How Sir Gui Ordered deSteny
in Regard to Lady Marian
BECAUSE OF the rain, Sir Gui was delayed by three days, and he didn’t arrive at the gates of Nottingham until late on the first dry afternoon—a time of glaring sun and a brisk, icy wind. His group of guests rode behind him, most of them looking more bedraggled than they wanted to, for in spite of the cessation of the rain, the weather had taken a toll on them. Sir Wilem had lost two of the feathers from his cap, leaving him with only one to add dash to his clothing, leaving him looking like a molting bird. Sir Gui had on his finest cloak—the one lined with ermine fur—and wore it with the hood up against the bluster. The soldiers who provided them escort were more sensibly dressed: leather actons under their chain-mail and leather cloaks over it.
Sir Humphrey admitted the party as soon as it arrived, and rang the bell announcing Sir Gui’s presence, while apologizing that they had no one to sound the trumpet for him. The bell was as much of a warning as deSteny was going to get, and he heard the tocsin as if it were the knell of doom, or a summons from Heaven for the just to appear before the Lord. The first sound alarmed him and he dropped his stylus, betraying the state of his nerves. As the ringing ceased, deSteny rose from his writing table and pulled on his surcote, belting it with his sword-girdle and fastening it with the buckle he had been awarded for valor so many years ago. He hoped Bishop Tilton was ready to begin the service they had agreed upon.
Sir Gui entered the keep and dismounted, calling for a groom to take his horse—a showy red roan with a handsome head—and shouted for a steward to summon his bride. “For I am come to begin our marriage celebration,” he announced with grim determination, and strode toward the door into the Great Hall.
DeSteny came down the stairs from his quarters, trying to still the qualms that had taken hold of his thoughts. He paused one step from the main floor, and faced Sir Gui as he came in. “God give you good welcome,” he said.
“So He will when I kiss the hand of Marian deBeauchamp,” said Sir Gui with a practiced smile. “Where is she?”
“As to that, Sir Gui,” deSteny said heavily, inwardly cursing Sir Wilem’s cowardice, “God alone knows.” He saw the frozen expression in Sir Gui’s eyes and he went on. “I regret to have to tell you that she was taken from us during our travels, and although we have searched for her, our efforts, so far, have been to no avail. Every effort has been made to find her, and I am sure we will find her eventually.”
“Do you say so?” Sir Gui asked dangerously.
“Yes. It is my vow to find her for you,” said deSteny.
“How very honorable of you.” His sarcasm was cutting.
DeSteny saw they were being observed and decided to do his best to minimize the gossip that was certain to follow this meeting. “Perhaps we should go to my study, Sir Gui, where we may discuss this more fully.”
“If you mean to prevaricate—” Sir Gui began.
“No; I leave that to your courtiers,” the Sheriff interrupted him sharply, taking the risk of offending Sir Gui. “I believe I will serve you better where we may be private.” He started up the stairs as if anticipating a sharp reprimand.
None came. “Oh, very well. Who wants to give the servants any more food for gossip than they have already,” Sir Gui muttered, and maintained a steadfast silence until deSteny’s study was reached. “If you do not satisfy me, Sheriff, it will go the harder for you,” he warned as he took deSteny’s chair.
“We were unlucky. One of the men was unwell, and it was not considered prudent to expose Lady Marian to the illness,” deSteny began.
“Better a fever than to be spirited away,” said Sir Gui.
“We lost men trying to protect her, but she was, as you have said, spirited away from us,” deSteny went on. “And by such spirits as I have good cause to dread—all men do. We tried to find her, but—”
“Spirited away!” Sir Gui accused, flinging his hands into the air. “You make it sound as if the Devil sent his minions to take her from you.”
“It seemed that way,” said deSteny. “You know what those outlaws are capable of doing, or you should. If we had had enough men, she would have been safe. But I’ve warned you about those pernicious creatures. You knew it was hazardous to send her into the forest without at least a dozen men to guard her.” He didn’t raise his voice, but there was a sharpness in his tone that made it seem he had.
