by Jody Hedlund
I held myself still, hardly daring to breathe. What was happening to me? Now that I was dressed as a woman, was I beginning to feel like one too? Perhaps I’d acted the part of a man for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to even be a woman.
I nibbled at my lip and then spun away from him, toward the door, toward Mistress Higgins—who still wore a secretive smile, as if she knew more about what was occurring between Collin and me than either of us could understand.
“I’m not sure I should show you off tonight,” Collin said once he’d caught up to me in the hallway. He offered me his arm and the look in his eyes smoldered. “I’d almost rather keep you to myself.”
I knew I ought to slip my hand into the crook of his arm and accept his gentlemanly offer of assistance, but I pretended not to notice. The merest contact with him was doing funny things to my composure, and if I hoped to survive the evening, I needed to be more careful.
“I’d prefer to stay off to the side, out of the way,” I said as we neared the entrance of the Great Hall. “The less attention I draw to myself, the safer I’ll be.”
“You don’t really think anyone will recognize you as the Cloaked Bandit, do you?” Collin whispered with a mischievous grin.
“Of course they won’t.” I feigned nonchalance. Even if Collin had figured out who I really was, I wouldn’t admit it, even to him. “They won’t consider such a thing, because it’s absolutely ridiculous and untrue.”
He laughed. “You’re absolutely fascinating.”
I didn’t have time to consider what the tone of his voice meant or the look in his eye, before he ushered me into the spacious hall. The other guests were already mingling, laughing, and chattering, and thankfully hardly noticed our entrance.
The servants bustled about carrying ale and wine, refilling goblets. The minstrels were playing. And rich aromas of roasted fowl, almond pudding, and spiced apple tarts wafted through the air, coming from the hallway that led to the kitchen. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting an apple tart. It had been years since I’d had anything so fine or sweet.
The long room was like the Great Hall of Wessex Castle, with a vaulted ceiling and oblong stained glass windows providing some light in the fading evening. But the decorations that graced the room were much more elaborate, the tapestries rich and complex, and the colors more vibrant.
Collin Goodrich was indeed a wealthy man, and his family had always made sure everyone knew their status. His father had been among the neighbors who had turned a blind eye to all that my uncle had done to my father. He’d ignored my father’s plea for help when my uncle had first arrived with his army and pack of lies. Although my father had never said why the Goodriches hadn’t come to our aid, I’d guessed it had to do with the fact that the late Lord Goodrich had held a grudge against my father because he hadn’t agreed to the liaison that Collin’s father had wanted between myself and Collin.
As we were seated at the front table, Collin carried on a lively stream of conversation with the guests around him and attempted to include me. He even introduced me to his sister, whom I recognized as the lady present in Collin’s hunting party when I’d robbed him earlier in the week.
I didn’t realize how nervous I was until halfway through the main course, when my heart finally subsided to its normal rhythm. I wasn’t at all surprised when the servants brought out a peacock that had been cooked and then reassembled with its feathers. Or when they delivered a pastry molded into the shape of a miniature castle.
All the while I ate of the peacock—along with roasted swans, geese, and heron—my thoughts drifted to Thatch and Bulldog and the others huddled together in the cold fall air, their bellies rumbling from hunger. The ewerer brought us basins of water between courses. As I rinsed, I couldn’t stop looking at my hands, scrubbed free of the dirt that had become a way of life, or thinking of how my friends and I usually devoured every morsel of food and licked our fingers clean afterward.
The warmth, the laughter, the unending dishes of food surrounded me and made me dizzy with reminders of my former life, which had been so cruelly wrenched away. The ache in my heart swelled painfully. If only my father had been less trusting . . . then perhaps he would still be alive and I would have been sitting in my own Great Hall dining with him.
Tears burned the back of my eyes. I pushed away from the table and stood.
Collin stopped in the middle of the conversation he was having with the man next to him and turned to me, his brow creasing.
“I need a breath of air,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Without waiting for his permission or his reaction, I made my escape out a side door. A harried scullion boy pointed me in the direction of the kitchen, which I knew would eventually lead me to an exit.
I ducked into the busy kitchen, ignoring the stares of the servants who stopped stirring and cutting and basting to watch me race to the door. The blood from the butchering slickened the floor, along with feathers, and entrails the dogs hadn’t yet cleaned up. The heat from the two fireplaces dampened my forehead, so that when I finally burst free through the outer door, the cool evening air soothed my face.
I plunged forward into the darkness of the orchard and gardens that surrounded the kitchen entrance and pushed aside my melancholy and guilt over the fact I’d halfway enjoyed the meal and wished to be eating it in my own Great Hall. Instead I tried to be angry, to return my thoughts to all the injustices I’d witnessed, especially the disparity between the nobility and the poor.
I’d learned over the years that ’twas always better to be angry than sad.
Besides, how had I ever lived in such opulence? So calloused, so unconcerned for those people who had nothing? Who went to bed every night cold and hungry?
Even the lowest kitchen maid here had a better life than I had living in the forest.
“Jul—Lady Eleanora, wait,” came Collin’s soft call behind me.
