“Eleanor—” I started.
She held up a hand. “No. You cannot go to France, because whether or not you’re right, John has friends in France. It’s the first place he’d turn to for armies for a rebellion. And you wouldn’t be able to hide there. I can’t get you safely to any of my daughters, so I’ll send you to Ireland. It’s close, and you can be safe there until this mess blows over.”
“Eleanor, no,” I snapped. “I’m not fleeing the country!”
Her hand fell to fold into her other. “Really. He will kill you, Marian.” Her throat worked, and she looked up, blinking fast. “Do you know how many of my children I have already buried?” she asked me, her voice a harsh whisper. “I have yet to bury a grandchild. Do not ask me to do this. Go willingly, or I will find a way to make you.”
I glanced at David, her chosen arm. He looked between us, unsure. Would he be loyal to me or Eleanor, given the chance?
She looked to Margaret. “Margaret, fetch my letters,” she told her. Margaret dipped and ran off to obey her, and Eleanor’s white throat worked, sharp wrinkles filling and falling. “I have letters from your father. A pardon for your crimes, and a letter of creation. Technically the creation was for Gisbourne, but it falls to you in his death.”
I blinked at her. “Creation?”
“Of title,” she said. “The king has the ability to bestow and revoke titles. It was the only way he could make you inherit an earldom as a woman.”
“I know what a creation is, Eleanor. Richard—my father—pardoned me?” I asked.
She nodded. “I wrote to him the moment you were imprisoned. I had it for months, but John wouldn’t admit you were alive. And if you’re not alive, you can’t be released.” She came closer to me, skating her hands over my arms. “I told you. He has always looked after your welfare, even when you didn’t know your true lineage. He has always thought of you, Marian. Your father is an excellent man.”
I looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry, Eleanor, but I cannot leave. I can’t just . . . go.”
“Think of your sheriff,” she told me. “If you stay, your Robin will find you. He will stand for you against my son. And he will fall, like your friend fell. He will bleed for you, and he will die.”
I pulled away from her.
He will die.
Rob’s face, frozen like John Little’s, with shock and sudden knowing, like he could see Death creeping toward him over my shoulder.
He will die.
Blood running out of Rob like a swollen spring river gone red.
He will die.
Rob’s blood staining the snow, staining the stones in the courtyard, staining my eyes.
“Lady Scar,” Allan said, stepping toward me with a frown.
I scuttled back. “I’ll go. I’ll go,” I breathed.
“My lady,” Allan said, his shoulders dropping. “It’s the very wrong direction.”
“But she’s right,” I told him, feeling water fill my eyes. “She’s right. And I won’t watch him die.”
Eleanor nodded, coming nearer to me and blocking out my view of Allan. She clasped my shoulders and brought me closer, leaning her forehead against mine, and I shut my eyes, feeling the water slip down my cheeks.
CHAPTER
“She’s playing you like the strings of a damn harp!” Allan snapped at me, taking my things out of the satchel as I tried to fill it up.
“Stop that!” I yelled at him, slapping his hands.
“Ireland?” he said. “I’m from Ireland! Why do you think I came here?” he said. “Nothing good in Ireland.” He frowned. “Except the ale. The ale is fine.”
“Do you wish me to detain him, my lady?” asked David, watching with a scowl and crossed arms.
“No, David, thank you,” I told him. “Allan, really,” I said, snatching a dress back.
“And what are you going to do with that?” he asked. “A dress. A fancy present from Eleanor to buy your silence!”
“You wish to speak to me of dramatics?” I asked, pushing him back from my things. He were right—they were almost all gifts Eleanor had given me in the last day. I’d never owned much of anything in my life. “People will die if I stay here!”
“What makes you think they won’t if you go?” Allan demanded.
I looked to David, and he lifted an eyebrow.
“If Prince John doesn’t know I’m alive, he won’t go after Rob. He’ll leave Nottingham alone. He has no reason to bother.”
“Oh, you’re quite right. He’s had so many excellent reasons in the past,” Allan said, flouncing about with a cloak. “I’ll starve the people because they’re quite bothersome. I’ll murder Gisbourne because he’s ceased to be useful. And in fact—I shall cut off your fingers because you annoyed me and I don’t know how to talk about my feelings,” he mocked.
David stood. “You will not make a joke of my lady’s pain,” he said.