Maybe we should talk to Guilbert,” I said, ducking under a tree limb before it could knock me off the saddle. “And by ‘we,’ I mean someone who didn’t shoot him with an arrow. He’d take you seriously, James.”
James gave me a doubtful look over his shoulder. “Perhaps. But we also crossed swords the last time we met.”
“Look”—it seemed perfectly reasonable to me, which didn’t mean it was right—“we all have the same goal here. The sheriff, the sheriff’s soldiers—”
“Do we?” James reined in as we reached a clearing where we could turn the horses and face each other. “I will contact Henry. I feel reasonably certain he won’t try to cut me down before I tell him what little we know. But even if we could warn the castle or the prince’s guard, you’re no more willing to delegate this than I am. And you are the only person who can recognize this Thaddeus fellow.”
“Which means I need to be inside the castle tomorrow.”
James nodded. “I can use my family connections to attend the festivities. But you are an outlaw, and there are more than a few people, besides the conspirator, who will recognize you.”
The answer was obvious, at least to me. “Not as a woman. At least, no one will be looking for me dressed as one. So I need to find a dress shop.”
“Would either you or I know what to ask a tailor for in the way of fashionable female clothing?” James asked.
“Good point.”
“What you need is Isabel’s help. And, if we’re very lucky, the help of her godmother.”
—
Dressed in a fur-lined robe of lustrous indigo silk, the dowager queen received me—just me, not James, not Isabel—in her solarium. As I explained about the messenger pigeon and the cipher, her brows went higher and higher, and her face grew darker and darker.
“This is an incredible story, Mistress Hudson,” she said. “And from someone who has been a great deal of trouble to lawful agents of the crown. Why should I believe you?”
Oh, so many reasons, few of which I could actually tell her. I sat on an extremely uncomfortable needlepoint stool low enough that I had to look up at Queen Eleanor, even with her lounging on a chaise. “Everyone in Nottingham knows that I think His Highness’s taxes are unfair and that I support King Richard. So why would I lie?”
She leaned back on her couch and thought about it. “Why indeed. Well, it hurts nothing to be on guard. What do you ask in return for this information?”
“I need to attend the feast tomorrow so that I can keep a watch for this Brother Thaddeus. I would recognize him if I saw him again.”
Steepling her fingers, she studied me thoughtfully. “I will save time and tell you what you want—entrée into Nottingham Castle as Eleanor Hudson. Although, obviously, you will require some transformation. Isabel will enjoy assisting with that.” She reached for her cup of wine. “We shall start, I think, with a bath. My ladies-in-waiting will not thank me for letting you join them in your current condition.”
When I wrote that book report in the second grade, never in a million years would I have thought Eleanor of Aquitaine would have occasion to tell me that I smelled. My mother was going to die from embarrassment when I told her.
Maybe I would keep the information to myself. All I wanted was to have to make that decision.
—
I wasn’t going to lie. A full hot bath was almost reward enough for foiling an assassination attempt. There was soap—hard soap, as James had called it—and I washed my hair and scrubbed my skin until I was pink. That was the great part. Then there was a lot of pinning and plucking and primping. I had to be instructed on how to put on the dress that Isabel picked out for me. It was a steep learning curve, even more so than with the sword fighting.
After James and Much had left me at the queen’s estate, I had no way to contact them before the prince’s festivities the next day. At dawn on Saint Egbert’s day, half the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, plus Isabel and myself, transported her essential baggage to the royal apartments on the top floor of Nottingham Castle. It was torture, and I felt like I’d paid for the pleasure of my hot bath with frustration.
“There’s little you would have been able to do before this in any case,” said Isabel, once we excused ourselves from the queen’s attendance—which was as soon as we could without raising suspicion. “The festivities are only just starting. Now you’ll be able to move among the guests as planned.”
I eyed a guard as Isabel and I passed him in the corridor on the way to the stairs that led down to the great hall. The guard had given us a glance, but not a suspicious one. Isabel had been pretty as a nun; as a young lady she was beautiful in a blue gown that followed her figure and showed a bit of her neck. The sleeves draped from her elbows, revealing a red silk underdress. Awfully racy for a nun.
My dress was similar, except green. It was weird to have a shape again. My short hair was covered by a princess-y veil. One of the ladies had tried to cover my face with some powder that would probably give me lead poisoning, so I refused it. Besides, I liked my freckles.
