Jennifer Roberson - [Robin Hood 01] (62 page)

Ralph came quietly into the solar and extended a folded and sealed parchment to the earl. “The messenger waits below, in the hall.”

The earl grunted as he broke the wax seal and withdrew the letter. De Vesci, Bohun, and de Mandeville looked on, waiting curiously. The earl ignored them, then forgot about them entirely as he read the letter.
My God . . . could the man be serious?
He scanned the letter again as well as the heavy seal impressed at the bottom, then glanced without urgency to Ralph. “Please give the messenger my gratitude for his haste—feed him, of course—but say he is not to wait upon my pleasure. I am sure his master does not expect an immediate answer.”

“Yes, my lord.” Ralph bowed his way out.

“Well?” de Vesci barked. “A man would be blind not to see the look in your eye.”

The earl permitted himself a slight smile. He displayed the parchment briefly, pleased to see his hand did not shake. He could not afford to tell them everything in the letter, but part of it, yes. “Prince John sends his regards. He thanks me for the entertainment provided at the boar hunt. He discusses the need for more money to pay German Henry his ransom for the king.”

“And?” de Vesci prodded.

And?
the earl echoed inwardly.
More than you could imagine.
“He sends his affections for my son, whom he would like to see at Lincoln as soon as possible.”

De Vesci swore softly.

Bohun grunted. “So it comes.”

“The daughter,” de Mandeville said. “He dangles her yet again.” The older man nodded. “He wants to bring the barons in line. By acquiring your loyalty, he seeks to convince others of the wisdom in supporting him.”

“What will you do?” Bohun asked.

“Send him to Lincoln,” the earl replied. “If for no other reason than learning John’s mind, he should go. I doubt anything will come of the marriage, but why not test John’s sincerity?”

De Vesci grinned. “The same son who departed this morning with the FitzWalter girl?” The Lord of Alnwick laughed. “It will be days, possibly weeks, before he gets out of bed. And you want to send him to John?” He paused. “Were you ever young, Robert? Do you recall what it was to tup a lovely woman?”

In view of what the letter contained, the question bore particular weight. “There is no place for that sort of language here,” the earl said. “Eustace, you devalue my son by suggesting such a thing.”

“I suggest only that he may be less inclined to go to Lincoln than to stay wherever he is.” De Vesci paused. “Where is he, Robert?”

“Never mind,” de Mandeville chided. “This is but a small part in our play. There are other matters to be discussed.”

Huntington opened his mouth to speak again, but broke off as Ralph appeared once more. “My lord, forgive me—there is another visitor: the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

“In John’s pocket,” Bohun said promptly. “Sent to flush us out, do you think?”

De Mandeville shrugged; de Vesci, impatiently, threw himself down in a chair. “What now, Robert? On John’s business, or his own?”

The earl considered it. “God knows the man is ambitious,” he said, thinking rapidly.
This could be fortunate.
“He believed it possible to wed his daughter to my son. His common slut of a daughter, already despoiled!”

De Vesci laughed. “It would begin to seem as if your son has an affinity for women of loose morals.”

Huntington glared at him. “My son will do as he is told.” He turned to Ralph. “Is he alone?”

“He brought an escort with him, my lord, but he waits alone in the hall. He seems—subdued.”

“Subdued? William deLacey? He must want something.” The earl waved a hand. “Tell the sheriff I will be with him presently.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Have him up here,” de Vesci suggested with a sly grin. “Let us see what he would say then.”

“No.” The earl folded small the letter from Prince John and tucked it into his sleeve. “No, I think not. DeLacey serves himself before serving other men. Better I see him alone.”

 

Below, left to his own devices, deLacey waited impatiently. He would have preferred to conduct the meeting in his own hall, but one did not summon the Earl of Huntington to Nottingham Castle, one went to the earl. It placed him at a disadvantage, but he would have to find a way to make it work for him.

He linked hands and tipped back his head, assessing the quality of the earl’s architecture. DeLacey was much impressed. Techniques of construction had improved since the building of Nottingham Castle.

