Arrow To The Heart (De Bron Saga) (12 page)

"Robin Hood."  She had heard the troubadours warbling ribald tales of his bravery and life in the
Forest of Sherwood.  Well, one day soon those same minstrels would be singing tales of her escapades.  That idea amused her.

"Wait!  You!" 

Kendrick de Bron's shout made it impossible to think about such triumph ere long.  Seeing him  pushing through the crowd in pursuit, Rowena  took to her heels.   As she did she laughed, vowing that when all was said and done he of all people would never forget her.

There could be no mistake! Despite the eye patch and tattered peasant garments, Kendrick recognized the young archer. How could he forget that swagger, that grin that flawless skill with a bow?

“Humbley, Chadwick, help me catch him!”

Thus said, he broke into a run, adroitly dodging the Sheriff of Nottingham’s men who were also in pursuit. Kendrick’s motives were far different, however,. His intention was not to imprison the young lad but to pin him down and force the arrogant fool to listen to reason. The boy was getting much too big for his boots, so to speak. Toying with the prince and the sheriff was pure stupidity. Aligning himself with an outlaw as infamous as Robin Hood was insanity.

“He should be playing chess, or spinning a top, or expending all his pent-up energy on wrestling lads of his own  weight and size, not entering into an archery tournament with such high risks. He is going to get caught!”

At least so Kendrick supposed. His thoughts were assailed by visions of the lad’s capture. The archer was much too quick and agile, however, and obviously as cunning as a cat. Pushing into a man selling apple tarts and spice cakes, he overturned the cart, vaulting over it to safety. Then he was gone.

“Like that!” Kendrick snapped his fingers.

“We’ve lost him….”

“So I can see….”

Humbley hung his head. “What shall we do?” Kendrick shrugged. “There is nothing much that we can do. Go home, I would suppose.”

“Home? Chadwick was not yet certain that was what the manor house was. At least not yet.

“Aye.” Kendrick started walking slowly in that direction, then changed his mind. Why return to his manor house when there was a much more interesting destination in mind—Grantham Manor. He wanted to see if a certain “Lady” had tempered her bad manners and to relate the story of the exciting tournament she had missed. A tournament she too would have enjoyed had she not so haughtily said no to his invitation.

The smells from supper lingered, reminding Rowena how hungry she was as she slipped through the manor’s front door. Hurrying to the kitchen, she picked up a large spoon and tasted the stew that was left over in the cooking pot, wrinkling her nose as she decided that it had too much pepper and too many onions. Ah, well, that was Gwyneth’s only fault. Because meat was so heavily salted for winter preservation, Gwyneth had a tendency to use a bit too much spice in an effort to make the fare more palatable. Ah, well.

Ladling a large portion into a bowl, she hurriedly began eating without even bothering to sit down. Spearing a big piece of meat with a knife, she smiled as she thought about her performance at the tournament. “Splendid” was the word that she would use. Of course she must spend a few hours more in practice and not get too sure of herself. Nine out of ten times her arrow had hit the mark dead center, but nine was not ten.  Rowena was disconcerted that she had never been able to learn to shoot  against the wind, although she had tried and tried.

“Ah, but next time….” She was feeling exuberant and brave and absolutely proud. Though she had not won the tournament, it did her heart good to have come so close.

As she ate Rowena thought about  the sheriff’s embarrassment to have had both the beggar and peasant escape right out from under his long nose. Though his guards had searched high and low, they had not found any sign of either archer. Nor would they. Cautiously she had made a bonfire out of the garments she had used for her disguise, then put on her gown and kirtle. As for Marian’s love, he had run
back to the safety of the forest, far away from any prying eyes.

“My, my, my. Why, you smack your lips so
hard one would think that you were starving.”

Startled by the voice, Rowena whirled around, dropping the now empty bowl to the ground. “What are you do
ing I here?” That Kendrick de Bron would enter the manor uninvited infuriated her.

He shrugged. “Maida let me in.”

“Maida!” Rowena clenched her jaw.  She would have to tell the girl in no uncertain terms that the lord de Bron was not always a welcome guest.

