Lion Heart (14 page)

She gave me a weak smile. “I know this as well.”

I smiled back, wrapping her arm round mine. I drew her forward to join the others, and when we walked into the room, I found Winchester's eyes on the door, restless and worried.

They met hers, and she nodded once, and he nodded back.

I wondered if this were what Rob and I looked like—this secret, quiet language. Love clear enough for
everyone to see.

Essex and Bigod were looking overhard at the fire, and I reckoned they saw what I saw. Eleanor beamed.

“Margaret, you look frozen. There's a seat close to the fire by Winchester,” Eleanor said. “You must take it.”

Winchester dropped his head and gestured for her to take it. She sat, and he sat beside her, and Eleanor smiled.

“Meddlesome woman,” I murmured to Eleanor as I sat beside her.

“Meddling is my very favorite thing, Marian,” she murmured back.

Early the next morning, I changed into men's clothing and made quick for the stables, asking the hands to ready my horse and leaving my pack bags with them. I went to the barracks, hearing drunken laughter loud inside. For a moment, if I shut my eyes, it were like I were walking into Tuck's, and Rob would be beyond the door, Much would be bothering Tuck, and John would be alive.

Opening the door, I quick remembered it weren't Tuck's. The small group of men chasing spirits to the early morn went quiet, and a few of the more dutiful ones jumped up to attention. The others followed slower.

“Are Allan and David in here?” I asked one of them.

“They left,” he said.

“Left?” I demanded.

His shoulders lifted. “Forgive me, my lady. They keep to themselves most times.”

I frowned. “Which way?”

He pointed, and I thanked him and left. I went out to the yard, toward the gate.

Rounding the edge of the building, I heard a grunt and Allan rushed past me, tripping and falling flat on his back. “Goddammit, David!” he roared, touching his mouth, which were trickling blood.

“You—” David stalked toward him and they both caught sight of me. David went still and pale, and Allan groaned as he got himself off the ground.

“Gentlemen,” I drawled, crossing my arms.

“He started it,” David snapped out quick.

“I've no doubt. Are you two drunk?”

They shook their heads. I couldn't smell the reek of alcohol on them, so I reckoned it were true.

“Care to tell me what this is about?”

Allan looked to David, and David looked back at him. It were Allan that shook his head. “No, fair thief.”

“Are you two able to ride?”

David's face were growing red now, and I wondered if Allan had landed a punch of his own. “Yes, my lady,” they both said.

“Good. We leave as soon as you gather your horses and belongings.”

“Yes, my lady,” they said again.

Shaking my head at this new lunacy, I went back to the stables as they went into the barracks to fetch their things.

CHAPTER

We went up to Bath, and from there tried to stay off the main roads to make Oxford within two days of leaving Glastonbury. We would have stayed out of cities altogether, but we needed more food, and we were less likely to cause a stir in a large city than a tiny town.

Oxford were a huge city. It were close to London in size and activity, but it weren't on a major waterway, just a river to carry goods in and out. We made the city by midday, and entering the city were strange—there weren't many people about, and those we saw turned their eyes from us quick.

“What the hell is going on?” David asked.

Allan looked to me. “My lady, I've several contacts here, if you'll allow me?”

I nodded to him. “Go find out.”

He turned his horse down a narrow street inside the
city gates.

David and I continued on, riding toward the huge spires of the cathedral at the center of the city. Not far from the grand building, we heard shouts. Awful shouts, terrible cries of pain, punctuating a dark silence.

I spurred my horse, and found a large group of people that parted for the big beast coming up behind them. I slowed my horse as I broke into the circle. There were at least thirty people on their knees, staring at the ground with huddled bodies and tied hands, and in front of them, a man with a back of vicious red, bleeding stripes screamed as the whip struck down on his back again.

I leapt off my horse. “What is this?” I bellowed. “Who are you? What are you doing to these people?”

The victim collapsed against the whipping post as his torturer turned to me. Without words, the older man snapped his whip at me.

It cracked on the bit of my shoulder that ran into my neck, and I clamped down against the pain, twisting back as David jumped in front of me with his sword drawn. “Drop your weapon!” he roared.

“How dare you two interfere with my justice?” the man snarled.

“This looks nothing like justice,” I returned. The cut at my neck burned and I felt damp trickle on my skin. “I demand to know your name.”

“I am Lord Robert D'Oyly,” he snarled. “Master of
Oxford Castle and the constable of this shire.”

“And why are you treating your people like this?” I stared around at the large, silent crowd, with eyes that wouldn't meet mine, and wondered how the people could be so still as their loved ones were hurt. There were no other knights, no guards, just the people outnumbering this man and unwilling to act.

