Arrow To The Heart (De Bron Saga) (4 page)

“Thank you, sir, for your understanding.”

Rowena rose stiffly from her chair. “A child! You call me a child! I am a woman full grown, and as s
mart as any man. How dare you….” Rowena turned to leave.

Kendrick caught her by the wrist, detaining her. “My lady, please accept my apology. I had no idea you were serious. I thought you were only making light conversation, and wanted merely to caution you that your words could cause you grief. However, I would be happy to talk politics with you in the privacy of my chambers, away from listening ears.” Kendrick smiled.

Rowena glared at him. “Sir, I seek no man in his chambers. If it’s
that
kind of company you seek, look ye elsewhere!”

"May I offer you a bit of venison?" a servant asked, leaning low over the table.

"No thank you." Kendrick replied, thinking to himself that it was the young woman by his side that he wanted at the moment.  His was a far different hunger. Her beauty was flawless and golden in the candlelight, as delightful to behold as an angel. He thought to himself that if he had one serious fault, it was his overwhelming attraction to beauty.  But he had to remember where he was and his mission.  He had not come all the way from Normandy to be swayed from his intent by one woman's beauty. 

"Ah, but perhaps I will pe
rsuade you later," he promised himself with assurance. Kendrick had not yet met a woman he could not have if he so desired. He was certain that this fair flower, like all the others he had coveted, would blossom at his touch. At least the thought would make his stay in England a bit more enjoyable. A little something to look forward to during those moments when he was suffering John's company.  An enchanting diversion.

Kendrick was a man sure of his prowess, as certain of all the ways to charm a lady as he
was methods to conquer a foe. Both were skills that he took in his stride. He was arrogant, yes. But only mildly so.  He viewed Rowena as a perfect match for him.  A man could tell such things right at a glance, or so he had found from experience.

Rowena was aware of those heated dark eyes upon her, regarding her so intently
, and she was more and more certain that he knew who she was and what she had done. He was playing with her, like a cat with a mouse.  But when was he going to pounce?  Nervously, she tugged at her gown, wishing she could read his mind. 

"It is a costly campaign," John was saying
, trying to placate the crowd. Rowena watched as he raised his hand for silence, his dark eyes sweeping over those gathered as if to seduce them to his wishes.  A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as a thought seemed to flash through his mind. "I have seen fit to have it written that from hence forward, all Saxon lands are to be given to my possession, and those of you who favor their cause will forfeit as well. He who honors me and swears to be at my right hand will profit by this edict of mine. I will reward loyalty richly and treachery with an iron hand."

Rowena seethed inwardly with her rage, knowing full well what the Prince w
as saying--that those who offered resistance to his policies would be called traitor, that their lands would be swept from beneath their noses. Those who did John's bidding would profit from the villainy.

"Black-hearted
bastard!" she swore silently. The hall took on a deathly silence at John's words, and by the expressions written upon every man's brow, Rowena knew the assemblage echoed her own thoughts. Yet none among them spoke out. Looking from man to man, the Prince issued forth a silent challenge, bowing his head in mocking tribute as he turned his back to return to his place at the head table.

The sound of wood upon stone suddenly shattered the deadly calm, as a chair behind Rowena w
as thrust back from the table. Turning, she looked to see who the would-be speaker was, as a gasp of surprise whispered through the crowd.

Expectation hung heavily over
the room, as the fair Maid Marian and the scowling Prince dueled silently with their eyes. He was warning her, but she ignored him asking, "Are there none among you who will oppose Prince John on this matter?" Her eyes issued a challenge to the men of the hall to come forward despite the risk involved. Surely they were men and not mice to scurry to their corners to hide.  Silence was her answer. "Are you all cowards, then?  You know well that it is not King Richard's coffers which these taxes feed, but John's. Nor is it any secret that to even sneeze in John's presence if he does not will it, can cost a knight his lands." Holding her head high, she scanned the crowd.  "Will not one of you come forward?"

Rowen
a started to rise, to echo Marian's words, but her father's strong hand upon her shoulder held her to her seat.  His eyes urged her to caution, and she knew that he had read her thoughts. How it galled her to see John triumph because of the fear he inspired. She started to whisper a protest to her father, to plead with him to voice his objection.  But before she could do so, she heard another voice cut through the silence.

"My dear
Lady
Marian," came Kendrick's deep voice, scathing in tone, as he rose to his feet. In stunned surprise, Rowena looked from Kendrick to Marian and back again. Expectantly, she awaited his words, hoping that this handsome knight would champion the rightful cause. Perhaps she had been wrong about him.  For some unknown reason she hoped so.

