Mark of the Black Arrow

by Debbie Viguié

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Milady, you aren’t dressed!”

  Marian looked up from her cup of tea, her left hand pulling the hem of her dressing gown down over her legs as she dropped from the window ledge. It hung from her, loose and light down to her feet, like wearing air.

  “I still have time, ma’am,” she said.

  The housemarm swept into the room, frizzy head shaking on the end of a long thin neck like a child’s bobble.

  “This will not do, child. It simply will not do.” She whisked over to the wardrobe and swung it open. “Guests will arrive very soon and you are the hostess. You must not be caught unawares.”

  “I am not unaware, good ma’am. Calm yourself. Chastity will—”

  “And where is that wayward child? She should have you sorted already.” The housemarm continued riffling through dresses, harrumphing loudly through her nose.

  Marian held her hands up. “If you’d stop and let me—”

  “This is last year’s Christ Mass gown, but with some accessories it will do.” The housemarm turned, arms full of gown, the silk and lace of it spilling over and trailing the floor. She draped the gown across the bed and turned to reach for Marian. “Now let’s get you undressed, child.”

  Marian put her hands up, fighting to keep them from becoming fists. She could feel the skin on the back of her neck heat up, turning red from neckline to cheekbones, anger coloring her skin.

  She hated it when people didn’t listen to her.

  “I am not your child.”

  The woman stopped short, sweeping immediately into a bow.

  “Milady, I meant no disrespect.”

  “And yet you gave it.”

  “You must get dressed,” she pleaded.

  “And you still give it.”

  “Milady, the feast…”

  Marian put up a finger. “Do not ‘milady’ me again.”

  The woman’s mouth opened to speak, stopped, then shut. They stood eye to eye, neither of them blinking.

  Time ticked away.

  The housemarm’s mouth opened again.

  The door to the room crashed open as a stack of luxurious fabric came stumbling through on two legs.

  “Oi! Some help here, princess,” a muffled voice called from behind the fabric.

  Marian turned away from her staring, moving toward the door, when the housemarm pushed past her. The older woman reached the stumbling fabric and grabbed an armful of it, hauling it into her grip to reveal a mountain of curly hair atop a pleasantly round face that broke into a smile.

  “Sara!” the newcomer said cheerfully. “Glad you could come. We could use your wiry arms and extra hands.”

  “How dare you speak to the Lady Marian in such a manner?” the housemarm’s mouth barely moved as she hissed. “I should have you lashed.”

  Chastity’s face crashed like thunder across the hills.

  “How dare you talk to me like that?” She pushed past with the shove of a rounded hip. “And good luck with having me lashed.” She paused with a sly look. “I just might enjoy it.” She dumped the dress onto the bed, winking at Marian where the older woman couldn’t see.

  The housemarm strode over, determined to regain some semblance of control, and began carefully laying the fabric she held across the end of the bed frame. Marian didn’t recognize what it could be—to her it was just mounds of cloth. Sara straightened, and peered with accusation at Chastity.

  “Why isn’t she ready yet?” she demanded, sweeping her hand toward Marian.

  Chastity locked eyes with her. She turned her head slowly, pointedly looking down at the mountain of fabric that lay on the bed, then turned her eyes back up to stare holes in the older woman’s face.

  “Could be that the dress just arrived,” she replied. “Could be that she didn’t need to be ready yet. Could be I was off in the stables having a go with one of the groomers.”

  “You are a disrespectful, low-born…”

  Red crept from Chastity’s jaw up to under her eyes and her mouth made a hard line. “Careful with the next word you say. I’ve a feeling it just may be insulting.”

  “That is enough.” Marian stepped up. Both servants turned toward her, Sara’s face twisted as if it had been boiled, Chastity’s glowing with a smirk.

  Marian pointed at the door. “I am sure that on such a festive day your services are needed elsewhere. Chastity will see to it that I am properly attired, and positioned at the ballroom entrance before the first guest arrives.”

