“Here,” Richard said pointedly. As John approached, he said lightly, “See you the sheriff, John?” A gesture indicated white-faced deLacey kneeling upon the floor. The king’s tone hardened. “Do you likewise.”
John’s face reddened, but he knelt. “I pray you, Brother, for mercy.”
“Indeed.” Richard kept him there on the floor, the dark-haired head bowed in submission rather than homage. “Do you know I have followed you from city to city? Like a dog hunting its master—only I am convinced it is the other way around, and you should follow me.” He displayed large teeth in a mirthless smile. “In London, they sent me to Lincoln. In Lincoln, they sent me here. I am so very glad I’ve found you, if only to rest my buttocks.”
“Indeed,” John murmured.
The king cast a quick glance around the hall, taking note of those present. Marian, who had heard her father describe the Lionheart, marked his height and wide-set stature, the powerful shoulders, the understated aggression in his posture. His blue eyes were large and slightly protruding, and exceptionally piercing.
I would not want to be his enemy. Marian looked at the kneeling prince. I would not want to be his brother.
“There, now, John ...” The king placed one cupped hand on his brother’s bowed head, as if comforting a boy. With perfect clarity—and quiet condescension—he forgave his brother so all in attendance might hear. “Think no more of it, John; you are only a child who has had evil counselors.”
Seventy-Seven
Robin smiled crookedly, scraping sweat-stiffened hair from his face with a bracer-warded forearm. He looks well for his captivity ... better by far than I did—but then I am not a king. And no one else is Richard.
In the sheriffs private solar, the king poured wine himself and handed the cup to Robin. The royal eyes were intent. “DeLacey did not harm you?”
Robin shook his head. “Only my pride, when he forced me off the dais.” He laughed self-consciously, recalling his startled chagrin when the strategy succeeded. “That will heal, I think.”
Richard grunted. “So will his arm, but his pride may require more time. Being beaten by a woman—” Teeth glinted briefly. He poured wine for himself absently, then prowled the chamber as Robin waited quietly. He was not a man who suffered stillness gladly; imprisonment must have taxed him. “Sit down—sit down, Robin; we have shared too much to wait on ceremony.” Teeth flashed again in his ruddy beard. “By Christ, but what a battle Acre was!”
Robin agreed, amused by the king’s high good humor. He was a man who thrived on adversity, at home or on campaign.
Richard nodded, prowling again. “It is good to be free, though I should lop off Henry’s head for making me swear homage and agree to England’s becoming Germany’s fief, but what else was I to do?” He shook his head, swearing softly. “There are things yet to be done ... I had spent too much time in Germany to wait another day.”
“The ransom—?” Robin suggested.
“Part of it paid, part of it promised.” Richard grinned. “I think Henry knows he will never see the balance. But what does he expect? He extorted unlawful promises from me that I could not possibly keep. I have duties to attend, and all of them require money.” He sighed. “It is always money, Robin. There never is enough.”
“No,” Robin murmured, thinking about the ransom and his method of adding to it. No need, now.
“But as you’ve sent what you stole to Longchamp, there will be more to support the campaign.” The king swung toward him, clearly unconcerned that anyone might steal his money. “That girl,” he said abruptly. “What did you say was her name?”
Robin smiled. “Marian FitzWalter. Sir Hugh’s daughter.”
“Hugh’s!” The king laughed. “Then I know from where her courage comes ... those were two frightful blows she struck deLacey! He is fortunate to survive.”
“Yes,” Robin agreed dryly. “Marian has a habit of snatching up the closest length of wood to level the enemy.”
“I should have had her on Crusade.” But the humor waned quickly. “I wish ...” His face colored. He turned abruptly away, speaking to the wall. “I wish I might love a woman the way you love her.”
Robin sat very still. He could find no answer, nor manufacture one, to ease the king’s discomfiture. “Yes,” he said finally.
