Heir of Locksley

by N B Dixon

  Lord Locksley’s face hardened. “I wish to pay my respects to a knight of the realm. My. . . previous relationship with Lady Gisborne has nothing to do with this.”

  Robin didn’t believe him, and he wasn’t looking forward to meeting Guy again under such circumstances. He would have to attend the funeral—there would be no getting out of it—but he found himself already wishing it was over. He hoped Will was right and his father’s need to preserve what was left of his reputation would keep Lady Gisborne from becoming a more intimate member of their family.

  ***

  “He’s late.”

  Lucy jumped. She had been sitting gazing into the fire, lost in her own thoughts, and had not heard Much coming downstairs.

  “You should be in bed.”

  Much ignored her. “Where is he, do you think?”

  Lucy sighed. “At the tavern, most likely.”

  “Da will be mad.”

  Lucy could not argue with that. She herself was ready to flay her older brother. They had barely enough money as it was, and Peter was gambling it away in some alehouse. He had been staying out later and later recently. Didn’t he know how much the family was suffering? Wasn’t he aware that soon they may be thrown out on the streets if they could not pay their rent? Or did he not care?

  There was a creek as the front door to the mill opened.

  “Go to bed, Much,” Lucy ordered.

  Much looked disappointed but didn’t argue.

  Lucy was glad her parents were out. She didn’t want them to hear the conversation she and her brother were about to have.

  Peter was drunk; Lucy could tell at a glance. His clothes were rumpled as if he had slept in them, and there was a day’s growth of beard on his jaw. His eyes had a bloodshot look, which told Lucy more than she wanted to know about how his night had gone.

  “How much did you lose this time?”

  “None of your business. Get me something to drink, will you?”

  “You’ve had more than enough. You might want to sit down before you fall.”

  His bottom lip stuck out like a belligerent child’s. Lucy did not try to hide her disgust. Much, who was only twelve years old, was more mature than Peter.

  “How much did you lose?” she repeated. “You might as well tell me.”

  Peter held her gaze for a few seconds, but then his dropped. “Two pennies,” he muttered. “I’ll get it back.”

  “How could you?”

  Peter winced at her sharp tone and glanced around. Lucy knew he was searching for their parents.

  “They’re not here, luckily for you. Da will kill you when he finds out. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “It was just this once.”

  “Until the next time. You know we’re about this close—” Lucy held two fingers so they were almost touching “—to being thrown out. Da is behind on the rent, and you spend the little money we have in the tavern. How can you live with yourself?”

  “All right, all right,” Peter muttered. “It won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t.”

  They stood regarding each other for a moment. Lucy wondered how she had ever looked up to Peter. When they were little, she had followed him everywhere. He had always protected her from the bigger children. Now he was a sorry specimen, with bowed head and shuffling feet.

  “Has Da told you he’s poaching in Sherwood?” she said at last.

  “Aye. He asked if I’d go with him.”

  “Well just you make sure nothing happens to him.”

  “Don’t you have any faith in me at all?”

  “Not much.”

  Peter looked hurt, and for a moment, Lucy felt a little guilty.

  “You should get to bed. I’ll bring you something for your head.”

  “How do you know I have a headache?”

  “You’ve been standing with one hand pressed against your forehead for the last five minutes.”

  Peter shuffled towards the ladder without further protest.

  ***

  The funeral was not well attended. Looking around at the group of mourners, Robin couldn’t help feeling that it was a poor showing. He supposed Sir Benedict was in some way to blame. The man had been little better than a recluse for the best part of six years. Still, he had been a knight of the realm. He had served his country well. There should have been some recognition of that.

  The day was breezy with a hint of rain in the air. Robin stood listening as the priest droned on about Sir Benedict’s life and about his contributions to England’s welfare.

  Robin cast a surreptitious glance over to where Sir Benedict’s immediate family was standing by the coffin. It was unadorned apart from a simple wreath of roses. Robin didn’t know what had been the final cause of Sir Benedict’s death, but according to common report, he hadn’t suffered. That was something to be grateful for.

  As Robin watched, Katrina took out a scrap of lace and dabbed her eyes with it. Lady Gisborne’s face remained pale and grave. Robin saw no sign of tears from her.

  As for Guy, his appearance came as something of a shock. Gone was the awkward, gangly boy who didn’t quite seem to know where to put his hands and feet. The young man standing by the coffin was tall and powerfully built. He had a sword slung at his side, and he caressed the hilt in an absent way. His blonde hair was sleek and shiny, and although his face wore a suitably sombre expression, he, too, showed no sign of grief at his father’s death.

  The priest finally drew to a halt. The coffin was lowered into the earth and several men—serfs from Gisborne Manor—stepped forward to shovel soil over it.

  Robin chanced a quick look at his father. Lord Locksley was standing a little apart from the other mourners and caught Lady Gisborne’s eye. A silent exchange passed between them. Robin tensed. Would his father really propose here? Before Sir Benedict was even cold in his grave?

  Katrina was sobbing silently now. One of her maids was guiding her away from the grave site. As Robin watched, the first of the mourners drifted over to Guy and Lady Gisborne to offer their condolences.