I didn’t stop but sped deeper into the orchard, the tangy scent of overripe apples filling each labored breath. His footsteps crunched louder behind mine until his hand finally gripped my arm, forcing me to halt. He lifted his torch high, illuminating my face.
“Leave me alone,” I muttered while swiping at the unexpected wetness on my cheeks. Had I been crying? If so, it had been a long time since I’d allowed myself such a luxury. Tears were for weaklings, not for strong women like myself.
Collin didn’t release my arm, but instead passed the torch to the servant who had followed him, and he then dragged me closer. “Are you running away already?” His voice hinted at humor.
“If I wanted to run away, I would, and there’s nothing you’d be able to do to stop me.”
He chuckled, but ceased when he saw my face and the traces of tears lingering in my eyelashes. “You’re upset,” he said, lifting fingers to my cheeks and touching a tear I’d missed.
I brushed his hand away and wiped at my cheeks again. I glanced at the servant. Collin followed my gaze and then nodded to the man, who proceeded to position himself a discreet distance away.
Once we had a modicum of privacy, I spoke in hushed tones. “I only regret that I’ve subjected myself to this extravagance when so many of my friends would be satisfied with the crusts of bread left over from the banquet.”
“Then we shall send them a banquet of their own. I shall have the cook prepare anything you wish. Tell me what you want, and it shall be so.”
I shook my head.
“Anything,” he said, pulling me to him, ever so gently.
I couldn’t resist the tug. And when his arms closed about me, drawing me into his embrace, I crumpled against him and rested my head on his shoulder as though it fit there.
I didn’t know what about him drew me, except that he was kind and concerned about me in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Even though Bulldog cared about me as fiercely as if I were his own daughter, he never hugged me. He expected me to be tough, like a man. And I always had been.
/>
But with Collin . . . He had a way about him—a tenderness—that seemed to break through the hard walls I’d built around myself.
I nestled my nose against the silkiness of his tunic and breathed in his spicy scent.
His hand cupped the small of my back and pressed me nearer, so that his chin rested against my head. In the short time I’d known him, it hadn’t taken me long to realize he was kinder and sweeter than any man I’d ever known. In fact, he reminded me of my father. Had my father been alive to meet Collin as he was now, I was sure he would have liked him—perhaps even a great deal. Maybe he even would have agreed to the union Collin’s father had wanted, and would have gained an ally.
“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it,” he whispered again. “I’ll do anything for you.”
I closed my eyes at the comfort that came from his words. I’d had to be strong for so long. I’d had to fight and scrap and struggle to stay alive. Everyone else depended upon me. And it felt so good to lean on someone else for a change and to know I wasn’t alone.
He held me quietly for a long moment. In a distant stable, the baying of a hunting hound rose in the night air. But otherwise, the orchard was silent, and the steady thud of Collin’s heart filled me with peace.
What would it be like to stop fighting? To stop thieving? To stop living in the woods? What would it be like to return to a normal life, one where I wasn’t hunting every day or being hunted by those who wanted me dead?
I shook my head and pulled back from Collin. “No. There’s nothing you can do.” I spoke the words sadly at first. But then the hopelessness of my life crashed back into me and renewed my anger. As long as Uncle lived, there was very little chance that my friends or I would ever be able to move out of our secret homes deep in the forest. We would have to hide there for the rest of our days, continuing to find ways to survive as best we could.
Even if Collin sent Bulldog a feast of the grandest proportions, the food would eventually be gone, and we would be left in the same situation we’d been in before—helpless, homeless, and hunted.
Revolt was out of the question. Look where it had gotten Father—he’d been mortally wounded during the uprising he’d led. Friends had brought him back to his hut where I’d been able to say good-bye to him before Bulldog had dragged me away into hiding. I’d heard that not long after our leaving, Father had been captured. Even though he’d been bleeding to death, Uncle’s men had still tortured him in the most hideous fashion and tossed the pieces of his bloodied remains into the gutter.
Collin brushed a wisp of hair off my cheek. “There’s got to be something I can do to make you happy. Something I can give you.”
I wished there was. I wished there was a way to change everything. But the reality was that I would have to return to the forest at the end of the week. And maybe with Collin’s purse of gold and the diamond necklace, I wouldn’t have to resort to thieving for a while.
“Let’s just follow through with our bargains to one another,” I said, putting more distance between us. “That’s all I want.”
If only that really was all I wanted.
Chapter
7
I SIPPED THE WARM ALE AND IGNORED THE LEDGER SPREAD open on the table in front of me. Even though my steward had brought it out upon my request, I couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for making sense of the numbers.
Something deep inside admonished me to put forward at least a little energy in gaining a basic understanding of the massive fortune I’d inherited from my father. But now that I was actually sitting in the cozy solar, ready to take more responsibility as I knew I should, I couldn’t think of anything but Juliana. The transformation from bandit to beauty had been so complete, she’d taken my breath away. Seeing her in my hall at the banquet, I’d known that’s where she belonged. She’d blended in and resumed her natural role as a lady, with an elegance and poise as if she’d never left.