It seemed to be enough, or else Richard chose to make it so; he was bluff again, and jovial, speaking of his plans. “I’m to France, as soon as may be,” he explained. “Philip is chewing at the corners of my empire again ... it is time I put him to rout forever. I’ll sail for Normandy almost immediately.”
It was entirely unexpected. He’s just come home. He could not imagine a king newly freed sailing away again; but then he recalled this was Richard. “My lord.” His homage was deliberate; it would gain the king’s attention, who asked informality of his Robin. “My lord, do you think it might be better if you remained in England? She has been hard-pressed by your absence.”
“You mean my brother.” Richard laughed harshly. “He is a fool, Robin; a greedy fool and an ambitious lackwit, to stir up so much trouble. But he has learned his lesson. I’m stripping him of his lands and allowances; I need the money from them. He can swallow his pride and serve my interests ... he will be most concerned to do it, if he thinks himself my heir.”
“Will he be your heir?” “Perhaps.” Richard frowned. “There is Arthur still ... Geoffrey was next after me, and I would like to see his son gain something of this. John was never meant to be king.” He sighed gustily and drank wine. “But what does it matter? I’m but thirty-six; there are years left to me yet.” He prowled again briefly, then paused and looked at Robin. “Will you come with me?”
“To France?” Robin drew in a noiseless breath and released it carefully. In this instance, before this man, there was only one answer. “I am yours to command, as always.”
“No.” Richard was serious. “No, Robin—friend to friend, I ask, not king to subject. Will you sail with me to France?”
Robin shook his head. “I have been too long away. I have, as you do, duties to attend—”
“And a woman?” Richard smiled, eyes briefly shuttered, as if he retreated. “A comely and valiant woman, very like my mother. I wish you joy of her.” He assessed Robin again. “You think I am wrong to go.”
Robin didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Blunt as ever. Ah, well, so I ordered you to be.” The king swallowed wine, then scrubbed dampness from his beard. “I can’t stay here. There is Philip in France. We must settle things.”
“Because he deserted you?”
“That, and other things. He will have my French holdings, if I take no steps to prevent him.” His voice now was harsh. “England is not France.”
“No.” Robin agreed. “But England has need of her king.”
“I could be King of France.”
Robin gazed at him. Do we mean so little, then, when weighed against France? After a moment he nodded. “So you could, my lord.”
Richard was abruptly brusque, as if afraid he had divulged too much to the man who would no longer share his confidences. “Now. I must ask you to leave me. I must speak also to deLacey, and to my brother.”
Robin did not immediately move to go. He had his own questions. “What do you mean to do about the sheriff?”
“Provided he has enough money with which to apologize, I will let him keep his office.” Richard laughed softly. “He, too, has learned his lesson. John led him astray, but he is an able man. While I am in France I will require such men.”
“Such men may ruin England.”
Richard’s tone was sharp. “Then I shall charge you to prevent it! Hear me, Robin—look after my realm ... what you can of it.” His expression softened. “Do what must be done.”
Robin rose, setting the wine down. “About my companions—”
“The outlaws?” The king laughed, in high good humor once more. “A shepherd, you said, and a minstrel, and a gluttonous m
onk?”
“And a murderer also—Will Scarlet killed your brother’s men.”
“After they raped his wife, you said.”
“Yes.”
It seemed enough for Richard. “I have no quarrel with them. Nor does England, now; tell them they are pardoned.” He waved him toward the door. “Go, Robin ... no—wait—”
Robin turned at the door.
Richard approached, pulling something from his belt-purse. Candlelight glittered off a faceted gemstone, and another. The king gestured as he reached Robin. “Your hand, if you please.”
Robin put out his hand. The king set into it two of the earl’s rings. Softly, he said, “Did you think I would not recognize the device of Huntington?”
For a moment Robin could say nothing. Then he smiled faintly. “I did not think you would see anything I sent to recognize it or no. But I am grateful it arrived, to serve the Lionheart.”
