Romancing Robin Hood (36 page)

Mathilda watched the men leave the kitchen. There was no mistaking the fact they were brothers, despite the decade that had divided them from birth; sandy-haired and emerald-eyed, they stood shoulder to shoulder. John was perhaps a fraction broader in the back, and stouter around the belly, and his face had the lines of care etched into it that came with being the eldest of such a high-maintenance family, but otherwise he and Robert could have been twins as well as brothers.

Feeling the gaze of Sarah on her, Mathilda turned her attention back to the housekeeper, ‘Why are you smiling at me like that?'

‘I hoped he'd come to like you. I believe my hope has been realised.'

Mathilda blushed, ‘It makes no difference though, does it?' Getting up from the table, she collected the spent ale mugs, ‘What has happened today changes nothing. Geoffrey killed Hugo in a fit of anger. All the rector did was use the situation to his advantage; it was an opportunity he saw and he seized it. The death was a happy coincidence for him, an extra way to add polish to the slander he'd already set in motion anyway to blacken Robert's reputation and get you to love him as much as the others. My family, whether they were duped or not, still have a debt to pay off.'

Observing Mathilda as she moved to the water bucket and began to fill a bowl to clean the men's drinking cups, Sarah said, ‘There is one good thing that has happened because of Father Richard's vicious meddling, though.'

‘What's that?' ‘He brought you to us.'

A treacherous thought at the back of Mathilda's head took the smile from her face.
But what if they never let me go again?

The Folvilles may have been unusual gaolers, but whether she'd grown fond of Robert or not, which, Mathilda realised with a start, she had, the fact remained, gaolers was exactly what they were.

She had no idea why she liked Robert. He was a felon who had believed her capable of taking part in a blackmail plot. He was a robber, a kidnapper, had planned the death of Belers, and had maybe even taken part in that murder … He was nothing but a criminal. But then so was Robyn Hode, and he was a good man … mostly …

Breaking the quiet that had fallen across the kitchen, Mathilda smiled at the housekeeper. ‘Did you know you scared me when I came here? I'd never been made to bathe like that before. Was that really only a few days ago?'

Sarah laughed, ‘Feels like an age has passed since then doesn't it? Sorry I was less than friendly, but I'd just been saddled with a girl who Father Richard had described to me as “the useless daughter of a malicious debtor.” When Robert asked me to treat you like the lady of the house for a while on top of all my other jobs, when I firmly believed you to be from a family who'd spread wild gossip about him in the first place, I was resentful. Of course, I didn't know then, that the rector's snide suggestion that you be used to show the world Robert had a woman had been a plan to fan the flames of gossip.

‘I suppose Robert actually taking his suggestion seriously, rather than just as the insult it was supposed to be, made Richard bitter enough to grab the opportunity to try and frame you for Hugo's death when Reresby so neatly handed it to him, although he must have known it was impossible.'

‘Why was the suggestion an insult?' Mathilda felt herself affronted, but she wasn't sure why. ‘Because you are a tradesman's daughter. To Richard, that would be a most unsuitable match.'

Mathilda knew Sarah was right, wishing she hadn't started to secretly contemplate becoming Robert's wife. She wasn't quite sure at what point that prospect had grown into an attractive one; but it had to stop. It was obviously simply a folly that the brothers had been happy to use to their advantage. She'd been foolish to think that Robert had become fond of her in return. She was merely someone who'd been useful to him.

‘Why was I sent to Coterel? I'm sure any one of the brothers could have gone to hear that message at Bakewell.'

Sarah sighed, ‘I suspect Eustace thought it would be a little insulting to Nicholas to send a servant. A kidnapped servant at that. It would show the Coterel family exactly how low in the Folvilles' esteem they stood.'

‘But they are to work together? They're planning something big, I know they are.'

Two high points of red appeared on Sarah's cheeks. She spoke as if she was afraid of being overheard. ‘They are. But I have asked to know nothing of the plan. I suggest you curb that natural curiosity of yours in this case, Mathilda. Knowledge like that could get you killed.'
¹⁹

With her hands on her hips, stalling any further questions Mathilda might have, Sarah turned her mind to the domestic tasks of the day, ‘Now, I think we should keep busy or the lack of sleep from last night will floor us before the day really gets going. Will you attend to the fireplaces properly this time, please?'

