Lion Heart (34 page)

“Hm. We shall see what we can do to convince him otherwise,” she said, glancing to Winchester again.

“Thank you, my lady Princess,” Margaret murmured, never failing to look the part of the perfect, demure lady.

Isabel's eyes raked thoughtful over Rob. “I heard there have been troubles in Nottingham,” she said to him. “If your wife will excuse us, you should tell me how you quelled such forces, and Margaret shall come with us. She desperately needs a story of adventure.”

Rob turned to me, touching my cheek for a moment,
kissing where his hand were, and then kissing my hand like he couldn't let me go just yet. “I'll be a moment, my love.”

I nodded, and his eyes spoke a warning—he may not be beside me, but I knew he would be watching me, and wouldn't stand for someone hurting me.

Like I would ever need such a reminder.

I nodded to him, and I caught Isabel's thoughtful, frowning gaze as she watched us. He straightened and offered her his arm, and her ladies closed behind them as they turned to walk along the river.

“Must be my turn,” Winchester said, coming up beside me and catching my hand. He tucked it into his arm. “Your Grace.”

“Your Grace,” I returned with a sigh.

“Is she all right?” he murmured to me, his eyes drifting after Margaret.

I smiled, watching her walk. “Yes. She's made of strong stuff,” I told him.

He straightened a little. “I know,” he said. He sighed. His eyes darted away and back. “And here we go.”

“Your Grace,” someone said, and we turned to an older man. “Who is this beauty on your arm? You haven't gone and gotten married, have you?”

“Suffolk, I haven't ever enjoyed the kind of luck I would have needed to snare her,” Winchester said. “Roger Bigod, Earl of Suffolk, may I introduce Marian
Locksley, Lady of Huntingdon. Marian, you'll remember his son was one of the lords to answer Eleanor's call for knights.”

He bowed over my hand with a cry of surprise. “Huntingdon, really? That's been created again?”

Winchester nodded solemn. “One of the final acts before Richard was captured.”

Suffolk's stare became piercing, calculating. “You must be very important to him, my lady.”

“She is,” Winchester said, raising his eyebrows.

“Come, Winchester, you must be sporting and tell what you know,” Suffolk said.

Winchester glanced toward me, and back at Suffolk. “Far be it for me to say such, my lord, but King Richard feels quite . . . paternal about her.”

The man's eyes widened, and he turned to stare at me, taking in my face, looking me up and down, like there were pieces of the king hiding in my face, like King Richard would jump out of my skirts at any moment.

And then he smiled at me. “Hm,” he said.

“I was most grateful to see Hugh in the north assisting the queen,” Winchester said.

Suffolk turned from me and beamed. “Yes, he's a good son. Now if I can just get him married—you'd set an excellent example in that regard, Winchester.”

Winchester's jaw tightened.

“But Locksley, eh?” Suffolk asked, turning back to me. “That was the old earl, of course. Excellent man. Clearly you're not
his
daughter.”

I opened my mouth, but Winchester smiled instead. “Daughter by law,” Winchester said. “You'll be interested to know Robin Locksley, her husband, is returned to court.”

“Really?” asked Suffolk. “We have all heard such tales of his bravery. It is a credit to the peerage to have him back amidst our ranks.”

“His valor and honor are barely done justice by tales and songs,” I told him, able to speak at last. “It would be a happy task to introduce you to him.”

Winchester beamed at me, nodding slight.

“When did this marriage happen?” Suffolk asked. “I find myself amazed that I have not heard of it.”

“Just shy of a fortnight past,” Winchester said. “A beautiful, joyous affair. I believe the queen mother had all of her minstrels attend to tell Richard of it upon his return.”

His eyebrows shot up, like this were information of particular value. “Ah, a new bride then. We must find a way to properly
fete
you,” he told me. “And your happiness.”

A celebration—when England were on the brink of tearing itself apart. “Your Grace, your notice and happy wishes are certainly celebration enough. I confess I couldn't find greater happiness.”
Except if your prince stopped killing people I love, of course.

“Your Grace, you must excuse us; a new commodity at court must be widely introduced,” Winchester said, like this were a roguish joke.

Suffolk chuckled. “Of course. Your Grace, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Suffolk said. He dropped his head to me, and I bobbed a curtsy.

Winchester led me away. “You did very well,” he told me, patting my hand in his arm. “He is the only earl to outrank you, and his approval will sway many others.”

