Romancing Robin Hood (15 page)

‘I wish! No, I was unloading the Land Rover. I had a packet of pet food between my teeth. I've been to the wholesalers. What's up? You hardly ever call during in the day.'

‘Oh well, just fancied a chat, you know.'

Picking up on Grace's unusually breezy tone, Daisy asked, ‘Hey, are you all right?'

‘Totally all right. Well, I think I am.'

‘Something's happened?'

Grace heard Daisy open the Land Rover's side door, and sit down on the squeaky drivers' seat, ready to listen to her friend, ‘You've seen Dr Franks again, haven't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘I knew it. I knew you liked him. So?'

‘Calm down Daisy, he only came to talk about the paper.'

‘“Only” my arse!'

‘Daisy!'

‘And? Come on, enough of the suspense!'

‘He kissed me.'

‘Yes!' Daisy mentally punched the air before becoming sensible, ‘is he accompanying you to the wedding then?'

‘Hold on! It was only a kiss. Well, a kiss and some hand-holding, and a cuddle.'

‘Sounds damn good to me.'

‘But, the thing is Daisy; now he's gone … it's odd but …'

‘Everything feels a bit flat.'

‘Yes. How did you know that?'

‘Been there, done that, getting married to him.'

‘Bloody hell.'

‘Quite.'

‘There's something else. I've given him my novel so far to read.'

‘Wow. You really do like this guy.'

Grace could feel her face flushing all over again. ‘He thinks I should forget about being historically accurate and just write a good story; add some extra romance and stuff, then do the textbook.'

‘Sounds a sensible chap. I'll try not to be offended that you'll take that advice from him and not from me!'

‘Oh Daze, it's not that. He's a historian as well and …'

‘I was only joking, honey.' ‘Oh, of course. Sorry, I feel a bit all over the place. Anyway, I think he might help me out with it a bit over the summer.'

‘Which one, the novel or the textbook?'

‘Both, I think.'

Daisy clapped her hands in delight, ‘Excellent. Right, now I have to go, the animals need feeding, but I want to hear more very soon. Don't forget, we have another dress fitting on Saturday.'

Having managed to calm herself with some coffee and a bar of chocolate, Grace had just started some work, when her email beeped. It was Rob.

Wanted to check I'm not dreaming. We did kiss didn't we? Rxx

With her smile instantly back on her face, Grace fired off a reply.

We Did Gxx

Can we do it again? Rxx

We can Gxx

You free on Saturday? R xx

In evening yes – dress fitting in Sheffield all day. G xx

Come 2 dinner with me – please!! Do you like Chinese food? Rxx

Seeing as you asked so nicely – I'd love 2 – Chinese great Gxx

Fantastic. Will pick u up from Nottingham station when
u ready. I'll email u my mobile no. later so u can text me when finished dress shopping. Must go now – work demanding my attention. R xx

Whether it was sheer fatigue from the previous day's early start, the travelling, or the work she'd shared with Mary and the uncommunicative Roger, Mathilda had slept soundly in her allotted corner of the room above the workhouse. Her body felt jolted and confused as she was a woken by Mary, who shook her to consciousness before even the crack of dawn.

‘I'm sorry, Mathilda, but it's a long ride to Bakewell, and you need to get there to set up before trading starts.'

Instantly alert to what was expected of her that day, Mathilda sat up and tried to conquer the panic that threatened to overtake her and rule out all sensible thought.

She had expected Robert to come and find her yesterday, but he hadn't. In fact she'd seen nothing of either him or Master Hugo all day. On the other hand, she had learnt a lot about the leather trade from Mary, how the market stall was operated, how much they charged for each item, and so on. It was important that she appeared to know what she was doing once she was at the market. Thankfully, the leatherworker's sales procedures were not very different from her father's, although the quality of his goods was far higher; as were the prices.

Mathilda barely registered the breakfast Mary forced upon her, nor did she recall, when she looked back later, putting her clothes on or helping Mary to dress her hair into a practical style. All Mathilda remembered, as she sat behind a quiet Master Hugo, her cloak wrapped tightly around her against the early morning chill, were the words Robert had spoken to her, having appeared on the scene just before she'd left the security of the workshop.

