“There’s not much to tell,” I said, shrugging and going back to Rob.
“Not much to tell!” Allan laughed. “I’ll tell you her stories, if the lady won’t. First, the prince stole her from the gaze of the queen mother, hiding her in prisons round the country. Then he ordered for her to be killed in true, and her valiant knight, Sir David, fought them off—and nearly got her killed in London, where I saved her from hordes of rioters!”
David scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Why did he change his mind?” Rob asked, quiet, looking at me. “Why hide you one moment to kill you the next?”
“Prince John is going to try to prevent Richard from coming home,” I whispered to him.
“What?” Rob asked, frowning.
“And then, determined to protect her father—”
“Enough, Allan,” I said sharp. Everyone looked at me, and Allan looked hurt. “These aren’t stories. This is my life. And I don’t—I want—” My breath caught, and my hands curled tight on Rob. There were so many things to tell him, so many things I didn’t want Allan to be the bearer of.
I found my breath wouldn’t uncatch. I couldn’t breathe, and I shook my head, standing. I leapt over the log and moved through the people. They let me go, stepping aside until I got into the deep, empty woods, and I couldn’t hear people around me. I kept going, not knowing where I were headed.
“Scarlet!” Rob called, surprising close. I halted, and his heat touched me before his hands did, warm on my waist. “Scarlet,” he said soft. “Where are you running to?”
I turned to him. “I’m not running. I’m walking. And I just . . . I just . . .”
“Needed to get away from us,” he finished. “From me.” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded like he knew what I meant. Worse, he sounded hurt, and his eyes told the same.
“Those stories aren’t meant to be told,” I said, shaking my head. “Not like that. Not like I’m some damn hero for murdering people. Not like I cheat Death when all I do is bring it down on the heads of others.” I put my hands on his chest, looking at them. “The thought of you, Rob—it was all that got me through. That got me back here. I’d never run from you.”
His head pressed against mine. “You’re alive. You’re here. That’s all that matters now.”
“Is it?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“A lot has happened,” I told him.
“Nottingham burned,” he whispered to me, his voice rough. “Nothing will be the same as it was yesterday. So whatever happened for us both, we’ll get there.” His hands slipped onto my back, pulling me closer to him, and his lips lightly pressed over mine, bolting me through with lightning. “Come back, and rest, and we will start again in the morning.”
Nodding, I let him lead me back to the camp.
CHAPTER
Rob were right—it started to rain not long after sundown, and the heavy pour felt like Thoresby Lake had swept up over me, pulling things off me. Memories. Feelings. Wounds and blood. I wanted it. I wanted the rain to take everything I were away from me and leave something else in its wake.
It forced all the people into the caves, and I went with the younger women, lying down on a stuffed pallet in an echoing room full of people.
I couldn’t sleep. Not with so many thoughts turning in my head, so many people and thoughts keeping me awake. I snuck out of the caves once the rain stopped, only to mount my horse and take the precious secrets in the saddlebags with me.
I went to Huntingdon House. After Prince John declared Rob’s father—the old Earl of Huntingdon—a traitor, Richard had given the lands to John and though he rarely came to this house, there were servants who lived there to maintain the place and keep the farmlands running. The properties I now owned made a tidy profit, and in the next few months I’d be a wealthy woman once it all started coming to me.
Riding up to the house were fair strange. I’d been there once before as a girl, and I remembered the road leading to it, but not the house itself. I’d been young.
The road led to a gate, and I saw two guards there, playing dice between them, not expecting any kind of company. They saw me and frowned, coming away from their game. “Move along, sir. The keep isn’t receiving visitors.”
“Good,” I said, dismounting. I fished in my saddlebag for the paper from my father, and it came out with SCARLET, 132. “This is my keep now. And I’m not a sir. I’m Lady Huntingdon.” I handed one the letter of creation.
They both gawped at the official paper with its loose hanging seals. They looked to each other, and to me.
I got back on the horse. “Open the gate, please. And send word out to all Nottinghamshire knights that they are to return to their garrison immediately.”
They obeyed.
Because I were a powerful lady now, and more than that, I were a princess. Like it or not, people would obey me now.
Servants hurried to prepare a room for me, to feed me, to offer their obeisance, and I sent them away, lying in a bed that didn’t feel like mine, and tried to sleep.