Sir Gui’s face was thunderous. “How can you tell me this?” He looked around as Sir Wilem came into the study door. “This is a fine show of service!”
“Have you need of me, cousin?” Sir Wilem asked with a half-smile that might have been charming if he hadn’t been so tousled by the wind.
“Come in,” he gestured. “Hear what this caitiff has to say.”
“We should have had a larger escort. Or if you had allowed it, I could have asked for men from Arundel to accompany us,” said deSteny, stung by Sir Gui’s epithet. “We did all we could. We cannot fight those creatures the way you fight armies.”
“That is all well and good, for who shall say you didn’t put forth your best effort.” Sir Gui glowered at deSteny. “You may make any claim you like, and I must, perforce, accept it.”
“You cannot believe I would equivocate about such a serious matter. You seem to think that we didn’t do everything in our power. We did so poor a job that men died for your Lady Marian,” said deSteny. “Good men, loyal men. Yet perhaps all of us should have died, so you would never know what became of her, and them.”
“So you say,” Sir Gui muttered.
“They died in your service, Sir Gui,” the Sheriff persisted. “They deserve your good opinion, even in defeat. They gave their lives to try to guard Lady Marian—what more can any man do?”
Sir Gui shook his head. “You must defend them, for your own sake. It is no less than I would expect of a man of your sort.” He paced two steps away, then swung back. “This isn’t settled, deSteny. I will require a full account from you, and from my cousin as well. Don’t bother with excuses, just tell me how this all came to pass.”
Stifling a sharp retort, deSteny said, “The Bishop is ready to offer a Mass now, and another after we have dined. It is fitting that we go to Saint Stephen’s at once.”
“You are trying to postpone our discussion,” Sir Gui accused; he poked his fingers at deSteny. “I will not have it.”
“I am hoping not to offend the Bishop,” deSteny countered.
“How convenient, that the Bishop should demand our attendance,” said Sir Gui with such sarcasm that deSteny winced. “I suppose you worked this out between you,” Sir Gui went on. “You and he have decided to thwart me?”
Sir Wilem made a sound that wasn’t quite a giggle and waggled his fingers derisively in deSteny’s direction.
DeSteny was doing his best to maintain the decorum that was required of him. “I am deeply sorry to have to tell you these things, but I will not lie to you, and I give you my word that I am greatly troubled that we were unable to protect her for you. She deserved to be brought to you without harm and without insult. It was our sworn duty, and we were unable to fulfill what we pledged to you.”
“Indeed! At least you acknowledge so much. I reckon it is little enough, but there!” Sir Gui flung open his cloak. “Nothing can be done now to undo what has been done. So let us go and recite the prayers. You will then explain to me how your men failed you, and, how it is that you are alive to tell me.” He gave a furious laugh. “You and the Bishop are in agreement, so who am I to say anything against your plans? Why do you bother asking me anything?” He signaled to Sir Wilem. “Come. Lend me your support. If I must go through this travesty, I must have someone to sustain me.” He laid his hand on the elegant young man’s shoulder in a proprietary manner. “You must stay by me, Wilem. I depend on you.” He shot a critical glance at deSteny.
It was
an effort, but deSteny was able to collect his thoughts and assume a respectful demeanor; he could not rule his temper and that galled him. His head ached and he was finding it hard to concentrate. “I will institute a search and will find out all that I can about what has happened to her.”
“Yes. You will.” The implacable sound of Sir Gui’s remark was flavored with petulance, which deSteny knew boded ill. He took up his leather cloak and prepared to accompany Sir Gui to Saint Stephen’s. “Shall I walk with you?”
Sir Gui gave him a long, contemptuous stare. “No,” he said in quelling accents. “You will not walk with me. You will go before me, and see that all the men of this castle do me the honor I deserve. They will have to do much to show me that they are not to blame for Lady Marian’s abduction, and so they shall learn before they eat their next meal.” He tapped the jeweled hilt of his dagger that protruded from his belt. “I am in no frame of mind to allow any show of disrespect.”