The earl came in at last, adjusting the fit of his robe. His expression was slightly impatient, which gave deLacey his cue.

“My lord.” The sheriff bowed briefly. “My lord, I apologize for disturbing you without invitation, but I believe there may be a matter of business to be settled.” He hesitated pointedly. “If I may be candid, my lord—?”

“Please.” The earl seated himself and waved to the bench at the end of the trestle table. When the sheriff had seated himself he lifted a beckoning hand and a servant came up at once, bearing a fresh cup.

DeLacey accepted it and waited for the servant to pour it full. Then he turned his attention to the earl. “My lord, if you will excuse an aging man for his folly”—his smile was ingratiating—“I have come on an errand for which there may be no sane explanation. That is, I have come to retrieve the Lady Marian FitzWalter.”

The earl of Huntington smiled. “I would be most grateful.”

The reeve’s name was James. He was a tall, thin man with a stoop to his back, and yet Marian knew he had to be a sound husbandman or he would not have gained the position. Reeves were elected from the best farmers in the village, those who were quicker of wit than others, but still worked with them.

She glanced sidelong at Tuck, who stood with his hands hidden in wide sleeves, then met James’s curious stare evenly.
Pretend this is Ravenskeep.
“Sir Robert told me he spoke with you.”

“Aye, Lady Marian. I’ve brought some villeins in from the fields, and women for the hall.”

He would suggest nothing, she knew. It was her place to give the orders, his to see they were carried out. “First, the rushes,” she said. “I want the old ones taken out and burned, the floor swept clean, then new cut and brought in.”

“Aye, Lady.” James paused. “We’ve none of us seen the earl’s son for a long time—are you his wife, then?”

Marian’s smile faded. It would make a difference, she knew. A very great difference.

Astonished, she heard Tuck’s voice from beside her. “This is God’s work,” he said quietly. “He has sent us here to put Locksley Hall to rights.” He moved forward, clapping a fleshy hand to James’s shoulder. “There are those among you in need of instruction . . . I am not a priest, James, but I can teach the need for humility as God has revealed.” He urged the man out of the door. “Tell the others to start their work, while I begin mine.”

“Aye, Brother.” And James was gone, removed painlessly from her sight.

Marian sighed as Tuck turned back to her. “Thank you, Brother. But it won’t put them off for long.”

“God willing, Lady Marian—” Tuck kissed his crucifix, “we’ll not
need
long. Has he not gone to see his father to have this matter settled?”

He meant well, Marian knew. But she was not convinced that anything would be settled.

 

The earl contemplated the sheriff.
Can I use this man? Can I lure this man into serving my needs while he thinks to serve his own?
He broke off a grape and consumed it. “When can you retrieve this woman?”

“Permit me to express my profound embarrassment.” DeLacey shifted his weight on the bench. “As you know, her father was killed on Crusade.” He waited for the earl’s acknowledging nod. “As you may not know, Sir Hugh and I were friends,
good
friends, my lord—I was deeply sorrowed at news of his death.”

“Of course,” the earl murmured.
Get on with this, you fool. Give me what I need.

“Many people were unaware that his daughter and I were to be married. Out of deference to her mourning, I did not speak of the betrothal; I’m sure you understand.”

The earl’s interest increased tenfold, though he divulged none of it.
If he wants her for himself, he will be easy to use.
“Indeed, I understand. One does not always speak of such personal matters.”

“My lord.” DeLacey set down his cup. “My lord, it grieves me to say the Lady Marian has asked to be granted release from the betrothal.”

Has she indeed?
The earl drank wine. “It is a request you might do well to grant,” he remarked lightly. He let deLacey consider that a moment, then added casually, “I think she must be a witch.”

“A—witch?” Clearly deLacey was startled.

“She must be. She’s bewitched my son.” Again he waited. “Why else would he take to bed a woman despoiled by outlaws?”

Two spots of color burned high in deLacey’s cheeks. He was moved to drink most of his wine before saying anything further. “Then naturally you will have no objection if I remove her from your protection at once.”