“Sweet Jesu, Robin—” But Richard checked it. His face was expressionless. “Did you do as deLacey accuses?”
Robin’s hand tightened on the latch. “We killed twelve men. We did not cut their throats.”
“I thought not. You are not the man for butchery.” The king was unsmiling. “I recall how you railed against the executions at Acre.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The king’s mouth tightened. “Acre was necessary. If you argue it was not, think again what you have done.”
“I did it for you, my lord. We all did it for you.”
“Yes,” Richard said, “and that is why the Crown will overlook what occurred.”
They stood very close, but a pace apart, and yet Robin was very aware of the distance between them. He nodded, then lifted the latch. “In God’s name, not Allah’s, I welcome you home to England.”
“Robin—” The tone was peculiar. “One more thing. Send your lady to me.”
Marian sat on a bench in Nottingham’s great hall. Confusion still was paramount; seneschals for the prince and king discussed with a tense Gisbourne and haggard Walter how to feed so many people, while others discussed the miraculous return of the king, and still others laid wagers as to how much punishment the king’s brother might receive. She was interested in none of it. She waited only for Robin.
A woman crossed the hall, weaving her way through the throng. She wore an unflattering yellow kirtle. Dull brown hair straggled from her coif.
Marian waited. Eleanor at last arrived. Her sallow face was mottled with color. “I would do it again,” she declared. “Given the chance, I would again ... but this time I would do it better.”
“Yes,” Marian said. “You are very like your father.”
Some of the hostility faded. Eleanor clenched fists in her kirtle. “Will he lose his place? Do you know?”
Marian felt an amazing serenity she did not know she possessed. She had expected to be angry with Eleanor, but anger dissipated beneath the acknowledgment that nothing now could hurt her. Robin was safe. So was she. “I am not privy to the king’s mind.”
“Privy to Robin Hood’s bed.”
Marian laughed. “And grateful for the honor.”
Tears shone briefly in Eleanor’s eyes. “All I ever wanted was to be free. When I took that freedom and was discovered, dishonor accompanied it. But you escape it all. You sleep with Robin Hood, and yet regain the honor I can never have again.” Eleanor’s chin trembled. “It isn’t fair.”
“No,” Marian agreed softly. “Nor was it fair when your father declared me a witch, and you tried your best to have me burned at the stake.”
Eleanor opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. With a great show of hauteur—enough to rival Prince John’s—she walked back into the throng still milling in the hall.
“Marian?”
At last. Robin looked drawn, and weary, and young. She tensed instantly, wanting to reach out to him, to comfort him somehow, but she let him dictate the moment. His life as well as mine has been changed by all of this.
Quietly he said, “The king would like to see you.”
“Me?”
His smile was odd. “I think he wants to thank you.”
It was incomprehensible. “I don’t understand.”
“Go and find out.”
She pointed. “Just—in there?”
“In there.” He reached down and caught her hand, drawing her to her feet. “I will wait for you here.”
“Robin—” She touched his chin, tracing the scar. “I thought deLacey meant to kill you.”
“So did I. He would have, too, had you not prevented him.” Teeth glinted briefly. “No more tarrying—go and see the king.”
“Like this?” She could not help herself. “I can’t let him see me like this!”
“Marian,” he said sternly.
She went to see the king.
Richard Plantagenet, King of the English, seemed ill at ease as Marian entered the chamber. She shut the door and stood with her back against it, hands folded primly in skirts. She was hideously aware of her tangled hair, grimy face, black-rimmed fingernails, and the odors of cell and smoke that clung to her.
When he looked at her she recalled she was to curtsey. She attempted to do a proper one and nearly fell, blurting an unladylike oath as her knees and ankles protested.
He was there at once, helping her up. His hand was huge and callused, hard as horn; he released hers at once. He assessed her condition swiftly. “You have been sorely misused.”
It popped out of her mouth before she could prevent it. “So has England, my lord.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Yes,” he said finally, “so Robin tells me.”
