“Rob!” I snapped.
But John just chuckled. “Well, who could blame me. I mean, you’re the love of her life, but I’m the one who knows what her kiss tastes like, right?”
The boys were glaring at each other, not paying a lick of mind to me. Which were fair fine with me, for John didn’t see it coming when I kneed him in the bits. He didn’t fall, but he howled and twisted away from me.
“What the damn hell, Scar!” he roared.
“You are my friend, John Little, you do not wag your chin about any bit of me like that,” I snapped. I whirled around. I wanted to slap Rob, but I didn’t. “And you. John’s trying to protect me from your dreams, your nightmares, something none of us fair well understand, so don’t bait him like that. It’s cruel and you know it.”
He swallowed, and he looked at me, his face open and worn. “I am cruel, Scar,” he said, like it were a confession. His eyes fell to my neck, and he shook his head. “Come,” he called loud, his voice rougher. He stepped away from me. “Let’s practice with the bows. John, are you well enough to help?”
John coughed and nodded to him. My heart twisted like a scrap of cloth, and I took the stairs two at a time to the hayloft. I sat on the edge, watching as the nine children and two women what had come lined up to listen to Rob teach them to defend themselves, and their homes, and their families.
Much came and sat beside me with a sigh.
“You have to know, with John—”
“I know,” I said. “I know better than you think.”
“He just wants to protect you.”
“I know he does. And I’ll always love him for it and many more reasons. But he and Rob are so awful to each other sometimes.”
Much gave a soft noise, and I turned and took in his sad and mournful face. He saw me looking and shrugged. “They may be awful to each other, but only because they know they’re brothers. And brothers can fight.” He paused a long stretch. “They don’t fight with me,” he said.
“We’re all family,” I told him. “They just think of you like the baby.”
He frowned. “I’m not a baby. I’ve grown a few inches, I think.”
“I know.”
He scowled. “You know?”
I laughed. “All your pants are short.”
“Scarlet?”
I turned and looked to the stair where Missy Morgan stood, hanging back. She were as pretty as milk and sun, more short and quiet than her two sisters, but she were the jewel amongst them. She crowded the rail, her shoulders sunk in.
“I don’t want to learn the bow so much. Can we practice more with the knives?” she asked.
Nodding, I stood from the ledge and pulled Much up with me. Looking at her, making herself small even in this place where she knew there weren’t nothing to fear, my breath caught. “I reckon so. Much, will you run and snatch a few?”
He looked at my vest where I had at least three, but I met his eyes full and he nodded. He went past Missy, touching her arm a little, and she raised her eyes to him and held her breath till he passed.
Were Missy sweet on Much? That would be a match to be sure—though I weren’t the sort to know if a love could survive with so much shy and kind in it.
I waved her closer, and she drifted up to me. “Did something happen, Missy?” I asked her.
A wash of color went all over her face, splotches of pink and red like fast-blooming roses. “Y-yes,” she said. “Sort of. I was at market, and a man, he put his arms on my waist and he said something—something awful,” she said, her gaze falling to the wooden floor and her hands shaking.
“Oh—” I started, but she weren’t finished.
“And I did what you said. I stepped on his foot, and I hit him with my elbow,” she said, wrapping her arms tight round herself. “And he let me go, and I ran. But I think I’d feel better with a knife.”
My heart filled up hard and fast, bits of happiness spilling over the edges and slopping around inside my chest. Most nights it felt like God himself were punishing me, but seeing a girl protect herself instead of asking someone to do it for her felt like some kind of redemption. “Then we’ll get you a knife,” I told her.
It were late in the afternoon when Thoresby came in, two servants with him carrying food for the children. He nodded to us and came closer, leaving the children—and John, the big hungry thing—to descend on the food.
Thoresby weren’t a big man. He weren’t an overstrong man, or clever, or young. But he were always fair, and I liked that about him.
