Lady Thief

by A. C. Gaughen

  She looked away from me, and the white cliff of her throat worked. “This was not what I wanted,” she whispered. “Not for you.”

  “You let him do it.”

  Her eyes shut and her fist opened, like she were letting a secret out into the air. “No. He must grow; he must be a stronger leader and he cannot do that if I do not give him the trust to make the best decisions for his people. I must not be his puppeteer.”

  “He deserves no trust.”

  Her eyes opened and looked to the back of his chair, ahead of us on the dais. “He will. He must.”

  I were tempted to lift my hand, but I didn’t dare. I couldn’t feel much of anything of it now, and I weren’t ready for the pain to start again. “Why bother for me?” I asked her. “Why bother about any of this for me?” Isabel’s words drifted back to me—what interest did Eleanor have in me that I didn’t know?

  She looked to me, warm and sad now. “You’ve had a difficult journey, Marian. I feel for you, very keenly. And I don’t like to see any woman harmed.”

  My gaze ran back to the empty mock battlefield. She may care for my harm, but few others did. And they cared for Rob’s life even less. How many noble sons had been sent to war? And for each of those, how many tens of common sons? Live or die, their lives were nothing more than this battle: a game.

  “Can I see him?” I asked her. My voice bare croaked out; it were a strange thing. For all the times I spoke when I shouldn’t, when it came to speaking words that my whole heart were bound up in, it were a difficult thing.

  “Not yet. Perhaps after the second round; there should be a longer break then.”

  She clicked her fingers and one of the ladies turned. Eleanor ordered for more snow to fill the cloth on my hand, and I shut my eyes and waited for the tournament to continue.

  It weren’t long before the next round; this time all the remaining competitors—roughly ten in all—were on foot, and for the close combat, the weapons had been replaced with blunted versions, scattered around the outside of the arena. They were all clustered in the center, shoulder to shoulder, their backs to one another, shields touching like a chain to keep them in.

  The horn sounded, and everyone ran for the weapons—except Rob, who immediately swiped his leg down to take out the competitor on his right. Not near expecting it, the man launched into the air like a hound trying for a scrap and Rob stood straight, the sole person still while all others raced for the weapons.

  He retreated back to the center, and my heart beat fast as he watched them all. They chose weapons and turned to him, and the grounds held a breath.

  Gisbourne turned and swung his heavy, blunted broadsword at the competitor nearest him, and the man howled as the rest of the fighters leapt into action.

  It were a large field, and ten men across it left space by spades. The men started to form clusters of activity, mostly fighting round the edge as they started to challenge each other. Only one man went straight for Rob, and it were Wendeval, the big hulking fighter that trounced Thoresby. As he ran across the open field in full armor, I knew the brilliance of Rob’s plan—Rob were as fresh as he could be and Wendeval were half to exhausted already.

  He swung at Rob with his blunted sword, and Rob ducked easily and cut up with the shield so that Wendeval dropped his sword and fell backward. I expected him to go for the sword straight, but Rob waited as Wendeval staggered up, and slammed him again with his shield so Wendeval fell back, out cold and disqualified.

  Rob took up the sword and waited.

  A cluster of men were to the far left of the field, and Gisbourne finished dispatching two men before turning to Rob with a wicked smile. He stalked out to him slow, and without a helmet on his head, I could see him turn to me, staring at me as he went to fight Rob. Even across the field, his cruel laugh made me shiver.

  Rob saw him coming and stood ready. If he were tired, it didn’t show a lick. He were fierce and still and calm, waiting for his opponent. His opponent in the truest sense.

  Gisbourne closed the gap and Rob made the first move, a hard strike with his sword that Gisbourne parried, with a smooth follow by Rob’s shield that cuffed Gisbourne hard. Rob snapped back to the ready.

  I had never seen him fight with a shield. It had to be something he learned at war; he used the defense as another weapon like he’d been doing it all his life.

  Gisbourne charged him with flashing swordplay, their heavy swords clashing and spitting light in the winter sun.

