by Lisa Hendrix
“A whore, you mean.”
“I have never used that word.”
“And yet you speak to me like one. You treat me like one.”
“I only did it in the hope of driving you away again, as I did in Maltby.” He went on quickly, before the disbelief in her eyes shamed him to silence. “It is as I said yesterday. I made too many conflicting vows: to take you to Guy, to take you to Robin, to bed you, to keep you chaste, to kill Robin, to help him. I wanted to be rid of all of them and set things back to how they were before I found you on the road. I wanted you to demand I take you back to Robin, but I knew you would insist on going on, on keeping to our bargain. You are as stubborn as stone.”
Her knife wavered a bit, though it remained pointed straight at his belly. “But why not simply take me back if you want to be rid of me?”
“I am too weak. I wanted you too much.” He offered up the simple truth in the hope of, what? Forgiveness? Small chance of that, but at least she would know. “I needed your strength to set me on the path. I hoped you would have it.”
“Clearly I did not.”
“Oh, you had strength. Just not the strength I expected.”
She looked at the knife as though she wasn’t sure how it had come to be in her hand and carefully put it away. “What if I were to tell you to take me back to Robin now?”
Please do not. “Then I will take you back.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth and chewed a knuckle, plainly unhappy, her wish to be shed of him so clear on her face that Steinarr already knew her decision. A long moment passed in which the only sound he could hear was the hollow rush of the blood in his ears.
“I cannot go back,” she said at last, speaking softly, almost as if to herself. “I have no time to find another way.”
All went silent, even his heart. And then, as it restarted, his mind grabbed at a single word. “Time. You have said before you do not have time. Why? ”
“Robin must present the treasure to Edward within forty days of our father’s burial.”
“That lying little cockerel!” Steinarr turned and drove his fist into the doorframe. It made a poor substitute for Guy, but it would do until he got his hands on him. Then he would do things to him … beginning with shoving that gold florin down his lying throat, then retrieving it with his bare hand to shove up the other end. That would make a good start. He’d decide on the rest later. “Guy said you were to be married within the month, and that’s why I must have you back.”
When he turned around, her mouth was white with anger of her own. “That, at least, was near truth. I am to marry the day the new lord is installed.”
Was that bad or good? His head said one thing and his gut another. He shoved them both aside so he could deal with what was at hand. “How much longer do you have to reach the king? ”
“Two and ten days are gone so far. That leaves us eight and twenty, and I have only the one clue we found at the Lady Well.”
“How many are there?”
“Father never said. All he told Robert is that all would be found in Nottinghamshire, as would the treasure itself, though why he chose here, I do not comprehend.”
“And where is the king?”
“I do not know that either. London. Salisbury. He could even be in France.”
Steinarr’s mind spun as he calculated how fast they could reach London. “We will seek word along the way.”
“We? ”
“Aye. I told you, you have my aid. I do not like to be played for a fool, Marian. My vow to Guy was based on lies and is now undone.” His eyes went of their own accord to the stain on the sheepskin. “As is my vow to Robin, though the breaking of that one is entirely my own fault. Now there is only what I promised you.”
She pressed her hands to her reddening cheeks. “And what I promised you.”
Yes. “No. I release you from your part of the bargain, for that was founded upon lies as well. I will keep my own end and help you for nothing more than the satisfaction of stopping Guy.”
Outside, the stallion whinnied nervously. Steinarr pulled the door open and was shocked to find the sun already below the tops of the trees. Too much of the afternoon had flown. He made a quick decision.
“I will remove myself for the night, and you can make your decision in peace.” He took a risk, but he was going to have to leave her in moments anyway, for the lion was already stirring within him. At least this way, she might think the better of him for it. “You will be safe enough here with the door barred.”
“You are going to leave me, just like that?”
“Just like that.” Torvald would watch from nearby, just to be sure, but she needn’t know that. “You have reason not to trust me, Marian—”
“Matilda.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “You have reason not to trust me, Matilda, but I ask that you let me prove myself, earn back some piece of my honor in your eyes. For now, though, I must go.”
He grabbed Torvald’s clothing and stepped out into the fading light to quickly unhobble the stallion. He mounted, and as the animal adjusted to his weight, he saw Marian standing in the doorway, her face an unreadable mask. “Rest well, my lady.”
“You truly are leaving,” she said.
“Aye, I truly am. You can tell me what path you have chosen in the morning when I return.”
Those angry, mistrustful green eyes bored straight into his soul as she slowly nodded. “I will. In the morning.”
He turned the stallion west, toward what he hoped were thick woods. Sunset found him in a clearing by a brook where heavy deer sign told him the lion could find food. By sunrise, the ravening hunger had eased enough that he knew the beast had been successful. On a normal morning, he might find the carcass and cut some venison for his and Torvald’s use. Today, he hurried into his clothes and ran to find the stallion.
All was silent as they rode into the clearing before the cottage; not even the welcoming whinny of the rouncey greeted them. The animal might have wandered, Steinarr told himself, but he doubted it. She would have taken it to reach Robin faster. He quickly dismounted and pushed opened the door.
