Lady Thief: A Scarlet Novel (16 page)

The court were rapt, her pretty lies captivating them all.

He put his hand over her cheek, and she closed her eyes like it were God Himself touching her. “My princess is as beautiful as she is wise,” he told the court. “And so close to Christ’s own birth, we shall not be the only ones to feast tonight. Hertford! Where is de Clare?” he shouted, looking round.

De Clare stood and came forward, kneeling hastily before the prince’s table. “My lord prince.”

“See to it that the people of Nottingham feast tonight as well.”

Isabel swept her head down like she were to cry. “My lord prince is generous and kind,” she cried, overloud for talking to her lap, and the hall cheered. De Clare came up and whispered
in Prince John’s ear, and the prince whispered back. De Clare nodded and left.

“Will he really feed them?” I asked quiet of Winchester.

“He will,” Winchester said. “The prince is capable of great generosity; I wouldn’t say it’s natural to him, but he is capable.”

They began carving the pigs and soon a plate were heaped in front of me with a trencher of bread beside it. I took some of the roasted pig and though I half expected the whole thing to taste like the cuts of bacon Tuck sometimes made, it were more like crisp-skinned ham. It were hot, which weren’t an everyday luxury, and rich beyond measure. I took a few bites and ate some of the bread, watching those around me.

Men were filthy things. They bit until the juice ran into their beards, and they swiped at their maws and wiped it wherever they could land their hands. They let bits of food drop into the rushes on the floor and the dogs had a grand time of it. They ate and ate and ate.

The wine flowed overmuch, and by the end of the meal, the minstrels were kicking up a fine tune, and Prince John clapped his hands and called for dancing. He took his wife’s hand and led her closer to the minstrels, to the bit of room between the eating tables and the ones laden with food.

I didn’t ever remember seeing dancing much at Leaford, but I were shocked by how common it seemed. Granted, the village folk held each other close and tight when they started to dance wild and fast to music, and Prince John left a much
more respectable distance between him and his wife, but they were hopping and kicking and turning about, clasped at the hand, like anyone were wont to do round a fire.

Other nobles joined in, and Winchester asked me quiet if I should like to dance.

“I don’t much know how,” I said to him. “Another night, when I’ve watched a fair bit.” I smiled. “Or perhaps when they all think me less wild. Though if you could help me with the chair, your Grace, I wouldn’t mind making a slip of it,” I said.

He chuckled. “Of course, my lady,” he said, and graciously stood. “Lord Leaford, permit me?” he asked of Gisbourne.

Gisbourne waved his hand. Hawk-eyed, he watched as I stood, but Winchester offered me his hand like we were to dance and led me off until Gisbourne looked away.

Winchester kissed my hand. “You’re free, little bird. Fly as you will.”

I bobbed a curtsy to him and quit the hall.

The door I had chosen led out to the upper bailey, and the night were warmer than some, with a crisp smell to it that probably meant snow. There were a page at the door that called me “milady,” and I sent him to fetch my cloak from my chambers. And he went.

Seemed there were loads of useful tricks for noble folks.

I weren’t halfway across the bailey when the page brought it
to me, settling the warm weight on my shoulders. “Thank you,” I told him.

“Milady.”

I walked closer to the gaps in the bailey wall—meant for archers and the like—that looked out onto the town. I heard the snow crunch a bit and looked back toward the boy. He were just standing there, watching me.

“Are you from round here, or do you travel with the prince?” I asked him.

“I’m in the earl’s household, milady,” he said, showing me his tunic. As if that meant something to me. I knew most lords branded their servants, but I knew little of the colors and he didn’t have a coat of arms on it.

“Sorry, lad. Winchester, yes?”

He nodded.

“An excellent man. Is he a good master?”

“Excellent in all things that I’ve seen, milady.”

“Are you training to be a knight in his household?”

“Yes, milady.”

I rested my arms on the smooth stone ledge, imagining the months before when all the nobles, gussied up like I were now, rushed over to see smoke in the village below. I turned back to where the entrance to the prison stood, half hoping to see Gisbourne towering over me and Rob fighting him back, but it were silent and empty. So much had changed that night. Rob gave himself up to save me, gave me the first hope for his heart, and started me down a road that led to the cursed ring on my hand.

“Milady?” the page asked me.

“Hmm?” I looked to him, but he weren’t looking at me.

“Milady, do you hear that?”

Shaking free of the past, I listened. There were shouts and clanking, heavy clangs.

Fair awkward, I jumped up into the narrow, tilted window and leaned out, holding careful with my good arm. I leaned till I could feel the wind whip me and see the fuss.

“The gates,” I said, jumping down before he could help me or protest. “Come on, lad, the gates!”

Picking up my skirts with my one hand, I set to running, and he yelped and followed. We slid down the snow-slicked gauntlet to the second bailey, running over that yard to the next gauntlet.

Breaking onto the lower bailey, the gates were in full view, and it were mad. The gates were half lowered and the people were heaving against the guards with torches and twisted faces, screaming and crying and throwing food.

The castle guards were yelling to each other, barking to push the people back, keep them out of the castle, protect the prince. A layer of guards with drawn swords were setting up behind those with their armored hands on the people of Nottingham.

