by N B Dixon
Without another word, Katrina remounted her horse and kicked it into a gallop.
If only she hadn’t persuaded her escort to stay home perhaps that worthless peasant would have been more cooperative. She was still seething inside at the way he had treated her, but mixed in with the anger was worry.
Where was Robin? Why did he keep disappearing like some will o’ the wisp? What could he be doing?
A sudden, dreadful suspicion seized her. No, he can’t be. That girl was nothing to him, just the daughter of a lowly miller. Robin would not waste his time with her.
She had to find out once and for all what was going on between them, but how? She didn’t want to make it look as if she were prying.
Show concern for the girl and her family, a voice in her mind whispered. Make him feel he can confide in you. Be sympathetic. She wished now that she hadn’t struck Will. He would be sure to tell Robin. Well, it was too late now. If need be, she could always apologise to the stable boy, though it would gall her to do it. Still, if lowering her pride was what it took to get to the bottom of this mystery, it was a price worth paying.
***
Robin found Will in the stable’s polishing tack.
“Your face is bleeding.”
Will swiped at his cheek with a sleeve. A long gash ran down from just below his eye to the edge of his jaw.
“It’s nothing.”
“What do you mean, ‘it’s nothing’? Who did this to you?”
Will glowered at him. “What do you care? You’ve been out courting your lass while I’ve been here taking abuse just like a good little serf.”
Robin was horrified. “My father did this?”
“Guy’s sister. She was here looking for you. Got all cross, she did, when I wouldn’t tell her where you were. She had a riding crop and she used it.”
“I see.” Robin realised his fists were clenched. He wished Katrina was here right now. He would like to have paid her back in kind, but he could hardly hit a girl. Katrina was as bad as her brother. She would never have dared to strike Will if he’d been there. “I’ll speak to her.”
Will shrugged. “Serfs like me are just dogs to the likes of her. You nobles are all the same.”
It was what Peter had said.
“That is not true and you know it.”
“Do I? Tell me, My Lord, what am I to say to His Lordship when you go sneaking off tomorrow? He’s also come asking questions. He mentioned something about the stocks if I didn’t tell him where you’d gone.”
Robin scraped fingers through his hair. “You’re right. This isn’t a game. I should never have involved you. Let me look at that cut.”
“It’s not that bad—” Will began, but Robin held up a silencing finger. Without a word, Will subsided onto a stool. Robin went to fetch a clean rag and dipped it in a bucket of water pulled fresh from the well. Crouching at Will’s side, he reached up and touched the cold compress to Will’s face.
“Damn, that hurts!”
“Hold still.”
The cut was a nasty one. As gently as he could, Robin stroked the rag down Will’s cheek, wiping away the trickling blood. His skin was warm and slightly rough with stubble. Robin’s heart gave an unsteady lurch. He cleared his throat, which had gone suddenly dry, and searched for something to say. “I met Sir Richard on the way home. It seems my father was worried and asked him to find me.”
Will swore, though that might have been due to Robin’s ministrations.
“It’s all right. He said he would keep silent. I trust him. The next time my father asks where I am, don’t lie on my account.”
“I could tell him you’re off drinking at the Blue Boar,” Will suggested. “He’d like that a good deal better than the truth, I reckon.”
“Let me deal with him. You don’t need any more injuries.”
Will’s face softened. He leaned a little into Robin’s hand. Their eyes met and held. They stayed like that for a few seconds, neither moving, neither looking away. Robin had never noticed before how long Will’s eyelashes were. They were a shade darker than his hair, as were his eyebrows. His lips curved in a slight smile, and Robin’s heart did that odd, painful lurch again.
“You know I’ll help if I can,” Will said. “What’s a couple of rotten vegetables between friends?”
Robin tore his gaze away with an effort. The strength of his reaction surprised and unsettled him. Abruptly, he got to his feet, tossing the bloody rag aside.
“You should let Martha look at that. It may scar, but she is sure to have a salve that will help.”
Once he was clear of the stables, Robin paused. That had been…strange. How could he have kissed Lucy earlier and then touched Will and felt…that? True, the sight of Will’s injury had shocked him. He felt a fresh wave of anger at the memory. There was guilt, too. It had happened because of him. Will was a peasant, subject to the whims of his so-called betters. It was natural to feel protective towards him. That was all it had been.
***
Will stayed where he was, struggling to gather his scattered thoughts. What had just happened? Robin had bathed his cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle in contrast with his brusque manner. His hand had lingered a moment, their eyes had met, and…and all Will had been able to think about was how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss him. It had been an effort to speak casually.
Will had known for a long time that girls held no interest for him. He’d first discovered this at the age of twelve, not long before he’d met Robin. There had been a boy, a servant like himself, and in the early stages of consumption. Will had seen many die, and he recognised the signs. The boy had cornered him in an out-of-the-way passage of the castle. He had pressed Will up against the wall and kissed him. Will had been startled, but he hadn’t resisted. He hadn’t wanted to.