“They refuse to pay the tax. They will be punished for failing to serve the Crown!” He turned back to the quivering man in front of him, and raised his whip again.

“Stop!” I roared, running in front of him and pushing him back.

He dropped the whip and drew his sword fast, arcing it down at me. I dropped to one knee and drew my knives, crossing them to prevent his sword from crashing into my head. I pushed him off and jumped up, twisting and striking out with one knife and the next until he jumped back. David went behind me and untied the man.

D'Oyly swung again and I twisted as David helped the man up.

Boy. He were a boy, fifteen at the most. This tyrant had been beating a boy.

I bare knew my next moves. I swung my knives fast, furious, throwing him off balance and stepping in close
beside him to drive my elbow under the blade of his shoulder, and he dropped his sword. I recoiled and drove my elbow into his face, and he dropped.

A noise grew louder, over the pounding of my heart. I heard the rattling metallic stomp of armored men. I backed away from him as knights came into the city center, and the people looked terrified. Well and truly terrified.

Walking through the knights were a man without armor, his hands clasped behind his back. His cruel, sharp face twisted into a familiar smile, redness flooding into his cheeks.

My heart froze.

“Lady Leaford,” Prince John snarled, his face mottled red with anger. “How nice to see you still alive. I had heard the very worst things about your fate.”

I stood still, my knives in my hands.

“And you,” he said, looking at David. “You look familiar.”

“It's Lady Huntingdon now, Prince John,” I told him, trying to draw his attention back to me.

That worked. His glare were sharp and heated. “You're mistaken. Huntingdon is mine,” he growled.

“Not anymore,” I told him. “Not according to King Richard. Who also saw fit to pardon me for that . . . misunderstanding between us.”

I saw his mouth tremble, his rage bare contained. “When you tried to kill me, you mean.”

“I think you know more about trying to kill people than I do,” I said, turning my knife in my hand. “When I try, I don't fail.”

“You're interfering with my justice again, Marian. You have a rather nasty habit of doing that.” He lifted his shoulders. “Come along. We shall chat in private.”

“She's not going anywhere,” David snapped, a few feet away, watching D'Oyly, who had recovered his feet, and the knights too. Watching my back, as it were.

The prince chuckled. “I only wish, my lady, that you would let my vassal continue his task.”

I glanced at D'Oyly, wiping his mouth. “His task,” I repeated.

“Yes,” Prince John said cheerful. “These people won't pay their taxes. They need to be reminded what fate lies before them if they fail to pay.” He looked at me, and I could see his thoughts coiling behind his eyes like a snake. “Unless you feel that they should not have to pay. That they should not help bring my brother home to his throne.”

“How do you know that they can pay?” I demanded. “If they can't pay, it's a failure of their lord, not the people.”

D'Oyly shrank back.

“I'm trying to inspire them, my lady. Isn't that what you're so good at?” he sneered. “Inspiring people to act? Even when it leads to their deaths.”

Hate pounded through my heart and it made me feel overstrong.

I could kill him. I could kill him right here.

I stepped forward and halted.

But how many others would die, would be hurt, in my wake?

I looked at the people—men, women, children bare old enough to have had their first kiss—waiting to be whipped. These people didn't need my vengeance. They needed my protection.

“I won't let you hurt any of them.”

He laughed, and his eyes glittered. “Fine, Lady Leaford, I'll offer you a bargain. If you are so willing to stand for the people, then you can kneel for them as well.”

Everything went silent. A knight shifted and his armor creaked with it.

“Kneel at the post, Marian, and be the martyr you seem to believe you are. Take their lashes and I won't hurt them.”

The people kneeling on the ground looked up. The first time they had raised their heads, and they looked to see if I would take their pain away from them.

“You will not touch her,” David growled. “She is protected by the queen mother. She is the Lady of Huntingdon!”

Prince John's smile turned into a snarl. “I cannot force it upon you, Marian,” he said, with what sounded like deep regret, “but volunteer and it is the only way I will spare their pain.”

I dropped my knives. I cast off my hat and let my hair run over my shoulder the bit that it could. People gasped—which were fair odd, since Prince John had been calling me a “she” for a long while—and I pulled off the stiff tunic.

Prince John looked angrier still.

“My lady—” David protested, gripping my arm. “You can't—”

I threw him off. “Look at
them
, David. Of course I can.”

“I will take her place!” David yelled, throwing down his sword. “Punish me instead!”

“No,” Prince John snapped, glaring at me. “It is her or it is them.”

Glaring all the while at Prince John, I went over to the post and knelt. I were facing the people who were meant to be whipped instead, and they were staring at me. Staring, like I were some strange creature.

“D'Oyly,” Prince John snapped. It sounded like a command.