The food that were sailing over their heads were splattering in the snow. Bits, scraps, black-spotted potatoes, and other things I couldn’t quite name that smelled of rot without so much as a hot wind to carry it, and I knew what it were in an instant—the prince’s gift, his mighty bounty. Spoiled food and leftovers.

The gates lowered another notch.

My place weren’t never inside the castle, not while the people were being pushed back and abused.

My place weren’t never behind a line of men with their swords drawn who knew not what they were meant to protect.

My place were on the other side of the gates.

I took off running.

The guards may have called to me; they weren’t ready to hold back someone from behind them, and I broke through the armed guards with ease. I ran for the seam where common folk and guards were pushed together, and saw them heave their fists and elbows like arrows through the faces of the hungry and the poor. I saw blood and brutal injustice.

The gates slammed down not moments after I made it out, and the crowd surged against the portcullis, carrying me with it in the flicker of torches and dark.

I fought my way back until the crowd let me go, and behind the throng were other souls standing about, watching, clutching their children and keeping back.

“What happened?” I asked a full-cheeked woman, going to her three young girls and pulling my cloak off my shoulders and round them.

She showed me a bit of bread, crawling with mealworms. “They gave us food,” she said, sniffling. “And it was rotten. A few of the children took sick fast, and then the men started for the castle.”

It dawned on me, sick and awful. “Because you ate the food anyway.”

A fresh wash of tears went down her cheeks, but her little ones didn’t notice, giggling and playing inside the cloak. “We’re hungry,” she whispered.

I looked at her, straight in the eyes, and I wanted to wipe her tears off her face but I couldn’t rob her of them, like for me to say it weren’t so would unmake her pain. It would be a mock of it. “I’ll get you food,” I said. “Before the night is over, I’ll get you food.”

She cried more, but I didn’t think it were much because she were grateful. I think it were because she didn’t believe me and feared for her babies.

“Go get warm,” I told her.

She nodded, taking the cloak from her daughters.

“No,” I said quick, stepping back. “It’s for them.”

“You’ll freeze,” she said, confused.

I shook my head. “Keep it. Please.”

I went from her before she could give it back, and I set to running, down to the closest inn I knew. I didn’t bother going inside. I went to their stables and filched a horse before any could tell me no, hauling atop it and tearing my skirt to sit astride the beast. I set off for Edwinstowe, praying Rob were awake and I wouldn’t have to venture into hell to pull him back. I rode into the dark, snow-silenced countryside, for the first time in months feeling like my feet were carrying me toward something and not away.

It were long enough into the night that the lads might have been at the monastery already, but not enough that it were a certainty. I didn’t think, at least. My blood roaring were the only thing keeping my body in motion; my skin were thick and clumsy and I’d long since stopped feeling for the wet and cold.

I went to Tuck’s, sure I’d at least find John there. Not even bothering to peep in the window, I dropped from the horse and burst into the place. It felt like my body caught up to my blood, and it were a violent coming together, more like stabbing pain than heat. There were a fair amount of men there, and I could bare look upon them before I bent over, wheezing and shivering as the warmth broke through.

Someone were calling my name, and I straightened in time for Rob to pull me into a hug, dragging me off the ground and hugging me so hard I feared I might shatter, and my hand slung against my ribs protested.

“Scar, you’re like ice,” he said, pulling me over to the huge fireplace and kicking other folk out of their seats. Much appeared with a blanket and John were a moment behind him, and in a breath, even half-frozen, I felt like no time had passed, and all were like it used to be.

Rob tugged off my silly shoes and wrapped his hands around my feet even as I winced away, the heat hurting. “Jesus, Scar,” he murmured, looking at my face in full. “What, did you run here from Nottingham?”

“There are riots,” I said, trying to suck in a deep breath against the cold.

“Riots?” Much asked. “What for?”

“The prince gave the people rotten food from the feast,” I said. “A few of the little ones took sick, and the people just … fought.”

Much looked at John, who frowned back at him, but Rob just rubbed my feet more and smiled. “I take it you came up with a plan on your way.”

I nodded. “I know where the castle food stores are. Most of it collected from Nottinghamshire.”

John shook his head. “No,” he said.

We all looked to him.

“No,” he repeated, fair shocked, like it were a crime we didn’t know what he were about. “I’m not doing it.”

“You heard her,” Rob said. “Children are dying. What would you have us do? Nothing?”

“Yes!” he snapped. “Because that’s all it ever is. Nothing but sticking our necks out. Changing nothing,
fixing
nothing.”

“John—” Much said.

“Actions have punishments,” he said. “We steal the food, hand it out, then what? You think Prince John will just let us off about our way? We almost died fighting the sheriff and this is the prince. He will kill us,” he said.

“He won’t kill me,” I said, scowling at John.

He jumped forward and grabbed my chin, tilting my bruises to the light. “No, he has his own ways of punishing you, Scar, and I’m not putting that on you. Rob may be fine with turning your face purple but I’m not.”

Rob let go of my feet to stand to John’s challenge, but I didn’t bother. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Rob, sit,” I said.

“Are you questioning my honor, Little? You, who is acting like a damn coward right now?”

“I’m questioning all of it! You think you’re ready to fight the damn prince? You’ve barely slept in a month! You’ll get us all pinched covering your worthless hide.”