“You damn well better speak right when we’re around other people,” he snapped at me. “It’s bad enough that you have the hair of a boy. The bruises, however, I can’t say I mind.”
Eadric and a young woman came back into the room without so much as a knock. I had forgotten this bit of noble life—there weren’t never a moment to yourself, never a moment alone.
Which, considering my husband were like to kill me, maybe it weren’t such a hardship.
The servants threw open the trunks, and my cheeks filled with blood. One of his godforsaken trunks was full of women’s clothing. For me.
He’d known I would come to him.
The lady’s maid had a pot of white and a brush with her, but when she went to paint my face, Gisbourne looked up from where Eadric was dressing him proper. “No,” he called. “Don’t paint her.”
“My lord, the bruises—”
“Do not make him repeat himself, Mary,” said Eadric.
Mary bobbed and set to dressing me instead. First she pulled off my clothing, taking my knives from me one by one, and I felt blushes burn over my whole skin as Gisbourne kept his eyes on me. I shook and felt water in my eyes, but I just glared back at him. She put the long linen dress over my head, then the first kirtle, a heavy tunic that spread to the ground. She put a second one over it, heavier still and lined in fur, that only went to my knees. Then she tugged tight sleeves up over the linen to match the first kirtle, tying them to the tunic.
She clucked over my hair before deciding on a velvet band and gold net that covered my whole head and hair besides. Gisbourne smirked at me, and it were all I could do not to tear it all off and stomp it in the fire.
“Come along, love,” he sneered, offering his hand to me.
I walked past his hand without so much as a glance his way.
He lashed out, grabbing my neck like a dog and dragging me backward, fingers biting hard into my skin and making me twist. “You will observe proper etiquette, Marian. You haven’t forgotten it, I trust?”
This time I managed to get him in the bits, and he howled and dropped me. “You want me to be some proper thing, you take your damn hands off me,” I snapped at him.
He straightened with a snarl and took my good hand, squeezing tight and leading me out of the room.
Sometime after I had latched the shutters in Gisbourne’s chambers up, it had started to snow. It were something of a blessing, truth be told, because the world weren’t near as cold when it were snowing. The servants brought us heavy cloaks lined full with fur, and as little as I liked any of this, I found myself snuggling deep into the cloak. It were uncommon warm and soft and felt like the first thing in months what were kind to me.
We didn’t have far to go. The upper bailey were full of nobles in bright, expensive things, all assembled and waiting for their prince. Most were lords and ladies from the royal court, I reckoned, for none had shown their faces round Nottingham before.
The castle weren’t the same, neither. It were clean and tidy, and if there were some of the wall unfinished still, I couldn’t see from where I stood. Pine garlands and streamers of cloth were decorating the place, swinging in the breeze to catch the notice of a prince.
The snow were blowing right for my mug, and I kept blinking and sneezing against it.
Gisbourne squeezed my arm overhard. “Be still, you animal,” he growled.
I tore my arm away from him.
There were knights that came up the bailey first, causing an awful ruckus with their banners and their armor and their swords clattering around. They parted, and this were a set of two huge snow-white destriers, draped with silks and royal emblems. A man and a woman sat on top of them, and they stood, letting their horses hoof about while more knights came behind them and the “common folk” flooded in last. They were the men from the wall, women from the kitchens, all the castle workers—a captive, adoring crowd.
The bailiff stepped forward, made small by the prince’s display. He said words of greeting to him that I couldn’t hear, and then he turned to the people and shouted, “Lords, ladies, and all those assembled, I give you Princess Isabel and Prince John of England!”
People cheered and clapped for him. I didn’t. I weren’t the cheering sort. The people weren’t cheering for him in truth, they were just yelling to have something to yell for.
And then the big horse shifted again, and I saw across the space to where people had parted and someone stepped to the front of the crowd.
Rob. It were Rob, and he were staring at me.
“My dear people,” the prince shouted, with much more effect than the bailiff had. “I have learned of the grievous wrongs done to you by my former representative, the sheriff of Nottingham. It shall not stand. I have come here to rectify the situation and personally ensure that the man I choose this time is the best for my interests, but most of all, for my people. For you!” he shouted, raising his arms.
The people cheered back at him. He were young, a few years past twenty at best. Younger than I thought of a prince. I knew that he were more than ten years younger than King Richard, but seeing him were strange. You heard so much about a body in legend and stories and song, it were odd to see him true.
He lowered his arms, and the people lowered their cries. “So I shall judge this, fairly by all accounts, and have a contest to ensure the fitness of your lord. In two days time, a tournament shall begin. There shall be three parts—first, a joust, to prove to you his valor. Second, the melee and contest of swords, to prove to you his strength. Finally, there shall be the crowning event—an archery contest, to prove his most sound wisdom, his keen eye, and his superior judgment. To the winner of this final event shall the title fall.”
My mouth watered to do it but I didn’t much dare to spit on the ground. A game? He were choosing the next sheriff based on a game?
The people didn’t agree with me. They cheered and cheered, and I looked at Gisbourne, with a fair smug look on his face.
Maybe it weren’t even much of a game after all.
Chapter Seven
The prince dismounted and were led inside. He looked at Gisbourne and motioned him forward, and so Gisbourne grabbed my hand vengeful hard and dragged me forward. I looked back at Rob, standing there still, staring at me. I couldn’t see his heart on his face. I couldn’t know if he were angry, sad, or hateful toward me.
Gisbourne tugged so hard I nearly fell off my feet, but I were held up by the rush of people, closing like a wake to follow the prince.