  The housemarm stood stiffly, and didn’t bow. “Yes. Milady.” Turning on her heel, she marched out of the room.

  Chastity waved her fingers toward the door. “Yes, milady,” she sang, voice laden with mockery.

  “Don’t smirk,” Marian said. “It’s unbecoming.”

  “Only for a lady,” Chastity replied. “For us low-born, disrespectful types it’s quite the fashion.”

  Marian smiled in spite of herself. Chastity could always be counted upon to lighten the mood, and Marian’s had been much in need of lightening lately. For the past fortnight she’d been troubled by dark dreams that caused her to waken, startled, in the dead of night. Once up, she found it impossible to return to slumber. Exhausted much of the time, she felt like a ghost, haunting the castle, roaming the halls when all others were fast asleep.

  It had been liberating in its own way, though. The silence found in the deep pockets of night allowed her time to think, and to explore the place where she lived. The castle was built long ago by a sect of masons who constructed a myriad of cubbyholes and pass-throughs that were not revealed on their plans. In recent days she’d discovered two new hidden passageways on the lowest level. They’d been built by her ancestors long ago, one tucked into a wall beside the kitchen, part of it following the back wall of the larder. The stilted smell of vegetation filled its still air.

  Another could be reached from inside the privy, of all places, behind her own bedchamber. That one led to a steep, twisting incline that led down to the unused and musty dungeon located deep in the bowels of the building. From the looks of both, she was the only one to have disturbed the dust on their floors for quite some time.

  Chastity shook out the skirts of the dress, interrupting Marian’s thoughts. The piles of cloth began taking shape.

  “Still no whispers about the meaning of tonight’s festivities?” Marian asked.

  “None.” Chastity shoved her arms down the bodice of the dress and wadded the skirts until they bunched against her chest. “Drop your kit and hit the floor, princess.”

  Shrugging out of the shoulders of her dressing gown, she let the thin fabric fall, catching it at her waist. She glanced at the door, making sure it was closed, though it wasn’t her nudity she felt she needed to hide.

  “She’s gone, princess.”

  “She might return.”

  “After that tongue lashing?” Chastity shook her head, tight ringlets of hair shimmering. “She’ll find something better to do with her time.”

  Nevertheless, Marian glanced again at the door. Chastity placed a hand on her arm. It was warm against the skin.

  “Do you want me to throw the bolt?”

  Lips pressed tight, Marian shook her head.

  “No, let’s just get this done.”

  The nightgown dropped as she released it, falling into a pool at her feet. The sunlight from the window washed across her legs, leaving tiny black shadows under the edges of the raised scar tissue that lashed across otherwise perfectly formed limbs.

  Chastity shook the dress into which she had shoved her arms, the skirts whispering against her skin. Marian knelt as she was supposed to and the room went away in a muffle of fabric that dropped over her head. Panic fleeted behind her now-blind eyes, a tiny rabbit of emotion nearly too fast to feel. The fabric tightened around her as Chastity wrestled to get the dress over her head.

  The girl said something Marian couldn’t understand through the swaddle of cloth that persisted in hooding h
er.

  “What?” She yelled to be heard.

  “—tand fup!”

  Marian stood, twisting as she did to push through the folds. Light flooded in as the fabric parted and the dress slipped down her body.

  Chastity stood close to her.

  Very close.

  The act of slipping on the dress left Marian pressed against her friend, the shorter woman’s breath warm on her collarbone, her hands lightly on Marian’s hips. Marian became completely aware of how… busty her friend was compared to her own lean frame and modest bosom.

  The servant girl continued to pull and tug the dress into place, entirely unfazed by the intimacy. Chastity had been helping her dress for years. Together they’d walked the road from girl to woman.

  “Have you asked the king directly?”

  “What?” Marian said.

  Chastity stepped back, studying her from top to bottom.