“Aye. She was anxious to hear all about the archery match today. “His dark eyes shone with merriment. “Had I known she would have been so interested, I would have taken her with me.” Making himself right at home, he plopped down on a kitchen stool at the nearby table.

“Taken Maida?” She was annoyed by the idea.

He nodded. “Aye.  And been proud all the while.” His tone held censure. “Unlike a certain lady, she at least knows how to mind her manners.”

She took no offense. “And never call you a weasel even if you are?”

Kendrick scowled but didn’t insult her back. “Never!” Anxious to avoid an argument he related the story of the two archers. “The tale of the pigeon and the peacock, or so it is being called.”

“Pigeon? Peacock?” Reaching up, she toyed with her braid, pulling it down, then ran a nervous hand over her rumpled gown. Was there any chance that he might recognize her? If so, would he shield her once again or turn her in?

Kendrick detailed the two men’ s clothing, so vividly that for a moment she could see it before her eyes. “A strange duo, though a pair not particularly noticed among the other twenty and two, at least until they shot their arrows.” He made a whistling sound, pretending to shoot a bow.

Rowena cocked her head. “They hit the target?” she asked with mock sweetness.

“Hit it? Both scored a bull’s-eye.” He laughed. “In truth they were both little more than magnificent!”

“Merry-go-up!”

Watching her intently he continued. “Not only once, but again and again.”

Rowena averted his eyes. “Luck, no doubt.” She bent over to pick up the bowl.

“A
h, no! T’was skill. Pure skill.” He rose to his feet, moving closer to her. “Allow me to demonstrate.” Taking the bowl from her hands he set it down on the table, then stood behind her.

Rowena could feel the heat of his  body inches from hers. “What are you doing” Oh, why did his nearness always make her feel so odd? So quivery inside?

He didn’t reply. Instead he reached out and took both her hands in his. Positioning her one hand near her waist, drawing her other  hand back, he mimicked the action of drawing the sting on a bow. “It was like this….” Again he made a whistling sound. “First the peasant, then the beggar.”

She could feel his breath tickle her ear as he spoke and she shivered. “And then?”

Kendrick hugged her close and buried his face in her hair. There was something about this young woman that made him lose his head. “Then they shot again.” He slipped his arms around her waist and pressed himself against her. “And again, and again….”

He turned her around to face him, his eyes narrowing as he  breathed in a deep
, husky sign. “Oh, Rowena….”

She pushed against his chest. “Don’t!” Her stare was angry, challenging.

“Why?” Her continued cold reception of his advances was wearing on his pride. More so because the feisty chit was so damnably attractive to him.

“Be..because…”Something altered in the depths of her eyes. Her heart beat accelerated. She shivered.

“ Because why?” Bending down, he kissed her mouth with incredible gentleness. Then his mouth moved slowly down, tracing the slim line of her neck.

Rowena gasped, not with outrage but from the very pleasure of his sensual, delicate caress. She was in a haze, aware only that he was pressed tightly against her, his mouth warm and tantalizing. For just a moment she didn’t know what to do or say. That is until she glimpsed the silhouette of Gwyneth standing in the kitchen doorway, reminding her all too painfully of what he was responsible for.

“Nay,” she breathed, this time trying in earnest to escape.

He ignored her, inclining his head to take her lips. Ignored her, that is until she elbowed him roughly in the ribs.

“Get away!” Hurt and furious she tore herself out of his grasp, backing away as she verbally censored him. Her body tensed, her nostrils flared. “I will not abide the embrace of a thief!”

“Thief?” Now it was Kendrick’s turn to be angry. “”I will not abide such insult—“

“Ethelred and Gwyneth were like family to me,” she breathed, turning her head in the woman’s direction. “I can never forgive you for being responsible for their being thrown off their land like beggars!”

“Thrown off--?” Kendrick was stunned. All too quickly, however, the truth of what had happened seeped into his mind. John had spoken of the Saxons he had cast out of the cottage. What irony that it had been someone Rowena held dear. “My dear lady,  t’was not by my order, I assure you! And the matter can be easily rectified.” He turned towards Gwyneth. “I have
no need to be greedy. I invite you to go back to your cottage if that is your desire. It seems a simple matter to  set things aright.”