Isabel linked my arm in hers, like a leash to keep me from walking too fast. “Decorum,” she said warningly in my ear. “Try not to stride like you’re crossing a tournament field.”
I wished I were, because then I’d have my bow. I felt naked without it. Worse, I felt helpless without it.
I tried to take in every detail on our way
. There was another soldier posted at the top of the circular stairs, and I waited until we passed to say, “Tell me if anything looks unusual or out of place.” I wouldn’t know what was normal otherwise.
“I haven’t been inside the castle since John’s last visit.” Isabel’s expression turned sour. “Given that I was ordered to a nunnery, I take no pleasure in holding on to the details.”
That was understandable. At the next landing there was another guard, who acknowledged us with a stone-faced nod. We’d reached the main levels of the keep. The great hall encompassed most of the ground floor, except for a sort of antechamber that connected the big outer doors with the big hall doors, all of which stood open. Out on the grounds were activities for all the townspeople, like a fair, with games and music and an archery tournament I wasn’t dumb enough to be lured into. Inside were all the nobles and the top-tier landowners. Both spaces were full of people and smells and music and chaos. I couldn’t pick out anybody in this mess.
“Ellie,” said Isabel under her breath, “you’re stopping the flow of blood to my hand.”
“I’m sorry.” I should have entered the castle disguised as a page or even a soldier. Why had I thought coming in a dress, unarmed, was a good idea?
Oh yeah. I was a wanted man.
But as we walked into the hall, the liveried guards stationed at the doors didn’t even glance at us. “You see?” Isabel said. “All is well.”
The hall was two stories high, with a gallery that circled the room on the second floor. Musicians played there; on the main level, tables had been pushed back for dancing, though no one was. Warm air came in through the high, narrow windows, and daylight fell on the dais at the far end of the room.
Seated on the throne, sitting upright as nobles approached and paid their respects, was Prince John. The party flowed toward him, keeping the prince at the center of everything.
His clothes were gorgeous—blue silk and heavy gold embroidery and a lot of jewelry—the designer fashion of the day. His looks, though, weren’t exactly impressive. His hair was long, his face was long, his nose was really long. He wasn’t ugly, but he looked unpleasant. The most distinctive thing about him was his expression. He had the kind of eyes that were always looking for a fault or an insult.
Eleanor of Aquitaine sat slightly behind him and to his left on a smaller throne. Her back was straight, her hands in her lap, and her disdain directed at the prince’s rowdy friends. They were raucously drinking wine from large cups, like this was a medieval fraternity kegger. They must be the hunting party, I was betting.
The sheriff circulated among the nobles, who only talked to him if they had to. I could pick out the knights with their coats of arms on their tunics, and there were clergy in fancy robes—including the bishop of Leeds. My heart nearly stopped when he looked right at me, but his attention moved on with no sign of recognition, probably because his eyes never got any higher than my chest.
Another advantage of disguising myself in a dress.
There were a large number of guards. The ones wearing the prince’s colors were up by the dais. Nottingham soldiers were stationed at intervals around the great hall, and archers were positioned along the gallery. “Is this a normal amount of guards for a royal visit?” I murmured to Isabel. “I don’t know if James even talked to Henry, let alone persuaded him the prince was in danger.”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she said.
I followed her nod and there was James, wearing civilian clothes, blue and black, with what must be his family crest. The Templar outfit was a lot more badass, but also a lot more conspicuous.
He reached us and bowed to Isabel. “M’lady,” he said, with the same familiar affection I’d heard him use before. “You look more colorful than I’ve seen you since my return. It suits you.”
Isabel smiled, showing her dimples. Knowing what I did about their relationship—or rather the expectations of them—I watched her closely. She had a bit of a blush, and when she spoke, there was obvious pleasure in his compliment. “Thank you, Sir James. I can say the same for you.”
I didn’t point out that blue and black weren’t exactly challenging the rainbow. That combination didn’t come close to the peacock colors a lot of the nobles were wearing.
James glanced around, frowning slightly. “Is Eleanor not with you?” he asked.
Isabel blinked at him. “She’s right here, James.”
I deliberately didn’t say anything as he looked at me, then recognized me, and then visibly reordered his thoughts. “I—oh…um.”
Well, that was incredibly satisfying.
“Oh dear,” Isabel sighed, on a completely different subject. “The prince has spotted me. I must go pay my respects.”
I turned away from a still-flummoxed James and looked toward the thrones. Prince John watched Isabel and James with sharp eyes. Queen Eleanor watched us closely, too, though her expression was unreadable.
