“No,” Prince John snapped, glaring at me. “It is her or it is them.”
Glaring all the while at Prince John, I went over to the post and knelt. I were facing the people who were meant to be whipped instead, and they were staring at me. Staring, like I were some strange creature.
“D’Oyly,” Prince John snapped. It sounded like a command.
I heard someone moving behind me. A hand touched my back and I jumped. It caught my shirt and drew it up to my neck, leaving it to hang loose in front of me, leaving my bits covered in a small act of mercy.
There were low murmurs and noises. I weren’t sure if it were from my scars—there were a long, ragged one left by Gisbourne’s sword, from my shoulder spanning down half my back. There were others besides that I hadn’t seen in years but still felt tight when I twisted this way or that. Scars never left, even when you couldn’t see them. Maybe they were just making noise for a woman’s naked back. A noblewoman, at that.
Which never felt more like a lie than when I were kneeling in the dirt. I looked down, and saw thicker clumps of dirt, dark and wet. Blood, I imagined. Other people’s blood.
“Do it, D’Oyly!” Prince John yelled.
Nothing happened.
“No, my lord Prince.”
“I will remove you from your station,” I heard Prince John growl, low, meant for D’Oyly alone.
“You don’t have the power to do that, my lord Prince,” D’Oyly whispered, but he didn’t sound near as brave as his words.
“Michaelson!” Prince John roared, and I heard chain mail rattle forward.
“My lord Prince,” he said.
“Lash her.”
There were a long pause.
“Do it!” Prince John screamed.
“I cannot strike a noblewoman,” the knight said.
He called for another man, and I shut my eyes. I couldn’t hear the exchange, but I heard Prince John scream, “Give it to me, then!” he roared.
I turned. David launched forward, but one of Prince John’s knights held him off and David set about fighting him. Prince John took the whip from where it lay in the dirt, and he came toward me.
I stood.
“Kneel!” he screamed. “Or I will kill all of them!”
“I will sacrifice anything to protect these people from your pain,” I told him, fierce and loud. “But if you swing that whip, it’s not for the people. It’s so you can hurt me. I am not where you get to vent your childish anger. I am not weak, and I am not broken, and I will not be hurt by you. I am Lady Huntingdon. I am King Richard’s daughter, and I am lionhearted too. Get out of here and leave these people alone.”
There were no sound but wind, snapping cloaks and clothing out, pushing my hair off my shoulders. I felt like an avenging angel; I felt like the arm of God.
And I watched as, with hate in his eyes, Prince John left the city of Oxford.
CHAPTER
The knights followed Prince John, and Lord D’Oyly asked us to come to his castle. Tired from the road and still bleeding from the lash at my neck, I agreed, and sent David out to fetch Allan.
We’d bare made it into the castle when seven horses galloped up and Essex threw himself off his horse. He saw me and stopped, straightening. “My lady Huntingdon,” he said, looking fair relieved. “We must get you out of Oxford.”
Lord D’Oyly and I looked at each other, and I frowned at Essex. “My lord, what are you talking about?”
“Prince John is on his way here. He sent word to the queen mother that he was coming down after her attack, and her intelligence has him very close to Oxford. She fears for your safety, my lady.”
“Your attention and haste are very much appreciated,” I told him, bowing my head. “But unnecessary. Prince John has come and gone, and unfortunately he is very aware I’m alive now.”
He straightened with a frown. “You’re not harmed?”
Lord D’Oyly gave a ragged sigh. “It’s a rather long tale, my lord, if you would like to join us inside.”
I turned a little, and Essex said, “You’ve been cut. The prince did this to you?”
D’Oyly flushed, and I said quick, “Come inside. I’ll explain everything.”
Oxford Castle were large, and old, but not rich. There were none of the trappings of excess that I’d expected, which I suppose weren’t strange—D’Oyly were just a lord, and even if Oxford were rich, it were his only holding.
Unlike me. The Huntingdon holdings spanned all of Nottinghamshire and beyond. Nottingham Castle. Belvoir Castle. Haddon Hall. There were a grand old keep in Locksley called Huntingdon House.
Where Rob had grown up, naturally. I loved him, and I had the one thing that could make his happiness complete—the title he’d been denied so long ago.
Lord D’Oyly led us to a hall, small for such a thing, and called for food. He brought a woman to tend to my wound, and she drew me to a corner, for my modesty or some such thing.