More than that, I couldn’t stop thinking about her dedication to her band of thieving followers. The only reason she’d agreed to my bargain was so that she could get the gold—not for herself, but for them. I admired her commitment, her loyalty, and her willingness to sacrifice, even if she was going about it all in the wrong ways.
And I was still marveling that she’d allowed me to comfort her in the garden. Embracing her had made my heart drum with a new kind of desire—a longing to be with her again, to spend the day with her, to discover more about her.
I sighed and stared unseeingly at William’s meticulous marks on the parchment pages. “You’ve done a good job keeping the records, William,” I finally said to my steward, who stood next to the desk.
William pushed his thick eyeglasses up on his nose. “Thank you, thank you, my lord. Do you have any questions? Any questions at all?”
“William has kept me quite apprised,” Irene piped in from her chair in front of the hearth, where she sat quietly working on her embroidery. “And he’s been as frugal and conscientious as he was when father was alive.”
William shifted and bumped into the quill pen perched on the corner of the desk. The pen toppled and William fumbled for it, but it slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor.
I tried to focus on the numbers that filled the neat columns. Even if I understood what all the notes meant, I still wouldn’t know what questions to ask.
Juliana’s statement in the garden last evening came back to me as it had throughout the long night. I only regret that I’ve subjected myself to this extravagance when so many of my friends would be satisfied with the crusts of bread left over from the banquet.
Did I live in extravagance? Were others suffering while I feasted?
Obviously, the poor farmers and peasants who resided on my land didn’t live the way I did. Nor did they expect to. They accepted their position in life the same way I did mine.
Sure, I’d visited among the poor with Lady Rosemarie this past summer. I’d witnessed her compassion. But at the time, I’d assumed they were in need because of the strange plague devastating their towns. But what if the poor were suffering more than I’d ever considered?
“William,” I started, trying to work out my confusion. “Can we put together gifts for the poorest tenants on our land?”
“Gifts, my lord?” William had stooped to pick up the quill pen, but at my question it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor again.
I leaned back in the stiff chair my father had sat in every day of his life as he counted his gold and poured over the numbers William recorded. “Yes. You know, extra food, clothing, whatever they need.”
William opened and then closed his mouth, and then opened it again. The eyeglasses on the end of his nose made his eyes look especially big. They were kind eyes, but also astute.
“Our tenants don’t need anything, Collin.” Irene peered at me over the tapestry in her hand, her needle poised to execute the next stitch. “They’re content and happy. If we send them gifts, they’ll only grow to expect more than they need.”
I grinned. “So you think we’ll spoil them?”
She didn’t return my smile. “I think we treat the people on our land more kindly than most. And our kindness is gift enough.”
I was tempted to shrug off the entire discussion. My idea had only been a whim. I didn’t know why I’d even suggested it, except that I only had to think again of Juliana and her reaction to the feast for guilt to rear itself again.
I took a swig of my ale, wishing it were as easy to swallow the discomfort that arose whenever I thought about Juliana’s dangerous situation. “What do you think, William? Should we give the peasants additional food? Ale? Perhaps for Michaelmas?” The feast of Saint Michael was only a week away, and would commence as the bulk of the harvesting was completed.
William took a step backward but bumped into a stool. “Such giving has never been done, my lord,” he said, throwing out his arms to steady himself, but in the process one of his arms knocked against
a stack of books on the shelf behind him, sending the volumes toppling to the floor.
I couldn’t hold in a chuckle. William’s clumsiness had always irritated my father, but the servant had been so meticulous with the ledgers and so wise with his financial counsel that Father had overlooked the man’s faults.
“It’s never been done, my lord,” William repeated. “But with the growing tensions lately, a gift may help head off potential problems. It may indeed.”
“Growing tensions?”
“It’s nothing.” Irene squinted at her needle as she re-threaded it. “Simply a stirring of discontent, likely produced by the Cloaked Bandit.”
Cloaked Bandit. This time I stifled my laughter. If Irene knew she was afraid of a girl several years younger than her, she’d burn with mortification. “We have the means to give them gifts, do we not?” I directed my question to William.
“Plenty, my lord. As the numbers will attest.” William leaned over the desk to point to a figure on the paper, but he knocked into several empty ink bottles.
“Then I appoint you to be in charge of arranging gifts, William.” I folded the ledger closed, the matter settled. “Send them food, clothes, and the like. Whatever you think might be helpful.”
Irene lowered her embroidery to her lap. “ ’Twould appear that no matter my counsel, you’re determined to squander our father’s fortune.”
I stretched, past ready to move on to something more entertaining. “At least there’s plenty to squander.”
“I don’t see anything humorous about the situation, Collin.”
I’d noticed she wasn’t calling me by my proper title. At first, her use of my given name had been something of a comfort, reminding me of the familial bonds I’d missed all the years I’d been gone. But for some reason, lately I’d sensed a note of condescension. Or maybe it had been there all along and I’d just been too happy to see her to notice.
My smile faded, and I sat forward. “I don’t see any reason why you should care, Irene.” I stressed her name. “You’ll be married soon enough, and I’ll make sure to send you to your new home with a handsome dowry.”
