by N B Dixon
“Yes. Can you stand? Come on. I’m here.”
With more cajoling words, he got her on her feet. She was shaking.
He was in shock himself. He could hardly believe what he had seen. Guy had stabbed Peter as casually as someone skewering a pig for roasting. Peter had attacked first, but he’d been unarmed.
Will appeared at Robin’s elbow and helped to support Lucy.
“I ran after the bastard, but he and his friends jumped on horseback and rode off.”
“Never mind him now. Let’s just get her out of here.”
Lucy’s dress was stained with Peter’s blood. Her hands were sticky with it. She stared straight ahead, white-faced and vacant-eyed. Robin was afraid the shock had been too much for her. She had seen her brother murdered before her eyes.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” The landlord called, gesturing at Peter’s corpse. Robin felt Lucy flinch, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to punch the man.
“Lay him out on one of your trestles. Treat him with respect. His family will be along to collect him.”
The landlord grumbled but made no further protest as Robin and Will led Lucy out.
The night air seemed to revive her a little. She had stopped trembling.
“He killed him without a thought,” she murmured. “As if he was nothing.”
“And he will pay for it,” Robin said. “I swear to you on my life, if it is the last thing I do, he will pay.”
“There’ll be no keeping this quiet,” Will said. “The law must punish Guy for what he did.”
Robin wasn’t so sure, but he kept his doubts to himself. Guy was a noble, after all, and Peter just a peasant. He had been drunk, and he had started the fight.
By the time they reached the mill, Lucy had recovered enough to walk unaided.
Will pounded on the mill door. It opened a crack, and the miller’s wife stuck her head out, looking frightened.
Robin’s heart sank. She must have come home early.
“What do you want?”
Lucy spoke before he could. “It’s me, Mam. Let us in.”
The door was flung wide.
“Lucy, where have you been?” Her eyes travelled over Robin and Will, and Lucy’s blood-stained dress, and her hand flew to her mouth.
Lucy stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her mother.
“It’s all right. It isn’t my blood.”
Harry appeared, looking anxious. “What’s going on? Where is your brother?”
Robin spoke quickly, wishing to spare Lucy as much as possible. “Sit down, both of you. I have some bad news.”
***
The next half hour was the worst of Robin’s life. As tactfully as he could, he explained what had happened. He watched as Lucy and her mother held each other and cried, feeling all the while like an intruder.
“I’m so sorry.” He said those words over and over again, but they sounded empty and meaningless.
Lucy’s father sat stunned and silent, his grief seemingly beyond tears.
“I always knew his drunken ways would get him into trouble,” he said at last.
“We can bring the body back,” Robin began, but Harry shook his head.
“No. It’s kind of you to offer, but that’s for me to do.”
Robin inclined his head.
“I sent Alan for a cart,” Will said. “He should be waiting for you.”
Harry nodded and left, and Robin took this as his and Will’s cue to leave also. He ignored offers of refreshment and hurried out into the night, Will on his heels. Robin had the feeling Will was equally grateful to escape that place of grief.
Robin wondered if there was any justice in the world. The miller and his wife were good, honest folk, and yet they had lost one child while another was crippled for life.
Guy was heartless and cruel and yet he had been born to wealth and privilege. Again and again, Robin kept seeing the dagger plunge into Peter’s chest and the look of loathing that twisted Guy’s face.
“I could have stopped him,” he burst out. “If I had been quicker.”
“You did what you could,” Will snapped. “You can’t blame yourself. Maybe if the boy’s brain hadn’t been so addled, he might still be alive.”
“Will!” Robin was horrified, but Will’s face was set like granite.
“What was he thinking, going for Guy like that? The horson was hardly going to take it lying down.”
Robin rounded on him. Their gazes locked, and Robin was transported back a few hours to that moment in the stable. It had been an effort to act as though nothing was wrong when Will suggested a trip to the tavern later. Will’s behaviour had been no different than usual, to Robin’s relief, and then Lucy had arrived, creating a further distraction. And now this.
“So you’re saying he deserved to die?” Robin asked.
“Of course not, but it was his stupidity that got him killed.”
“He was defending his sister. If a poor man cannot stand up for his family, then what kind of world are we living in?”
“A harsh one,” Will said shortly.
Robin was reminded that Will’s life had been very different to his. It was easy to forget that while Robin had grown up surrounded by wealth and luxury, Will had survived on the streets, never knowing where his next meal was coming from. He had watched his father die and his mother drink herself to death.
Will’s expression softened a little. “Guy will be punished—we’ll see to that, but blaming yourself and raging at the world won’t help anybody.”
***
“There must have been some provocation,” Lord Locksley said. “Guy would not attack for no reason.”
Robin strove for patience. If he wanted justice for Lucy’s family, he could not afford to lose his temper.
“Guy and his friends molested the man’s sister. Peter confronted him about it.”
“Are you saying he provoked a lord?”
“Yes,” Robin said reluctantly. “He hit him.”
