CHAPTER Eight
I went back to Gisbourne’s room after night fell. He weren’t there; I had passed the main hall and knew most of the gathered court were there to feast
with the prince. I felt like a shadow in the halls, and it weren’t something I could stand.
I searched the room for my knives, but I couldn’t find where the lady servant hid them. I reckoned Gisbourne had a hand in that. Course, it weren’t
hard to figure out where he kept his money, either, and I took a fair bit of that and stashed it behind the shutter where the lady servant couldn’t
strip it from me.
Fetching new linen wrappings from the dry storage, I peeled the old ones off my hand and tossed them in the fire. It were bleeding a fair bit, the stick
that had set it broken. I used the fire poke to hack off a bit of a fireplace log and set that in its place. My hand were double-thick and raw and sore
as anything. Cradling it to me, I curled up in the chair by the fire with one of the furs from the bed and went to sleep. He were a loon if he thought I
’d be sleeping in the bed with him.
Gisbourne slammed into the room late and well drunk. I woke but didn’t open my eyes none. I stayed quiet and still as I felt him loom over me, blotting
into dark the light of the fire.
He didn’t touch me. I heard noises, and him moving away, then the bed creaked and the curtains rushed over the bar.
I opened my eyes. His clothes were strewn on the floor, and the bed were covered over with drapes. I shut my eyes again, clutching my hand to my heart,
trying to remember what all this hurt were for.
Waking early seemed the best way to skirt round him. I tried to put on my own things but it were damn difficult and I had to call for the lady servant. I
bid her hush and do it quiet, and she obeyed me.
It would be a few hours yet before Gisbourne rose, and it felt like the closest I’d get to freedom for a long stretch. I retrieved the purse and went
for the marketplace.
Even the market had changed. Nobles were still arriving, trailing behind the prince in a progress, and with them came merchants and sellers of every
sort. The market were jostling and full, and slipping into the people put me at ease.
I bought knives from a merchant I liked that most days were up in Leicester. I got two sets of cheap ones for the coin I’d filched, and as I were paying
and the merchant turned, I caught a wrist with his fingers around a blade hilt.
“Don’t,” I warned soft, my eyes flicking up to the man who owned the wrist.
His face flickered into a grin, and with a quick twist from him I were a step away from the merchant’s shop, held tight against the thief.
“Can’t you let me have my fun?” he asked, his Irish brogue low in my ear as I aimed my knife to drive in his thigh. “Scarlet?”
I stopped before I stabbed him, wriggling out of his paws. I turned and looked at him—tall and shift-footed, with too-long hair and too-bright eyes—not
a lick of which were known to me. “I don’t know you.”
He swept into an awful proper bow. “Allan a Dale, my lady thief.”
Tucking my new knives into their proper places, I frowned at him. “You know me?”
“I came up in London behind your legend. And still it grows,” he told me, tossing me an apple from a stand. He waved me forward. “Walk with me?”
“Dangerous prospect,” I said, but I did, and I bit the apple. “I miss London every now and a bit.”
“Filthy, pest-ridden, hard-scrabble, beautiful city,” he said, grinning.
“But how did you know me?”
He looked cut. “A knife-wielding lady who cut off her own hair to fight a thief taker? There aren’t many of you in the world, my lady.”
I snorted. “Don’t have to call me lady, Allan.”
“Dressed like that I think I do.” He cast about in the marketplace. “So where is Robin Hood?”
“Where he ought,” I said. “With his people.” We passed a shanty of a house on the edge of the marketplace, and two children were there, filthy and
still, watching all the people go by.
Frowning, I turned back to the nearest bakers stall and gave the rest of my coin for bread. “You’re paying for things?” Allan said.
Lifting my shoulders, I went back toward the children. “Not my coin, so that ain’t quite so.”
He laughed. I gave a loaf to the two children and quick enough others came, and Allan were quick to take bread from my stack and rip it apart to spread
round. “I’ve heard this is what you do,” he said. “Stealing to feed people.” His head went to the side. “It’s so … strange.”
“It’s what nobles do,” I said bitter. “Prince John feasting every night—he’s taking the game and the crops from the people of the shire, putting
them to starve in winter. Least I ain’t stealing to feed myself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “He’s stealing to feed his ego, not his belly. It hasn’t been so well tended these days.”