“I would grant you leave to drag her shrieking from my hall, were you so moved to try.” In silence the earl ate more grapes, while he let deLacey think. He spat pips into the rushes with neat economy of motion. “I am grieved she has proved a burden to you, William . . . she is a difficult young woman. I, too, have suffered—and
will
suffer, if this matter is not resolved very quickly.” He ate another grape. “I am certain your office is capable of rendering me relief. It lies well within your power to aid me; in aiding me, you aid yourself.”

DeLacey’s expression was thoughtful. “By all means, my lord, I would wish to relieve you of any suffering.”

“And your own portion of it, of course.”

The sheriffs smile was odd. “My own is of a different nature.”

“Indeed,” the earl said dryly.

DeLacey hesitated. “May I speak frankly, my lord?”

“Do.”

“She has dishonored her father’s memory—”

“Frankly,
William; this is prevarication.”

DeLacey’s mouth flattened almost imperceptibly. “Times are difficult, my lord. England’s king is imprisoned, while her prince squanders her wealth on personal desires.”

Huntington said coolly, “You bore me, William.” He ate another grape. “I want the FitzWalter girl managed.” He lifted his cup and drank, then set it down again. “It matters little to me if you desire to marry the girl”—he freighted his words with disdain and was pleased to see answering color in deLacey’s cheeks—“or merely to bed her. Do whatever you like with her; a man’s tastes are his own concern.” He tore free four more grapes, ridding his mouth of pips before inserting new fruit. “I suppose even witches are redeemable when given the chance to recant.”

DeLacey’s expression was odd. “Indeed, my lord. We must see she is given that chance.”

“And I suppose if a man of my position should suggest to the king—or to his heir—that a recanted witch be given in marriage to a man such as yourself, there would be no objections from anyone if it were celebrated under duress.” He spat out pips, anticipating the next question. “She is not presently here. Nor is my son.”

“Ah.” DeLacey smiled faintly. “It seems we are both embarrassed by their temerity—”

Huntington’s tone was crisp. “My son is not, has never been, and
will
not be an embarrassment to me.” He smiled coolly. “I believe I have made my desires quite clear to you.”

“Indeed, my lord. Very clear.” DeLacey’s tone was circumspect, but his eyes glittered intently. “I will attend to the matter at once.”

“Good.” Huntington rose. “I believe this discussion ends the matter for now. Have you any other business?”

“No, my lord. No, of course not.” DeLacey stood up quickly. “My lord, I thank you for your time. I am sorry to have troubled you on so personal a matter.”

The earl nodded coolly. “So long as this difficulty is resolved very soon, the trouble was negligible.” He made a practiced gesture. “Ralph will see you out.”

Much made his way with care across the castle bailey, walking with assurance so as not to look out of place, but not so much cockiness that he did not fit the part. He meant to find one of the kitchen entrances at the back of the keep. It shouldn’t be difficult; usually spit-boys came and went on various errands for the cooks.

He grinned to himself. This was
truly
a castle, not a figment of his dreams. A fitting one, Much decided, for the prince and his princess.

Someone shouted in French. Much spun sharply, staring, then darted against the keep wall.

No, it wasn’t for him. The Normans were mounting horses again as the sheriff came out of the hall.

Much knelt against the cobbles, making himself small. He recalled very clearly the strength of deLacey’s grip when he had closed it on his wrist.

“Won’t cut it off,” he whispered, tucking his right hand under his left. “Robin won’t
let
you.”

 

Robin rode up the curve of the road to the front of his father’s castle, and found the gate wide open. Someone was leaving the castle—Alnwick, Hereford, or Essex, or perhaps all three at once—or someone was arriving.

More of John’s enemies?
Robin smiled faintly as he rode up to the gatehouse.
Is even Huntington. large enough?

One of the guards saluted him with a welcoming greeting. “No luck on the hunt, my lord?”

Robin acknowledged him, admitting he’d had no luck without explaining himself. He drew rein briefly, letting the horse sidle. “Is someone coming, or going?”

“Going, my lord; he’s come! The Sheriff of Nottingham.”