Rowena took a shaky breath, her voice low. “I tell you it is not. Unless you can bring the dead back to life!” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she told him of Ethelred’s death, then  because she was determined not to let him see her cry, she turned away.

“Rowena, don’t go. I didn’t know. I didn’t want…..Please stay.”

She paused, wanting to believe in his innocence, then without looking toward him again, she fled to the safety of her room.

Chapter Eleven

The hall of the manor was cold, dark and empty  as Kendrick de Bron opened the creaking door.  Home.  His home.  How then could it seem so unwelcoming?  It hadn't been that way once.  He remembered warmth, light, love and laughter
, once long ago. 

"And it will be that way again," he vowed, hurrying to light one of the wall sconces.  Alas, that did little good.  Despite the flickering flame the place still seemed to be filled with gloom.  Stubbornly determining that it should not be so, Kendrick lit every candle and  lantern in sight, stoked up the hearth fire
.

“Ah, such a face!”

Kendrick looked over his shoulder but didn’t see anyone there, at least not at first. As he lowered his line of vision, however, he could see Lankless, Prince John’s jester, was standing in the door way.  The “fool,” as a jester was called, was a specially privileged entertainer whose colorful outfits made fun of the noblemen’s fashionable clothes. Often his funny stories, antics and rude songs made fun of wealthy and powerful people in such a subtle way that those he was offending didn’t even know it. Although Kendrick thought the jester to be amusing, he did not welcome him here.

Immediately he was suspicious. Had the prince sent the little man to the manor to act as a spy?

“Forsooth, I forbid any frowns, for I am the Prince of Smiles.” The little man turned somersault after somersault making the bells on his colorful garments jingle, but Kendrick barely noticed. He was too deep in thought. Wondering. Pondering.

Be careful
what you wish for, he thought, for you might get it.  Night after night he had dreamed of getting his family lands and manor back but now that he had his victory had turned to dust.  He was troubled.  Because of the old man's death?  Yes. He couldn't forget the look of sorrow in Lady Rowena's eyes when she had spoken about Ethelred and how he and his wife had been forcibly thrown out of the cottage that had stood upon Kendrick's new land.  Prince John had handled the matter in his usual hard-hearted way and Kendrick was seen by her as the culprit.  Was it any wonder then that the manor's servants, from chamber maid to groom looked upon him as a villain?

“Ah, still a scowl” The little man stood on his head until his face turned red.

Kendrick motioned for the jester to stand up, applauding so as to appease him. “It is not you, little man. It is just that I have little to laugh about.”             

“Little to laugh about?” The jester shook his head. “Why, when you have all this?”

“This?”

“A whole village at your beck a
nd call.” Lankless bowed. “You are lord and master here. Why, you should be able to live quite well on the fees and rents you get from your tenants.”

“Perhaps, had they anything to pay with. As it is, my tenants are quite poor, suffering from the effects of John’s over-taxation.”

There were other problems as well. The manor had been vacant so long that it was falling apart inside and out.  Feed was so scarce that the skeleton of every animal on the premises was visible through its flesh.  Crops hadn't been harvested in the spring and thus lay rotting out in the fields, wet from the winter’s rain and snow .  The furniture in the village cottages was broken and threadbare, the  tapestries in the manor were  torn.  There were cobwebs on the ceilings, dirt on the windowsills, dust on the floors as if the inhabitants had just given up.   Clearly Kendrick would have his hands full straightening it all up. 

"But I will!" he vowed.
  The buttery, cellar and pantry were ill-stocked, despite all their efforts, but before they were through the manor would be prosperous again. He, Chad and Humbley would do all that they could to preserve the village and give aid to the villagers.

“
You will what?”

Kendrick was cautious. “I will do my best to make myself worthy of John’s generous bestowal.”

“Worthy. Aye. As for those who look upon you as an interloper, they had best smile when you look at them or they will be gone. John will not stand for any show of defiance. There will be no rebels tolerated here.”

"No......"