She was red-faced and mortified that she had spoken so rudely. “My lord, forgive me—”
“No.” The king smiled. “Yes, I forgive you—what I meant to say was, I should ask your forgiveness.”
“Mine?”
“For being so laggard a soldier as to force you to act.” He grinned. “In the hall, Lady Marian, when you broke the sheriffs arm.”
“Oh.” Heat flushed her anew. “I was afraid he would kill Robin.”
“He meant to. I mistakenly believed he might listen to his king, but deLacey had other ideas.” He turned the wine cup repeatedly in his hands, as if he were nervous. “You have done England a service by preserving Sir Robert’s life.”
He was much more casual than she had expected, using “I” and “me” in place of “we” and “us.” There was no question of his authority, but he did not wield it like a sword above her head. “My lord, I would do anything possible to preserve his life.”
“Yes. So would I.” Blue eyes darkened perceptibly. He stood but a pace from her. Harshly, he said, “I wish you joy of your marriage.”
There was something in his expression she could not interpret. “Thank you, my lord, but there has been no discussion—”
He cut her off with a brief gesture. “There will be. Be sure of it.” His smile was slight. “I care very deeply what becomes of my Robin.”
She understood him then. “Yes, my lord. I know.”
“Do you?” He arched ruddy brows. “How much do you know?”
Steadily, she answered, “That he worships Coeur de Lion as a son worships a father; his own is not easily loved.”
“A father.” Richard’s mouth twisted briefly. “A father—and a son.” His eyes bored into hers. “Perhaps it is time I sired my own.”
She said, “All England would rejoice.”
The Lionheart laughed. “Yes, I imagine she would.” He raised his cup. “To your health, Lady Marian. To his health also—and to England’s as well.”
This time when she curtseyed she did not require his help.
Robin sat on the bench as she had, slumped against the wall. He looked up as she came forward and put out a hand to her, drawing her down beside him.
Marian sighed, leaning hard against him. “He is—impressive.”
“Yes. And persuasive. And many other things.”
&nbs
p; She smiled. “But not an unkind man.”
“Not if it suits his purpose.” Robin opened one hand. “A gift from Coeur de Lion.”
“Robin—those are your father’s rings—”
“Yes.”
“Then part of the ransom arrived.”
“Enough. Henry trusts him for the rest, but Richard says he will not pay it.” Robin’s eyes were bleak. “He has forgiven John. He will forgive deLacey also, provided the price is met. He even permits him to keep his office.” He rolled his head from side to side. “Nothing is changed. I expected—more. I thought he would stay here and administer England, instead of sailing for Normandy to harry Philip again. I thought—” He cut it off abruptly, thrusting the rings into his belt-purse. “Does it matter what I thought?”
Marian shifted closer. “You said nothing is changed; it is. We are. You, and I, and all of us.”
He laughed tightly in self-contempt. “We are pardoned outlaws.”
“But alive, not spitted on a sword, or hanged on Nottingham gallows.” Or burned at the stake.
“I wanted things to be different. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to make England right again. Instead, he tells me—” He broke it off bitterly. “None of it matters.”
“He told you—what? To tend England?” Marian smiled. “I cannot think of a better man.”
He grunted disagreement.
She prodded him with an elbow. “Come, Robin—the others are outside. Let us not add to their worries by keeping news of the pardon from them.”
“No.” He allowed her to pull him up, then caught her shoulders in his hands. “Marian—”
He was visibly upset. “Robin, what is it?”
“This ... just this—” He trapped her head in his hands and drew her face to his, then took her mouth with his own.
For a brief moment Marian thought of Eleanor and the others, of Gisbourne and de Pisan, perhaps even the king, who loved Robin also. And then awareness of them faded, concern for them dispersed; she gave herself to the man rather than the moment. She took back her own fiercely, impressing upon Robin that she as much as he comprehended the needs of a body once threatened by assault.
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