“Does that mean I can quit with the curtsies and silly garden walks yet?” I asked.

“Not nearly,” he told me.

“Christ,” I muttered.

“He's here too,” he said, pointing to an abbot's hat. “The Abbot of Westminster. The abbey is not far from the palace.”

“You're very sacrilegious,” I told him.

He shrugged. “Ask him. I'm fairly sure he believes it.”

Drawing a breath, I started toward him. Winchester lifted an eyebrow at me. “I don't know many things, Winchester, but if we're robbing the English Crown, we need Christ on our side.”

He laughed.

CHAPTER

By noon, I'd met at least thirty members of the nobility—the women in clusters, eager to fawn over Winchester and Rob, and the men ambling singly around for the most part.

Then the sun rose high and the men grouped, arguing about whether to shoot or hunt as servants brought out tables, piling them with food.

Lady Suffolk, the earl's elegant old wife, protested that they had to shoot so that the ladies could be within an appropriate distance to admire them.

Rob came to me and kissed me light. “I wonder if it's better to win or lose to someone important,” Rob murmured with a grin.

I pushed him, grinning back. “Win, or I won't know who you are when you return,” I told him with a laugh.

“I was hoping you'd say that,” he told me, giddy like a child as his hand slid on my neck, bringing me to
him for a dizzy kiss.

There were sighs behind us, and Rob broke off with a laugh as he saw the ladies clumped behind us. “Ladies, you must forgive my ardor. We've only just been married,” he said.

There were murmurs and simpers of sighs and forgiveness, and he bowed to me and then to them as he went to join the men. I turned to them all, sitting on benches that had appeared under an awning that servants were affixing even as they sat, and for a moment I froze. There were no places left to sit.

Isabel met my gaze and lifted her eyebrows.

“Lady Huntingdon,” said the woman beside Isabel, standing. “Please, you must have my seat.”

Isabel frowned, but the young, tall girl stood, curtsying to me. “Thank you. What is your name?” I asked her.

“Lady Maud,” she said. “My father is the Earl of Pembroke.”

I pressed her hand. “Thank you. Your kindness is most appreciated.”

She nodded, blushing, and went to a farther row where other young girls squished in tighter to make room for her.

“Lady Huntingdon,” Isabel greeted, terse and tight.

“My lady Princess.”

“Your husband is charming,” she told me. “But don't
think I will soon forget your rough manners and your cold, cruel heart. No matter your title.”

“Cruel heart?” I asked her, surprised. “How can you—” I stopped, my voice fading.

How had I forgotten? She
loved
Gisbourne. It had been clear as day.

“You blame me,” I murmured. “For his death.”

She turned to me, glaring fierce but her eyes shining wet. “Who else is there to blame? If you could have loved him, cared for him at all—
he
would have been Earl of Huntingdon, and my husband wouldn't have punished him. He would have succeeded.” She shook her head. “He didn't deserve what you did to him.”

“Punished him,” I repeated, looking at my hand. “How did he punish him?”

“You know already,” she said bitter. “You know he—killed him.” Her voice failed her on that awful word. “He made me watch. He put the rope round his neck and told him to say good-bye to me.”

A tear skipped out of her eye, and she didn't wipe it off. She squared her shoulders, and I wondered if this were the only way she could ever mourn him, in public, with only the defiance of not wiping off a tear.

“Isabel,” I whispered.

She shook her head. “Your fault. And you didn't even wait until his body was cold to marry
him
—the incarnation of everything Guy couldn't ever be,” she said, nodding to Rob on the field. “I won't let people love him when they wouldn't love Guy.”

My stomach sank, but worse, I didn't blame her. We all had our own rebellion, and this were the only one a girl like Isabel, beautiful and trapped, could claim.

When the shooting broke, the ladies all stood to take some of the lavish food the servants had provided, and I caught Maud looking at my hand, not fully hidden in my skirts.

“What happened?” she asked, her hand on her chest. As if I didn't know what she were talking about, she said, “To your hand.”

I glanced at Isabel, and she were watching me. “I was punished,” I told Maud.

“For what?” another woman asked.

Drawing a slow breath, I turned from Isabel's gaze. “Displeasing the prince,” I said.

Lady Suffolk shook her head slow. “A woman should never face such treatment,” she said.

“A noblewoman at that,” another said.

“A favorite of the queen mother,” another said.

The women began to whisper and talk.

Isabel's face folded down.

I went back to the benches.