“He dared to strike Guy? The impudent fellow! If he were alive, I would have him flogged. Well, it sounds to me as if Guy acted in self-defence.”
It took every ounce of willpower Robin possessed not to follow Peter’s example and attack his father.
“Guy had a dagger. The miller’s son was foolish, I’m not disputing that, but he had no chance against someone trained in combat as Guy has been. A thrashing would have been enough. Peter was drunk, but Guy was already well into his cups by the time he arrived at the tavern. Thanks to him, a man and woman have lost their son. They weren’t responsible for Peter’s actions.”
“I cannot agree with you there. The miller should have kept a tighter rein on his son. A few beatings might have gone a long way towards teaching the boy respect for his betters. As it is, with the boy dead, and their other son crippled, we will be lucky to get the harvest in on time this year. It is extremely inconvenient.”
Robin could hardly believe what he was hearing. His voice shook with suppressed rage.
“A man is dead, and you can think only of the inconvenience to yourself?”
“Come now, Robin. When you are lord of this estate, you will understand these things. The harvest must be brought in. My mill must be kept running.”
“Your mill?”
“Of course it is my mill. It is on my land. A percentage of all grain and flour belongs to me. I am extremely displeased that you took it upon yourself to hide the miller’s debts from me. You will never run an estate successfully if you give in to every sob story that you hear. Peasants are useful for keeping the estate going, but you should not allow them to take liberties. You are their master, not the other way around.”
Robin began to regret telling his father so much. He had thought making a clean breast of things was the best course of action. He had thrown himself on his father’s mercy, telling him everything except that he had caught the miller and his son poaching, and about his relationship with Lucy. Now he wonder
ed if he had made things worse for Harry and his family. Would there be some kind of punishment? Robin didn’t know how he would live with that.
“Still,” Lord Locksley mused, “some compensation is called for. I shall ride over to see Guy tomorrow. You will accompany me.”
Robin wondered if he had heard right. Did his father really intend to demand compensation for Lucy and her family? True, it would be for selfish reasons, and no amount of money would make up for the loss of Peter, but the humiliation for Guy would be great indeed. It would be as near as they would get to justice until Robin could settle things with Guy privately.
“Yes, Father,” he said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice.
“Bring your boy with you, too, since he was a witness to what occurred.”
Robin left, feeling happier than he had all evening.
***
The steward of Gisborne Manor ran an insolent gaze over each of them. He addressed himself to Lord Locksley, ignoring Robin and Will.
“The young master is busy. Might it be possible for Your Lordship to call at a more convenient time?”
Robin suppressed a snort with difficulty. More likely, Guy was in bed with a monumental hangover, or he was too cowardly to face them.
Lord Locksley matched the steward’s polite tone. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with your master. You will tell him it is in his best interests to see me unless he wishes me to take my grievance to a higher authority.”
The steward blanched, and Robin struggled to hold back a grin.
“I will tell him. If you would care to wait.”
Five minutes later, the steward was back. “My master will see you.”
It had been many years since Robin had entered Gisborne Manor. There was a time when it had almost been a second home, but now, it felt as if hostility reached out to him from behind every doorway and tapestry. Guy would not be happy to see them, and Robin inwardly readied himself for a fight.
Guy was waiting for them in the great hall. Lady Gisborne and Katrina were also present. Katrina tried to catch Robin’s eye, but he ignored her. He had eyes only for Guy. As soon as Guy saw him, his expression hardened.
“This is a pleasant surprise, Lord Locksley,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Lord Locksley came straight to the point. “I understand you are responsible for the murder of one of my peasants?”
Guy looked puzzled. “I don’t recall.”
“The miller’s son,” Robin snapped. “Last night in the tavern. You stabbed him in cold blood. Is any of this jogging your memory?”
His father shot him a warning look.
“In cold blood?” Guy repeated.
“Don’t bother to deny it. There were witnesses.”
Guy turned to Lord Locksley as if Robin hadn’t spoken. “The ruffian attacked me. I am entitled to defend myself.”
“He was unarmed,” Robin burst out, ignoring a sharp nudge from Will. “And he was defending his sister’s honour. The girl you and your friends assaulted.”
“Whatever his reasons, the young man was very much the worse for drink. He was wild and out of control. I had no choice.”
“Be that as it may,” Lord Locksley said, “it has caused me no small amount of inconvenience. My mill is a large one, and I am two hands down. The harvest will need bringing in soon.”
“What are you saying, My Lord?” The ice in Lady Gisborne’s voice sent a shiver down Robin’s back.
“I demand compensation for the money and labour I will lose.”
Robin stared at his father in disbelief. He should have known. He had fooled himself into believing his father would help Lucy and her parents, while all the time, he had been thinking of his own losses. How could he have deluded himself so thoroughly?
Katrina, whose eyes had been shifting between Robin and her brother, spoke up. “What about the miller’s family?”
“They are no concern of ours,” Lady Gisborne said coolly.
Guy ignored the interruption. “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. Perhaps we can discuss this in private?”