  “Have you gone to the king and said to him, ‘Oi! Why all the madness of a feast? What are you on about?’”

  Marian smiled. “His Majesty wouldn’t let even me talk to him like that.”

  The girl laughed. “Probably not.”

  Marian stood still as Chastity continued to work on the dress, pulling here and tugging there. It was almost soothing.

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  It was strange, though—the king, her uncle, usually kept her in his confidence. Not all sovereigns treated their relations in such a way, particularly female relations. She’d heard the king’s cousin Henry kept all of his siblings and children at a distance, for fear that they would one day topple him from his throne. He married off all his sisters and daughters save his youngest, whom he sent to a remote school in the crags of the north. There was rumor that he’d had his older brother poisoned as a teen. Of course other rumors said the brother had plotted to have his throat slit, and that Henry had simply struck first.

  Even the king’s own brother, her Uncle John, lived far away in Ireland and was never mentioned by Richard. He’d been sent away by her grandfather because of some scandal, but Richard had not brought him back. The allure of power seemed to make sovereignty an uncertain thing, causing even good kings to act strangely toward their kin.

  Yet she and Richard had shared a close bond ever since she was a child. Whenever her parents left their villa and took her to the castle, he always found time to spend with her, sometimes even making visiting dignitaries wait as he played hide and seek with her in one of his many gardens. Her father always said his brother loved her like the child he never had.

  Their bond had strengthened when he’d taken her in after the fire that destroyed her life. His was the first face she saw after awakening from her injuries. He’d raised her as his own. Grief, his over the loss of a brother and sister by law, and hers over the loss of her parents, tied them together.

  Once she was well enough, he finished her education, including the skills of horsemanship and swordplay her father had insisted she learn. He’d also taught her the intrigues of the court, including her in matters of the highest importance. Never had he kept anything from her. Not alliances, not military actions, not the quelling of unrest, and not the dispensation of boons. This time, however, whatever his purpose might be, it seemed as if the king kept counsel only with himself.

  Chastity stepped back, moving from in front of the mirror that stood beside the wardrobe.

  “What do you think, princess?”

  Marian saw herself, a slender stick of a girl in a mound of mossy green fabric that seemed twice as wide as she could stretch out her arms. Scallops of cloth layered the dress in a scaled formation from the ground to her waist. A jewel, polished and sparkling, nestled on the edge of each upturned, petal-like section of cloth. They looked like limp dragon scales. This pattern continued up her waist and ribcage, ending at the edge of a laced bodice that drove her small breasts upward to sit just below her shoulders.

  The sun coming through the window fell on her in a light haze, catching in each jewel and shining through them as if they were liquid drops of fire. The green fabric threw off the light, glowing but cut through with a pattern of shadow under each scallop. Dark and light caused her skin to glow like ivory and where the bodice straightened her posture and lifted her breasts she suddenly had the form of a queen, with her hair a mess from pulling the dress on perhaps a somewhat wanton queen, but one with power and agency to use it.

  Her eyes widened.

  “This dress is utterly… ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculously amazing!” Chastity chimed with glee.

  Marian smiled in spite of herself.

  * * *

  True to her word, Marian was dressed and downstairs before the guests began to enter. The housemarm stood by the doors to the great hall as Marian descended the staircase, walking carefully, placing each foot deliberately on the step below her since she could not see them beneath the skirt. The woman’s mouth pulled into a hard line as she bowed her head and walked stiffly away.

  Marian felt the pang of distance between them. Sara meant no harm, she simply didn’t take Marian as more than a girl, even though she was indeed old enough to marry and run a house herself.

  Something that’s not going to happen anytime soon. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Her station as the king’s niece and ward meant that her suitors chased not her, but proximity to the throne.

  It made her tired.

  Was it too much to ask for the old story to come true? Too much to want love, instead of security? Too much to ask for what her parents had possessed before…

  No, it isn’t, she thought fiercely, and she was stubborn enough to believe it. Besides, she was more than content to assist in the affairs of the court. Her work with and for the king gave her a satisfaction she would be loathe to let go.