The boy had pulled away almost at once. He’d been apologetic and frightened, begging Will not to tell, swearing it would never happen again. Will had no intention of telling anyone, and it had happened again. The odd stolen kiss or quick fumble was as far as things ever went. The boy had been knocked down and killed long before the consumption had the chance to take his life. An accident caused by a runaway horse and cart. If Will thought of him at all, it was to hope he had at least helped to make the last months of the boy’s life a little happier.
Over the next few years, there had been other brief encounters, normally as a result of having drunk too much. Will had kept those from Robin. It was the only secret between them. Will told himself it was none of Robin’s business, but he knew the real reason. He feared Robin’s rejection. The Church described such encounters between men as sinful, evil. Will hadn’t wanted to see Robin turn from him in disgust. He had despised himself for it. Since when had he, Will Scathelock, ever given a damn about what some nobleman’s son thought of him?
But that was before he met Robin, before he found himself in neither one world nor the other—not a serf, but not a lord, either. He had never thought of Robin in that way, and Robin had made it abundantly clear where his preferences lay. So where had this come from? It’ll pass, Will told himself. You were caught off guard, that’s all. It meant nothing. But he had not imagined that brief moment of connection, and he was sure Robin had felt it, too.
***
“Where can your brother be?” Da fretted as he picked at the vegetable pottage Lucy had set in front of him.
She looked up from the tunic she was mending. It was an old one of Peter’s, and it had been mended so many times, it was a wonder it held together at all.
“You know where he is.”
Da sighed, and Lucy was tempted to let the tunic fall to pieces. It would serve Peter right if he had to walk about half naked.
“I’ll give him the thrashing of his life when he gets in. We’re short enough of help as it is.”
Lucy wished Peter were here so she could knock some sense into his thick skull. Her parents had enough to deal with. Much wasn’t out of danger yet, and they we
re all afraid for him—except Peter, apparently.
She set aside her mending. “I’ll go and fetch him home.”
“You can’t go there alone at this time of night. It isn’t safe.”
“I won’t be long.” Lucy left before Da could protest any further.
In truth, she was more nervous than she’d let on. The Blue Boar had a bad reputation, and she didn’t relish pulling Peter out of such a den, but her anger propelled her on.
As she pushed the tavern door open, the first thing that struck her was the noise. Lucy hesitated on the threshold. Just inside the door, a rowdy group of men were seated around a trestle table. They were well into their cups and laughing raucously at some jest or other. A boy was playing a lute and singing some bawdy song about a milkmaid and an earl’s son. Lucy recognised Alan a Dale, the best musician in the village.
Some men were engaged in a noisy game of dice. Lucy recognised many of them. A better-dressed man she did not know was holding court over his friends while his hand was shoved down the neck of a village whore’s gown. Lucy scanned the room for Peter, anxious to find him and leave as soon as possible.
“All right, my lovely?” A voice rasped in her ear. A hot, clammy hand fastened on Lucy’s wrist, and she was engulfed by the smell of sour ale and body odour. She tried to twist free, but the man tightened his grip and pulled her closer.
Lucy twisted to look at his face. It was Edgar, Lord Locksley’s steward.
“I won’t hurt you,” he slurred.
Lucy struggled. “Let go of me.”
“I’m only having a bit of fun.”
Lucy felt flecks of spit hit her face. Fear and disgust warred inside her, and she increased her efforts to escape. People were turning to watch.
Then, without warning, Edgar was plucked away and sent flying.
Lucy turned to Robin as relief flooded through her.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded.
Edgar glared at Robin. “You have no right to manhandle me like that. I shall tell your father.”
“Only if you want me to tell him you were drunk out of your head. How long do you think you’d keep your position then?”
Edgar glowered, but backed off. He made his way unsteadily towards the door, to a chorus of catcalls from the other patrons.
Robin put an arm around Lucy. “What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for my brother.”
Robin’s expression turned grim. Without a word, he pointed to a table at the back of the room.
Lucy’s heart sank. Peter sat slumped on his barstool. There was a half-full mug of ale in front of him, and it clearly wasn’t his first. His companions were in no better condition.
Rage filled Lucy. All her brother’s promises. They had meant nothing.
“Will,” Robin called. “Can you lend a hand?”
Will approached. There was a nasty cut on his cheek.
“What happened to your face?” Lucy blurted out.
Will winked. “I had a run-in with a lass.”
“Will!” Robin’s tone held a warning note.
Will eyed Peter in some disgust. “There’s an ugly sight.”
There was a commotion at the door. Will turned to look, and swore.
“What is it?” Robin demanded.
“Guy is coming with a whole crowd of his friends.”
Lucy tensed.
“It’s all right.” Robin gripped Peter under the arms. “Help me, Will.”
“We’ll run straight into them if we leave now,” Lucy said.
Peter shook off Robin and Will with a muttered oath. “Leave me alone.”
“Fine, stay there, you drunken sod.” Will turned to Robin. “Reckon he’s safe enough for now. Guy won’t bother with the likes of him.”
Lucy shot Peter a furious look as Robin put a protective arm around her. He and Will steered her to their table, which was tucked in an unobtrusive corner. There were only two stools. Robin perched on the edge of his and sat Lucy on his lap.
