Two soldiers barreled into the tavern. Much clamped a hand on his arm. “Wait!”
Robin’s eyes darted from the men to Much. He searched his face. Surely the young miller hadn’t betrayed him.
The soldiers were rowdy, blustering their way through the room to join friends sharing ale and tales. Robin relaxed, but only a bit. Much’s eyes had grown misty. Robin’s heart raced. Could there be bad news from Greyton? Marian…his son? He exhaled sharply. “There’s more?”
“Well, no, but I must tell you…” Much’s voice broke. “You should see their faces, Robin. They are so grateful. ‘Bless you, hooded one,’ they say. The poor won’t starve this winter thanks to you.”
*
“You look beautiful.” Bea tucked a stray hair behind Elle’s ear as Marian tightened the last of the laces on her gown.
Elle struggled to smile. Pearls were strung in her coiffed golden hair. Her cream-colored gown was studded with rubies and more pearls. She traced the embroidered vines and leaves of gold thread on her sleeves, sleeves that fell past her knees.
“Please leave us,” Elle told Marian, who curtsied and departed hastily. Elle pulled aside the oilcloth to look into the yard. Dozens of people lined the road leading to Greyton’s chapel on this cold late November day. “Where is John? Did he receive Henry’s message?”
“I am sure he will be here,” Bea said.
“I do not want to marry Henry.” Elle rested her hand on her belly. Her monthly courses had not come, and as she had suspected, a new life grew in her womb.
“I know. He knows.”
“Nothing would keep him away.” Elle sounded confident, but then swore softly.
“We would know if something had happened,” Bea said, trying to quell the panic in her heart. Outlaws. An ambush. The images brought a painful memory of her father’s death.
“How would we know?” Elle’s voice turned raw with emotion. “What if Robin and Stephan are dead. Or captured? We’ve not had a word from them.”
Bea placed an arm around Elle’s waist. “Henry is certain his message found safe hands. Believe that.” She held Elle close to conceal her own trembling hands. This could be a disaster. Poor Elle and Henry. Where are you, Little John?
Shouts were raised in the yard drawing the women’s gazes. Edric Weston had arrived.
Elle pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Her shoulders fell. “Where are you, John?” she said softly. She found Bea’s hand. “How long can we wait?”
“As long as we must.”
Bea looked back outside. There was still no sign of Little John. Henry, waiting at the door of the chapel with Gil, had to be frantic.
*
Little John was certain he had died and gone to Heaven. Robin had woken him with the dawn light. Getting married, the knight told him. Today. Still in shock hours later, he paced at the crossroads west of Grantham unsure why he’d been ordered to be at this place at midday. Robin had no answers for him. But when the sun drew overhead, he heard the horses. Moments later, eight knights and their squires appeared from the south accompanying a splendid litter draped in blue, green, and gold. The retinue came to a stop beside him, and a squire dismounted to pull aside the curtain.
Little John bowed when he recognized Queen Eleanor. “Madam,” he said, his voice quivering.
“Little John, my dear friend.” Eleanor smiled and urged him into the litter. “Come along, ere we shall be late.”
One of the squires took his horse and with hardly a breath, they headed north.
The litter was lined with thick fur. The queen sat straight, bolstered by feather-stuffed pillows. Her beaded crimson gown fell in waves around her. Embroidered gold bands trimmed the neckline and waist, and trumpet sleeves lined in gold silk brushed the floor. She wore gold and rubies round her neck that set off the green of her eyes.
Two of the queen’s ladies helped Little John into fine new clothing. He’d barely heard the queen’s words—proper for a baron’s daughter, knighthood, something about Cartholme, the king’s pleasure. And when he finally found his voice, he could hardly speak. “How…what…how can I—”
“Stop thinking and hand me your sword. I must say I am glad my ladies suggested you wear the deep blue silk surcoat over that brown one. It is a much better color for a wedding.”
Little John held the blade steady though he was not certain where he found the strength to do so. “You are too generous.”
“On your knees, squire.”