Instead, h
is words poured forth disdain. "Women understand nothing of war and it's cost, my Prince." he directed at Prince John. Turning slowly in Marians direction, he added, "Surely your father can spare an extra tuppence to support our noble king in bringing Christianity to the lands in the East?"

Kendrick stood with his head held high, and Rowena swore beneath her breath at the man's prideful arrogance.  And to think she had seen such nobleness in his countenance.  Her heart wa
s pricked with disappointment. So, she had been right about him from the very first. Another of John's weasels.

From across the room, Prince John's eyes challenged the Lady Mari
an to say more, insinuating that if she did, her father would be the one to pay dearly for her words. 

Once
Kendrick had dared to speak his mind and all it had gotten him was betrayal and punishment. Well, perhaps he could save the day and put himself squarely in John’s favor at the same time.

Looking sad
ly into Marian’s eyes, he spoke solemnly, "I fear that our lovely Lady has partaken too freely of the grape."  Kendrick smiled broadly in the Prince's direction.  "Please forgive her, sire.  She is naught but a woman, after all."

"Naught but a wom
an!" Rowena seethed in outrage. Anger flashing in her eyes, she trembled with rage. Well, she'd tell him a thing or two! She started to stand up but once again she felt her father’s hand tighten on her arm.

The roo
m was oppressive with tension. All eyes were riveted on the Prince in expectation of a potential tragedy.  Instead of anger, however, he smiled. "We will forgive her
this
time." John mockingly replied. "She is, as you say, naught but a woman."

Rowena caught Maria
n's eye, silently urging her childhood friend to continue her argument. But the lady spoke no further. It seemed even she was afraid of the Prince's ire. 

"So that's the way it is," Rowena sighed, studying the lady intently. 
In truth Marian had risked much to speak as she had. Rowena had always thought Marian to be beautiful, with her long, dark brown hair and eyes as green as the grass upon the hills. There was hardly a man in Nottingham who was not secretly smitten with her beauty. Even, she supposed, Prince John himself. But Marian's heart was true to a young man she had grown up with, a handsome young man who had alienated Prince John beyond consolation.  Unlike those assembled here tonight, Robert Fitzooth was no coward.   He had taken to the woods, inspiring Rowena with his daring acts against John's injustices.

But the others are cowards
, thought Rowena.  If only she were a man, she would show everyone assembled here a thing or two about valor, about fighting for one's principles despite the danger. She'd not keep to her chair like a cowered schoolboy. She would come to Lady Marian's aid, shaming them all. And she would take particular pleasure in making a fool out of this dark-haired man sitting at her side. If only she were a man.

A sudd
en smile curved Rowena's lips. She might not be male, but that didn't keep her from acting like one. And perhaps when all was said and done, she was far better a man than any gathered here. The outlaw Arrow would haunt the forest again. And this time Prince John himself had better beware!

Chapter Four

The chamber was dark and silent, a startling contrast to the revelry of the hall.  Kendrick de Bron cautiously lit a
wall sconce and entered slowly, feeling strangely ill at ease.  All had gone well tonight.
Too
well, too smoothly.  Dare he hope that he had earned the Prince's trust by his play of words? Had his pretense of abiding loyalty been convincing? Had he been able to mask his true feelings behind his painted smile?

Kendrick had met with John
after dinner  in the king's chambers, an unpleasant meeting to be certain, yet one that he felt he had handled quite skillfully.  He had played it to the hilt, mimicking the others loyal to the prince, likewise fawning over the grinning monarch. Boldly he had told John of the de Brons’ justifiable anger with Richard and their wish to see John in his brother’s place as king.  Kendrick  had promised to serve the prince with the unswerving loyalty he had shown to his father, Henry.  He had vowed to help him win the throne. To fight for him. Die for him if necessary.  To be his right-hand man.  With every word he uttered, he had pledged undying devotion to the prince and promised steadfast fealty. He had bowed his head to the prince in homage, swearing to faithfully serve him. 

Th
ough John had appraised him with furrowed brow, peering into his very soul, he had at the end of the meeting decreed Kendrick to be his faithful knight. The man who would be king promised full restitution of the de Bron lands and titles. As long as Richard’s devious brother was in power, therefore, Kendrick and his family would likewise benefit. And yet the very thought of serving such a man deeply troubled him.

"I should be celebrating my victory, instead of
hiding myself in my chamber," Kendrick exclaimed, discarding his mantle on a nearby chair.  Why then had he retired to the silence of this room before the evening was truly ended?  Because tonight he had felt uncomfortably like a man who had sold his soul.

“Bah! It does not matter,” he swore. Ah, but it did. John’s favor did not come without a price. That devil would have his due. Kendrick knew he would be called upon very soon to prove his loyalty. He could only hope that the task he was ordered to do would not bruise his conscience too painfully nor soil his
honor too deeply. And if it did? He shrugged off a twinge of misgiving by telling himself that it was a cruel world. A man did what he had to do to survive and to prosper.

