“Is it over?” I asked Will. I was answered by a commotion at the back of the chapel, where a furious man pushed his way through the logjam of people in the doorway.
“Halt this farce at once!” he shouted. He was middle-aged, and his wardrobe was so elaborate, so silver-embroidered, gold-studded, fur-edged, and colorful that it made Will Scarlet’s look austere. “Where is the bishop? Where is de Corsey!”
Jocasta, clinging to Alan’s hand, faced the man and the rest of the crowd. The stubborn jut of her chin increased as she confronted the intruder. “You’re too late, Papa. We are married. The friar has given the blessing.”
“A lowly friar?” roared her father. “In front of outlaws and bandits for witnesses? This will never stand. You are my daughter and you will do only as I say.”
There was a hum as all the guests shifted. Not many of the men were armed—those who were had probably joined the guards in the tithe barn. Alan wore a short curved sword that looked more decorative than functional, but he still put his hand on the hilt.
A sudden dramatic flourish of cloth from the side of the chapel drew everyone’s eye. A woman had thrown back her cloak and hood to reveal an ornate and regal gown—one half was fleurs-de-lis on blue silk, the other half gold lions on red. All the guests reacted, and Isabel gasped.
“Godmama!” she cried, hurrying toward the woman and dropping into a low curtsy. James, after a startled moment, bowed deeply, and everyone in the room and all those watching from the door did the same. The exceptions were three women—ladies-in-waiting, maybe—and three men, who undid their cloaks to show they were wearing armor, their tabards the same colors as the lady’s gown.
“Your grace!” stammered the bride’s father. “I—I…”
I recognized the pattern of her dress, even if I didn’t quite believe I was seeing it now. I’d done a book report on this woman—if she was who I thought she was—in the second grade.
If Will hadn’t grabbed my hand and yanked me down to one knee, I might have fainted.
“Did Isabel just call her ‘godmother’?” I whispered to Will.
He slid me a I-didn’t-miss-that-either look. “That she did.”
The lady motioned for everyone to rise. “I think that the dowager queen of England is a reliable enough witness for this marriage to stand. Don’t you, m’lord?”
The father of the bride nearly prostrated himself again. “I…yes. Of course, your grace. Naturally.”
“Oh my God!” I squeaked it almost soundlessly. I was right. It was Eleanor of Aquitaine, who’d been married to the last king of England and was the mother of King Richard and Prince John. She was in her sixties, at least, but she was still beautiful—the kind of beauty that lay in the architecture of her face. And even if that hadn’t been the case, she had charisma. Her presence filled the small chapel.
“Very well,” Eleanor of Aquitaine said, settling the matter with the bride’s father. “We have traveled quite far, and thought to break our journey with a wedding feast. Having stolen Lord de Corsey’s bride, perhaps we should go along to the banquet now and steal his food as well.”
She gestured toward the chapel doors, and with those few sentences, she cleared the church, defusing the whole powder keg and leaving only herself and her guards, me and my band of merry men, and Alan and his bride.
Queen Eleanor turned to Isabel next, frowning at her plain brown habit. “What an unflattering outfit for you, my dear. We must discuss a change immediately. As for this one…” She turned to James and looked him over. “You seem no more suited to life in a monastery than to life in marriage to my goddaughter.”
James paused to consider his answer, but Isabel supplied it for him. “Your grace, as you surmised, this is Sir James Hathaway. He recently returned from the Holy Land, where he served with King Richard.”
He bowed again, and the queen’s expression turned acerbic. “Well, if you managed to survive my son’s command that speaks highly of your luck, or else your common sense.” She turned away before James could respond and approached the newlyweds. The bride curtsied, and Alan bowed deeply and with a flourish; he and Jocasta made a graceful pair. “Ah. The happy couple and the reason for the feast. You have my blessing…but you may wish to skip the wedding banquet and leave before de Corsey finally appears. He is an insect, but a stinging one.”
Alan thanked her effusively, and Jocasta curtsied again, and then they were away.
