Lion Heart (33 page)

The White Tower were almost full dark, but for a lantern above the wooden staircase leading to the elevated door. The gate were shut, and a guard only appeared when we came close.

“The Earl of Winchester and the Earl and Lady Huntingdon,” David said to the guard. “We're here to contribute to the king's ransom.”

The knight looked us over and nodded to us, opening the gate.

At this signal, ten knights came out of the keep, and
David approached one as we all dismounted. “We have silver for the ransom,” he told him.

The knight looked at David but didn't respond.

“Yes, sir, we will take care of it,” said another knight, and David turned to him.

David frowned, listening to his accent. “French, sir?” he asked.

“
Oui
,” the knight answered. “Prince John called for us from France—I believe so more of his own knights could defend the queen mother.”

David nodded. “Very well. Yes, empty the carriage.”

The French knight bowed his head in agreement.

“We need the amounts—we have Eleanor's record but not yours,” the French knight said, nodding toward a little man with his head out the door.

Rob nodded, and we went up the staircase. Inside, we didn't go up to my former rooms, but down, into the bottom of the keep. In a large room there were near fifty chests, arranged neat behind a small desk where the man recorded our sums before going out to the carriage.

I went over to the chests, chills running up my arms. It were a grand fortune, to be sure.

It were even enough of a fortune to steal the throne of England from my father and place Prince John on it instead.

We didn't speak until we had unloaded our contribution and left the walls of the White Tower. Even then, we were silent for many moments more, our horse's hooves loud on the road.

“French,” I said finally. “He had Frenchmen guarding English money.”

“It doesn't bode well,” David agreed.

“If you needed to raise an army to steal an English crown, where's the first place you would go?” I asked, shaking my head.

“France,” Winchester said. “Especially if you're the son of Eleanor of Aquitaine.” I nodded.

“The time doesn't work out,” Rob agreed. “If Prince John sent for them when the queen mother was attacked, they would barely be boarding a ship by now, not guarding the silver for weeks already.”

I glanced back at the White Tower, formidable and tall, its pale gray stone bright with only the moon upon it. “Then Prince John already has stolen King Richard's ransom. And we need to steal it back.”

The next morning Rob and I woke, and called for the servants that dressed us. I watched him as they went, tugging and pulling and tying both of us.

He had changed, just a bit. The way he stood, the
angle of his chin—these were like they were when I'd known him first. When the luster of nobility hadn't been taken away from him, when he hadn't been brought low and humbled.

He caught me looking and grinned at me. “Thank you,” he said, with an authority that really meant they were dismissed. His servants bobbed to him and left, and mine hesitated.

“Milord, her dress—” one said.

“I will serve her Grace,” Rob said, smiling just at me.

The girl bobbed and left, leaving my dress half-laced in the back.

“Now,” he said. “What was that look for?”

Placing my hands on his chest, I let my fingers trail over him. The fancy shirt and expensive tunic, the sharp way his strong neck came up out of the clothes. I touched the hollow of his throat, drawing in a breath.

He sucked in air, and his throat moved against my finger.

“You were born for this,” I whispered to him. “Being a noble again. This was where you were always meant to be.”

There were a rumble in his chest, like a purring from a cat. I looked up and he were looking at me, staring at me, his eyes peeling everything away until he were left with whatever were at my deepest core.

The way he'd always looked at me.

“I didn't deserve this—I couldn't do this—until you, Scarlet. So if there's something I'm meant for, it's you.”

Looking at me like that, his words that rushed through me, it were better than any of his incredible kisses. It were the feeling of hope, that we might be able to win through this. I nodded, like he knew my thoughts. “Time to begin.”

He nodded back. “Time to finish this.”

Westminster Palace weren't properly part of London. A short walk outside it, it were considered its own town, and the nobles took full advantage of that to keep themselves from the squalor of the city. Just outside the palace walls, there were long greens where the nobles flocked to now that the sun were warm and they had all gathered here to hide from the unrest of the country.

We went out, my arm in Rob's like I were some proper lady, and my fingers curled into his arm within the first few feet of the palace walls. Margaret walked alongside me, close enough to reach for me.

I had faced fires, weaponry, and marriage, but nothing seemed quite so terrifying as facing down a field of bored nobility.

“There he is,” Margaret whispered.

I followed her gaze, and saw de Clare laughing at
something an older gentleman said. The man looked stern, if not outright offended.

Margaret's gaze also drew his notice, however, and de Clare clapped the man on the back and came over to us.

Rob took a small step forward as he did, positioning himself between de Clare and me in a tiny little way. I frowned at him.

Rob's eyebrows lifted. “You think I don't know the way he spoke to you last he was in Nottingham?” he told me soft. “The man's damn lucky I don't put an arrow through his eye.”