Hooves pounded around them on the road. Little John sank shakily in front of the queen, thankful the clank of harnesses and the guards’ armor hid the sound of his wobbly knees.
“This may not be the place for a proper ceremony, but I am Eleanor, Queen of England and Duchess of Aquitaine. By the Grace of God, for your service to King Richard and his queen, to Queen Joanna of Sicily, and to me.” She tapped the sword to his right shoulder, then to his left one. “Rise, Sir John le Grand.”
Little John met her eyes with a look of surprise.
“The name was Robin’s suggestion.” Eleanor smiled and shrugged. “We shall be late for your wedding.” She pulled aside the silk curtain and called to Will Marshal riding alongside the litter. “How much farther?”
Marshal smiled. “We are turning west to Greyton now, madam.”
*
At the door of the chapel, Henry had stopped pacing the moment he saw Edric Weston riding into Greyton. He’d be damned to let the bastard see him squirm. Forewarned by a message from the queen that a different bridegroom would take Henry’s place, Bishop Hugh remained pensive and studied his flock, though Henry was close enough to see a hint of amusement in his eyes. He knew as well as Henry there would be a huge uproar when Edric realized what was about to unfold.
But where was the bridegroom?
Henry grasped his crucifix, head bowed, not in prayer, but listening for the sound of the queen and her escorts. Beside him, Gil cleared his throat. Henry looked up, relieved to see the entourage come round the bend in the road. Exhaling deeply, he whispered to the bishop and then signaled the house.
Henry’s throat grew dry when the ladies appeared. He’d never seen two more beautiful women. Bea and Elle walked side by side along a path formed by the wedding guests. The jewels in the ladies’ gowns and hair sparkled, touched by the sun.
Bea’s eyes could not leave Gil’s, her smile so warm that no one could have noticed the chill on this cold November day. All eyes were on her as she handed Elle to Edric Weston for the walk to the chapel door.
Elle stood straight, looked calm, her eyes on Henry. He took her hand from Edric and she drew up beside him. Bishop Hugh turned to Henry, brow raised. Elle’s grip on his arm grew tight. Henry glanced back. Edric wore a content smugness on his face that said I win.
The clatter of armor from the new arrivals made heads turn. “Is that… It’s Will Marshal. Who is—” A gasp, then murmurs swept the crowd. “It’s the queen… Queen Eleanor…”
People fell to their knees as a very tall young man, whom few recognized judging by the looks on their faces, escorted the Queen Regent of England to the chapel door. Eleanor had such an aura about her. Most men, save her son King Richard, were barely visible in her presence.
Elle did see Little John and started to pull away, but Henry held her tight. He could hear her breaths quicken like the beat of his own heart.
Elle and Henry drew to their knees in front of Eleanor, their heads lowered. Eleanor extended her hand. Henry kissed her long, delicate fingers bejeweled with gold and rubies. His thankful eyes met hers and he placed Elle’s hand on the queen’s.
Little John had not dared to watch anything but the bishop as Eleanor bade them all to rise.
“We seem to have arrived a bit late.” Eleanor tipped Elle’s chin up.
“You are just in time, madam,” Henry said.
Eleanor pressed Elle’s hand into Little John’s. “I believe this is yours.”
“What!” Edric Weston stepped f
orward, fuming. “Madam, this is unacceptable. My dear lady sister deserves better than this…this lowly squire. You cannot—”
Eleanor met Weston’s complaint and smiled smugly. “Yes, I can. Now quiet your tongue.” She turned curtly back to the bishop, and said, “My Lord Bishop, Sir John and the Lady Elle are waiting.”
Little John drank in Elle, meeting her eyes and the smile that had captured his heart long ago. He squeezed her hand to assure himself that this was no dream.
Henry offered his arm to Eleanor. He led her aside to a spot where she commanded a view of the couple speaking their vows. She beamed, and the guests hid their surprise at the turn of events. Henry forced himself not to grin when Eleanor glowered at Edric for a few brief seconds.
Eleanor tapped Henry’s arm. He bent close and she whispered, “We shall talk later about this favor.”