  “He’s impressive,” Eleanor murmured to me.

  I turned my head; I had forgotten her. In the same look I saw Isabel, gripping her chair, staring at Gisbourne.

  “Which one?” I asked. It were a fair question; they were both beyond all comparison.

  “Yours,” she said. Before I could ask more, she ducked her head a little and said, “The one who should be yours, at least.”

  “He’s beyond compare,” I whispered, sinking back in my chair. With the pain numbed I felt so tired I could bare move. It felt wrong, to be confessing how I admired Rob to Eleanor, but I didn’t have the strength to care.

  Each sound their blows made rocked me, and they were fast and steady both. They turned slow, a foot with each hit, moving with each other, locked. Endless and eternal. They were too well matched; it was just a matter of how long they could stay moving.

  Across the field another man took a knee rather than face down another blow, and it seemed the needed count was reached. A horn blared, and Rob and Gisbourne fought a few moments more before breaking free of each other.

  I waited for them to leave the field, but no one did. Pages ran out onto the field with short fences and made a small ring in the middle of the field. The final players were herded in there—five in all.

  Only moments had passed, and the fighters were still heaving with breath. Another horn sounded, and their weapons raised. I wanted to turn to Eleanor and accuse her—there was no space between these rounds, no time to see Rob at all.

  But I couldn’t. I just watched.

  No one rushed forward. Gisbourne were talking—I could see his mouth moving—but I couldn’t much hear his words. Then the four moved closer to each other, and all set on Robin.

  My nails dug into the wood of the chair.

  Gisbourne were the first to strike, and Rob blocked it with his sword and swiveled to take another blow on his shield. He ducked another and struck at Gisbourne, hitting his shoulder.

  Rob moved fast, his feet trained for the forest where you could never trust the ground for long. I could hear their shouts of anger, bare loud over the shouts and cheers of the people.

  The four were starting to get their timing better, and de Lacy struck a hard blow to Rob’s shield and Gisbourne swung hard for Rob’s arm.

  It were hard enough to make him stumble and drop his sword.

  Prince John laughed.

  Water pricked at my eyes as they set upon him in true. He were good at using his shield like a weapon, slamming them with it, twisting this way and that, but without his sword he couldn’t survive. I wanted to shout at him to take a knee, take a knee, but if he ever heard, he wouldn’t have done it. Surrender weren’t in him.

  Gisbourne swept out his feet, and he fell. They all managed to get a sickening blow in to his body before Gisbourne took the opening and heaved a blow at de Lacy, and they left Rob on the field.

  It were Winchester who strode out to the ring and shifted one of the fences to pull Rob out. I watched him help Rob hobble off the field and wiped the tears off my face.

  “Do you know where they’ll go?” I asked Eleanor.

  She gave a careful, queen-like sigh. “I imagine the earl took him back to Robin’s quarters. Robin was situated in a low room in the residences, in the small building,” she told me.

  “Right next to the prison,” I realized.

  “Yes,” she said. “It was all I could do to talk my son out of that.”

  I stood, tucking my hand and the half-melted snow purse
inside my sling. My heart beat thick and heavy like it didn’t have many beats left, but I turned from the nobles and the Queen Mother didn’t stop me none.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The walk were a hundred times longer than it had been the day before. I stayed outside for as long as I could, but as soon as I stepped into the warmth I felt like I melted with it. I fell against the wall, breathing hard.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I pushed off the wall and walked quick through, desperate to get to him. When I came to his hallway, I knew his room by the guards outside it.

  But they weren’t there to keep me out, only keep him in, and they didn’t even look at me as I opened the door and entered.

  I shut the door and slumped against it. It were a small room, and Winchester’s wide, tall body were brimming it over. Rob sat on the bed. His shirt were stripped off in a sweaty heap on the floor with leathers and a tunic besides. His body were glowing red, his mouth drooling with blood, and he held a balled-up cloth to his face.

  His eyes met mine, and the ball in his throat ran up and down. “Scarlet,” he said, soft and rough.

