by Lynn Kurland
“Robin, nay!” she exclaimed, frantically trying to cover herself with her arms as she heard the bed curtains snap back and his feet hit the floor. “You vowed you would not look—”
“That was until I saw this!” he exclaimed, his footsteps approaching rapidly. “Lean up, Anne.”
“Oh, Robin, please,” she begged. “Please leave me in peace.”
He was silent for some time and she might have thought him returned to his place if it hadn’t been for the little mutters he was making under his breath. And then he cleared his throat.
“Anne, you’re bruised terribly.”
She felt his fingers trail over her upper back, then his hand stopped.
“I did this yesterday, didn’t I?”
“Of course you did!”
“The rest of you is likely just as bruised, isn’t it?”
“If I say aye, will you go?”
He was silent for so long, she almost turned to look at him to see what he was thinking. She could hear him shift hesitantly.
“Should I, um, wash your hair?” he asked gruffly. “As my penance?”
“Nay. I’ll manage.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I know,” she said, wishing mightily that he would choose a more opportune time to beg her pardon. “Now, will you please go? Make your penance later.”
“I fear I was too frightened yesterday for gentleness.”
Anne gritted her teeth. By the saints, she was naked in her bath and he was continuing to carry on as if they’d been strolling in the garden!
“Anne, did I break anything, do you think? Do your ribs pain you? By the saints, your leg!” He reached around and put his hand on her bare knee. “’Tis no wonder you’re stiff—”
“Robin!” she shrieked. “Get away from me!”
“Anne, I was just trying to help—”
“I’m naked, you fool!”
He jerked his hand back instantly. “Of course.”
“Go back to bed,” she commanded.
He immediately padded back over to the bed.
“Close the bed curtains,” she commanded.
He got back onto the bed and jerked the curtains closed.
“Don’t open them.”
His sigh likely came close to blowing the curtains from their moorings.
“Promise?” she prompted.
“Aye!”
Well, at least he was shouting at her again instead of trying to tend her. Anne waited until Robin had stopped shifting on the bed, then quickly washed her hair and bathed.
And then she merely sat in the water and let it ease the stiffness from her. She hadn’t been at all sure of the practice before her wounding, but Gwen had put her into so many tubs of hot water over the months following that she’d acquired a taste for it.
It was agony to lift the buckets of rinse water, but she wasn’t about to ask Robin for help. It was bad enough that he had seen what she hadn’t been able to cover with her hair and arms. Not only had Robin seen, he’d touched!
She wondered if such a thing might count as a loss of virtue.
She dressed quickly, then sat down in front of the fire on a stool to comb out her hair. She heard Robin rustle about the chamber, but she didn’t look at him. She didn’t dare. By the saints, he’d seen parts of her that no one had in years!
Before long, she felt his hand on her back.
“The men come to take out the tub. Nick is bringing us something to eat.”
Anne nodded and didn’t look at the lads who came to take away the remains of her bath. She could only speculate about what their glances would say now. Best not to know.
“Surviving the lion’s den?”
Anne looked up at the sound of Nicholas’s voice. He stood next to her, looking much improved from the day before.
“We haven’t killed each other yet,” she said with a smile.
“Anne,” Nicholas began, “you needn’t stay here if you don’t wish it—”
“She stays and you go,” Robin growled, taking hold of Nicholas by the back of his tunic. “See that the garrisons are put to bed.”
“And just what is it you plan to do this eve?” Nicholas asked.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he propelled Nicholas toward the door. “We’ll find some way to amuse ourselves.”
“Keep your hands off her.”
“Leaving me free to put them on you repeatedly if you don’t cease with your babbling. Go protect the babes.”
Anne listened to the door shut and then looked up at Robin as he came back to the fire. “You needn’t stay—”
“If you wish me to go, I will,” he said briskly.
But he wasn’t moving.
And neither was she.
She could easily remember the feeling of his arms around her and the tenderness with which he had touched her hair. She took a deep breath. No sense in not keeping her part of the truce.
“Stay,” she said, “if you like. I won’t argue with you.”
“For once,” he grumbled. He picked her up, stool and all, and moved her closer to the fire. “You’ll chill.”
Well, perhaps it wasn’t as gallantly spoken as Nicholas might have done it. Anne couldn’t deny that it was chivalry all the same.
Robin’s interpretation of it, of course.
And as she watched him mutter under his breath as he laid their supper out, she couldn’t help a small smile. Mayhap he grumbled about her, but then again, perhaps not. All she knew was that they were little grumbles she was growing accustomed to and had begun to look on with a small bit of fondness.
Perhaps there was hope for them after all.
20
It was well into the next morning that Robin found himself lingering at the lord’s table in the great hall. He stared blindly into the distance. Another day gone by and he was no closer to solving his mystery. He had looked over the lads carefully in the lists that morning, searching for the slightest hesitation when meeting his eyes, or the slightest shifting uncomfortably when he spoke to them.
There had been nothing.