After vows were spoken and the nuptial mass celebrated, the couple led the way to the hall where candles flickered atop the white linen cloth laid on the long trestle. A rush of aromas greeted them. Beef and pork, the last they’d have with the Advent season upon them on the morrow.
Eleanor’s presence bolstered Henry’s spirits. He remained at the queen’s side while she greeted guests. Edric stood by Elle, accepting congratulations graciously. He refused to say a word to Little John. Henry imagined the plots stirring in his mind. The man would find some way to get revenge.
Edric approached the queen, drew down to his knees, and kissed her outstretched hand.
“Congratulations, Lord Weston.” Eleanor’s eyes twinkled. “This is a fine match. The king, whom I shall see in a few weeks’ time, will be most pleased.”
“Then it’s true?” Henry asked as Edric rose.
“I leave shortly to deliver monies to the Holy Roman Emperor.” Disgust filled her voice, but her countenance changed quickly. She looked sharply at Edric with a subtle wicked smile. “Richard will be home soon to deal with his brother’s supporters.”
Edric didn’t flinch. “God’s will be done.” He tipped his head, said goodnight to his sister, and departed, much to Henry’s relief.
“More the king’s will,” Henry said in a low voice, which elicited another smile from the queen.
The bride and groom left shortly after, headed to Cartholme. As other guests took their leave, Eleanor’s servants retrieved her chests from the wagons. Squires placed the knights’ pallets along the walls of the hall. Eleanor’s chamberlain set about making Henry’s bedchamber suitable for a queen. Pillows and tapestries, silver pots and candlesticks, rose scented candles, more dried rose petals on the floor, and a huge bearskin rug were put in place.
“I have saved you and the lady, Henry,” she said when they’d pulled chairs near the brazier to warm themselves. “Now what shall you do for me?”
“I am at your service, madam.”
“I know the work you and your friends do here.” She tipped her head slyly and added, “And I do not mean your wool trade.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise Henry. “No, madam.”
“Your work is important. I admit I would wish I could have three of my favorite knights on this journey to Germany.”
“Three…? Stephan—he’ll accompany you?” Henry’s heart sped like a boat with the wind in its sails. He’d not seen Stephan since the night of the funeral, almost two months past.
Eleanor sensed his thoughts and grasped his hand. “He has been eyes and ears for me in Flanders. He shall meet me in Cologne after the New Year. If you should have a message…”
Henry nodded. He’d put quill to parchment and carefully craft his words ere the queen left Greyton. “Stephan will be honored to be at your side, as I would. And Robin?”
“Robin’s work, like yours, is here. I must send word to him. You’ll see that he receives it?”
“Of course.”
Eleanor studied Henry’s face and sighed. “Are you certain you’ve done right? You liked the young lady, which is more than many in arranged marriages ever hope for. The king may find you someone less suitable. It may be in his interest and in the interest of England that you take a wife.”
Henry tried to make light of Eleanor’s comment. “Pity that poor woman. And here I believed it was only my father I need worry about.”
Eleanor laughed, her voice husky. “There is always a higher authority.” She leaned forward, warming her hands by the fire. “Enough on marriage. Let us talk of war preparations.”
“Are they not one and the same, madam?”
She laughed again. “We shall need more wine. We have much to discuss.”
Henry refilled their goblets. They spoke until the night grew late and the candles burned low. Henry marveled how much he was reminded of quiet conversations he’d enjoyed with Eleanor’s daughter Joanna in the Holy Land.
Eleanor could have talked for hours. She had incredible stamina for a woman near seventy years. When she finally bid Henry goodnight, he saw the stress of the last year on her face. The efforts it had taken for her to secure Richard’s release were beyond the energies of most people. But it was almost done. She would be there to greet the king upon his release in mid-January. They would return to England, and Stephan with them, which sent his heart racing until he remembered the orders from the queen. Prepare for civil war. Count John would have the next move.
December dragged on, snowy and cold. Robin became more pragmatic in what provisions his men removed from Nottingham Castle’s undercroft. Though they took less, he did not reduce what he’d left for Much to distribute to the poor. His concern was that others might discover the caves where he’d hidden the pilfered stores. All his plans—and the king’s provisions—could go up in smoke.