  The right man would never ask me to.

  With that she swept into position, her skirts flaring around her as they were meant to. The gown hung heavily from her frame, but she had seen with her own eyes how beautifully it complemented her skin. Chastity had chosen well again. Once in place in the foyer, she gave the doormen a sharp nod to open the castle doors.

  Outside stood a press of people—noble born, landowners, and craftsmen all heeding the call of King Richard. Shuffling into a line they moved toward her, the first stop of hospitality.

  Plastering a smile on her face, she began. As the nobles arrived, each one announced by the herald, she read the opinions in their eyes and their polite murmurs.

  Child.

  Girl.

  Breasts.

  Illegitimate.

  Looks of lust, looks of dismissal, looks of jealousy, and occasionally looks of genuine admiration. She kept her eyes and ears open, seeking information that could be of use to her uncle. It was amazing what some would say when the person who was listening was just a woman. Richard had recognized the advantage long ago. It was part of the reason he always held her in his confidence.

  Always… until today.

  The initial rush of guests became a blur of touchings, kisses into the air, and fluttering fans.

  “How are you this evening?”

  “Lovely to see you.”

  “Thank you for joining us.”

  “No, I do not know when he will arrive.”

  “Thank you, my servant chose it for me.”

  On and on and on. Just as she thought it would be forever, the line ended. There would be a short respite before the herald spoke again, and another guest would stride through to be greeted.

  Her brow furrowed as she looked for a particular face.

  Chastity appeared at her side.

  “Who is it you keep hoping to see?” the girl asked.

  “What makes you think I’m hoping to see someone?” Marian countered.

  “The excitement on your face every time the herald begins to announce a new arrival, followed by the look of disappointment when another person walks past.”

  Marian
shook her head. Chastity was forever paying attention to the smallest details, yet she was right. There was one face Marian was hoping to see among the arrivals. He’d been in her thoughts increasingly of late, although she hadn’t shared that with Chastity.

  Then she thought of King Richard.

  It seemed as if there were a lot of secrets being kept.

  * * *

  A circle of torches guttered in the night, pushing back the dark and flinging ruddy highlights up the edges of the standing stone. The dead wheat grass had been trampled flat inside the circle. The gray man knelt before two men, his wrinkled head bowed low.

  “I serve,” he said.

  “You have done well,” the taller of the two replied. Torchlight glittered on the edges of his armor and painted his hair red. “One more task, and you may find your burrow again.”

  “Anything to bring master.”

  “Bring to me an oblation tied to this land, a thread of the fabric.”

  The gray man tilted his head as if in thought, face turned toward the night sky. After a long moment he nodded and stood, then walked out of the circle of light and into the surrounding darkness.

  “So you are that thing’s master?”

  The armored man turned. “No, princeling, it serves the same master as I.”

  The shorter man sniffed. “So it is your equal.”

  “It is a principality. It is tied to this land.”

  “That’s not a denial.”

  The tall man turned. His eyes reflected the torchlight as small infernos in pools of basalt. “Watch your tongue, or I shall show it to you.”

  The smaller man stepped back, raising his hands. “Mere curiosity. Nothing more, Sheriff.” He sniffed again. “I like this place better than the hovel I was in. It smells better.”

  When the tall man did not speak he fell silent and waited, listening to the crackle and hiss of the guttering torches.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Your outfit is ridiculous.”

  Will looked down at his finest clothes, worn for the occasion. The shirt and leggings had been dip-dyed a rich black that patterned from midnight to blue-black in a subtle motif that tricked the eye in the warm yellow of the lanterns lining the walkway. The same tallowed light turned his shagreen vest, dyed a bright cardinal red, into a color more akin to virgin’s blood. His Iberian boots had been replaced by low, slouchy, short-heeled shoes from France.