“Do you think they’ll be happy?” I whispered to Will, still close beside me.
He murmured back, “He’s rich, and she’s beautiful. What do you expect?”
“And who are the two of you,” Queen Eleanor said to Will and me, “whispering in corners like unruly children?”
I could actually feel my face go pale before a stinging heat rushed in. An unruly child was what I felt like—called out by the teacher. Or worse, by Coach. “I’m sorry, er, my lady…,” I stammered. “Your grace, I mean…” Behind her, James covered his mouth with his palm, maybe appalled, maybe giving me the sign for “please don’t speak madness.” Probably both.
“Which of you is the notorious Robin Hood?” she asked.
There didn’t seem to be any point in denial. If she’d wanted her guards to grab us, they would have. So I put up my hand. “I am Robin Hood, Lady Eleanor. Your Majesty, I mean.”
Her brows, gray but darkened with some cosmetic, climbed to the coif that covered her hair. “Are you, now. Well, this is a very interesting turn. What do people call you when you are not infuriating that weaselly tax collector?”
Don’t laugh.
“Robert Hudson, Your Majesty.”
Her eyes narrowed impatiently. “Do not play games with me. I mean your real name.”
“Oh.” That name. “It’s Eleanor, actually.”
Her lips pursed and her brows shifted. “Is it really?” It was impossible to judge how she felt about that. “Where is de Corsey? You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“No! I haven’t killed anyone.”
“Hmm. We might have to ask the sheriff’s deputy about that.” She gestured Isabel over to her side. “Come with me, child. We have much to discuss about your future.” With a thin hand, she indicated Elsbeth, and I thought the miller’s daughter might faint. “Bring your companion. We won’t leave her with these ruffians.”
Little John ran in through the front door, calling, “Rob! Nottingham soldiers com—” The guard nearest the door drew his sword and Little John jumped backward, eyes wide as he looked around the chapel. Slowly he edged to the wall and then over, away from the queen and her guards like they were a pack of hungry lions.
Queen Eleanor motioned for her guards to precede her then swept out, leading her ladies-in-waiting. Isabel turned back at the door and smiled at me, sort of sheepish, sort of excited. She caught Elsbeth’s hand and tugged her along, otherwise the saucer-eyed girl would still be standing there. Through the open door I saw Much’s jaw drop as his sister walked by where he was holding the horses and keeping lookout.
The church seemed very quiet when the eight of them were gone and all that remained were John, Will, James, and me, with Much right outside. I staggered, feeling like I’d just survived a tornado. The guys all looked like they felt the same way. Poleaxed.
“Hey!” called Much from the door. “Soldiers coming!”
Since no one wanted to be literally poleaxed, we jumped into motion, running for the door and then the horses.
“I’ve heard it’s supposed to be good luck if it rains on your wedding day,” I said, shivering just inside the entrance of the hideout’s main cave.
“Where did you hear that?” asked Little John, shaking the water from his hair.
“From a bride who was rained on at her wedding day,” James said, straight-faced. He had his moments.
Much frowned, despite his chattering teeth. “But it’s the wedding night now. What’s that supposed to mean?”
James and Little John exchanged a look, and the
knight answered, “It means it’s a good night to be stuck indoors.” It was a pretty tame comment, and I didn’t blush, exactly, but how was I not supposed to wonder what James knew about wedding nights? I mean, he hadn’t been in the Holy Order of Badass his whole life.
Will returned from inside the cave, his arms full of wool blankets almost soft enough to be towels. I was convinced he’d robbed a cart on its way to Bed Bath and Beyond. “Strip,” he said, and handed each of us a blanket.
“You cannot be serious,” I said, holding the dry cloth away from my soaking clothes.
“About four bodies dripping on these carpets? Yes. Five, if we count Little John twice.” I was about to lay into him about the stupid carpets when, seeing my face, he added honestly, “We can’t have a fire inside and it will stay warmer if it doesn’t get damp.”
“But…” Did I have to point out that I wasn’t actually a boy?