Three days before Christmas Robin saw the tracks. Their foes were on foot, not on horseback. He and his men kept their approach quiet and walked the last quarter mile to the caves. Ahead, a chestnut-bearded man was on lookout for his thieving companions. Four others appeared from the tunnel and heaved sacks atop blankets unrolled on the ground, and then hurried back for more.
Robin’s second, Rhys Baujot, signaled one of his men. A dull thud disrupted the quiet of the wood. The lookout hadn’t known what hit him.
Robin stepped into the clearing. Noises sounded from within the cave. “Last load for me,” a hoarse voice called. A short, stocky thief emerged and froze. Robin’s men formed a half circle, their swords drawn. The man curled his arms round the sack in his arms, holding it like a babe.
“It appears you have two choices, friend.” Robin lifted his sword, then casually let the blade rest on his own shoulder.
“Two?” The thief grunted, eyeing Robin suspiciously. “Death by sword or death by hanging?”
“All right, three then,” Robin said.
The man frowned.
“Help us. Help King Richard.” Robin stepped forward. “Ha’ penny a day for you and your…companions.”
The man glanced over his shoulder. “Might I confer with my friends?”
Robin waved him away. The man took a slow step backwards, then another before bolting into the cave.
Rhys drew up beside Robin. “This is awfully risky. If there are more of them… They could turn us over to John’s men for a lot more than a penny.”
“You think the constable would play fair? Penny in their pockets and then they’d be hanged. We need them on our side.”
“And you think we should trust you?” The voice was deep and scratchy. It belonged to a man with one missing tooth and a scar left by a blazing-hot dagger. Obviously the leader. There were three more men lurking in the shadows just inside the cave.
“I am Robin du Louviers, and I speak on behalf of the king. Work for me, and I might convince him to pardon you of your crimes if you have any other than being poor.”
A dark-haired thief in a dirty wool tunic strode up to the outlaw leader. Robin couldn’t catch his whispered words. If the situation had not been so serious he’d have been amused at the way they looked him over. What co
uld they be thinking? They would be mad to fight his twelve seasoned soldiers.
“Fulke says you were in the Holy Land,” the outlaw leader said.
Robin nodded. “There were fifteen thousand of us there.” His eyes found Fulke’s. “Do I know you?”
“The Maledicta Tower in Acre. I worked for Ralf Walter. Built the king’s stone throwers what brought it down. I helped rebuild Jaffa and those accursed casals on the plains.”
Robin kicked at the dusting of snow on the ground and shivered. The foul weather in Outremer had taken men, animals, and supplies during the army’s march east from Jaffa. “This winter has nothing on the march across Ramla. Not yet. But the cold and snow have come early, and people are suffering. I want to help.”
Fulke whispered to his leader again. “I am Gerald,” the leader said.
“Who did that to you?” Robin asked, pointing at the scar.
“One of the constable’s men.”
“Did you deserve it?”
“I could not pay my taxes. The soldiers set my house ablaze. Tried to stop them, I did, but two of the bastards held me down.” Gerald rubbed the hairless scar. “The third heated his blade in the fire.”
Robin pointed to Gerald’s stash on the ground. “How much have you taken?”
“Two sacks of grain and three barrels of meat.”
“All right. Keep one tenth for yourselves and distribute the rest to the poor.”
Gerald protested. “We need this for the winter. What you suggest will only feed us for a few days. Our families—”
“You will be working for me, for the king.” Robin turned to Fulke. “Did the king not keep the army fed in the Holy Land?”
Fulke snorted. “When the rains did not destroy the food.”
“You and your men will guard this store, keep others away. We will only be able to replenish these supplies if no one knows they are here. Will you help us?” Robin refused to think of their fates if they said no.
The outlaws regarded each other a moment, their eyes meeting in silent accord. Gerald gave a curt nod. He and his men were true to their word in the days that followed.
*
For King and Country (Battle Scars Book 2) Page 39