Not even Baldwin had flinched when Robin had glared at him. He’d received his customary sneer in return, but no offer to cross blades. Robin had watched Sedgwick train and suspected that the fury behind it had to do with a desire to redeem himself from his previous humiliation at Robin’s hands. Robin couldn’t have been happier about it.
How lovely it was to be the victor for a change in that fight.
But no one else had looked at him askance. His own men, he trusted. Nicholas’s lads, which were only a handful anyway, were equally as known to Robin, and there was surely no murderer amongst them.
That left only his father’s men as possibilities, and Robin had methodically dispatched them that morn in hand-to-hand combat and found not a one of them either lacking in skill or moving about in a suspicious manner. Sir Edward had been interrogated and released from the dungeon when Robin had determined his innocence. It had left the knight free, but Robin without a culprit.
He was beginning to wonder if he might not be unequal to the task of unraveling the tangle.
Of course some of that trouble he could certainly lay at Anne’s feet. Who could have possibly foreseen that holding her in his arms could have worked such a foul work upon his good sense? He could remember with perfect clarity the very moment she had ceased to fight him and had come willingly into his poor embrace. He’d felt a peace descend upon him softly and surely until it reached into his heart and stilled all but his gentlest feelings.
Had he not liked it so much, it likely would have frightened him witless.
But what had frightened him had been the sight of her bruises. He had hurt her badly; he could only hope she knew how deeply he regretted having had to do the like. He was only grateful he’d seen the mishap coming. And that led him back to wondering just what foul fiend had Anne in his sights. Or was it Anne? Surely an assassin couldn’t have been so inept to have been targeting him,
yet managing to find Anne each time.
He rubbed his eyes suddenly with the heels of his hands and rose. He would accomplish nothing by just sitting and stewing. ’Twas a sure sign of his muddled state that he’d even been caught doing the like. But perhaps he could be forgiven it, given the day he’d had.
Of course, it might have begun more pleasantly if he hadn’t been suffering from another miserable night’s half-sleep in the chair. He’d retreated to the lists at dawn only to find them a mud pit that even a sow wouldn’t find to her liking. If the lists had been unpleasant, his return to the keep had been even more so. He’d been assaulted by his father’s steward immediately upon his return to the hall, even before he could snatch a morning meal. That had taken far longer than he’d wished, but he’d had no choice but to make decisions about foodstuffs and the like. And if that hadn’t been trouble enough, he’d heard himself agreeing to take on his father’s court of justice tasks.
Though now that he’d had a chance to sit and think for a bit, he could see that overseeing such a thing might prove to be very interesting. Perhaps there was some soul aggrieved enough to think to punish them all by hurting Anne. Aye, that would be worth a day’s time.
But now all he wanted to do was seek a bit of peace and quiet. His siblings were above and likely needing a report from him, but after he had finished with them, he would see if Anne wasn’t amenable to spending the rest of the afternoon in his sire’s solar. She was likely growing weary of the bedchamber.
He made his way upstairs and walked quietly down the passageway. The guards were at their posts, though they looked less than happy to see him. A sense of foreboding immediately assailed him.
“What?” he demanded as he neared them. “Is my family within?”
“Aye,” one of the guards said hesitantly. “Most of them.”
Robin threw open the door before the man could say more. After all, it was their responsibility to keep murderers from entering. He hadn’t instructed them to forbid anyone from leaving.
It took him but a moment to ascertain that everyone was within—except Nicholas and Anne.
“I’ll kill him,” Robin growled. He looked at Miles. “You couldn’t stop him?”
“Anne wanted to go,” Miles said.
Amanda rose, gathered up a handful of cloth, and shoved it at Robin. “Take this to her.”
Robin yelped as he grabbed hold of a fistful of needle. “Saints, wench, what are you trying to slay me with?”
“Believe me, brother, if I were trying to slay you, I wouldn’t limit myself to a paltry needle.”
Robin started to glare at her, then he caught the look on her face. Her heart wasn’t in her slander and Robin felt an unaccustomed sense of fondness for his sister. He frowned anyway, though, so she wouldn’t see it. There was no telling what she might do with the knowledge of such a weakness.
“She wanted to go?” he asked.
Amanda shrugged with a sigh. “She was restless and Nicky offered to take her to Father’s solar. He thought it was safe enough.”
Miles came to stand next to Amanda. He put his arm around her and smiled faintly at Robin. “If you want my opinion, I think she wanted to look for you.”
“Though why she’d want that is a mystery to all rational souls,” Amanda added.
Robin scowled. Well, at least Amanda hadn’t completely lost herself amongst those foreign feelings of kindness she’d been having toward him. That was somewhat reassuring.
“Oh, Amanda,” Miles said, giving her a slight shake, “you are a cruel wench.”
“And you’re a mindless twit,” Amanda said, turning a frown on her younger brother. “What know you of what Anne wants?”
“I have eyes,” Miles said placidly. “A woman does not spend a goodly part of her time watching the door if she isn’t waiting for a man to come through it.”
“She could have been waiting for a meal,” Amanda said tartly.
“You have not a shred of romance in your soul,” Miles returned with a bit of a laugh.