“You’d better come,” Isabel told James. “You too, Eleanor.”
“Me?” I squeaked. “The last thing I want to do is attract the prince’s attention.”
James finally found something to say to me. “It will be worse if you don’t go. He’s the type to note who slights him.”
Of course he would.
“Just follow us and curtsy like you practiced,” said Isabel.
“And don’t speak more than absolutely necessary,” added James.
For once I wasn’t insulted by the advice. James offered Isabel his arm, she laid her hand on his forearm, and they passed through the crowd on the way to the royal dais. I fell in behind them, then moved to Isabel’s side when we reached the throne. I made a low curtsy the way Isabel had shown me, and managed to not fall over. Success.
The prince rose from his seat and went to Isabel, lifting her from her curtsy by her hand and kissing both cheeks. “Dear Isabel! How well you look in that color, in any color, but brown.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said. Prince John hadn’t so much as glanced at James or me, but Isabel performed introductions. “My childhood friend, Sir James.” She didn’t stint on his titles. In fact, she seemed to know them pretty well. Then she indicated me. “And this is a distant cousin on my mother’s side.”
James had called it. The prince gave us both a perfunctory glance, then returned his attention to Isabel and offered her his arm. “What a lovely tune this is, and yet no one is dancing. Shall we change that, my lady?”
She laid her hand atop his without missing a beat, and they went to the center of the room. Before I let myself breathe, I looked up at Queen Eleanor, who nodded to me, then to James, dismissing us both with a look that was saying something…but I couldn’t interpret what. I just knew that when James offered me his arm like he had Isabel, I felt like more of a poacher than I ever had shooting partridges.
We moved to a spot where we could observe the people watching the prince, and I finally inhaled. Neither of us spoke while more pairs joined the dance. They formed two rows, men in one, women in the other. There was bowing and turning and weaving in and out, and I was sure a whole pattern went by before James said, “You look different.”
I let out a loud, surprised laugh, then toned it down. “Obviously,” I said.
A glance at him showed a flush rising on his tanned face. “Your hair is covered,” he explained. I let that pass without comment. “And you’ve…you’re more…” I let him flounder until he came up with “womanly.”
With superhuman effort, I kept a straight face as I looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Were you this observant on the battlefield, Sir James? Because I am in awe, really.”
He turned to me sharply, but unbent a bit when he saw I was joking. His rueful expression made it impossible not to grin. “You should allow me some latitude. I have not been around ladies in a while.”
“You did fine with Isabel,” I pointed out. “And she’s very womanly.”
“Yes, but I’ve known her my whole life.
”
Someone from the fraternity hunting party jostled me a step closer to James, and I didn’t immediately back up. “But you’re supposed to marry her.”
He turned back to watch the room, especially the dancers. The musicians had finished one song and were starting another. “You of all people should know that ‘supposed to’ doesn’t mean ‘will.’ ”
I watched his profile for a moment longer. “So you’re going to keep doing penance as a poor friar in the middle of nowhere? Isn’t that a waste?”
His gaze slanted my way, for about the same amount of time I’d studied him. “No one would suspect a humble cleric of being the conscience of the notorious bandit Robin Hood. Perhaps that’s my godly calling.”
It was my turn to look away. Because I didn’t know what to do with that. I was going home. Which didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a Robin Hood to follow me, who would need a Friar Tuck to keep him in line. Picturing it was more painful than it should have been. Thank God something on the dance floor needed attention.
“Isabel seems in need of rescue,” I said. Immediately alert, James looked for her. She wasn’t in mortal danger, exactly. But a new dance set was forming, and she was about to be shanghaied into partnering with one of the very drunk fraternity brothers. “Go,” I said, when James glanced at me.
He went to see to the damsel, and I got back to what I was supposed to be doing, which was keeping a watch out for assassins. Just a little thing.
Nearby, the fraternity hunting party kept drinking, and a bunch of women gathered just behind me talked about raising children or cattle or both. In the far corner were the guys at the company picnic who would a hundred times rather be on the golf course if the boss weren’t there taking notes on who ducked out early.
Someone approached from my left, stopping just behind my shoulder. “It’s a good thing I’m no assassin,” said Captain Guilbert.
“Yes, it is,” I answered without turning. “Because I usually am armed with something sharp, as you well know.”
There was a weighted pause, then he said, lower and much closer to my ear, “Yes, but where would you hide your bow in that gown.”
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