“There she is,” de Clare said, loud, still a step or two away. He came closer still, reaching for Margaret's hand. She tried to step back but he caught her, bowing over her hand and kissing it. “My future wife.”

Margaret went stiff and still, curtsying to him. “My lord de Clare,” she said quiet.

He looked at Rob and me. “And Lady Huntingdon,” he said, releasing Margaret to drop his head to me, not near the full bow my rank required. “And the Sheriff.”

Rob didn't so much as incline his head. “That's the Earl of Huntingdon, de Clare,” he said. Rob took my hand and kissed it.

De Clare laughed. “Well, the prince was right about men lapping at the teat of power, wasn't he? Well
played, Locksley,” he said.

Rob's face were flat, and he stepped forward, close enough that de Clare stepped back. “‘I can find her in the castle, alone, vulnerable. I can do whatever I want to her.'” Rob's voice were a low, measured growl.

I frowned at Rob, confused, and de Clare looked much the same, glancing from me to Rob and back.

“Is that not what you said to my lady wife once?” Rob asked. “You seemed to insinuate that it is easy to get a person alone. To pay them back for any perceived threat with the promise of punishment.”

De Clare's face went a little more pale.

“Don't speak to her. Don't speak about her,” Rob said, glaring hard into de Clare's eyes. “Ever.”

De Clare stepped back, but the slick, smug smile returned. “Come along, Margaret. Why don't we get to know each other a little better away from such company?”

He reached for her hand again, but she stepped back. “You will address me as Lady Margaret, until such time as we are wed,” she told him, her voice quiet and strong. “And though I will obey my father, I will not go anywhere with you now.”

His face twisted. “Fine. But do not let these people give you any delusions,
Lady Margaret
. You will marry me, and when you do, you will not enjoy the same disgusting prideful tendencies
as she does. You will be a proper wife.”

She drew a breath. “Does that mean you will also be a proper husband, my lord?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, his upper lip lifting in something caught between a smile and a snarl. “I will do what I please, and I won't be questioned by my wife. Think on that, Lady Margaret.”

He turned away, and Margaret looked at me, her face grim and her chin raised.

I saw Winchester. He were standing close, close enough to hear, and he watched her. She saw him, and he smiled at her, proud and loving, and she drew in a deep breath, nodding once to him.

Rob rubbed my hand, still captive in his, with his thumb. “Isabel,” he murmured.

Isabel, Princess of England and wife of Prince John were there in her full glory, a small crowd of her ladies around her. She saw me, and looked at Rob and frowned. She raised her chin in a poor imitation of Eleanor, looked at us, and waited.

We moved forward, Margaret trailing behind us. I curtsied and Rob bowed. “My lady Princess,” Rob greeted. “It is excellent to see you again so soon after midwinter.”

“And you, my lord Sheriff,” she said, frowning in my direction. “Or is it my lord Leaford now?” she asked, her lip curling a little. “I'm so relieved to hear you haven't
perished, Lady Leaford.”

“Thank you,” I told her stiff. “And you can address us as Earl and Lady Huntingdon.”

She didn't look much surprised, but it were the ladies behind her that gasped. “So Richard has created you.”

“Yes,” Rob said, smiling. “But my lady, we never got a chance to speak in Nottingham. And you know, as we were riding down here we saw the most beautiful Welsh ponies—do you remember that pony you had as a child?”

She looked at him. “Tulip? Why, my lord, how strange that you would recall that.”

“Of course,” he said. “I remember when my father was in attendance at court and we visited Gloucester. You were an accomplished rider even then.”

Her eyes lit. “Oh! That's right—you kept sneaking her sugar cubes and she got sick,” she recalled.

He laughed, and she smiled with him. “Your father was furious,” Rob said.

“And you wouldn't let me take the blame,” she said, nodding. “I remember.”

He lifted a shoulder, and I wondered if that were his intent all along, to remind her of a debt she owed him, even in such a small way.

Margaret came forward and curtsied low. “My lady Princess,” she greeted soft.

“Lady Margaret, welcome,” Isabel said, with something that I thought were rather close to genuine affection. “Why are you not with the queen mother? She has not been imperiled again, has she?”

“No, my lady Princess,” Margaret said, rising. “My father wishes me to marry.”

Isabel smiled, her eyes finding Winchester. “How lovely! We need a wedding to raise our spirits. What a delicious idea.”

“To my lord de Clare,” Margaret said, softer, meeting Isabel's eyes.

The joy went out of Isabel's face, and her ladies behind her murmured. “Oh. That will not suit,” she said.

Margaret shook her head, red flushing her cheeks.

“Is your father coming to court?” Isabel asked.

Margaret nodded. “Within the week, my lady.”