“The soldiers here would not do so,” said deSteny, feeling his heart thumping in his throat, for he had heard tales of Sir Gui’s capricious cruelty, and could not bear to think of it being visited on any of his men, not after so many losses among their ranks.
“So you say.” Sir Gui motioned to deSteny to precede him. “So, if I should happen to see any hint of it, you shall answer for it. Do not suppose that I am unaware of your view of me, Sheriff. That rankles, as it should, for you are my inferior.” He frowned. “It is more than enough that I should lose my affianced bride. I will not allow anyone to slight me, especially not an old Crusader like you.” His arm was still around Sir Wilem’s shoulder. “Help me bear my disappointment.”
“No one will slight you, for Lady Marian’s sake, if no other’s,” deSteny said as he left his study and started down the gallery toward the stairs to the ground floor.
Sir Gui came after him, still contriving to keep his hold on Sir Wilem. “How shall I explain all this to my father?” He looked directly at deSteny. “You shall explain, Sheriff. I leave it all to you.”
DeSteny lowered his eyes. “I shall, of course, do just as you wish, Sir Gui,” he said with as much humility as he could summon up. “Perhaps he will advise me how I might go about finding her and returning her to you.”
“She has been gone too long to come to me; surely that is obvious, even to such as you,” said Sir Gui sharply. “You will have to send her back to her uncle. It is no longer possible for us to wed. How can my family be sure of any heir she might give me? So many days in the hands of miscreants, well, what must have happened? How can I accept her as my wife when she has been so compromised? No one would expect it.” He stroked Sir Wilem’s cheek. “What do you say, cousin? Should I accept her, or shall I return her to her family? Um?”
“I say you would be wise not to marry her now she has been in the outlaws’ hands for so long,” said Sir Wilem, not quite smirking.
They were almost on the ground floor when deSteny thought of something that might serve to soften Sir Gui’s implacable disapproval. “Sir Gui,” he said, “are there lands promised in your marriage contracts?”
“I believe so. Why?” Sir Gui pushed his finger at deSteny. “You are not going to find an excuse for your failure, are you?”
Ignoring that sally, the Sheriff held up his hand in a display of useful thought. “If we are fortunate enough to find Lady Marian, you may want to complete the marriage, at least for the sake of the contract, rather than disavow your pledges,” he said, mulling the possibilities in his mind as he spoke. “The Lady Marian has a good marriage portion, or so it has been rumored. You need not lose that, along with the woman. Your father would appreciate salvaging at least that much of his arrangements for you.”
Sir Wilem sniggered. “It will also make you look less lax, Sheriff.”
“This is not for my benefit,” said deSteny. “I was trying to find a means of saving the purpose of the marriage without compromising your line.”
“How do you mean?” Sir Gui asked, trying to follow what deSteny was proposing.
“If I can succeed in finding her, and you are willing to marry Lady Marian, for the sake of the contract, you could then live apart and not have to relinquish her marriage portion.” DeSteny waited until Sir Gui cocked his head in thought. “Your father would not have to give up the advancements he had secured for you, and you would not have to live with your wife because she was away from chaperonage too long to have her assuredly a maid.”
Sir Gui nodded slowly. “A wise notion, Sheriff,” he said after he had thought the suggestion over. “After the Mass we will speak more of this. I will send you to my father tomorrow, and you will present to him the terms you and I will agree upon. You have shown yourself not wholly lost to good sense.” He turned to Sir Wilem. “How does this strike you, Wilem? Doesn’t it seem an apt resolution to the problem that confronts us?”
Sir Wilem wrinkled his nose as if he had come upon a noxious odor. “I suppose the Sheriff is right. You cannot have this woman to live with now.” It was difficult to determine if this made him pleased or annoyed.