Will grinned. I was blushing, and everyone knew it. “Take off your shoes and go in, my lady. Shout when you’re decent. And no peeking at us out here.”
Glaring, I kicked off my shoes and marched into the cave. Will had lit an oil lamp, which provided enough light for me to find my spare shirt and pants among my stuff. I wasted no time stripping off my soaked jeans and tunic and wrapping up in the soft, dry blanket. As I was struggling with the knot on my chest binding, I realized how wet that had gotten, too.
“Shoot.” I fished between layers for the message I’d tucked there, muttering, “No, no, no,” as I peeled away the wet top layer of the rolled-up strip, and “Please, please, please,” as I held the message away from my dripping hair.
“Eleanor?” Sounding vaguely alarmed, James hurried in wrapped in a blanket. Will was behind him. “Did you yell?”
I spared them a glance—and then another, quicker one. James wore his dry blanket like a toga, but Will had his wrapped around his waist like he’d just walked out of a shower. Vain as he was, it didn’t surprise me that he kept fit.
Focus, Ellie.
I looked back at the mini scroll I was unwrapping. “I forgot that I intercepted this message. It’s in code, and now it’s a little wet.” The ink was blurred in places and almost washed away at one end. “Dammit.”
James picked up the lamp and held it so he could read over my shoulder. “There’s still a good bit that’s legible.” He leaned closer and frowned. “It’s going to make decoding it more difficult.”
The toga left more of him bare than I was used to, something I couldn’t help but notice because his lifting the lamp to read over my shoulder had put me in the curve of his arm. It was distracting when I’d been trying to keep my thoughts closer to the center of the friend zone.
“Here,” I said, handing James the slip of paper and carefully ducking under the arm that held the lamp while holding on tight to my blanket. “I don’t read your French or English well enough to help.”
He frowned, as if he’d been concentrating so hard on the running ink he hadn’t noticed me move away. “You can help identify some of these letters, though. The more eyes, the better.”
Will—dressed now—draped one of his shirts over James’s shoulder and took the lamp from him. “Maybe she wants to dress herself first and have something to eat before looking at it.”
“Hmm. Good idea,” said James, barely lifting his eyes from the message. I saw Will’s smirk and made a face at him, which made him laugh outright.
“Come over to the table when you’re done,” Will told me, nodding to where Much and Little John sat. “Much raided the wedding feast and brought back victuals. We may be dressed like paupers, but we will eat like princes.”
My stomach growled loudly.
“Bon appétit,” said Will, skipping out.
—
I had spent two nights already on the pallet in my corner of the big cave, so I already knew that Little John snored like a rhinoceros. Much was curled up around a full belly, leaving James, Will, and me hunched over the little camp table.
“I think this is a D,” I said, inscribing it on the wax tablet where we had copied down all the letters we could make out on the tiny coded scroll. I’d wrapped myself up in a fur cloak, which felt pretty decadent. The body heat from the five of us gave the cave a little warmth, but the rain outside was making me sleepy.
Will gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m for bed. This cipher will wait for the morning and better light.”
“You wouldn’t want to develop a squint,” said James drily, without looking up from the tablet.
He didn’t see the cross-eyed grimace Will gave him before he left our one circle of light. After Will had gone, James put down the stylus and looked at me. “It is late. You should go to bed as well.”
“Only if you come too.” My eyelids had been drooping, but not after I realized what I just said. I sat up from my slump, instantly awake. “Only if you also go to sleep in your own bedroll over there, I mean. Not with me or…anything.”
Well, that came out worse than expected.
James gave me one of those long, still-water looks of his, and then a crooked and wry smile. “I wouldn’t have thought anything different.”
“Of course not,” I said, trying to act casual. “I’d never think that you’d thought that I was thinking— Oh, rats.”
He chuckled and picked up the stylus again, tapping it on the tablet. It was kind of funny. Tablets here and, eight hundred years from now, tablets again. “I’m going to work on this a little bit longer.”