“Have you heard anything?” Rob asked. His body turned a bit, leaning toward mine, like everything in him were pulling him closer to me and stopping just short of touching.
Thoresby nodded. “The prince is coming to Nottinghamshire. They’re speeding up progress on the wall to be ready in time—a fortnight at the most.”
I sucked in a breath. “Will he name a sheriff?” I asked.
“If he’s decided, he hasn’t let me know.”
“But he received your petition for it?” Rob asked.
Thoresby sighed. “The messenger assured me he received it. Robin, I warned you not to rest too much hope on this. It’s a very political appointment, and he has nothing to gain from appointing me.”
“Nonsense,” Rob said, waving this off. “You’re well thought of at court.”
“If I’m ever there,” he said. “It’s unlikely at best, Robin.”
“He’ll appoint you. Who else could he choose?”
“There are still unclaimed lands,” he said. “Most of your old Huntingdon properties are still unentailed. He could easily bring someone into the county to make them eligible. And many minor landholders are eligible. There are a surprising number of possibilities.”
Muscle in Rob’s jaw flickered and bulged out. “Then gain his notice. Persuade him. Do something, Thoresby,” Rob snapped.
“I know how much you want me to be sheriff, but you must prepare yourself—” he said, clapping his hand on Rob’s shoulder.
Rob pushed it off. “No. No. What I must prepare myself for is defending the people again, because clearly I’m the only one willing to stand up for them.”
Thoresby heaved a great sigh and looked round at the barn. “Things seem to be going well here, Robin. It was a good idea.”
“It was Scar’s idea,” he said, flat. “Good thing they’re learning to protect themselves—those children are growing up in a world where not one of the people who are duty-bound to honor and shelter them care for their well-being. Or don’t you remember what they have suffered under the last sheriff? They were taxed and tortured within an inch of their lives, Thoresby. Have you forgotten?”
Thoresby looked at me. I shook my head and opened my mouth to defend Thoresby, say something to allow for Rob’s short words and shorter temper, but Thoresby’s eyes went to my neck.
My hand ran quick to it, covering up where I thought I had done. “It’s not—” I started, but Thoresby shook his head.
“You don’t owe me any kind of explanation.” He looked to Rob. “We all want to see these people safe and protected, Robin. And evidently, we all fail in our own ways.” He sighed again, tucking his hands round back behind him. “Use the barn as long as you like.”
Thoresby left, and the children laughed at something John said.
Rob turned and slammed his foot against the nearest stall door. It wrenched with an awful noise, and the whole thing shattered, throwing chunks to the ground and leaving rough pieces hanging on the hinge. Thank God there weren’t no horse in there, or Rob would have been kicked something awful.
The children stopped laughing.
“Go on home,” Much said to them. “We’ll be back again, when you see the ribbon at the well. Be careful.”
John started herding them out, and I crossed my arms. Rob snapped another bit of wood, color moving ’cross his face, wild and harsh. He bent down to grab another piece, and I cursed at him, rushing forward.
I hit the wood f
rom his hands and pushed him, pressing him up against the wall, my hands on his shoulders. It weren’t a fierce grip, not like John might, but it were enough to stop him. “What are you doing?” I snapped.
He pushed up, using my grip against me and moving me back with his shoulders in my hands, powerful and strong but gentle. My back nudged the other wall and he pressed closer, leaning against me. His breath were rough and hot and puffed over my cheek, my ear, my neck.
My hands curled slow around him, drawing him close to me, tight against me. “What are you doing, Rob?” I whispered.
He tucked his face into my shoulder and drew long, shuddering breaths. “We’re not going to make it through this, Scar. Not another sheriff. Not another nightmare.” His voice dropped, and if it weren’t for the way the words slipped along my skin, I would have doubted he spoke them. “I’m not going to make it through this again.”