“His ego?”
Allan kept the last bit of bread for himself, and with the food gone, the children went too. He nodded, chewing. “You didn’t hear?”
I frowned. “I ain’t much for gossip.”
He stopped, swallowed, and then did a turn with a tuck of his cap, winking for show. “This is the royal court, fair thief. It lives on gossip,
perception, and hearsay.” His hands spread wide. “Let me spin you a tale, then.”
He bowed and I crossed my arms.
With a shrug, he stood. “Well, when Richard left for the Holy Crusade, he kicked John to France. Told him to stay out of his country while he was away,
and named his wee nephew his heir. Because God knows, Richard knows how to steal a crown—it was taught to him in the womb, so they say. Eleanor of
Aquitaine herself incited her sons in rebellion against their father. And if he didn’t learn violence from her, then maybe from the Devil that bore them
all.”
“Devil?” I asked.
“Oh aye, you haven’t heard that one either? Richard loves to boast of his Devil’s blood, begat when his ancestor wed a serpent.”
My eyes rolled. “Christ, you’re a fool.”
“Don’t let a few silly truths muddle up a good story,” he told me sharp.
I looked Heavenward, but there weren’t no help there. “What’s this about John’s ego?” I reminded.
He frowned. “Can’t appreciate a decent yarn. Something wrong in your head, Lady Scar. Richard kicked John out of England, and the bishops were
bickering as bishops are wont to do, and Eleanor petitioned for John to come back. So Richard allows it, right, and John’s been setting up his own royal
court outside of the bishops meant to rule in Richard’s stead. The two courts have been rising, both powerful, and fighting each other in petty ways. So
Richard sends in the Archbishop from Rouen to keep the peace—and knock John’s legs out. Prince John makes his stand and he’s expecting everyone to
rally to him, but they don’t. They keep Richard’s orders and leave John. So John runs north at Mummy’s command and is trying to win back the people’s
hearts.”
I gawped at him. “So it’s true, then? He wants to change things around here?”
Allan laughed. “He wants … to make England his very own high-priced whore. He wants to feel loved without ever caring what it takes to earn the real
thing. A little coin, a little bread, and watch England do her merry dance.”
My shoulders lifted. “So long as the whore is paid and eating, what’s the difference?”
He tossed his apple core onto the street. “Ask the whore.”
We were near the edge of Nottingham, and I saw the market and the castle beyond in one direction. I saw forest in the other, and my heart ached so fierce
I almost set off for it, like wading into the ocean with no hope of swimming for distant shores. Allan were talking—for a thief he yapped an amount I
could bare fathom—and I thought how easy it would be to just step over the road and into the forest.
“Scarlet!” he yelped, grabbing my dress and yanking me back as a carriage thundered past.
Landing on my backside, I stared up at the blue coach, hung with gold and the royal seal.
“You don’t want to be crushed by the Queen Mum,” he told me, giving me a hand up.
“That’s Eleanor of Aquitaine?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Her carriage, at least.”
“Scarlet,” said another voice, and this one were farther. The dust from her carriage cleared and Rob were there, looking dark and shadowed and haunted.
My blood ran fast to beating and my mouth hung open. I fair thought I’d know what to say to him, but I didn’t.
“Don’t tell me you’re Robin Hood,” Allan said, crossing his arms. “I thought you’d be taller.”
Robin strode across the road, stepping close to me, so close Allan weren’t even in my world anymore. I blinked and stared at him. Good Lord I couldn’t
look at him but for thinking he held everything in my heart. It were a terrible power to keep over me.
“Who are you?” Robin asked, looking to Allan.
“Allan a Dale,” he said. “You sure you’re her man, because I’ll tell you, the stories I hear put you at about seven foot tall.” He paused, but I
didn’t look to see his face. “And the stories I tell have you much more game for a laugh.”
“Allan,” I said, breathing in the smell only Rob had, of pine and ash and ocean. “Go now.”
“My lady,” he said, and that were the last of him.
Rob’s eyes were fierce and hard and they glittered down at me. “Please explain in some small measure, Scarlet.”
“Allan? He’s a thief, from London. Kindred soul,” I said.
“Gisbourne.”
My eyes shut. “Rob, I had to.”