“Yes.” Sir Gui regarded the Sheriff narrowly. “Well, you know what you must do. If you cannot convince my father of these things, you will have failed me twice, and matters will not go well for you.” He made an emphatic gesture before he shoved deSteny aside, and, with Sir Wilem close at hand, strode out into the pale rays of afternoon sunlight.
How Hood laid a Trap for Wroughton
THE RED FRIAR laid his hand on Fortesque’s shoulder. “You’ll get used to it, in time. Be patient and it will come to you,” he said heavily. “I managed to become accustomed, and it is far more against my vows than yours.”
Fortesque sighed. “I never thought I would end up in a nest of vampires, and be forced to become one of them.” He shook his head. “But I suppose no one does. I wanted to achieve recognition and glory, for my family. My father was a younger son, and so his portion wasn’t great, and my mother had only a modest inheritance. They spent much time and money on supporting my efforts, and working to advance me; I am a younger son, and I am the only one of my brothers to come so far, although my oldest brother may become an Abbot one day. My two younger brothers have not yet reached an age to show their promise.” He stared up into the branches. “Now, all that has been for naught. None of my brothers will be able to accomplish as much as I have.”
“You don’t know that for certain. You may be seen as a martyr,” said the Red Friar, wincing a bit on the last word.
“Not likely,” Fortesque exclaimed.
“They only know you were lost while on escort duty,” said the Red Friar. “And the forest is known to be dangerous.”
Fortesque allowed himself to be comforted. “It may be so,” he allowed. “And if it is, I will be pleased for the sake of my father and brothers. However I don’t think this will be enough to enhance our reputation.” He rose and stretched, looking around the nearly deserted glade where the enormous stumps of ancient oaks provided shelter for Hood’s men. “What if I should be recognized?”
“Then you will do well to be certain those who see you do not live to report it,” said Little John, coming up behind them and stretching hugely. “Silence them, and be fed. Not a bad bargain.” Now that the sunny autumn day was drawing to a close, the outlaw camp was coming to life, and Little John set about adding kindling to the great pit where they kept a fire going through the night.
“You must be prepared to face old comrades as your enemies; we are your comrades now, not they, and you can rely only upon us,” added Will Scarlet. “Think about the men you fought with and turn their strengths against them. You know them better than I do. What would they do to you, if they were aware of your current state?” His easy, cynical smile caught Fortesque unprepared.
“But Wroughton—Surely our bonds, forged in battle, would be stronger than any—” Fortesque began, but could not continue
.
“Do you truly think so?” the Red Friar asked. He put his hands together over his wide belt. “Think about it: would you have hesitated to strike down one of us when you were still alive?”
Fortesque considered his answer. “No,” he said at last, very slowly.
“Then you would do well to assume that your comrades will do what you would do, were you in their position,” said Scarlet. “Keep that in mind tonight when we take to the byways of the forest.”
“Will that be soon?” Fortesque asked, troubled at the hunger that flared in him. “We must be swift, if we are going to find Wroughton tonight.” Without being aware of what he was doing, he licked his lips.
“Soon enough,” said Scarlet, with a sickle of a smile curving his mouth. “We’re all getting peckish, none more than Hood himself.”
The Red Friar rubbed his stubbly jaw. “It is no good trying to deny it, much as we may wish to,” he declared. “This is one time when the flesh rules the ... the ...” He struggled for the last word, “soul.”
Scarlet laughed out loud. “As you say, Trinitarian.” He sat down on a split log that served as a bench. “Were it up to me, as I was before, I would not have to do this, but I lost that part of my nature when Hood gave me his.”
The Red Friar nodded slowly, and looked around in surprise as Little John left off tending the fire. “What is it?”
“Hood took everything from me. Everything. He corrupted my body and suborned my soul, and made me thank him for it. He gave me back his black heart to fill my emptiness. So that all I have now is his,” he said, his deep voice choked with emotion. “It is true for all of us, Fortesque. You’ll see that, in time.”
Fortesque stared at the little flames catching the wood in the large pit. “I think I have fallen into Hell.”
Trouble in the Forest Book One: A Cold Summer Night Page 22