I sighed against him, trying to think of the right thing to say. “Someone tried to hurt Missy,” I told him soft. He went tense, but I twisted my fingers through his hair to keep him still and silent. “She fought him off. She saved herself.” He looked at me, a tendril of hope like a deep current in his eyes. “We will make it through this, because you aren’t alone. I’m with you, the lads are with you, and now the town is with you. If Missy Morgan can fight a man, we will make it through this.”
“What happened to Missy?” John asked, scowling into the horse stall where Rob and I were twined up against each other like ivy run wild.
“Nothing, and that’s the point,” I told him, pulling from Rob gentle.
Rob caught my hand and held it, tipping it up and pressing a kiss into the palm. He ran his thumb over the big vein there on my wrist, and it rippled through me like a shock.
“I’m going to go to the castle,” I told them. “Thoresby said the prince is coming.”
“I’ll go with you,” John said.
“No, I’ll be well enough. Place is bare guarded now.”
“Save for the knights,” Much said.
I shrugged. “They’re lazy.”
John stared hard at me, even as Rob nodded. “You’ll be all right. Go on so you’re back before nightfall.”
I broke John’s gaze at that.
“Bring us news of the men,” Much said.
Nodding, I said, “You lot headed back to the monastery?”
“You go. Much, will you help me tidy up a bit first?” Rob asked.
Much went to it, and I went for the door.
“You’re not coming back before nightfall, are you?”
Lifting a shoulder, I saw John behind me. “I’ll be back, John.”
He met my eyes, dark and heavy. “Don’t hurry.”
I nodded, swallowing though it hurt my swollen throat. I went out the door and off for the castle, stealing myself some precious time to be alone and think.
Chapter Three
Even if the forest had turned, cold and dark were two things that still had love for me, and by the time I made my purposeful slow way to Nottingham Castle, both had fallen around me like a cloak.
The snow made climbing the castle wall a bit harder; sometimes the rocks were slick where I couldn’t tell, and my hands slipped and tore from the rocks, red and raw and sore. I didn’t mind it much—it seemed the one thing that were still simple, that if I went slow and steady I’d still get what I were after. Like much of the winter in Nottinghamshire, it had tricks up its sleeve, but it weren’t beyond my reach. On the wall, in the wind, high above the earth, I still knew myself and what I were meant for.
Cresting the wall, I felt the cold wind rush over me like a victory song. I sat there for a moment, surveying the three baileys at once. Three stacked, fortified courtyards; each one led to a better-guarded, higher part of the castle, surrounded by nothing but the sheer rock wall meant to keep armies out. The upper bailey were dark and quiet cold; it hadn’t been much used these long months. After the day when life flipped on its ears, when the lads and I set explosions to crumble the Great Hall and the sheriff died and I earned myself a shiny reminder of my bond with Gisbourne, the castle had been empty. More than half of the middle bailey had been impassable from the wall what Much and John brought down, and the bailiff, the only person left to run the castle, moved his quarters to the lowermost bailey.
Then the knights had come. More than a month past, the knights had trotted up from London on the orders of the prince, to rebuild the castle under the charge of the bailiff, a man who didn’t much want to hurt anyone. The knights took men from the towns to do the work, and food and drink besides to feed themselves; they were allowed to do whatever they pleased until the wall were finished and a new sheriff were appointed.
And so they occupied the low bailey, filling one set of barracks with their ranks and the other barracks with the men of the county. Including most of the men of Edwinstowe and Worksop.
I went to the food store on the lower bailey. I’d found it some months before, and despite the heavy lock on the front of it, I could sneak in through the high windows that weren’t never guarded. Jumping and catching the sill, I hauled myself up and dropped inside.
It were a lick warmer than outside; the kitchens were near, and the heat from the fires kept the place a touch more livable. Wooden shelves stacked high to the ceiling were sagging with the weight of the fat of the land—grains of every sort, drying meat hung in great lines, stores of wine and oil and ale along with butter and eggs. They kept the milk in the kitchens day by day, but I sometimes managed to nick some of that as well.
