“Allow us to help.”
Quick moments passed before the two knights appeared, one holding a pail and the other holding the arm of Agatha Morgan, Mistress Morgan’s redheaded eldest child. The first knight hooked the pail onto the rope and set to lowering it while Aggie leaned back against the well, batting her pretty lashes up at the second knight.
“How do the menfolk fare?” she asked sweet. “My father is one of the men rebuilding the wall.”
“Is he?” the knight asked. “I’ll ask for him and bring you news. The reconstruction goes well, and since we’ve come to town the vagabonds responsible for the destruction of the castle haven’t shown their faces.”
“Good thing,” the first knight responded, heaving back to pull up the full pail. “We’d show them what a few good English knights can do to lawless rebels.”
“Is it true the king himself ordered you to come look after us?” she asked.
“King’s away,” the first knight reminded her. He weren’t quite noticing her game.
The second knight knew what she were about, and she arched her back from the well. He grinned. “The prince sent us. The castle, the wood, and the whole county falls back to his care without a sheriff. And we promised to take very good care of it in his absence.” He stepped closer to Aggie, looking shameless at her chest as she smiled at him. “Have you good ladies missed having your men about?” he asked.
It were meant to sound saucy, I’m sure, but it were all I could do not to spit. Honestly, all the knights were pigs and Aggie were a damn fool. Not many women in Nottinghamshire—specially the married ones without their husbands—had slept peaceful and safe with their men forced to work for the Crown. And Aggie may have giggled when he touched her, running his hand up her arm, but I stepped forward.
“Morning, Aggie,” I called. “Sirs.”
Aggie’s face dropped, and her body fell back against the well. She crossed her arms. “Imagine meeting you here.”
The second knight took in Aggie’s change and turned back to me, sauntering closer. “Why aren’t you at the wall, lad? All able-bodied men were called—even small, rather flimsy-looking ones.”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, she’s a girl in pants.” Aggie pouted.
The knight took new interest in me, looking me over. “Well I suppose that’s lucky. Look, one for each of us. I’ll even let you have the pretty one.”
Aggie looked wounded as the first knight put the pail down.
“Don’t put your hands on her,” I warned him.
The second knight grinned. “Jealous? I’ll keep you busy, pet. Though it looks like you’ve already had a man’s hands on you.” His eyes hooked on my neck.
I put my hand over it, swallowing under the pain. I knew it were swollen, but it must have bruised up overnight.
“I’m right glad Rob finally taught you a lesson,” Aggie told me with a sniff. “That’s what you get for being so meddlesome.”
The mood changed quick, and the first knight grabbed Aggie’s arm. “Rob?” he asked. “Robin Hood?”
“The vagabond?” the second knight said, and took quick steps toward me. I stepped to the side.
Aggie had the sense to be sorry, even if it were late and little at that. “N-no,” Aggie lied quick. “Her husband. Robert of Gisbourne.”
“Lord Gisbourne,” I snapped, and the knight halted his advance.
The knight laughed. “There’s no way in hell you’re Lady Leaford.”
His fellow coughed, though, and the second knight looked back to see the first one leaving Aggie be. “We should go.”
“She isn’t Lady Leaford!” the second said.
“Didn’t you hear any of the stories?” the first knight muttered to him. He shook his head and prodded his fellow farther down the lane.
As the knights disappeared, Aggie stomped her foot and turned on me. I frowned at her, going to the well and tying a scarlet ribbon to the hook. “How could you?” she snapped. “How am I ever supposed to get a husband with you interfering?”
“Go home, Aggie,” John said, coming from behind a house with the others. “Or I’ll tell your father what you’re angling for.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, I’ll tell him what you angled from me right back, John Little.”
John frowned at her like he were losing patience. “Yes, Aggie, I’m sure you’re eager to tell your father that.”
“Go,” Rob told her, bare glancing her way. “And don’t speak to Scar like that again, Agatha.”
“I didn’t mean to let it slip—” she started.
“No,” he said sharp. “You meant to be cruel to the girl who saved your father’s life. Who fed you when you were hungry. That’s what you meant. Go home, Agatha.”
She turned heel and left, and Rob came close to me and let his fingers brush over mine. My heart caught the sunlight and tried to tuck it in so close I felt near to bursting. I beamed at him, remembering again—he loves me.