‘You will listen to the directions Master Hugo gives you on the journey. He will tell you exactly how to get from the market to the Coterels' manor.' Robert gently shook her shoulder, ‘Are you listening, Mathilda?'

She nodded, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she swallowed some moisture down her nervously dry throat.

‘Good. Once you're at the manor house, you will ask to be taken to the steward. To him and him alone, you will say the names La Zouche and De Heredwyk. That is all he'll need to hear to grant you an audience with either John or Nicholas Coterel. Once you have been admitted, you will give whichever of the brothers you see Eustace's message. Are you ready to hear that message, Mathilda?'

‘Yes my Lord.'

‘OK, it is, “De Vere has agreed”. That's all. It is an easy sentence to relay.'

Mathilda repeated the words back to him and curtsied.

‘Well done, Mathilda.' Robert looked down at her slight presence. ‘There's something else.'

‘My Lord?'

‘I want you to have this. Just for your protection, you understand. I'm sure you won't have the need of it, but these are uncertain times.' He pulled a short, sheathed dagger from the folds of his cloak and passed it to a stunned Mathilda.

‘But my Lord, I can't carry this. If I'm found with it, you know what they'll do …'

‘Keep it hidden beneath your cloak.'

‘But, my Lord, it'll be visible when I bend over.' With her milky skin growing even paler, Mathilda asked, ‘Do you honestly think I'll need this, my Lord?'

‘Keep it with you, Mathilda. For the unexpected. Not that they'll be anything like that, but …'

‘It's an uncertain time my Lord, yes, you said.' Mathilda took the short blade, and weighed the handle in her palm. It was a beautifully made piece, carved and patterned across the handle, with a single blue stone placed between the blade and the hilt. ‘I'll conceal it beneath my outer dress, if I put another belt there, it can be slotted away safely, and it'll be placed further out of sight.'

‘Again Mathilda, you are wise …' ‘For someone so young, my Lord? You keep speaking of me as though I am a child, yet I am nineteen, not twelve. And you are sending me into the lair of some of the most notorious men in this Hundred, on a mission you, I hope, would not lay upon a child.'

Robert smiled in rueful acknowledgement of her words, before taking Mathilda totally by surprise and drawing her close, hugging her briefly, ‘Be careful, my girl. Follow your orders, listen to Master Hugo, and then come back to me. I'll take you home to Ashby Folville.'

‘Thank you, my Lord,' Mathilda muttered, her cheeks burning, astonished at such a gesture from the man who was essentially her gaoler. If it was meant to assure her, it had failed, for it just reinforced the perils of the mission to her.
Maybe that had been his way of saying goodbye, just in case that mission turned out to be one of no return?

‘You must go now; Hugo is ready to leave.'

‘My Lord,' Mathilda bowed briefly, and turned to go, but one more question burned in her throat, that she had to ask, ‘Forgive me, but Master Hugo? Do you trust him?'

Roberts's face flushed with a flash of anger, and for a second Mathilda flinched in readiness for an explosion of his temper, but he caught himself, and in a sharp, controlled voice said, ‘I'd trust him with my life, something that I have in fact done on the battlefield on more than one occasion.'

She bowed again and left without another word, wondering though if Master Hugo could be trusted as generously with her life.

An hour had passed since they'd left the boundary of Derby, and although dawn was still breaking, the roads were busy with wagons and carts on their way to Bakewell for the fair. Feeling Robert's knife pressing against her thigh, Mathilda wriggled into a more comfortable position in the back of the cart, pulling the thick brown travelling cloak she'd borrowed from Mary closer around her shoulders. The day promised sunshine, but the early mists had yet to clear, and the chill in the air was trying to burrow between the layers of her clothes.

Mathilda was glad of the presence of the other traders travelling the same road, for she had dreaded being alone with Master Hugo. Greetings were called and exchanged as those heading to Bakewell recognised each other from other markets and fairs. Yet Mathilda kept her own mouth shut, just in case she was spotted by someone from the markets she had frequented with her father. She didn't want to have to answer questions as to why she was there.