"No Robin Hood....!"  Lankless shrieked, miming an archer drawing back on his bow.

"Aye, no Robin Hoods," Kendrick finished, giving vent to his frustration.  That forest lad had better beware and know not to trifle with him. 
He had worked too long and too hard. Competing in an archery tournament was one thing, causing mischief was another.

“Robin Hood! Robin Hood! Robin Hood! And the poor gray pigeon.”
Lankless proceeded with an inventive and comical skit about the tournament, mimicking first  the beggar's limp, then the peasant's eye patch.    "Bull's eye," he shouted.  "Again, bull's eye."

"Bull's eye indeed."  Kendrick was annoyed by the reminder and of how he had made such a fool of himself chasing after that imp of a lad.
Well, if the boy wanted so badly to thwart injustice, why wasn’t he doing something constructive instead of destructive? God knew there was much to be changed.

"Ah, but who were they, these archers so bold," Lankless whispered, doing a handspring to punctuate his question.

"Oh, that we knew," Kendrick grumbled. More than anything he was curious as to the boy’s identity.

"Robin Hood one," Lankless stated.  "But who the other?  Who?"

"An irritating lad who needs a good wallop to the seat of his hosen."

The archer dressed in gray and the lad in the forest were one and the same.  The blue eyes had given the archer away.  That and his skill with a bow.   Having put that two and two together he had been determined to capture the rogue, only to watch as the rascal had eluded him by merging with the crowd.

"Who is he?" 

It was a question that bothered Kendrick. He remembered looking into those deep blue eyes and was s
hocked by another revelation--the startling resemblance the lad bore to the Lady Rowena. 

“No!” Ah, but there had been something about the lad that had reminded him of the lady so fair. Coincidence? His imagination? “Have I been blind?”

A voice rose in his mind, silent but piercing. Of course. It all made sense. When he was at the castle the lad had been near by.  So had the Fitz Hugh family. Now that they were here, so was the boy. No coincidence!

There could only be one explanation, that they were related to each other in some way.  A cousin?  Or closer yet
, perhaps the lad was some byblow of Sir William.  Bastard born like himself.  Perhaps even Sir William's son, born outside the bounds of marriage.  The thought bothered him somehow.  He wondered what Rowena would think to see so clearly written upon this young boy's face a resemblance to her own.  Did she know about the boy?

Abruptly his mood changed as he remembered how boldly she had shunned his invitation to the archery meet.  "Why should I care how she feels," he s
aid to himself.  As to manners, that young woman had few.  Her father had been right when he had decried her arrogant and stubborn ways.  She, like the forest lad, needed a good spanking.   "Aye, a firm hand laid upon that comely bottom."

Lankless chuckled at that. “Her bottom, her bottom, her bottom.”

Slowly Kendrick walked to the window that faced in the direction of the Fitz Hugh manor and pushing aside the shutters, looked out.  “Rowena Fitz Hugh, be damned!” If he had the brains of a goose he would  stay as far from Will Fitz Hugh's daughter as he could. 

“Fitz Hug
h?” The jester’s head bobbed up and down. “De Bron and Fitz Hugh, Enemies two.” It was then that Lankless revealed that it had been a Fitz Hugh who had chased Geoffrey de  Bron and his family out of England.

“Ha, you are a fool, what do you know of it?”

“Fool?” Lankless tapped at his head. “’Tis no fool, I. I know what goes on and all that has gone on.” Sounding more like a scholar than a jester, the little man rattled off the history of the de Bron and Fitz Hugh families and how they had interfaced with the rulers of England.

“So, the de Brons and Fitz Hughs have been on opposite sides in the past.” But he wouldn’t think about that now. What was past, was past. Besides, it did seem as though there could be peace. That is, if one didn’t think too hard about Rowena’s bad manners. Manners that were not entirely without warrant, considering the fate of her Saxon friends. But he would make amends. From now on he would……

“BiGod!” The sight of smoke caught his eyes. Something was on fire.  His eyes scanned the horizon to discover the source of the smoke.  Hearing the terrified whinnies of his horses, seeing them galloping every which way he knew.    "The stables." 