The
de Bron’s fall from grace weighed heavily on Kendrick’s mind. Being back in England had brought back a host of memories. He remembered another night when the fog had been ghostly and grey, when the moon had fought its way through the smoky haze. Kendrick had been enveloped by the mists as he had walked along the path to his cousin’s castle. Returning from the fair, his thoughts had been on a wager he had won concerning a cockfight and he had jingled the coins in his pouch as he walked. Suddenly, some foreboding had touched him. A premonition that all was not well.

From a distance came the cry of a mourning animal, a low throaty moan as Kendrick had broken into a run. Unmindful of the fog, he had hurried, tripping from ti
me to time over an obstacle in his path, falling to the ground. He had heard the sound of horses, the laughter and rumbling voices of men. Sheltered as he was by the fog, he had not been seen as they rode by,  but the colorful hue of Richard’s livery had been revealed to his eyes.

Casting a furtive glance over his shoulder, he had pushed through the door of his cousin’s manor, taken the stairs one at a time, only to be shocked at the sight that met him. His cousin, as gentle a soul as had ever lived, lay face down on the rushes, a broadsword protruding from between his shoulder blades. It was obvious that he had been slain by the same men who had passed by Kendrick. But such cruel slaughter had not been the end of the story. A lie had been heralded throughout the land that Edward de Bron, a half-Saxon renegade, had been outlawed as a traitor to the crown. King Richard’s henchmen had claimed that the young de Bron had tried to flee after committing an act of treachery and was therefore justifiably slain.

“Murdered!” Kendrick swore, trying to fight against the pain the image still brought to his mind. Then had come the pronouncement that all de Brons were likewise deemed traitors. Kendrick, his uncle Geoffrey, aunt Kendra, cousin Alfreda and the entire family had been exiled. Led by a man named Fitz Hugh, they had been hunted down like dogs. There had been a terrifying trek over rocks, through a maze of forest land and on to the sea. Kendrick had left England an arrogant, spoiled man made vulnerable by circumstances. For the first time in his life he had experienced fear, not for himself but for those he loved. But those difficult days were hopefully over. Kendrick had returned to England a seasoned knight, John’s ardent enemy, if only the prince knew it. And how bowing before that enemy tonight had rankled Kendrick.

Removing his tunic, Kendrick made his way to the bed, running his strong hands over the contours to test its softness. He was disappointed to find that instead of being comfortable, the mattress was lumpy and misshapen. He had heard rumors that John was miserly except where his own comforts were concerned; now he had proof of the whispering. Ah, well, tonight at least he was much too exhausted to notice. With a shrug he stripped off his garments, pulled back the blankets and got into bed.

Wearily closing his eyes, Kendrick was surprised by the image emblazoned there. Not John’s face, but that of another. The lovely young woman who had been seated beside him, the young maiden who was so outspoken. The haughty, spirited one who had treated him as if he were a leper, indignantly turning down his invitation to meet him later in his chamber as if it had been the gravest insult. Envisioning a pair of wide blue eyes and honey-gold hair, he couldn’t help but smile

“Me thinks she liked me far better than she was letting on,” he whispered, soothing his manly ego. T
hough she had incessantly frowned at him and acted the coy maid, he had sensed her attraction to him with every stolen glance.  “Aye, she liked me.”

Though he was humble in many ways;, Kendrick knew he attracted the fairer sex. It was not conceit, just an honest assessment of his prowess that made him so self-assured. Kendrick decided the young woman’s pretense of disinterest had been just that—pretense. A ploy to fool her father, that gray-haired man who had been most protective of the young maiden, watching her intently as if fearing she might try to fly away. Well, if she wanted to try her wings, Kendrick was of a mind to help her. Closing his eyes, he vowed that he would do just that and that he would see her again.

The sound of two hounds f
ighting in the courtyard over table scraps was annoying to Rowena as she lay  tossing and turning.  She tried in vain to get some sleep, but the guest chamber of the prince's castle was cold and damp.  The bed was as hard as a slab of stone, thus hindering her efforts even more.  Still she burrowed her face in the pillow, determined to get at least a little rest before she and her father had to begin their long journey back home.

Alas, it seemed quite impossible, though she mentally counted more than a hundred sheep. There were too many distractions, too many things on her mind. The wheels in her brain seemed to be turning at a much too rapid rate to allow her to relax.

“Naught but a woman,” she whispered, remembering the overbold nobleman and his words concerning Marian. “Naught but a woman. How dare he!” And no doubt he thought
her
to be “naught but a woman” as well.

