“Does the vagabond that did that to you still live?” he asked, his voice a low half growl.
I looked at the ground, but Eleanor’s cool fingers slid around my arm. “No,” she said. “My granddaughter saved my very life.”
She took my half hand in hers, and I saw his eyes go to it.
“You’re Marian Fitzwalter,” he said, standing.
I pulled my hand away from Eleanor. “I was.” Though true in a strict sense, I’d never once called myself “Marian Gisbourne,” and I weren’t about to speak the words now.
He frowned. “I have heard much of your . . . deeds, my lady,” he said.
Eleanor did not seem surprised. “She and my son’s wife, Isabel, seemed to have much in common at Nottingham. They both have a tremendous concern for the common people.” She paused. “I’m surprised that didn’t come up in your many walks together at the palace.”
“She’s a thief,” he said, glaring at me.
“She’s the daughter of a king,” Eleanor snapped back. “And the lady of an earldom. She may have played at being common, but she has always been royal.”
I didn’t note the effect this had on Essex. Her words struck at me—were that true? All this time, Scarlet had felt like my true self, and Marian felt like a dress that never quite fit. What if it were the other way around? What if Scarlet were the falsity all along?
“Marian,” Eleanor said, tugging at my hand. “Are you feeling quite well?”
Nodding quick, I squeezed her hand. “Yes, Eleanor.”
She held on to my hand but looked at Essex. “She has been recovering,” she explained. “Most recently from saving all of our lives in that dreadful episode, but before that from Prince John’s unlawful detainment of her.”
“Unlawful?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.
“The king pardoned her actions, but John would not release her. I am quite displeased with him,” she said grave.
Essex frowned.
“Perhaps you would escort her for a short walk, your Grace. It so helps her strength, and yet I don’t like the idea of her walking alone in such a weakened state.”
I scowled. “Eleanor, I surely—”
“Very well,” Essex said, glaring now at me.
Eleanor nudged me, and Margaret smiled gentle at me as I walked around them, clamping my mouth shut tight to take his offered arm.
“Lead the way, my lady,” he said.
I drew a breath and led him.
We didn’t speak for a long while. We left the cloisters through the arched walkways, and went out to the church garden that neighbored the graveyard. The sun ducked behind a cloud, and I envied its ability to do it.
I looked at his hard stone face and sighed. “Why did you agree to walk with me?” I asked.
“My queen asks, and I do her bidding,” he told me.
“Yet you take the princess’s word over hers and form a low opinion of me,” I said.
He glanced at me. “She said you spoke like a wild thing.”
I swallowed. “I don’t always.”
“She said you were cruel to her.”
My brows drew tight. “Never with intention, my lord. She and I often disagreed, but she was also one of the few women who ever had an opinion. I liked that about her.” I wanted to tell him that she mocked me, that she were cruel to me and never the other way round, but I hardly thought that would sway him. “Besides, I always rather thought she and I have an enemy in common.”
“Enemy, my lady?” he said, leaning his head to me with interest.
“Do you know how I came to lose my fingers?” I asked him. “Did she ever tell you that?”
“Just that you didn’t have them,” he told me.
“Prince John cut them off me,” I told him soft. “He asked my husband to hold me still, and he cut them off with a knife. Because I displeased him.”
He looked straight ahead, a muscle bunching up in his jaw. “That has nothing to do with Isabel,” he said, defending her.
“Perhaps not,” I said. “I am not in her highness’s confidence, and I would never ask you to betray such to me. But I’ve known cruel men. They are cruel to anyone who cannot fight them back. And I cannot imagine Isabel has never witnessed that, even if he wouldn’t dare hurt her.”
Essex looked at me, his eyes heavy, dark, and guarded, and I wondered if Prince John had ever hurt Isabel.
He looked ahead, and his throat worked. “I was not under the impression you were someone who could not fight back.”
I lifted my shoulder. “He took my fingers. He tried to murder me,” I said, and Essex’s face jerked to look at me. I looked at him. “I can fight back. But more importantly, my lord, what I can never do is give up.”
“He tried to kill you. A lady of the court. A royal.”
I nodded. “And I’m sure he will try to make a liar of me—he’s clever, and he planned this, while I never had such luxury. But yes.”
“He knew of the pardon?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”
“But he knew of your relationship? He knew he is your uncle.”
“Yes.”