  Robin didn’t join them. He continued to watch his father. Lord Locksley was shifting restlessly. After a while, he gave up any pretence of waiting in line to speak to the grieving widow and drifted away alone. Lady Gisborne detached herself from her sympathetic friends and hurried after him. Robin waited as long as he dared before following.

  ***

  Guy listened to the priest’s false words of sympathy and watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground. His face was fixed in an appropriately sad expression, the type of expression that should be on the face of a grieving son. Never mind the fact that Guy had neither seen nor spoken to his father in six years.

  Since the night when his mother’s secret had come out, Sir Benedict had banished Guy, Katrina and their mother from his sight. With no relatives in England, their mother had fled with Guy and Katrina to friends in France. Lady Elaine de Civille had taken them in willingly, and treated them like family, but Guy had never forgotten the man who had abandoned him, his only heir.

  Well, now they were back. Guy could assume his rightful place, and he would get the power and recognition he deserved. There was no one to stand in his way. Behind Guy’s grief-stricken expression, a smile lurked.

  He glanced over at his mother and sister. His mother stood at the graveside, her face pale and sad, the picture of the dutiful, grieving widow. Katrina was sobbing into a lace handkerchief which she held pressed to her eyes, their mother’s arm around her. It was an impressive performance.

  Guy let his eyes travel over the mourners. He wondered if there was anyone there who was truly sorry Sir Benedict was dead. He and Lord Locksley had been friends a long time ago, or had that been a lie? According to the steward, his father had grown increasingly morose and distant, shunning society and leaving the running of the estate to his steward. He had allowed his peasants to live virtually tax free, and the estate was close to ruin. Well, all that wou
ld change. The serfs were in for a rude awakening. Their long holiday was over.

  Guy’s gaze rested on Lord Locksley. He stood with Robin, a respectful distance away. As his eyes met Robin’s, Guy’s hand clenched on his sword hilt. Hatred coursed through him. He welcomed it. He’d fed on it for six years, and soon, Robin and his father would get a taste of it.

  At last, the service was over. The mourners were breaking up. Guy saw Lord Locksley walk away. His mother waited a minute or so before disappearing in the same direction. Out of the corner of his eye, Guy saw Robin follow.

  He made a split-second decision. He had to know what was said. If his mother’s plans clashed with his own, he had to find out. Maybe she still loved the man who had ruined their lives. No, Guy reminded himself. That had been Robin’s doing. He had torn their family apart and he would pay for it.

  The graveyard was overgrown and surrounded by dense shrubbery. Guy followed the distant sound of voices and hid behind a gnarled yew tree. He could see neither his mother nor Lord Locksley, but he could hear them clearly.

  “I am surprised to see you back here,” Lord Locksley said.

  “Where else should I be but at my dead husband’s side? I am only sorry that I arrived too late.”

  “A pretty speech, Amelia, but one you can hardly expect me to believe.”

  His mother’s tone was cool. “You can believe what you like.”

  “Is Guy capable of running the estate?”

  “He has grown into a competent young man. He is inexperienced, but I shall be there to guide him. I have no doubt he will do the Gisborne name proud.”

  “I wish I could say the same about Robin, but he continues to be a disappointment.”

  Guy smirked.

  “I thought of you often,” his mother said. “Did you think of me at all?”

  “The past is the past, Amelia.”

  “But it doesn’t need to be. Benedict is dead. I am free. We can finally be together.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What do you think I am saying? This is what we have longed for. Now God has answered our prayers.”

  “So that is why you came back? You expected I would ask you to marry me?”

  Guy heard the icy disdain in Lord Locksley’s voice and fought the urge to dash out and run him through with his sword.

  “Your husband is barely laid to rest. Can you imagine the scandal it would cause?”

  “If we waited the proper amount of time—”

  “No, Amelia. While you were my mistress and we could be together in secret, I was safe, but I have a reputation to consider. It has taken me a long time to claw back the ground I lost once our association became known. I have regained my footing in society to a large extent. I would be a fool to throw away all my hard work.”

  “Is your reputation all that matters to you?”

  “You are a handsome woman. I have no doubt you will find plenty of suitors who can, shall we say, fulfil your requirements.”

  “I love you!” His mother’s voice cracked like a whip through the still air. “Was I only ever an amusement to you? A diversion? Was anything you ever said to me true?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Lord Locksley snapped.

  “Did you ever intend to marry me? Was that why you supported Benedict’s plan for Robin and Katrina to wed?”

  “Use your common sense, Amelia. I could hardly tell him the truth, and it would have been a good match. I do not wish to discuss the matter any further.”

  Guy heard footsteps retreating.

  “Well, it looks like we will not be stepbrothers after all.”

  Guy spun round, his hand tightening on his sword. Robin had appeared noiselessly on the path in front of him, his face wearing the old, infuriating grin Guy remembered so well.

  “You’re looking well, Guy.”

  “That’s more than I can say for you,” Guy snarled. He pointed at Robin’s nose. “Brawling is hardly proper for the son of a lord, but then, you never did conduct yourself with any propriety.”

