Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) (25 page)

“Ah, well…” He stoked her hair with the tips of his fingers. “It is a venerable ancient tree near the village of Edwinstowe in the heart of Sherwood Forest. Some say it’s over one thousand years old. Thirty-three feet across its base it is, with a warm dry hollow at its center and thick broad branches that stretch out like welcoming arms. People say ’twas there Robin and his men slept. My...someone from my childhood who loved tales of Robin much as you do used to delight in reciting me this poem. It’s very old. I’m not sure who wrote it.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes.” His voice was rough. A fierce ache seized him. It was sudden, more bitter than sweet. It burned the back of his eyes and seized hold of his throat. For a moment he feared he would be swallowed by the past.

“Robert?” She turned toward him and laid a dainty hand on his chest.

He took several deep breaths, beating back the dark. “I’m sorry. You should be sleeping. Perhaps another time would be—”

“ Please. I want to hear it now.”

He took her hand in his without thinking, and gathered her close. The heat of her body warmed him, melting some of the chill that had seized him so abruptly. “Then I shall tell it to you as it was told to me. Close your eyes and imagine yourself in Sherwood Forest, with Robin and his Merry Men beneath a starlit sky sheltered by a mighty oak.” After a moment’s hesitation, he began to recite in a rich melodious voice, a tale he’d not recalled since his last day as a child.

“‘Then taking them to rest, his merry men and he

Slept many a summer's night under the greenwood tree.

From wealthy abbots' chests, and churls' abundant store,

What oftentimes he took, he shar'd amongst the poor :

No lordly bishop came in lusty Robin's way.

To him before he went, but for his pass must pay:

The widow in distress he graciously reliev'd,

And remedied the wrongs of many a virgin griev'd :

He from the husband's bed no married woman wan,

But to his mistress dear, his loved Marian,

Was ever constant known, which wheresoe'er she came,

Was sovereign of the woods; chief lady of the game:

Her clothes tuck'd to the knee, and dainty braided hair.

With bow and quiver arm'd, she wander'd here and there,

Amongst the forests wild; Diana never knew

Such pleasures, nor such harts as Mariana slew....”

As his voice trailed off he felt her go limp in his arms. His knuckles brushed her cheek. “Good night, Hope Nichols,” he whispered in her hair.

Hope drifted off to sleep under a leafy bower, her bow over her shoulder, her husband’s hand in hers. Her last thought before she slipped away was that Robin looked a great deal like her Robert.

For three long days Hope lay abed. Her swollen face was iced for twenty minutes every hour. She felt sorry for creating so much work for the new maid, whose job it was to trek back and forth from the straw-and-sawdust-lined icehouse deep in the cellar. The ice and possets seemed to be doing the trick, though. The pain was down to a manageable roar and she could open her eye again, though the effort hurt and burned. It was still hard to read or eat or drink, and she had little to do but listen to Rose’s chatter and play on her bed with Daisy. The kitten’s antics kept her amused for awhile but she was getting restless.

Her husband was a tyrant. He’d given orders she was not to leave her bed until he said so, but he’d hardly visited her over the past three days other than to poke his head in her room and leave. She had a vague recollection of him staying by her side the day she was injured and even telling her a story late into the night, but she was beginning to think she had imagined it. It had been about Robin Hood after all, and everyone knew laudanum could make people imagine some very strange things. She’d even dreamt she traipsed through Sherwood Forest with a bow over her shoulder and that Robin was her Robert.

It surprised her how easily she had come to think of him as husband. It had seemed such a terrible thing, the end of her dreams at first. But he had proven to be a far better man than she’d expected. He was a taciturn man, not easy to know, but though he was guarded he wasn’t without joy or humor. He was young, handsome and very skilled...she thought of the billiard room again and blushed. He was also thoughtful and honorable. That was a trait much mocked at court yet an important one to her. She could think of no other man who would have returned her savings to her rather than keep it for himself as the law allowed. But now he was trying to keep her in bed, and no husband was going to rule her.