Kneeling at the grate of Robert's bedroom's fireplace, Mathilda began to pull apart the fire that she'd made up the day before. As they'd never gone to bed the night before, it didn't need more than a quick sweep, but she wanted time to think, and doing something with her hands while she did so always worked best for Mathilda.

Robert had been gone a long time for someone who was just going to have a word with his brother before he rode back to Leicester. Mathilda could imagine John telling Robert that she was to be kept here as a kitchen hand until every penny of the debt was repaid; or that now she knew that something big was brewing between them and the Coterels, that they'd have to think of a way to dispose of her body …

Mathilda's stomach churned as each new idea that came into her head concerning her immediate future became more unpleasant. And what of her family? Had Oswin got Matthew and her father to the Coterels in Bakewell? Were they even safe there while Reresby was still at large, or would they end up working for that family, just as she seemed to be working for this one?

She was still on her knees, sweeping up a few dots of stray ash that had fluttered from the chimney flue, when Mathilda had the feeling of being watched. Spinning around on her knees, she found herself looking directly at the lower leg of Robert de Folville, and gasped in surprise, ‘My Lord, you made me jump!'

‘Something that is becoming a habit with us, Mistress Twyford.' Robert's eyes danced with a flash of mischief as he held out a hand to help Mathilda to her feet; an amusement that disappeared behind his usual more serious expression once they were face to face.

‘Allward has returned with news from Ingram. Reresby is in custody, he was hiding in the church of Teigh. You were right. It seems the whole thing was an argument that got out of hand. He was expecting my brother to come with clean clothes to replace his blood-stained garments.

Relief flooded Mathilda from the heart outwards, ‘What will happen to the potter? I thoroughly dislike the man, and his theft of Master Hugo's handiwork shows what a scoundrel he can be, but I doubt he ever had murder in his mind.'

Robert reached out and stroked a finger over the top edge of the leather girdle around her waist, ‘You have a kind heart, Mathilda. Your family suffered because of Reresby's greed, and yet I think you'd still spare him the noose, wouldn't you?'

Not moving, Mathilda found she couldn't answer; she was too busy being torn between not moving away from the light masculine touch that ran across her waist through the wool of her dress, and the knowledge that it was improper to stay so close to the man she very much feared she'd unwisely fallen in love with. Instead she said, ‘I'm sorry you lost your friend, my Lord.'

A cloud crossed Robert's face, turning his eyes from their bright emerald to a dull bottle green. ‘I will miss him greatly, but I am very sorry he misled you. I am ashamed I believed him so readily when he accused you of betrayal. In Hugo's defence, he truly believed the accusation.'

‘I know, my Lord. I understand that.'

An awkward silence descended before Mathilda came to her senses and took a step away from his caressing finger. ‘I'm relieved my family can safely return to their home now, so they can get back to the paying off the debt, thank you, my Lord.'

Robert was shocked, ‘But surely you don't think they still have a debt to pay?'

Mathilda's forehead creased, ‘They owe your family money, my Lord?'

‘The amount of money involved wasn't huge. Eustace and John are not fools. They know that money isn't as important as the family's reputation. You paid off the debt by exposing the true source of the rumours. Your father will supply us with ceramics at no cost for the next year. We will do well from this arrangement.'

‘But?'

‘You were only taken because we believed my holy brother's claims about the rumours. If we kidnapped a family member from every household that owes us a small fee then this house would be full to the rafters.'

Mathilda didn't know what to do. Could she leave now?

Robert grinned down at the top of her untidy tresses of red hair, ‘You are still here until because I wanted to ensure that your family was safe. After all, your father didn't actually commit the crime of hearsay we were led to believe he did. No one has much choice in anything if the rector of Teigh decrees they act, and yet your father was brave enough to resist.'

‘So my family truly is safe?'