They left the hall. Lady Gisborne also exited in a swish of skirts.
“That went well,” Will observed. “I’ll wait outside with the horses.”
This left Robin and Katrina alone.
“May I offer you some refreshment?”
Robin ignored her. His rage was too great for words. He knew it was the law. Peasants were little better than property. Even free men like the miller had no real rights. They were dependent on their lord for everything. He held all the power. That was the way it had always been. Robin had never thought much about it, but then he’d met Lucy. He had seen firsthand how hard the life of a peasant was, how they worked night and day for their lord, giving him money and grain and struggling to survive on the little that remained.
“Robin?”
“What?”
Katrina flinched at the coldness in his voice. “I am sorry for what my brother did. Please, Robin, don’t let it come between us.”
“A man is dead, Katrina. His family are grieving.”
“I know, but why are you cross with me? It isn’t my fault.”
“You slashed Will’s face with a riding crop.”
“He would not tell me where you were.”
“Is it any of your business?”
She held out both hands to him in a pleading gesture. “I know I did wrong. I was worried about you. I lost my temper. Forgive me, Robin, please.”
Robin was tired. He hadn’t the strength for this fight. He needed to see Lucy and her parents, though what he was going to say to them, he didn’t know. He had promised them justice for Peter’s murder, but there would be none.
“All right, I forgive you.”
Katrina’s face lit up. “Thank you, Robin.”
“Why did you want to see me?”
“I came to find out how the boy was.”
For a moment, Robin was confused. Peter was dead. Then he remembered. Katrina had been there the day of Much’s accident. She had gone to the abbey to warn the nuns to expect him.
“Much will live, but he will always be a cripple.”
“God is merciful,” Katrina said devoutly. “It would have been so dreadful for the miller and his wife to lose both their sons so close together.”
Privately, Robin thought God’s mercy had been a little thin on the ground of late, but he kept his opinion to himself.
“The miller has a daughter, doesn’t he? I’m sure she is grateful for everything you’ve done.”
“I didn’t do it for her gratitude,” Robin snapped.
Katrina seemed to realise she had made a mistake. “Oh, no, of course not. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Will appeared then, to Robin’s relief. He acted as though Katrina wasn’t there. “We should leave now.”
Robin nodded. “I’m not eager to run into my father again. The mood I’m in at the moment, I might just punch him.”
***
“I’m so sorry. I wish I had better news for you.”
“It’s no more than we expected,” Harry said.
Robin hated to hear the resignation in his voice. Muffled sobbing reached him from the hayloft overhead.
“Meg is taking it very hard,” Harry said with a glance upwards. “With Much sick as well.”
“How is he?”
“No change. We haven’t told him yet.” Harry ran a hand through his greying hair. It seemed to Robin that he had aged overnight. “We’ll have the funeral tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I’ll be there.” Robin looked around a little distractedly. “Where is Lucy?”
“She went for a walk.” Harry glanced out of the door, where a heavy rain was falling. “She’ll be wet through when she returns.”
“I’ll go and look for her.”
***
He found her wandering along the bank of the mill stream, oblivious to the rain plastering
her hair across her face. Robin had a sudden terrifying picture of her tumbling into the water and being swept away.
“Lucy?” he called softly.
She turned. “Has your father spoken to Guy?”
Robin hesitated. She read the answer in his eyes. Without a word, she turned and walked away, as fast as her sodden skirts would allow.
“Lucy, wait!” He caught up with her and gripped her shoulders, trying to pull her close. She resisted, turning a furious face towards him. Tears mingled with the rain running down her cheeks.
“Peter was right. You fine lords are all the same. We’re just slaves to work your land. We’re nothing to you, nothing!”
“Not all of us are like that,” Robin said quietly.
The fight abruptly went out of her. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed.
Robin stroked her hair, caught between awkwardness and sympathy. All the while, the storm pounded them, until soon, both were soaked and shivering.
“We need to get out of the rain,” he said at last. He led her across a field to an old barn where hay was stored. Lucy followed him without complaining and Robin urged her inside, closing and bolting the door behind them.
The barn was cold and dingy. Several hay bales still stood higgledy-piggledy against the walls. Some had partially collapsed. Some empty sacking had been thrown in a corner, and the air had a forgotten, musty smell about it, but it was dry. Rain hammered on the barn roof and draughts snaked their way through the ill-fitting wooden slats that made up the walls and door.
Robin made a rough bed out of the hay and grabbed some sacking for a blanket, which he wrapped around both of them. “There’s no point going anywhere till this rain eases. We can dry off in here.”
He rubbed her arms in an effort to warm her. She cuddled against him, her head on his shoulder. Her dress clung to her thin body. A drop of water trickled down the back of his neck, making him shiver.
“You’re cold.” Lucy pressed closer, wrapping her arms around him. His body responded. He tightened his arms as arousal struggled with guilt. Lucy was grieving. Now wasn’t the time.
He threaded his fingers through her damp hair, feeling her hot breath against the bare skin of his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, no longer sure what he was apologising for.