Sovereign's War
Page 30
“It’s my understanding that congratulations are in order for something else as well,” the king said, and Robin glanced at Marian, wondering what he was talking about.
She blushed. “I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you myself.”
He still didn’t understand.
“You’re going to be a father,” Richard boomed. “And I’m going to be a great-uncle!”
“What?” Robin turned to Marian, who smiled at him.
She nodded. “Surprise.”
Without warning he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as he struggled to take it in. A moment passed, and he remembered where they were. He let go of her, and they both turned and bowed to the king before stepping to the side, where Robin’s father was quick to embrace them both.
Richard spoke again. “Now, we have lost other nobles, including Lord Minter, Lord Staunton, and their families. We will need to find men of exceptional character, strength, and loyalty to take their place.” Eyes flicked around the room as many wondered who the king was talking about.
Robin smiled. He had an idea.
“First, I call upon Much, the miller’s son,” King Richard said.
Blood draining from his face, Much hastened forward, his look of bewilderment making Robin grin twice as hard. The young man practically fell to his knees, and King Richard knighted him. When he arose the look of shock on his face was wonderful.
“I don’t deserve this honor,” Much finally managed to say.
“On the contrary, I can think of none who deserve it more,” King Richard reassured him.
“Don’t worry, Lord Much,” Old Soldier said from close by. “I’ll help you run things until you get your feet.” Still wearing a look of shock, Much moved back to stand next to him.
“That might be a little difficult,” King Richard said with barely concealed humor. “Given that you are going to be busy running your own lands.”
“Sire?” Old Soldier asked with a puzzled frown.
“You heard me, you old scoundrel. Come forward.”
Obeying his king, Old Soldier went to stand before him, the frown replaced by a look of anxiety. “It’s not necessary, your Majesty,” he said. “Really…”
King Richard laughed. “You have the gall to offer me advice without my asking? Only a lord would take such liberties. Are you sure I haven’t knighted you already?”
Old Soldier flushed.
“Take a knee, old friend.”
The man sank slowly down and Robin stood a little straighter, eager to hear what his name really was, after all these years. All around him many did the same as Richard spoke again.
“—and in light of the fact that you have forsaken all other names, I shall give you a new one,” he said. “Rise, Lord Stalwart.”
Robin let out a little grunt of disappointment. Hearing it, Philemon clapped him on the back.
“Don’t worry. I don’t know it either,” he said with uncommon warmth in his voice. “Then again I’m learning that it’s not who a man started out as, but who he ended up that matters.”
“Stalwart is a good name for him,” Robin said.
“I’ll bet you ten gold coins he refuses to let anyone call him that.”
Robin snorted. “I don’t have ten coins to bet.”
“Sure you do, Lord Locksley.” Philemon laughed softly, and Robin winced.
“That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“A lot of things are,” Philemon said, glancing at Marian. This time Robin flushed. He didn’t even know how to be a proper husband, and now he was going to be a father.
A father… As if reading his mind Marian leaned over.
“Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out,” she whispered. “You always do.”
“Thomas!” King Richard boomed.
Robin looked around. One of the men from the forest stepped forward hesitantly to face his king.
“I understand that you are responsible for creating that new trebuchet,” the king said.
Thomas nodded. “It was Lady Marian’s design, and I did what I could. I’m sorry, your majesty, that I was only able to get one stone out of it. It needs a lot more work on my part.”
“And it deserves it. We have need of a weapon such as that. I’m putting you in charge of perfecting the design and producing more, both for use here at home and abroad. You will have whatever men and tools you need to accomplish this.”
Thomas bowed low. “Thank you,” he breathed. He then turned and hurried back into the crowd.
It was one of the strangest nights of his life, Robin mused. Outside of the castle, the dead lay all around. Friar Tuck had given last rights to many of them, prayed over those who were already gone, then joined the group in the great hall. A young boy from the camp was with him. Chastity was there, as well, and a furor arose when the stolen children were reunited with what was left of their families. It quickly became subdued, though, when it became apparent how many had not survived.
Robin felt restless. Life at court had never been something for which he cared, and in light of everything that had happened, he was more eager than usual to retire for the evening. He kept glancing at Marian, noticing that she was stealing glances at him, too. They were thinking the same thing, yet they couldn’t take their leave until the king allowed it.
Servants filed in and a makeshift feast was set up as even more people arrived, noble and peasant alike. They ate what food was there and relished the victory of being alive. The relief that filled the room was palpable.
Robin, however, worried about the future. There was much to do, and the king was still needed in Jerusalem. Now that he understood the gravity of the battle being waged for the soul of the world, he understood the need to go. When Richard left again, though, Robin knew it would fall to him and Marian to keep England safe. It was a daunting task.
“Something wrong, son?” his father asked him.
Robin forced a smile. “Just contemplating my… responsibilities.”
“At the moment, your most pressing one is to your bride,” Philemon said. “No one here would begrudge you departing for the evening.” For once, Robin found himself agreeing with the older man. He rose, approached King Richard, and bowed.
“Milord, may I have your leave to retire?”
King Richard inclined his head. “Lord Robin, I will see you again in a fortnight, when we will discuss the future in depth.” His eyes flicked to Marian. “Until then, leave this table with my blessing. Both of you.”
Marian blushed but was quick to stand. She moved to Robin. Together they exited the great hall and then stood for a moment outside. Robin’s eyes flicked toward the staircase.
“What’s wrong?” Marian asked.
Robin turned to her. “Your home has always been here. My home has burned down. I’ve been named Lord of Locksley, so I will need to move to that castle at some point.”
Marian shuddered. “From what Chastity has said, you’re going to want Friar Tuck to bless it before you do.”
“He’s going to be busy blessing this place,” Robin muttered. The darkness still lingered in the corners of the castle. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would ever truly be gone, after all that had happened here.
“Robin,” Marian said, reaching out to take his hand. “Let’s go home.”
“I don’t know where that is,” he confessed.
“Sherwood,” she said with a smile. “Always.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my husband, Scott, you are my hero and you always will be. Thank you to James for being part of this crazy journey with me, and for just smiling when I make all the jokes about writing Robin Hood with a man named Tuck. Thank you to Steve Saffel for his diligence and care as an editor. Thank you to my agent, Howard Morhaim, for all that he does. Lastly, thank you to all our readers who have become our Merry Men.
—DV
Thank you to my co-writer Debbie and the super editor Steve. Y’all rock.
The Tita
n crew for making our words a real book.
Thank you readers for your curiosity and courage. You make the magick.
—JRT
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Debbie Viguié is the New York Times bestselling author of more than four dozen novels including the Wicked series co-authored with Nancy Holder. In addition to her epic dark fantasy work Debbie also writes thrillers including The Psalm 23 Mysteries, the Kiss trilogy, and the Witch Hunt trilogy. Debbie plays Claire on the audio drama, Doctor Geek’s Laboratory. When she isn’t busy writing or acting Debbie enjoys spending time with her husband, Scott, visiting theme parks. They live in Florida with their cat, Schrödinger.
James R. Tuck lives and writes in Atlanta. He loves the blues and used to throw people out of bars for money.
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