  Winchester turned, ducking his head to me. “My lady,” he said. He glanced back to Rob. “I shall leave him in your care—my own healer should be along shortly.”

  Winchester came closer, blocking my body from Rob’s view. “Perhaps,” he whispered, “you should allow him to look at you as well.” His jaw worked. “I regret that I feel I was protecting the wrong party last night.”

  Without much knowing why, I were dangerous close to crying. I shook my head.

  He nodded and opened the door. I could hear him telling the guards—his guards, I realized—to allow no one but his healer in.

  “Rob,” I whispered. “Are you … are you all right?”

  He walked over to me slow, his eyes never leaving mine, and he stood just before me, holding his breath before he touched me. His fingertips touched the side of my mouth and slid back along my cheek, first one, then three, then four grazing along my skin. His thumb skidded over my lips, dragging my breath away with it.

  My one hand slid up, doing the work for two as it ran slow over his chest, ridges and dips and smooth planes like the forest itself, beckoning me and tricking me and drawing me in deeper. The bit of hair furring over his chest licked at my fingers as I ran over it, phantom touches along my skin. I hit smooth skin again and pushed my fingers wide to curl over his shoulder and round his neck, drawing him closer to me.

  “Scarlet,” he whispered, staring at me, his eyes checking my face. “What happened last night? You look … you scared the hell out of me when I saw you. You’re wearing the same dress.”

  “You first,” I said, shutting my eyes. I pulled him closer still, waiting until our faces touched, his forehead resting on mine.

  “Scarlet,” he said. “You know what happened to me. They’re letting me compete. And by some miracle, they haven’t been cruel to me. Which makes me think that cruelty has gone elsewhere.”

  “I don’t know, Rob. I see you out there, fighting like that, and I don’t know anything about you at all.”

  “Scarlet.” His eyes were steady, not thrown off. “You’re shaking.”

  I were?

  He leaned away a bit. “I frightened you,” he said, and his voice were more low and dark than a well.

  “No.” My hand on him turned to a grip as the floor tilted.

  He frowned and moved quick, taking me about the waist and pulling me down upon the bed, sitting beside me. His hands on me changed, running through my hair to check for lumps on my head, pressing my skin to check what were broken. Soon enough he went still, and after a breath gentle fingers went about the wrist in the sling. Even that touch sent pain like shards of glass through me, and I shook my head, moaning.

  “What did they do.”

  It weren’t a question. It were dark and angry.

  “Rob.”

  “No more, Scarlet. Tell me. Now.”

  “They punished me,” I said soft. “The prince. He …” I had felt the point of the knife before it touched my skin. Watching it, waiting for it, knowing the pain were about to come, it were like I made it happen before it really started. How did I tell him that? “Nothing,” I ground out, meeting his eyes. “He did nothing that I can’t take, nothing that makes me wish I’d done different. And nothing for you to hurt over.”

  But Rob kept on, taking my hand and seeing the way it were bandaged, two small fingers and a flat stretch before my thumb with blood starting to seep through.

  His chest started rising and dropping fast, like he couldn’t breathe swift enough and none of it were doing no good. His hands went to fists, pressed hard on his knees, and then he struck his knees, hard and fast. He bent forward, then sprang up and drove his fist into the wooden post with a cry.

  I tried to stand, but my legs couldn’t hold it. “Rob,” I sighed. “Rob, come to me.”

  He growled low, kicking the post once, twice, three times in sharp succession.

  “Rob,” I said again. “I can’t come to you.”

  He turned and came forward, dropping to his knees in front of me. I pulled him closer, feeling the world rock a little less with my hand on him.

  He went still, his face a scowl and his eyes on mine. “They did this to you because of me. All of this is because of me.”

  I stared into his eyes, unwilling to look away, unable to let him go. “No. The prince did this because he is cruel and jealous and Gisbourne allowed it because he’s weak. They just gave you the best chance to fight this, Robin Hood. To prevent this from happening to anyone else.”