Instantly Kendrick took charge of the situation.  If the fire wasn't quickly put under control it would spread to the manor house.

"Lankless,  there is a bell in the chapel.  Go there and sound the alarm.  We need water.  Hurry," Kendrick called out over his shoulder as he threw open the door and ran outside.   Frantically he looked around for Chadwick and Humbley, cursing to himself  when he realized that the two were most likely off to the Fitz Hugh household to flirt with the red-haired young serving girl. It was left to him and a jester to save his property.

Running to the well he drew up two bucketsful of water and heaved them on the burning wooden building, then returned to fill the buckets again.  Over and over he repeated the procedure, frustrated that it seemed to do little good.  The fire burned too furiously and too fast.

"Alas, I would do as well to spit at the flames," he swore as the silence of the countryside was shattered by the toll of the bell.  Kendrick took out his frustration on a lazy-looking groom who crossed his path, walking with unhurried strides.  Grabbing the unfortunate lad by the scruff of the neck, he none-too-gently set him to the task of filling two other buckets.  And all the while the smell of smoke permeated the air.

"It's too late, my lord."  Usually so cheerful, Lankless had a woebegone expression.

"Too late.  Never!"  Kendrick was not the kind of man to ever give up.  "Lankless, take two men and go to the brew house.  We'll use the water stored for the brewing of ale."

"The ale?"  The tiny man grabbed at his throat.  "Merry-go-up, we will all die of thirst
if we waste a drop."  Nevertheless he complied.  Soon the contents of the kegs were added to the steady slosh of water that was being thrown on the fire by all those who were gathering together at the stables.  It was a combined effort that at last paid off and seemed to unify the inhabitants of the village.

In th
e end the stables were reduced to little more than ashes, but at least the manor was saved. "We will start rebuilding before dawn tomorrow,"  Kendrick proclaimed, assessing the damage done.  Even so he was angry. How had the fire started?  There had been no lightning.  A careless torch?   Crooking one dark brow, he interrogated every villein who lived in the manor but only one small boy knew the answer.

"'Twas done on purpose, my lord."

"On purpose?"  Kendrick's brows furled as he stared down at the boy.

The child nodded.  Tugging on Kendrick's sleeve he led him towards a far corner of what once had been a stable.  There, stuck in the ground as if to purposely taunt was an arrow.  Wrapped around it was a note.

"What is this?"  Kendrick's fingers trembled with his anger as he tore it off.  "To he who takes what isn't his must come a reckoning," he read, knowing at once from where it had come.  "The young forest demon," he hissed between clenched teeth.   "Damn him to Hell!"  The fire had clearly been no accident then.  Well, so be it.  From now on it would be war between he and that bothersome lad.  And when he found him, he would hang him by the heels from the nearest tree.  By the name of the de Brons' he so swore.  Fitz Hugh’s bastard had better beware.

From her window Rowena stared out the window, taking note that the glow upon the horizon had vanished.  The fire was out then.  Just as well.  She hadn't meant to do any real damage.  All she had meant to do was teach the haughty de Bron a lesson.  A poke in the eye for a poke in the eye, as it were.

"For Gwyneth
and Ethelred," she said, raising her  fist.

Still dressed in her short tunic of green, an under tunic, hosen,  soft leather boots and the capuchin that had hid her hair
, she felt triumphant.  Still, it was not enough.  The fire was but the beginning.

"So, de Bron.  You think that a woman should sit at a spinning wheel all day or patiently work a tapestry in the corner of the room......"
Or be at a man’s mercy whenever he felt a twinge of desire.

Folding her arms across her chest, Rowena purposefully forced herself to remember what had happened in the kitchen earlier, angered by her own reaction to the passion that had sparked so fiercely. She had been unprepared for it. It had been so sudden, so strong
--and so dangerous, to all that she stood for and all that she planned.

De Bron is poison
. He would destroy her if she allowed herself to care. She knew his kind. He was incapable of loving any woman in return. His kind of passion was selfish. Shallow. Not at all what she had dreamed about. Above all she must remember that he was Prince John’s man and thereby her enemy.