“Perhaps I can get word.”
I took in a breath. It spun out before me, Winchester whispering the words to Rob. I could see his face, trying to keep the secret in, relieved and desperate—for only a moment before he stormed out of the castle to find me, wherever I were. If he knew I were alive, he’d burn down Hell itself to get to me. He’d leave the people alone with Prince John as their overlord to find me.
The breath rushed out of me. Unless it were me, telling him in the flesh, the only thing that would come from Rob knowing were the kind of danger that would leave him dead. And I couldn’t go to him until King Richard were safe, and my being alive again wouldn’t purchase someone else’s death. “Let me think about it,” I told him.
His brows knit together, but he nodded. “Why would Prince John dare to kill you? And why now, after hiding you for so long?” Winchester asked.
I looked up at him for a moment. “I think he means to kill Richard. Or try to, anyway. He told me that Richard would never return to England.”
Winchester leaned back, his jaw tight. “That damn coward,” he grunted. “While I believe it, that is a very steep charge, Marian. Do you know how?”
I shook my head.
“You’re right,” he said. “He’d never risk harming you if he thought he’d have to face Richard.”
“Which makes me wonder if he’s been planning this since the day he took my fingers,” I said to him, my words soft.
Winchester glanced at me, and then toward the hand I kept hidden under the table, and made a hmm noise.
I looked away. “You’re refusing people at the gates?” I asked.
He sighed, nodding. “For now. Too many people are coming through, and the city can’t hold them. I have enough money and food to keep my people safe, and until I figure out how to do more, that’s all I can promise them.”
“We were in Silchester when the news came,” I told him. “The knights killed a boy for throwing something at them.”
His shoulders dropped. “I will see what I can do to help them,” he said solemn.
“I didn’t mean for you to take responsibility,” I told him, shaking my head.
“And yet I must. Nobles are frightened, Lady Marian. They aren’t defending their people, much less taking care of them. They are afraid of mobs and riots, of starvation and poverty. They are neglecting their duty. But I will not forget what that duty is. Even if I must do the work of others.”
“Perhaps that is true,” I told him. “But you didn’t kill that boy. I didn’t kill that boy. I will find out who made that man believe he had any right to do it.” I shook my head. “Have you . . .” I drew a breath, trying to find the words. “When did you last—when did you see him?”
He swallowed. “A few weeks ago.”
I just looked at him.
“He . . . he would greatly benefit from hearing you’re alive,” he told me.
His careful words stabbed me. “He’s not doing well,” I said.
“He’s not bad,” Allan said, and I looked to him. “He’s just not nearly the same man he is when you’re with him, lady thief.”
Winchester wouldn’t look at me.
I tried to swallow, but the thought stuck in my throat.
“My lord,” said a quiet voice, and Winchester turned to one of his guards. He gestured him forward, and the man murmured something to Winchester, who sighed. He nodded.
“Lady Marian, please excuse me. There’s a dispute in the town I should go settle.”
I nodded.
“Eat and drink; I don’t know when the queen mother will arrive, but you should probably rest,” he said, and his eyes moved over me in the same way David’s did. I pulled the cloak tighter around me. Honestly. I were alive, and after three months in prison, I were grateful for that.
His servants led me to a room, while David and Allan went to the knights’ barracks—to Allan’s horror—but before they went Allan pulled the small stack of letters he’d shown me the night before from his satchel. He handed it to me, meeting my eyes and nodding once, and I took it, holding it against me.
I sat in the room, staring at the pile. There were five letters. I’d counted them twice, laid them all out without breaking their seals. They were numbered, but it were strange—they weren’t in any order I knew. The first were 27, then 52, then 76, then 91, and 132. Each one bore my name. The first one had my name in tight scrawl, like it were hasty, desperate, but 76 started to get wider, looser, softer. Easier.
I traced the letters with my fingers, but I didn’t open them. Now that we were here, now that Eleanor were coming, maybe I could go back to Nottingham.
But no matter where I went, if Prince John knew I lived, he would find me. He would hunt me down, and he would make the people I loved pay for my being alive before he took my life at last. He’d branded me a traitor, and there were little I could do to stop him.