It was her face that was injured, not her legs. Surely she could walk. Her determination withered as soon as Rose brought her a mirror. Her face was no longer black and blue. It was black and purple and a sickly green and yellow, and though her eye could open it was misshapen and swollen. She let out a low moan. “Sweet Jesus, Rose! Why didn’t you tell me? What did he do to me? I look like a monster. I can’t leave the room looking like this.”

“A little face powder, my lady, would make a world of difference and—”

They both looked up to see the captain standing in the door. Rose glared at him, her eyes flashing, while Hope unconsciously put her hand up to hide her face.

“Ladies.” Red-faced and stiff, he bowed and then turned and left.

“Robert, wait! I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off. He was already gone.

“Rose, I look awful. No wonder he can’t bear to see me this way.”

“More like he can’t bear to see his own handiwork,” the maid replied with a disdainful sniff.

“It’s not what you think. I’ve told you several times that—”

“That you run into his fist, ma’am. That’s what my ma used to say, too.”

“Well, I’m sorry for your mother, Rose, if that was the case. But I assure you the captain is
not
that way. He is a gentleman. And it wasn’t his fist. I ran into his elbow. I don’t want to have to explain it again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rose left the room with a handful of sewing and a mutinous tilt to her chin.

~

Two days later, Hope left her room. The swelling was down considerably. Her face hardly hurt at all and she could see. She did stoop to using face powder, which almost made her more uncomfortable and self-conscious than the bruising did, but she was determined to get outside. It was a beautiful midsummer day.

Roses, heavy with bees and perfume spilled over the garden gates and wended their way up redbrick walls and over broken trellises. She followed them through the park and then crossed to the river path and rambled along its edge. It was a study in contrasts. Lofty branches made a shady canopy overhead, while the sun reflected diamond bright from off the river in a lovely dance of shadow and light. Just past a narrow bend she came to a place where the water widened and calmed to a slow and lazy flow. She settled on a small hillock, with her back resting against a stately yew.

It was early still and she could hear the gentle plop and see the tiny ripples where here and there a fish rose to the surface. She flung her line into the glistening waters. Oakes had told her the river teemed with bream and pike and gudgeon, but fishing was just an excuse to enjoy a day by the river and she flipped her line from the water before a long dark shadow could make it’s strike.

I love it here. I like the people. This man fascinates me and I think of little else. Robert has asked me to stay, but Charles is married and might summon me soon. What in God’s name am I supposed to do?

Relax and enjoy yourself
, a voice seemed to answer, and she determined that as long as she might, that was exactly what she’d do.

She had just dozed off to the quiet shushing of the river when a panicked Irish brogue woke her from her sleep.

“My lady! My lady! You are wanted at the house! You must come at once. The king’s messenger is here.”

Her heart seized in her chest. No! She wasn’t ready. She had no wish to go. She didn’t want to see him. She hurried toward the house heedless of her wayward hair and casual dress, praying it wasn’t the summons she dreaded.

The visitor, dressed very smartly in Stuart livery, waited in the drawing room with Robert. He looked startled when he saw her and he perused her up and down. “My Lady Newport?”

“Yes, sir. And you are?” Suddenly she was acutely aware of her black eye, bruised face and disheveled appearance. What in God’s name was the man to think?

“John Carpenter, at your service, madam.” He removed his brightly plumed hat to perform a deep bow. “I come with gifts for your kitchen, and a message from His Majesty. Might we speak in private?”

Hope glanced at her glowering husband, sitting in the corner with his arms folded and his long legs stretched in front of him, his booted feet crossed. “Whatever you have to say you can say in front of my husband, Mr. Carpenter.” Robert gave her a quick look, but she couldn’t read his expression.

“Very well. His Majesty has sent you ten barrels of Rhenish and a fine haunch of venison to celebrate your wedding and his own marital bliss. He wishes you to know that he thinks of you often and hopes that you are well.” He turned to stare at Robert as if he were some species of insect. Robert straightened suddenly as if he were about to get up and Hope hurried over to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. His glower worsened but he grunted and settled back down.

