She lifted a shoulder. “It depends on the man, and the crimes he commits against you. But there are ways. If you embrace who you are, my dear, accept the fact that you are, in a fashion, a princess of England—you might find a great many tools at your disposal to soothe his male ego.”
“I won’t soothe any bit of him,” I snapped. “And I won’t leave Nottingham for promise of pain. This is my home.” Were that even true anymore?
“And Aquitaine is mine, yet I had to leave.”
“Hurt is a common thing. Scars, blood, none of it matters in true to me. It’s a pebble beside love, and protecting the people what need it. My place is here, making sure he can’t never hurt the people that can’t protect themselves.” I didn’t have to run, did I? Rob were here. The band were here. I could run from Gisbourne and still do what I were meant—protect the people.
“Marian, you are royal. All of England is yours to protect, especially in your father’s absence.”
I drew myself up straighter. “Then I’ll start with the well-placed, prosperous county between the north and south.”
She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Do you love him, my dear?”
I looked at her. Were I meant to deny it?
“Robin,” she said, as if my heart didn’t know just who she meant.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes.”
She nodded. “And he very clearly loves you.”
A thrill burned through my heart. “He does.”
“Love and marriage are not easy bedfellows, my dear. It’s rare that a woman gets to enjoy both with the same man. But I truly hope the future holds that for you.”
Her words slid under my skin and circled around my heart. I held them tight there, like good wishes could shore up my courage and hope.
She patted my hand. “As for Aquitaine, it is not something that needs to be decided tonight. Or ever. You need not choose between them; perhaps we can still have a few adventures between protecting the people, yes? I should very much like to get to know you, now that I have you back.”
I gripped her hand in return. “I want to know you too, my queen.”
“Eleanor,” she said. “You may call me Eleanor.”
“Eleanor,” I murmured slow, tasting it as it ran over my lips. My grandmother. Eleanor.
She loosed her hand from mine gentle. “I’m quite tired, now. I must retire, but promise you’ll meet me in the morning. My carriage will be ready first thing to take me to London with the royal progress.”
“I will,” I vowed.
She stood and collected me into her arms in a tight hug. I drew in a deep breath; she smelt of lavender and snow.
“Go,” she said. “If you happen to dance with a certain sheriff, I’m sure my minstrels will sing songs of it to me later.”
I laughed. “Your minstrels are trouble.”
She shrugged, but smiled. “Good night, Marian.”
Her lady saw me out, and I drifted down the hallway, hanging in the dark, delaying the moment when I would have to tell Rob that there would be no sunset, no marriage, no life.
When I got to the hall, if many nobles were still there, I couldn’t tell them from the common folk, laughing and singing and dancing about. John found me first, catching me up and dancing with me with a broad, drunken grin. I yelped when he hurt my hand and he slowed, dancing more careful. “She said you were the most kind!” he crowed. “Our mean, grumpy Scarlet—kind!”
“Bess did?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’m going to marry her, Scarlet! Rob’s the sheriff; I’ll marry her and live out the rest of my days as a father and a husband and a happy, foolish, fat, lazy man. A blacksmith! I’m going to open shop.” His grin went wider and looked ready to crack his face.
I laughed at him. “As long as you fix my knives without my having to pay, I’ll be happy for you.”
He threw his head back for laughing. “You’d steal them anyway!”
“Where’s Bess?” I asked.
“Winchester sent her home in his carriage. Good man, that. Much and I figured we’d sack out in the barn—by Christ, I don’t think I’d make it halfway home!”
I laughed, but Rob caught my eye and I danced out of John’s arms. John took up with Much, who frowned and pushed him off.
Rob pulled me to him, smiling with a fair amount of ale and cheer. “We need … I must talk to you before tomorrow morning,” I told him soft.
His grin faded. “What’s wrong?”
My nose touched his. “There’s something to say. Many things.”
The arms about me went loose but didn’t let go. “Did Gisbourne do something to you? Did he touch you?”
I pet his cheek, flushing as a shiver ran through me. “No, no, nothing like that.”
He nodded, kissing my forehead. “Go. I’ll wait a moment and meet you in my chambers, all right?”
Blood pushed harder into my cheeks. My heart beat strange, like a drum played wrong and fast. Meeting him there, when he were whole and hale, under the cover of night—it felt different now. It were supposed to be the start of many nights alone in his chambers, and instead it were the last.
Chapter Twenty-Three
There were no guards now. As soon as the prince left, Rob would move into the large chamber in the center of the residences. And he’d wait for me to be there with him, as his wife.
I shut my eyes. There were no way I could stay here, married to Gisbourne with Rob so close by.
Months ago there were so many places I could think of to run to; now there weren’t any I could fathom.
I slipped quiet into his room and sat on his bed, thinking of the first I saw him. I’d been a girl, playing in the garden with Joanna, and he came out, his back straight, awful formal and awful old to my young eyes. I’d seen a man even then. Joanna blushed but I didn’t have enough shame to, and I wound the chain of flowers I were making into a crown and put it on his head. He bowed to accept it, and when he stood, there were a smile on his mouth.
He stayed for dinner, but he didn’t ever speak to me. And then he left with his father, and not long after, for the Crusades.
The next time had been in a market in London, and his shadow-dark eyes looked like salvation for me. I knew him, I knew his station, I knew what would happen to the girl he couldn’t recognize who stole his purse. I did it badly and he caught my wrist and stopped me. When he addressed me like a lad I went with it. I hadn’t been trying to look so much like a boy before that, just not a girl, not a pretty thing like Joanna, that a man could hurt and think nothing of.