“No time for it,” Amanda said. She looked at Robin. “Well? What are you standing there gaping at? Off with you and seek out your lady before Nicholas escapes with her.”
“Right,” Robin growled, then turned and left the chamber. He looked at his guards. “No one enters or leaves without my permission. Use your blades if necessary, especially on my sister Amanda.”
He received four fervent nods, though he could tell that at least one man was having second thoughts about the last. Even Robin would concede that his sister was beautiful. Perhaps they could prod her where it wouldn’t mar her face.
He made his way quickly down to his father’s solar, then burst inside. That the door wasn’t bolted only increased his ire.
But just as a torrent of words were about to gush from his mouth, the scene before him and the possible significance of it reached his poor, overworked mind.
Nicholas was sitting in one of their father’s chairs, reading some manuscript or another. Robin couldn’t have cared less which one it was, or even that his brother was doing something so useful with his time. What struck him immediately was that Anne was not sitting in his brother’s lap. Nor was she sitting in the chair next to him. Robin’s relief was followed immediately by concern that she wasn’t where she should have been.
And then he spotted her in the alcove, sitting on one of the benches there and looking out the window. He would have chastised her for sitting in such a perilous place, but even he had to admit that since the solar was on the second floor, it was unlikely that she would be harmed with anything put through the window. And she looked so contemplative that he couldn’t begrudge her her post.
But he could begrudge Nicholas the company. He caught his brother’s eye and motioned to the door.
“I’m comfortable here,” Nicholas said.
“You’ll be less so very shortly if you don’t go,” Robin informed him. “Get out.”
Nicholas sighed, returned the manuscript to its trunk, and left, without further comment or protest.
That seen to, Robin bolted the door and then turned to Anne. She hadn’t turned to look at him and that made him nervous. He cursed under his breath as he threw her sewing into a chair, snatched up a blanket, and crossed over to her. Apparently she hadn’t the good sense to keep warm, else she would have been sitting next to the fire. ’Twas a wonder she had survived as long as she had without him looking after her.
He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, sat down next to her, then hesitated. Casting caution and his pride to the wind, he gently slid his fingers under her hair and pulled it free of the blanket.
“Why are you sitting here in the chill?” he asked, his voice rough despite his efforts to gentle it.
“I love the rain,” she said, still not looking at him. “It softens things so, don’t you think?”
He snorted. “Try sleeping out in it for weeks at a time and see how you feel about it.”
She looked at him over her shoulder and smiled faintly. “Always the sensible one.”
“Always the dreamer,” he returned.
She shrugged, turning back to her contemplation of the garden below her. “Life is easier thusly.”
He sucked on his teeth, wondering what to say now. The first foray into conversation hadn’t gone exactly as he would have liked. There was certainly no warm welcome for him in her words. Had he imagined the cessation of war between them the night before?
And why had Miles thought she had gone seeking him? She had likely been hiding from him. Well, best to know now, before he was disappointed later.
“I left you in the bedchamber” he began.
“I was restless.”
“And your life meant so little to you that you couldn’t endure a bit of that in exchange for safety?”
“I took Nicky with me.”
“And how was he to save you? Talk your assailant to death?”
She did turn then and to his surprise, Robin found
her smiling at him. “He can wield a sword, Robin. Surely not as well as you can, but he isn’t past all hope.”
Robin grunted. “Then you haven’t been watching him in the lists of late, if that is what you believe.”
“Oh, Robin,” she said with a shake of her head.
Robin rubbed his arms. “Could we seek out the fire, at least? ’Tis bloody cold here.”
She shook her head. “Let me look out a bit longer, if you please.”
He sighed. “As you will.” But he rose and fetched her another blanket. No sense in not saving her from herself. He returned and laid it over her legs.
“Thank you,” she said.
“It was nothing I wouldn’t do—”
“—for your mount, I know,” she finished.
“What a stubborn baggage you are, and I was going to say ’Twas nothing I wouldn’t do for my sister.” Or for you, he added silently.
“She would no doubt appreciate it, as do I. Here, come take your mind off the matter. See you the mist yonder?” she asked, pointing over the castle walls.
“Aye.”
“Don’t you find it beautiful?” she asked. “’Tis full of all manner of ghostly shapes, don’t you think?”
Robin knew she had turned her head to look at him, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the scene before him. By the saints, he wished he could see nothing but promise in that drizzle. Unfortunately, the sight struck him so strongly with a memory, he couldn’t pull himself away from it.
“Will you know what I see?” he asked slowly, not intending it as a question. “I see Coyners in France in October, two years past. I see bloody ground before me and the mist obscuring the fallen men around me. I hear the screams of my fellows and of the enemy, screams of the horses, battle cries echoing in the air.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, finding himself hesitating to say more.
And then he felt a hand come to rest atop his. He took a deep breath and continued on.
“I taste fear in my mouth, I smell blood and death about me, I hear the whistles of arrows and blades. The rain soaks me to the skin, chills me, makes the ground beneath me slippery and treacherous.” He smiled bitterly. “I killed a score of men that day, in the rain, and watched the drizzle wash away their blood from my sword and my clothes.”