Oh, she knew the way men like that one thought, that women were for a man’s amusement, to be played with then discarded like toys. The way he had treated her
tonight, for example. It had galled her that he had treated her is if she were little more than an empty-headed bit of fluff with no right to opinions of her own. “A beautiful child,” he had called her. One whom no one would take seriously.

Kicking off her blankets and bed linens, Rowena rolled over on her back and put her hands behind her head. She looked up at the ceiling, watching the shadows dancing about there as she contemplated her next move. Just what could she do to make that overbearingly bold man squirm? What could she do to humble him again? To give him his proper comeuppance? To teach him a lesson?

The rumble of growling, growing louder and louder,  sounded down below again, disrupting her musing. This time Rowena rose from the bed, venting her anger for the moment on the unfortunate hounds. She looked out the tiny, slitted window to the courtyard with the intention of silencing the quarreling curs before they woke her father, but a sight below silenced any scolding she intended.  Two men were standing in the shadows beneath her chamber, peering over their shoulders from time to time as if fearing they might be overheard. Instinct told her that something sinister was afoot.

Rowena had often been told by her nurse, Gwyneth, that "curiosity killed many a fine cat", but her own curiosity was piqued nonetheless as she stood at the window watching. Dressing quickly in a light blue woolen tunic and throwing a gray mantle over her slim shoulders, Rowena made her way down the narrow spiral staircase. Ever so slowly she opened the door just wide enough to slip out, trying her best to keep it from creaking.

Hiding in the shadows
, clinging to the stones of the wall in the courtyard, she moved as close to the two men as possible, taking a closer look.  One man was big and burly, the other tall and thin.  Though wrapped in a hooded cloak in an effort to shroud himself, Rowena recognized John at once by the manner in which he agitatedly stroked his beard as he talked.

“Richard cares little for this business of   being a king. He is happiest when roaming the shores of foreign domains playing crusader. I but want to insure his happiness.”

"You ask me to betray my king?  To be party to treason?”

Rowena  crept ever closer, straining her ears to better hear the voices.
As she did so, she recognized the deep voice of Roderick of Herefore, a knight she had heretofor considered an honorable man. One man  had the size and manner of a warrior, the other the size and hair color of the Prince himself, though he was wrapped in a cloak in an effort to shroud himself.

  Think you not that I value my head?" 
he was saying.. 

"
If you value your head, you would do well to remember that it is I who decides if you keep it attached to your burly shoulders, Roderick, not Richard.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Just try my patience and find out. You swore you would obey me.”

“Aye, that I did.” There was a long pause as the burly man thought the matter over carefully, no doubt juggling his loyalties.  “
You swear that no harm will come to his person?"

"Would I harm my own flesh and blood?
” 

Yes
, Rowena thought,
if it would suit your purposes.

"I will have no part in murder."
On this the burly man seemed steadfast.

“
Verily, I say to you that killing my brother is not part of my plan. I have no need for bloodshed. All I need is time, and the Austrians can give me that and they will if the price is right. Money is powerful, my friend.  It can often turn a son against his very own father."

"Or a man against his brother," came the grim reply.

Rowena  was heedless of all else now except to find out what was being plotted.  All caution fled from her mind as anger egged her on. The traitor! The cowardly, dastardly traitor! Angrily she moved ever so slowly, hiding behind a stack of boxes nearby from time to time as she moved closer to where the men stood scheming. Their voices were hushed now.  She could barely make out what they were saying, thus she had no choice but to move even nearer.

"And Lady Maria
n presents a problem to me," she heard Prince John declare.  This time his voice was louder in irritation. “You heard the young chit speak out against me tonight. If I allow her to speak thus, if she is allowed to question what I do and go on her merry way, not only will I loose control on those faithful to me, but my ambitions as well could be hampered.  She needs to be silenced."

No!
Rowena gasped silently.

Her thoughts were echoed by the knight's words.  "Surely you can not even dare to think of harming
one hair on the head of the fair Lady Marian.  I tell you, John, you go too far!  She is but a young lass!"

Rowena  could see the knight throw his hands up in the air and start to walk away, but the hand of the Prince stayed him.

"Of course, I would not harm such a lovely lady.  I merely think that she would perhaps be better off staying as my guest in the castle, if you understand my meaning. 

Rowena d
id. John was going to hold Marian captive. Certainly he had done it before when someone posed a threat.

“
That way I will insure that she does not agitate those who do not favor me and thus bring danger to my person.” The prince laughed softly.  “I assure you she will be most comfortable here."  Rowena  felt a shiver of fear run up her spine.

I must see that Maria
n gets safely away from here,
she thought in alarm. Marian was her friend, a woman she admired.  She would not sit by and let her be taken prisoner.  Again she strained her ears to what the Prince and his cohort were saying.