  His big hands spread like fans on my back, tight but gentle. “I can’t do it. I won’t win—not in the shape that I’m in, Scarlet.” His eyes shut and his forehead pushed against my stomach. “Every hit—every time—it feels like I’m back there. It feels like it’s all starting again.”

  “What is?” I whispered. I ran my fingers over his hair, slow and kind. “What is?”

  “How much do you know about the Crusades?” he asked. “What I did there?”

  “You left after the siege of Acre, didn’t you?” I said.

  He didn’t answer me. He swallowed. “The siege was long. It was the first real battle, and Richard couldn’t afford to give up. It took us more than a month before we first broke Acre,” he said. “For so long a wall had been between us, but then the wall broke, and they flooded out. And we ran.”

  I shivered at the picture in my mind—it were all too like the melee, the sudden and unleashed clash of two lines. Chaos.

  “I was so afraid of that day—of the crush of war. I didn’t know how I would tell my men from the infidels. Then they ran at us, and I was relieved—there would be no mistaking one of us for one of them. They looked so very different, they didn’t wear armor of any kind. With the sun glinting off our metal, it was like God had sent an angel to each of us to shine a light on us, keep us safe. And I found I could fight. I found all my training meant something; I could fight and never tire, never break.”

  One of us were shaking, and I didn’t know who, but it didn’t matter. If one person shook, the other’s body took it in.

  “And then the wind rose, and the sand rose with it. They continued to come at us. We were blind, and more than that, the ease was gone. I couldn’t see who was right in front of my face, much less what they wore.”

  His body leaned tighter against mine, careful not to lean on my arm.

  “I can’t take this back, Scarlet, once I’ve told you,” he breathed.

  “You won’t have to, Rob.” I stroked his head, his neck, his rough cheek.

  “The sand cleared,” he said, “as quick as it had come. And at my feet were three men I’d fought beside for months. Three men I knew. One was even younger than I was. And I had killed them. You all think I’m so noble and goddamn righteous, but I don’t even know who the enemy is. I don’t know who the enemy is if not the demon that’s within me. Those men, the hostage ch
ildren I was made to kill—Scar, they haunt me. They haunt my nights and they remind me daily that even if by some miracle I can win this, I should never be sheriff. I know the weak and evil parts of myself too well.”

  It were him what were trembling, and I tugged on his shoulder until he drew up, guiding him to the bed and making him lie in it. He were sweating hard, and I feared for a fever. I stroked his hair back as it slicked over with sweat. He were staring at me, waiting for what I would say.

  Slow, I shook my head. “That isn’t evil, Rob. That isn’t weak. It’s horrible and unfair. But it’s not your fault.” He tried to pull away from me but I stroked his cheek. “There is so much more in your heart than your ghosts,” I told him. “And in mine too. I don’t care how many sleepless nights it takes. I don’t care for bruises or fire. I won’t let them take your soul.”

  He gave me a tiny hint of a smile and it felt like sunlight breaking on me. “I don’t know if you have much of a say over it.”

  “You gave your heart into my keeping, Rob, and I protect what’s mine. Because I know what is in there true, and it has naught to do with demons.” I bent down, coming closer to his face and letting our lips bare touch. His hand ran into my hair and he pulled me closer for a proper kiss. I felt him breathe deeper, slower, into me, calming, our souls rushing out to meet.

  I broke off, then ducked again for one more touch. “They can’t have you,” I whispered to him. “You’re mine.” I kissed the corner of his mouth. “And I look at Gisbourne and he don’t know he’s weak. The prince don’t know he’s cruel. But you know your most dangerous parts and you act like a hero anyway. That’s what will make you a wonderful sheriff, Rob.” I stroked his face. “But if you ever wanted to run, I would run with you. This will be brutal and punishing, Rob, and if you ever think you can’t fight in true, I will run with you in a breath.”

  “I can’t run,” he said. “But I fear I can’t win, either.”

  The guards outside spoke to someone, and I sat up straight as the healer came in. He came with a tray of jars and knives, and my lip curled. The monks disliked the practice because of its weakening effects, but I forgot how common it were for these noble healers.