Stealing through, I collected some flour, oats, dried meat, and meal, padding my shirt and thin coat with them.
The front door to the food cellar were locked, but there were a little back stair that connected up to the kitchens. I took it, twisting to the side to make it up the narrow steps. I slowed down, my steps turning careful near the door. There were a light shining on beneath the bottom edge of the door, and I heard voices, seeping through with the warm heat from the other side.
Tripping the latch, I eased the door open slow. In the crack I could see two cooks, bent over a flour-strewn table, pounding dough.
“Soon enough we will,” one said, pound-pound-pound. She were tall and red cheeked and thin, a proper opposite to the one across from her, round and short with small eyes that never left her task.
The other laughed. “Not never soon enough!” she said. She tossed a lump of dough onto a pile.
“With any luck the prince’ll bring his own cooks with him, and we won’t be much use.”
“Hush with that talk,” the second said. “I need this coin.”
“If the new sheriff is anything like the last, I won’t need the coin that bad,” the first said. Pound-pound-pound. Pound-pound-pound.
“There ain’t no new sheriff yet, they said. Said the prince is coming to pick one.”
“Well, don’t that sound like a merry picnic,” the first said, and they both had a laugh. Then she pointed farther than I could see. “Over there,” she said.
The second cook went over to whatever she were pointing at, and as the first raised her fist to pound-pound-pound, I pushed open the door and ran past them, nothing but a shadow in the corner of her eye.
The kitchens were connected to the soldier’s hall with a narrow walk, but I didn’t want to go in there. There were a big fire in there, and knights were almost always lumped around it, talking and drinking and trying to charm extra food from the cooks.
Going back out into the cold were welcome and oversharp both. The night were clear and worth more than a single shiver.
I went round the soldier’s hall to the first set of barracks, finding a window and sidling close. Propping my foot on a stone in the wall I jumped, grabbing the bars and hauling up to peer in.
The bit of light that were streaming in from the moon behind me were eaten up by the fire in the room, red and glowing and catching on shining armor and velvet cloaks.
I let the bars go. Wrong bar
racks.
Going over to the next one, I did it again and looked inside. No fire and nothing much shining.
My arms burned but I held tight, scuffling my feet up the wall till I were all tucked in the window.
“Scar?” I heard.
I twisted a little so I weren’t between the moon and the men, and the light came through the window. “Godfrey?” I asked.
He nodded, standing on his cot to come closer to me.
“How you lot faring?” I asked soft.
“Not well,” he said. “Tired and hungry. A few men are sick.”
“What sort of sick?” I asked. I pulled out the little packages, the dried meat and oats. They couldn’t do much with the flour and meal; I’d save that for the town. I slipped it through the bars.
“Coughing mostly. Martin Dyer’s been casting up his accounts for days.”
Men were drifting toward the window, taking the food as others opened it and parceled it out. “What news?” called one man. “What of our families?”
“Everyone’s well,” I assured them. “We’ve been taking care of them. Food’s a mite scarce but ain’t no one starving, no one’s hurt. How close are you to finishing the work?”
Godfrey sighed. “Close. They’ve been working us damn hard lately. I think they want it done soon. You know I don’t think I’d have been so happy to see half the wall fall if I knew we’d have to rebuild the lot of it through the winter.”
I looked up at the full, laughing moon, mocking me from its far safe perch. “I wouldn’t never have asked it, if I knew,” I agreed. “And these damn knights are eating the shire out of house and home and never pay a farthing for it.”
“Just keep our girls safe, young Scarlet,” Hugh Morgan called to me. “It isn’t hardly wise to have knights roaming around who think they own everything without men at home.”
“I promise,” I said. I did as best I could. I didn’t want to tell him that some of his daughters were the sort that fancied marrying a knight and didn’t take my advice as much as I’d choose.
With most of the men taking their bit of food, they drifted away from the windows, and Godfrey leaned up closer. “How’s Rob?” he asked.
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