Sat in the back of the cart amongst the leather wares, Mathilda closed her eyes. This spare time was dangerous – it allowed her to think. She needed to stay busy to drive away the worries that beset her about her family. Was her brother Oswin home now, or lost in Lincolnshire? Or somewhere else entirely? Were Matthew and her father working all the hours of daylight they could to get her home, while still managing to support themselves and keep the home going?

If she jumped off the cart now, Mathilda knew she could easily disappear into the woodland that currently bordered the road. It would take several days to get home, but she could do it, and then … no, that wouldn't help. The debt would still require payment, and the Folville brothers wouldn't be likely to stop at kidnap next time.

Banishing plans of potential escape, Mathilda bought her mind back to the matter in hand. So far she had avoided having to talk to Master Hugo, but as they drew closer to their destination, she knew that would have to change.

Mathilda was still unsure why she disliked Hugo so much. Although he hadn't gone as far as being friendly, he had been courteous, had treated her well in his home, and was helping her to carry out her allotted task. Yet there was something about the way he appraised her, with a sort of resentment about his features, which made Mathilda feel vulnerable and uncertain. He was a successful merchant, he was free of many of the worries the majority of the trading and lower classes had to endure; surely it was she that should have been resentful of him?

Her thoughts ceased with their abrupt arrival at the gates of Bakewell. The carts before them had started to queue up, as stewards and other assorted officials directed the traders, entertainers, and merchants to their allotted stalls. As they crept slowly forward in the queue, Master Hugo called to Mathilda. Clambering down from the cart, she went around and took hold of the horse's bridle to lead them into the market place.

Speaking in a low mumble, Hugo said, ‘Once we are set up, and the earliest customers arrive, that will be your best chance to slip away. But don't be long, child, by noon business will be brisk and I shall need your help.'

‘What if I can't get back on time? I wouldn't want your business to suffer because of me.'

Hugo stared at her shrewdly as he explained that there was a local lad that helped him out sometimes, and that they'd manage until she returned. If they had to.

Mathilda nodded, ‘The directions, my Lord?'

‘I am not your lord, girl, nor anyone's,' He spat his bitterness.

‘I'm sorry, Master Hugo; I simply meant to show respect.'

‘Indeed.' He seemed far from convinced, but after a few uncomfortable moments said, ‘From my stall you must head left and walk the length of the fair; once you reach the final stand in the row you'll see two roads. Take the second, on the right-hand side, and follow it for about a mile. The manor you seek will be there. It is an easy route, but not an easy task. I confess I am surprised at Folville's choice of mate and confidante.'

Mathilda bit back the retort that came to her throat, saying instead ‘Thank you. I shall return as soon as I am able. I do not wish to linger with the Coterel family for any longer than I have to.'

Chapter Seventeen

Thanks to Mary's instructions, and the time they'd spent in Roger's dour company sorting the plain practical belts and aprons from Master Hugo's intricate girdles, delicate butterfly-patterned belts, and dagger sheaths, the market stall was soon set up.

The crisp morning air remained cool, but the earlier promising hint of sunshine was starting to break through, and the buzz of happy expectation from her fellow traders was infectious. The first customers of the day began to descend on the scene as jugglers and other street players started to ply their light-hearted entertainment alongside the merchants of the county and beyond.

Set out in a series of rows that ran from one side of the square to the other, every possible commodity was available, providing you had the money to pay for it. From Master Hugo's finest luxury leatherware stall at the far end of the second row, there were others displaying goods as far ranging as intricately worked pieces of silver and gold jewellery, wicker baskets, combs and skeins of wool, and rolls of fabric, to food of all varieties, from the local to the exotic.

Time seemed to be passing incredibly fast to Mathilda, and before she'd had time to think about planning her exit properly, the local boy, Tom, had arrived to help Master Hugo, and she bid them a temporary farewell, slipping away to complete her allotted task.