Not to be intimidated, the messenger continued, though his voice was pitched a little higher and his eye seemed to have developed a nervous twitch. “His Majesty is most concerned that he has yet to hear from you. He has sent you letters but received no reply.”

He stared at Robert as he spoke as if accusing him, but Robert was looking at her, clearly curious as to how she’d answer. “I...I have received His Majesty’s letters, of course. I mean no disrespect, but I am a married lady now and they appeared to be informal missives, I had not thought they required a reply. I…”
I threw them away without even looking. Has he ordered me back to court before now?

“His Majesty simply wishes to know that you are well. He has asked me to report back on it, madam.”

“Oh. Oh!! Oh, this. The bruises. My eye. You need not concern yourself with that, Mr. Carpenter. His Majesty is well aware of what a fumble-heels I am. I came around a corner while mounting a staircase with a book in hand. I wasn’t paying attention and my husband was coming down in a hurry at exactly the same time. I was almost upon him when we noticed each other. I gave a spring to the side to avoid him and he did the very same. Unfortunately we both jumped to the same side. It will be an amusing story once the bruises fade,” she added ruefully.

“Indeed, madam. And where are your husband’s bruises?”

“My husband’s? Why would he have any? He was coming down as I was going up and he is already much taller than I. I assure you, sir, I am not some cowed and meek—”

“Enough!” Robert stood. He towered over the messenger by several inches. “The man is doing his job, Hope. Let him have a meal and a bed if he wants it. And you, Carpenter. Your message is delivered. You have asked your questions and my wife has answered. As you can see, she is still recovering from her ordeal. You have five minutes to speak to her in private, then the questions are done. Once you’ve rested you’ll be on your way. I
would
like you to give His Majesty a message from me though. Do be sure to tell him I thank him sincerely...for
all
his gifts.”

~

Robert didn’t know why the messenger’s visit had made him so angry but there was no doubt it had struck a nerve. Charles had invaded his home, his privacy. To check on her. To remind them both to whom she belonged. And what if the messenger had come to summon her back to the palace? It was just the kind of thing he had feared when he’d first agreed to this scheme. Then it had been a matter of pride. But he’d grown to care for her and had come to think of her as his since then. How much worse now if a summons came now? Was this to be his future? To see his wife at the beck and call of another man? She said not. She said she was done with him. She hadn’t answered his letters. But she knew as well as he did that one day the summons
would
come.
What then?

~

The courier’s unexpected arrival had given Hope a jolt After his departure she had gone in search of Robert but he was nowhere to be found. He’d not appeared for dinner. He’d offered no comfort or reassurance.
How quick I was to look to him, expecting such things.
She’d been so afraid the messenger had come to call her back to London that even now he’d gone she couldn’t relax into sleep.

A gust of wind scattered her bed curtains and she crossed to the window to look outside. The moon was high tonight, the clouds formless black shadows scudding by. There was no hint of thunder, no taste of rain. Just a harrying wind whipping moon-washed trees that shimmered silver-grey in the pallid light. She heard what sounded like a sigh behind her, and whirled, heart pounding, but there was nothing there.

She picked up Daisy from her nest among the pillows, comforted by her silky warmth and lusty purr.
Why does the wind always blow when there is tension between us?
And why did the house sometimes seem to breathe?

A rustling sound came from the corner. Hope scrambled for a candlestick and waved it all around her, backing from the room with Daisy clutched to her chest.
I love this house, but I’m not at all sure that it loves me.

Braving shadowed hallways and echoing floors she headed for the room where she always felt comfortable. The quaint little cabinet off the easternmost hall in the north wing. It was too warm for a fire so she lit several candles to give her light. Even this little room, her haven, seemed off somehow tonight. Above or below the mournful howl of the wind, she thought she heard someone calling.