‘It is. And I suspect that it will now prosper with the removal of Reresby; whom I imagine will get the chance to know the rector of Teigh a great deal better while fighting at his side in France.'

‘Yes, I suppose he will, my Lord.' She looked down at his hand, which had returned to the belt, feeling its warmth through the filigree patterns of butterflies. With far more effort than she would have thought possible, Mathilda said, ‘I should go. My family will need me.'

Reluctantly lowering his arm, Robert moved away. ‘John instructed me to let you leave. You have done this family; especially me, a great service. Thank you, Mathilda.'

Leaning down across the foot of height that divided them, Robert kissed her lightly on the lips, and then the top of her head.

Mathilda's heart beat faster as she dared meet his eyes for a second, before she gathered up her cleaning brushes in a flurry of activity, ‘I, well, I should ummm … yes, I must go home; so I should really …'

‘Should really what, Mathilda?' The light amusement had returned to his eyes.

‘I should return this belt. Now Richard is gone, you don't have to pretend any more. Master Hugo meant it as a present for your future wife. She should have it.'

‘So he did.'

Mathilda went to unhook the girdle's catch, but Robert's hands laid themselves on top of hers. ‘And as such, I am rather hoping you'll agree to keep it.'

‘But … but …' Mathilda wasn't sure she'd understood him for a moment, ‘you're of noble birth, and I'm only a potter's daughter.'

‘Mathilda,' Robert pulled her against his chest and held her close, his warmth enveloping her like a blanket of safety and protection, ‘I'm the youngest brother in a family of seven, in a time of countrywide chaos. As long as I have my Lord John's approval, I can choose whom I marry. And anyway, you are never going to be, and I suspect never have been, “only” anything.'

Grace stopped writing.

The act of putting down the pen this time felt oddly freeing. She stared at the black biro lying against her satisfyingly full pad of words, and its adjacent heap of scrap bits of paper. She'd done it. She'd written a novel.

Although Grace knew Mathilda's story was only a draft, and that when she read it through there'd be hundreds of things to change and improve, she felt lighter somehow. Suddenly all her insecurities and doubts about whether she should have spent her time on this rather than the textbook which patiently awaited her on her office computer, disappeared.

Finishing this novel was a step towards her own freedom, not to mention Mathilda's. It had needed to happen.

Flexing her fingers, Grace stared out of the window. Seeing the sunshine hitting the rolling hills in the far distance, she couldn't stop herself from wondering if Rob would approve of her giving her novel such a romantic ending. He'd probably think that criminals like the Folvilles didn't deserve such a nice girl as Mathilda … Which in truth they probably didn't, but Grace had wanted a happy ending for Mathilda as much as she wanted one for herself. Pulling on her trainers, ready to dash next door to meet Daisy for the breakfast they were due to share in exactly one and a half minutes' time, Grace mumbled under her breath, ‘I bet Rob will think that letting Mathilda marry her kidnapper is less a romance, and more Stockholm Syndrome!

‘Ah well,' Grace stifled a sigh as she left her room, ‘Not that it matters, I don't suppose he'll ever read it.'

Chapter Thirty-seven

Daisy was about to tell Grace she'd begun to think she'd bottled out of being bridesmaid and made a run for it when one glimpse of her friend's face changed her mind.

‘You've finished your story, haven't you?' ‘I think so. In rough anyway.' Worried she'd accidentally let her friend down, Grace asked, ‘I'm not late, am I?'

‘No need to look so worried, of course you're not! Come on.' Leading the way to the restaurant, a beaming Daisy said, ‘So, did Robin Hood save the day then?'

‘It isn't really about Robin Hood, Daze.'

‘You're kidding?' Daisy was genuinely surprised.

‘It was supposed to be; but somehow it isn't. Not really.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘It was going to be about the influence of Robin Hood on the Folvilles, wasn't it? But it sort of drifted off course. Maybe I should add more outlaw stuff in the redraft?'

Propelling her friend along by the elbow, Daisy giggled, ‘You'll be telling me you've written a love story next! Come on, my parents will be waiting for us. My mum will be looking forward to stopping me panicking about all the things she thinks I should be panicking about.'