“No, you didn’t. You told me you would never go back to him. You told me you understood that he would kill you. And what is wrong with your hand? Is it
broken? You went to him with a broken hand?”
“Rob,” I said low, not daring to open my eyes. “My hand’ll be right again. And as for killing me … well, he hasn’t yet.”
“Scarlet.” My eyes flew open and his were shut tight, his head bent. Hurting, I pushed my forehead to his. His hands came up and held my face, leaning
as if he were ’bout to kiss me. His eyes opened a sliver and met mine, and he let me go, swearing and turning from me.
“That’s why, Rob,” I told him soft.
“Why what?” he snapped, turning back round.
“Why I went to Gisbourne. Because I need to kiss you, to touch you, to hold on to you through your awful dreams. Without us both wondering if we’re
doing a sin.”
He turned back to me and caught me, one arm round my waist pulling me off my feet and the other in my hair tugging my head back. I caught his eyes, fixed
on me in a way that made heat rush over me in a breaking wave, and I couldn’t breathe.
Our lips touched. His were dry and rasped over me a bit, like it were so chaste it weren’t even there. Then his mouth opened and it weren’t dry
anymore. His lips were perfect against mine, more soft than I would have never guessed, and warm like the sun hitting the water.
My blood ran hot and fast and I felt more than human, like I were powerful beyond every measure. His mouth opened more and his tongue ran against my
lips, and my whole body sparked like tinder. I bare had a thought, but I wanted more of him, so much more, and my hands were desperate for it, fingertips
running like they could keep whatever they touched.
My back nudged up against a wall, somewhere shaded from the sun and prying eyes, but I didn’t never remember moving. His head twisted and our lips broke
for a bare instant before he touched them back again, twisting his head the other way. His lips pressed my bruise and I jerked.
His arms went tense and hard around me, and the kiss broke apart. His nose nudged me like a dog giving orders, and I obeyed, moving my face to one side.
Hot hands running my sides, his mouth touched impossible gentle to the bruise by my mouth from Gisbourne. Rob’s lips left, then dropped soft small
kisses on the bruises that he had laid. He kissed my closed eyes and without wanting it, water dripped out from my eyes. He kissed that away too.
“I’m sorry, sweet,” he whispered into my ear. “I’m sorry I pushed you to this.”
My hands twisted to fists in his shirt. “I never should have married him, Rob. I should have found another way.”
“We’ll get out of this,” he said. “I’ll get better, and you can walk away.”
I shook my head a tiny bit. “I’m getting that annulment. They call me Marian, Rob, and they act with so little honor it’s a horror to call them
nobility.” I pushed my head to his. “They took my name, Rob.”
His lips touched mine again, more puffed and soft now, burning against mine. When he stopped he didn’t go nowhere, speaking straight into my mouth.
“They can have your name. I know who you are, with or without it. And I won’t ever let you lose that. My love. My Scarlet.”
I pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Say it once more?” I asked.
He kissed me. “Scarlet,” he breathed. Another kiss. “Scarlet.”
I didn’t need strength. My heart were so full to bursting that I could have run to London and back without food, drink, or rest. My body were burned
over and over with the feel of him, and it were all I needed to stay strong.
It were an awful sin, and I didn’t care. Kissing Rob made me an adulterer, but wedding Gisbourne when he weren’t the one in my heart made me an
adulterer too. I didn’t for a breath believe a kiss would make Robin better, but it were all I needed to hold on to everything I were doing this for.
Church bells rang out, and I broke the kiss, listening for the hour. “I have to go,” I whispered against his mouth.
His nose rubbed mine slowly, then his mouth pressed against mine once more. “Do you know how often I’ve imagined kissing you?”
My breath stopped, and I opened my eyes to search his. “And?”
“You cannot tell me to stop now and watch you walk away,” he said, his breath running into my breath. Another kiss. “Especially to him.”
My ring felt heavier then, and I pulled back from Rob. I stroked his cheek slow with my good hand. “I’ll make it right, Rob. I’ll get the annulment
and then I can kiss you in public. All day long. Till the village wives wring their hands at us.”
He smiled, leaning into my hand. “We’ve always been good at causing a bit of chaos.”
I stepped away from him with a sad smile, but he tugged my good wrist and brought me back for one more kiss. Then he let me go and I walked back to the
castle, every step dragging and slow like I were fighting against a tide.