Gone. The weight of centuries of loneliness crushed down on him, nearly taking him to his knees, but he kept his mind on Marian. Whether she intended to go forward or back, she, a woman, couldn’t do it alone. He must follow her, keep her safe despite herself. If he was careful, she would never see him and never know.
And then he noticed them: both saddles, still in the corner, and Marian’s blankets, neatly rolled beside his furs.
Not gone. He bolted back outside. “Marian. Matilda. Curse it, Maud! Where are you? Answer me.”
The woods were silent, but in the distance, the church bells tolled out the hour. More business at the church, she’d said. Would she have gone there?
He threw himself on the stallion and raced toward the village, hoping against hope that he might still have a little time when he was not entirely alone in the world.
CHAPTER 10
“PRAYING WILL NOT make your riddle appear.”
Matilda didn’t bother to look. She’d felt his intense relief as he’d broached the door. “ ’Tis more likely than not praying. Why are you here?”
“Someone stole my horse.” Steinarr pushed the door shut and came to stand just behind her. “Ah, this is not about prayer at all. You’re looking at the tapestries. Do you think your next puzzle is in the stitching? ”
“I do not know. I woke with the image in my head this morning and set out to see if it held anything.”
“You should have waited,” he said. “Did your father like these stories?”
“He often asked the priest to speak of Eve’s sin. It confirmed his idea that women are the source of all wickedness.”
“I prefer to believe that women are the source of all that is pleasant.” His tone was neutral, but even though she could feel him trying to control himself, desire sheeted off him like rain off a roof.
“Do not, monsire. We are in a Holy church.”
“Where is the priest?”
“His fields. They are turning hay today. I watched him go from the edge of the woods.”
“You did not attend the Mass?”
“I did not have the courage. I am not comfortable here, even now, in all my sin, but I thought perhaps kneeling would help me see the answer, as it helped Robin in Headon.” She continued to study the garden scene as she told him about the hill and the tree.
“So that is why he climbed.”
“And why he fell.” She stared at the tapestry, willing her eyes to see her father’s secret. “There is nothing here.”
“Perhaps it is not in the image itself.” Before she could rise, he was at the Adam and Eve tapestry, flipping it up to examine the wall behind it, then running the edges between his fingers.
She rushed forward to snatch the tapestry away and smooth it back into place. “These are fine pieces that took years to make, and they are the property of the Church. You cannot … paw at them so.”
“Do you want to find your riddle or not? ” He moved on to the next panel and began fingering his way around the edge. “It could be sewn into a hem.”
“I had not thought of that.” She bit her tongue and stood back, letting him work his way through the entire set. When he finished, he grunted.
“Nothing. Let me see the clue. Perhaps a fresh eye.”
Matilda started to reach into her scrip, but stopped. “Do you truly intend to help me, monsire, or do you merely seek more opportunity to bed me?”
“Do not, ma demoisele. We are in a Holy church,” he said, mimicking her tones so precisely that she found herself smiling despite herself. “Ah, that is better. I do not think you have smiled at me since Maltby. I do truly intend to help you. How can I … ? I know.”
His sword appeared in his hand so quickly it took her breath away. Heart racing, she shrank back, but he merely laid the blade across his palms and held it out. “Take it.”
Hesitantly, she held out both hands. He carefully gave the blade into her care, then knelt to her.
“I am Steinarr the Proud, son of Birgir BentLeg, descended from the line of Harald Glumr, of whom many stories are told before the fires of Vass in my homeland.”
“I knew you were not English,” she muttered.
“I am not English.” A smile touched his lips, then faded into sadness. “I am nothing now, a man with no land, no home, no family, no ties. But in my day, I slew dozens in defense of my jarl with that very sword. Now I offer it and myself to you, Matilda of Huntingdon, to use as you will in pursuit of your brother’s right to his father’s land and title. Will you have me as your man? ”
“I do not know. As you said, you have made many vows. Why should I trust this one? ”
“Because you and I begin afresh from here with the truth. And because I swear this vow on the sword of my grandfather’s grandfather.”
The blade trembled on her palms. “Then yes, Sir Knight, I will accept your oath.”
“Turn the hilt toward me, with the blade beneath your arm.” He guided the sword into place, so that the blade lay along her forearm and against her ribs, then curved her fingers around the hilt to hold it—surely some strange custom of his land, for she had never seen a knight swear an oath on his sword except by holding it upright to make the Cross.
He then held his right hand beneath the hilt. “I, Steinarr Birgirsson, make this oath to you, Matilda Fitzwalter: that I am your man for as long as you need me; that I will stand between you and all harm; that I will also defend your brother from harm; that I will do all in my power to see Robert le Chape made lord of Huntingdon; and that at the end, whatever happens, I will return you safely to his charge. So I swear before the Father of All, and may this very blade turn against me if I fail to keep this oath.”