Robin twisted in the saddle as the horse circled noisily, hooves ringing off cobbles. He stared hard at the entrance to the inner bailey some thirty paces away. “Then I’ll wait here to wish him farewell.” He stationed his mount to block the gate, held him in place with his heels, then quietly bided his time.

 

By the time William deLacey strode out into the bailey to grasp the reins of his horse, he knew what he would do. It would be complex in execution, but for Marian it was worth it.

And the earl himself supports me.
He did not care why, though he supposed it was because Huntington looked much higher than Marian for his son’s wife. Prince John had a bastard girl; perhaps she was being dangled.

“Gisbourne,” he murmured intently. “I’ll need Gisbourne to write the letter, since I’ve dismissed that gluttonous monk.” He swung up into his saddle, swinging aside his mantle, and lifted his voice to the waiting Normans. “To Nottingham.”

He led them out of the bailey.
I’ll need Abbot Martin, and a witness.
...
someone from Ravenskeep.
DeLacey smiled.
I’ll use the unhappy Roger—

The cool voice cut through his thoughts. “My lord Sheriff, greetings. We have business, you and I; a small matter to be settled.”

DeLacey pulled up short. Before him, blocking the gate, waited a lone man on horseback. He was green and gold in the sunlight, pale hair falling over broad shoulders. The eyes and the tone were steady, displaying neither reluctance nor the headlong anger that marked a fool.

DeLacey nodded slightly.
Not a boy any longer.
Behind him his escort gathered, murmuring in Norman French. He heard swords being loosened in sheaths.

He thrust out an imperative hand to check them instantly. Then, with excess civility, “Robert! What business is that?”

“The Lady Marian.”

Nothing more than that. DeLacey nodded again. Too much lay between them now for diplomacy or subterfuge. Besides, he had a weapon: knowledge. Robert did not know that the earl supported him.

It made deLacey most lighthearted, though he maintained an even tone. “It was her father’s wish. Do you blame me for seeking to fulfill it?”

To his surprise, Locksley laughed. “And I who brought her the message. Do you blame me for regretting that I ever told her at all?”

“You
brought it ...” He let it go with a tongue-cluck of irritation; none of it was important now that he had begun to devise his plan. “What’s done, is done,” he said simply. “Let her father’s soul deal with it.”
And you will deal with me.

Locksley said nothing at first. Then, with cool disdain, “I fail to see how her father could have believed you would protect her. You are her greatest danger.”

He is the earl come again; you can hear it in his tone.
The sheriff smiled. “There was a time when Marian was naught but a girl, and I but a friend to her father. She was an enchanting child, but nothing more than that ... until her father died, and I went to offer my aid. The child-Marian was banished. In her place was a glorious woman whom no man might ignore, nor put out of his thoughts at night; you should know well enough what I mean.” He was rewarded by the brief flash of anger in Locksley’s eyes. “To Hugh, she was his daughter. He would never see the woman who usurped the little girl’s place. It would never occur to him that he could get an earl’s son for a knight’s daughter.”

Locksley reined in his restive horse. “She is the king’s ward, not yours.”

Which king is that? The one in prison, or the one in Lincoln?
DeLacey smiled. “But kings die in battle. Hugh had to be certain someone he trusted would see to his daughter’s welfare. That was what I intended: to ward her welfare utterly.” He shrugged. “But what is a simple sheriff when compared to Huntington’s son?” He let that sink in; it would mean something to Locksley, who would know very well that high rank was an elegant bait even when it tasted bad.
His own father strikes at it.
“In my desire and ambition, I overstepped my bounds.” He softened his tone. “But I did not reckon on falling in love with her.”

Locksley’s horse pawed noisily, ringing shod hoof against cobblestone. He checked it with reins and a single murmured word. He said nothing at all to deLacey, though his eyes burned bright as coals.

He’s
learned to hide himself . . . the earl—or the Crusade—has taught him well.
DeLacey inclined his head in a graceful admission of defeat. “I wish you well of her.”
For as long as you may have her.