“Okay,” I said, sliding back down in the camp chair. “I’ll keep you company.”
At least, that was what I intended. But that was pretty much the last thing I remembered before I woke up on my pallet, facedown and drooling. There was light outside the cave, but it was thin and kind of watery, like it was still really early.
God, why hadn’t someone invented coffee yet?
I heard the others up and moving around, so I rolled off the pallet and pushed myself up from all fours. My jeans had mostly dried, so I put them on. Since I wasn’t worried about what kind of tracks I’d leave, I pulled on my sneakers, too. Robin Hood got the blame for every holdup in Sherwood Forest anyway. I might as well be comfortable.
I headed out to the fire circle, where there was leftover vegetable pie for breakfast. James and Will were discussing whatever was on the wax tablet James held.
“How else would you interpret it?” James asked.
“Not like that,” said Will. “But what do I know? I’m not a Knight Templar, keeper of the secrets of Jerusalem.”
James took a calming breath and let it out. “The coded date on this message works out to tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saint Egbert’s day, when Nottingham Castle will be open and the feast will bring crowds of people, with Prince John in the middle of it—”
“I’m an outlaw,” said Will. “I’m only worried about this night and, if we live through it…” He paused, as if thinking hard. “No. Tomorrow I still won’t give a rat’s ass about Prince John.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, feeling like I’d come into a play at intermission. From what I’d sorted out, James thought there was a plot to attack the prince tomorrow during the feast, and Will didn’t want to intervene. Was that it?
Little John sat on one of the stones around the fire, elbows on his knees, chin on his fists. “If Prince John is killed, maybe King Richard will return and things will be better.”
“Whoa. Hey. Guys.” Finally they looked at me. I was wide-awake now, and while I couldn’t untangle my sudden snarl of emotions, I was certain of one thing. “I am not okay letting someone get murdered.”
“Assassinated,” corrected Will. “A mean man and a bad ruler. Look at what the sheriff does in his name, at what the barons have to put up with, except for the ones who toady up to him and get special treatment.”
“And it’s not as if we are going to kill him,” said Little John.
Will added, “I’m surprised someone hasn’t done him in already. Surely th
ere have been previous attempts.” He shrugged. “Maybe this one will fail too.”
His indifference pained me. Wait. No. The pain was because I’d thought better of him. His indifference pissed me off. “Do you really not care if someone gets killed?” There was something else revving up inside me, too, an anxiety separate from my disappointment, separate even from my personal situation. “Not just any someone. A king—prince, I mean. You don’t even know all the effects it could have.”
Another shrug from Will. “He has guards. It’s not our problem.”
“But it is!” Forget the moral high ground. This was seriously messed up. Or it would be, if I didn’t stop it. “This is not supposed to happen!”
The enclosing hill bounced back my shout, and all of them gaped at me. Even James.
Magna Carta, dammit! That’s what I wanted to yell. The foundation of common law and limits on government. Western history was changed because King John pissed off the barons enough that they made him sign it.
Don’t die. Don’t change history. Entries one and two in my twelfth-century handbook. I’d ranked “Don’t die” first, but now that I was staring down the barrel of a rewritten past, I wasn’t so sure about the order. “How about this?” I asked more reasonably. “What if you end up with someone worse?”
“Could there be anyone worse?” Little John asked.
“Yes.” I couldn’t tell them how, or who, or what. “Trust me. There’s worse.”
“Eleanor,” Will tried to reason with me, and there was a catch in my heart when he used my whole name. “Nottingham is in a bad place because of the sheriff. The sheriff is bad because of Prince John. And that’s just in Nottingham, and not counting the harm he does elsewhere.”
“Besides,” Little John added, “I don’t see what we can do about it. I’m a smith. I don’t know what all about assassinations.”
“We—at least, I—can’t do nothing.” How could I be losing my allies over my—Robin Hood’s—enemy.
“Go to the sheriff,” Will said, a little too cheerily, “and if he doesn’t kill you on sight, tell him your suspicions.”
No Good Deed Page 21