  Robin laughed, which was not the reaction Guy had hoped for. He patted his nose.

  “This is a souvenir of our last meeting. Don’t you remember?”

  “Oh, I remember.” Guy’s voice was a low hiss. “You destroyed my life. You destroyed my family.”

  The grin faded from Robin’s face. “I’m sorry for that.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I was a child, Guy. Sir Benedict happened upon me just after I’d discovered your mother and my father together. When he asked me where they were, I panicked. What else could I have done?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Guy’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Lied, perhaps?”

  “Your life wasn’t the only one that changed. I never meant to hurt you or Katrina. How is she, by the way?”

  “You will not touch my sister,” Guy roared. “You will not even speak her name.”

  “Guy!” Robin made as if to lay a hand on his arm, but Guy’s sword flashed between them.

  Robin didn’t flinch. “So this is how it’s going to be, is it? We were friends once. Are you going to let one mistake ruin that?”

  “Friends?” Guy let out a derisive laugh. “That’s what you thought? A few apologetic words and we could forget the past?”

  “I’m not proud of what I did. I’ve regretted it every day for yours and Katrina’s sake.”

  “Save your regrets for those who want them. And I have news for you; we were never friends. Unlike everyone else, I didn’t worship the ground you walked on. I despise you, and if I ever catch you alone in a secluded spot…” Guy ran a thumb along his sword blade.

  Robin’s eyes hardened. “Go ahead. We are alone. I am unarmed. Those are just the type of odds you like, aren’t they? I could be wrong, but is it normal practice to bring a sword to a funeral? You wouldn’t be flaunting your new status? Dear me, and your father just in his grave. Your love leaves something to be desired.”

  Guy was speechless. Robin’s self-assurance was almost too much for him. He considered killing him there and then, but he remembered the plan. Robin’s fate was already decided, and revenge, Guy’s mother had often told him, was a dish best served cold.

  With a noise of contempt, Robin walked away.

  ***

  Katrina shook off her maid with some effort and looked around in annoyance. Where had Guy and her mother gone? Why had she been left to deal with the mourners on her own? The last of them had finally drifted away, and Katrina was alone by her father’s grave.

  She wasn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, he had always been kind to her, but when her mother’s secret had come out, he had abandoned her. Katrina knew she should have been angry, but her resentment was all reserved for her mother. Because of her selfish actions, she had ruined Katrina’s hopes.

  Katrina could not remember a time when she hadn’t loved Robin. She had followed him and Guy around, and though her presence had irritated Robin, he had always treated her with an awkward kindness.

  The memory of his face had sustained her throughout their long separation. She had watched him from behind her lace handkerchief. He hadn’t changed much.

  He was slighter than Guy. His arms were well muscled and his face was still boyish. His black hair was the same untidy tangle she remembered, and as for his eyes… A pleasant shiver ran down her back. He had looked at her for a moment, and she had seen that they were the same vivid green.

  Only his nose ruined the picture. Her brother’s handiwork. Trust him to spoil perfection. Still, it made his face interesting. Guy and their mother might have their own schemes, and that was all right. She would go along with them, but she had plans of her own. Robin would be hers before they were much older.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 10

  The stag picked its way down the slope and paused at the brink of the stream. It stood motionless for several seconds, ears pricked and nose quivering as it scented the wind. Having decided there was no danger, the s
tag bent its antlered head.

  From his hiding place in the bushes downwind of where the animal drank, Robin watched it and marvelled. He had seen many similar sights over the years, and they never ceased to amaze him. The deer of Sherwood had taught him more about the forest than he could ever have learned from a human.

  As he allowed the peace and seclusion of the forest to wash over him, his thoughts wandered back to the day before and the confrontation with Guy. Robin had expected to find him changed; they were six years older, after all. But the fact that Guy had been willing to draw a sword on an unarmed victim had surprised him.

  His reverie was interrupted by a stealthy noise close at hand. The stag, also hearing it, raised its head. But before it could do anything else, an arrow flew as if from nowhere, lodging itself in the stag’s side. The stag crumpled to the ground, where it lay, its legs thrashing in agony. As Robin watched, his own hand descending to his bow, he saw two men step out from the bushes, where they had been hiding, and approach the dying animal. The older man produced a long knife and, kneeling, ended the stag’s misery with one swift blow.

  He was dressed in rough peasant clothing—green and brown so as to blend in with the foliage around him—and carried a longbow and quiver. The man with him was much younger and dressed in similar fashion. From the similarities in facial features, Robin guessed they were related.

  “He’s a beauty,” the young man crowed.

  “Keep your voice down,” the older man snapped back.

  “What for? There’s no one about. I checked.”

  “There are the foresters. They always pop up when they’re least wanted.”

  Robin decided it was the right moment to show himself. He stepped silently out from his hiding place and approached the men.

  “That was a fine shot.”

  Both men stared at him in consternation. They knew him; the whole village did. Both jumped away from the stag as if by doing so, they could claim their innocence.

  “This is not how it looks, Master Robin,” the older man stammered.

  Robin raised an eyebrow. “From where I’m standing, it appears you have killed one of the king’s deer.”