Lucy was uncomfortably reminded of the man and the whore, and heat rose to her face, but apart from a loose arm around her waist to keep her in place, Robin made no effort to touch her. Both he and Will were alert for trouble, and their tension was infectious. Lucy noticed then that Alan a Dale had stopped playing and was watching their table. He looked like he meant to intervene if there was trouble.
Lucy stiffened as Guy and his friends swaggered in. One look was enough to tell her that this was not the first tavern they had visited. A cold shiver ran down her back as her gaze fastened on Guy’s handsome, sneering face. Robin gave her a slight squeeze.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I won’t let him touch you.”
Guy was saying something to the landlord. Whatever it was, it could not have been complimentary as the landlord’s mouth was set in a sullen line. However, he was either too much in awe of Guy, or the money in his purse was too tempting, for he pushed a jug of wine across the counter.
Guy took it and made for the table in the centre of the room, where he was most noticeable. His friends followed. One of them seized the bench on which the table’s occupant was sitting, minding his own business, and tipped it. The man thudded to the floor, picked himself up and shambled away.
“They call themselves lords,” Will scoffed. “A street beggar has better manners.”
“What does Peter think he is doing?” Robin said sharply.
Lucy followed his gaze, and her blood turned to ice. Peter had got to his feet. He was making his way through the tables, moving more steadily than Lucy would have expected, heading straight for Guy.
“The fool!” Will hissed.
Others were turning to watch. A peasant accosting a lord. This wasn’t done.
Lucy willed her brother silently to walk away. She could feel the tension in Robin’s arm around her. Will was poised on the edge of his stool.
Peter planted himself in Guy of Gisborne’s way, so that the young lord couldn’t help but notice him.
“You attacked my sister,” he announced. His voice was thick, and he stood with fists clenched.
Guy was looking at him as though he had a nasty smell under his nose. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Get out of my way.”
Peter stood his ground. “You’ve forgotten already? I suppose you go around raping girls all the time. She was just another string to your bow.”
Lucy’s face burned with shame, but more than her embarrassment, fear threatened to cut off her breath. She was cold all over.
Guy’s lip curled in distaste. “I can have my pick of the best women in the land. Do you think I would sully myself with a village whore?”
Peter lurched towards Guy, fists raised.
Quick as lightning, Will was across the room and had grabbed Peter in a headlock.
Robin pushed Lucy off his lap. “Stay there.”
Peter fought to get loose. “He called my sister a whore!”
“Shut up,” Will snapped. “Or I’ll knock you out myself.”
Guy’s face was contorted with rage. “You dare to attack me? I’ll teach you some respect.”
To Lucy’s horror, Guy drew his dagger, but Robin was there.
“That’s enough, Guy, let it go.”
Guy’s eyes widened in recognition. Lucy could see him putting things together. The mill, the girl, the fight.
“Well, Robin, down in the dirt with the peasants. How the mighty have fallen. I must say, the costume suits you.”
Robin’s voice was cold. “Go home, Guy, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.”
Before Guy could answer, Peter, who had been struggling against Will’s hold, drove a fist into his captor’s stomach. Will bent over, winded, and his grip loosened.
Peter wrenched free and punched Guy in the face. Blood flowed.
Guy stared in astonishment at the red liquid coating his fingers. “Why, you filthy little cur.”
It all happened so fast
, and yet afterwards, Lucy remembered it in slow motion.
Guy lunged with his dagger at Peter.
Robin yelled, “No!” and tried to drag Peter away. Peter’s fist connected with Robin’s jaw, breaking his grip. There was a blur of movement, and Guy’s dagger was sticking out of the centre of Peter’s chest.
For a moment, he swayed where he stood, a look of surprise on his face, then he pitched forward and crashed to the floor.
Lucy heard a long, terrible scream and realised it was her own. She was on her feet, though she didn’t remember standing, stumbling towards her brother.
Guy kicked Peter over onto his back, his face twisted in contempt.
Robin stood there, white with shock. Guy reached down and yanked his dagger free. He wiped it on Peter’s tunic, the new one Lucy had made him last year.
“Clean up that mess, landlord. I believe my friends and I will take our custom elsewhere.”
“You’ll pay for this, Guy,” Robin said.
Lucy didn’t catch Guy’s reply. Shock was making her senses fuzzy. Nothing mattered anymore, except that her brother lay motionless on the floor, his open, sightless eyes gazing up at her, as if asking what had just happened.
Lucy knelt beside him. His blood had soaked the floor rushes. There was so much! He was dead. Her brother was dead.
Lucy heard Robin’s voice, saying something comforting. She felt his hands on her, trying to lift her to her feet. Her limbs felt as though they had been weighed down with iron. She thought she saw Will speaking to Alan, and Alan sprinting out of the door. To get help? But why? There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do.
* * * * *
Chapter 14
“Please, Lucy, you can’t help him. Get up now.”
Robin tugged at her arm gently but she remained unresponsive, staring off into the distance.
He was aware of noise and confusion all around him as people fled the tavern. The landlord was grumbling about needing new floor rushes and stupid lords, but Robin barely heard him.
“Lucy! Look at me. We need to tell your parents what has happened.” That reached her. She turned haunted eyes to him.
“My da. He has to be told.”