Leaning forward, he kissed the hilt then, gently, the back of her hand. Even with the shiver that raced up her arm, she could sense the way he fought to rein his emotions in. “You have my blade and my arm, my lady, but that will be the last kiss I press on you without your leave. Have you heard my oath? ”
“I have, monsire, as has Heaven, here in this place. And here is my pledge to you. I, Matilda of—”
“No,” he said. “I wish no pledge in return. This is my gift to you, in amends for how I have treated you these last days. All I ask is a token to bind me, since you did not present the sword to me.”
“I have nothing to …” She thought quickly and reached under her headrail to pull a single ribbon from her plaits. “Only this. It is a poor thing to confirm so fine a pledge. The ends are frayed.”
“It is enough.”
“Then give me your shield arm, monsire.” She looped the ribbon around his wrist twice, then knotted it well. Beneath her fingertips, his pulse pounded in rhythm with her own racing heart. “There. You are bound to me.”
“I am bound to you.” He rose and took his sword to slip it back into its scabbard. “Now, let us see if we can solve this riddle. Show me what you found in Headon.”
She pulled the cylinder from her scrip and extracted the parchment. “It gives only the name of the town. Harworth.”
He carried the piece over to the fat candles that burned on the altar and went through all the motions she and Robert had done, twisting and turning and peering and flipping.
“You see? Nothing. And yet there must be something.”
With a grunt, he carried the parchment outside. She followed and together they circled the church, then wandered the graveyard, examining the stones. Each place the word Harworth was carved, Steinarr stopped to poke and prod and wiggle. Finally, he ran out of stones to disturb. Frowning, he sat down on the low wall and surveyed the village beyond. “Your father was either cruel or an ass.”
“Or both.” She sat beside him, spun the cylinder mind lessly between her fingers, end over end. “He would have found it amusing to torture Robert with the possibility and then snatch it away.”
“Robin.”
She glanced up.
“He must remain Robin,” said Steinarr. “And you must remain Marian. Guy may have sent others to hunt you down. I wish no word of Matilda Fitzwalter or Robert le Chape left behind to help them.”
“Aye.” She sighed. “Thus ends my reign as your lady.”
He laid his hand over hers, stopping her fiddling. “You are my lady now, whether I call you that or not.”
“But you cannot treat me as such, monsire. I think I should be your servant. Or better, the servant of your lady, whom you deliver to her. You would not have leave to beat your lady’s servant as you would your own, even if she errs and speaks too boldly before others.”
“You will not err. Lies come easily to you.”
He said it not as accusation, but as simple truth. Still, it embarrassed her. “Forgive me, my lord. I learned it at my father’s knee. He often did not like the truth. It was easier to tell him what he wanted to hear.”
“Robin does not have the same skill.”
“No. Things might have gone more easily for him if he did.”
“Perhaps. But it is not a bad thing to be an honest man. Come, let us put this away and go find something to eat.” He plucked the cylinder out of her fingers and laid it across his knees as he rolled the parchment. “We can think on it while we break our …”
Matilda had already risen and was shaking out her skirts when he fell silent. She turned to find him staring at the cylinder.
“He is not an ass, after all,” he said. He spat on the cylinder and polished it against his sleeve, then held it up. “He is a fox. Look.”
His rough cleaning had brought out a pattern of fine lines running down one side of the case, barely visible beneath the tarnish. She snatched it out of his hands and tilted it until the figures became clear. “I know this.”
She dashed for the church door and pointed. “There.”
Steinarr followed, and together they compared the etchings o
n the cylinder to the Seven Deadly Sins carved over the lintel.
“One is different,” he said. “The rich man has three bags here, but only two in the lintel. Look, the mortar is different as well.” He drew his knife and stretched up to scratch at the lighter mortar along one side. It crumbled away in pieces.
Matilda caught a bit as it fell and rubbed it between her fingers. It turned to dust. She touched her tongue to it, then spat. “It is naught but salt and flour with a bit of sand mixed in.”
Steinarr carved out what he could reach, then stood on his toes and tried to wriggle the stone free. “There is still enough mortar along the top to hold it in place.” He glanced around. “I need something to stand on.”
“If you hold me up, I can reach it,” said Matilda.
Almost before the words were out, Steinarr bent and scooped her up, settling her on his shoulder. Unprepared, she went dizzy with the yearning that wrapped itself around her with his arms. She grabbed at the lintel to steady herself.
He held the knife up to her. “Quickly, before someone sees us.”
She forced her attention to the Sins, now only a hand’s breadth above her eyes, gouging at the mortar until the stone wiggled freely, then using the tip of his blade to pry it forward.
“There is a space behind.” Balancing the piggish face of Greed on the ledge of the lintel, she gingerly reached into the cranny. Her fingers closed around something soft and leathery—she hoped fervently that it wasn’t a dead bat—and she drew it out, breathing a sigh of relief as she opened her hand. “A purse, with something in it.”
“Hurry,” said Steinarr. “I think I hear someone coming.”
She shoved the stone back into place and shifted it to line up properly. “Done.”
He dropped her within the circle of his arms and stepped back, and they both turned, so that when the priest and his man rounded the corner, they looked as though they might have just come out the door—except for the knife. Matilda quickly hid it in the folds of her skirts.