Knight of Sherwood

by N B Dixon

  Chapter 6

  Lady Marian of Huntingdon quietly pushed open the door of her father’s bed chamber. He spent much of his days sleeping, and she was wary of disturbing him. The sharp smell of herbs greeted her nostrils, along with the less pleasant odour of illness.

  Her father’s head turned on the pillow, and he smiled as she entered the room. “Marian. Come and sit with me.”

  She moved to the bed and perched on the edge, taking his hand in hers. His skin was as dry as old parchment, and the fingers that gripped hers were weak.

  Marian swallowed the lump that rose to her throat. Her father, the seventh Earl of Huntingdon, was dying. His breath rattled in his chest, and the skin of his face was drawn and tight with pain. She knew his physician had bled him the day before, expressly against her wishes. This remedy had been tried so often lately that she doubted her father had much more blood to give. It did not appear to be doing him any good.

  “How are you feeling today, Father?”

  “Not so bad, my dear. I had a good night’s sleep. That always makes a man feel better.”

  Marian forced cheerfulness she did not feel into her voice. “Well, a few more nights like that, and we will have you up and about in no time.”

  Her father’s smile was tender. “You don’t have to pretend to me, Marian. I know I’m not long for this world.”

  “The physician thinks—”

  “The physician is saying what he thinks I want to hear. I am not a fool, Marian.”

  Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked hard to hold them back. He was being so brave. She would not show weakness in front of him.

  “The question is, what to do about your future when I’m gone?”

  Marian stiffened. He saw her reaction and squeezed her hand in an effort to comfort her.

  “You are my only heir. The Huntingdon lands will need to be secured.”

  “What of the agreement?” Marian forced the words out with difficulty, dreading her father’s reply.

  “Whatever was said in the past, you remain unwed. You were not brought before a priest, nor was there a consummation.”

  Marian did not try to hide her relief. A disagreement between her father and her would-be bridegroom had led to him flying off to the Crusades where, with any luck, he’d managed to get himself killed.

  Hard as she tried to hold it back, resentment rose inside her. She was more than capable of managing her father’s estates. She had been doing so for the last two years. But because she was a woman, the best she could hope was to be allowed to hold the Huntingdon lands in trust until a husband could be found for her.

  It wasn’t any man who would be given such an honour. The Huntingdons were one of the oldest families in England. It would need a man worthy of carrying the Huntingdon name, and as the woman who would be expected to provide a future heir, Marian felt she should have a say in who the heir’s father would be. But women rarely had a say in whom they married. They were chattel to be disposed of. Even her father, as much as he loved her, was no different.

  His gentle voice broke in on her thoughts. “Did you ask the scribe to come today?”

  “Yes, Father. He should be here soon.”

  “I shall have my will written up. I think perhaps the best thing would be to place you under the guardianship of the Church or the Crown until such time as a suitable husband can be found for you.”

  Marian bit back the retort that rose to her lips. The Church would love to get its hands on the Huntingdon lands. Between them and the covetous Prince John, she suspected the disposition of Huntingdon would be solved quickly. And she would be forced to watch as the castle that had been her home since she was born was given to another. A woman was her husband’s property, and that included all the lands and titles that came with her.

  As he so often did, her father read her thoughts.

  “It must be so, my dear. I know you hate it, but Huntingdon must endure. That is more important than anything else. You understand?”

  “Of course, Father.” Seeking to lighten the mood, she said, “Let us not think about that now. You may yet recover, and if you do not…” She swallowed.

  “And if I do not, I should like to know that you are well taken care of, Marian. You are a brave and resourceful daughter—nobody knows that better than I. Few men could have managed as well as you have these past two years.”

  Marian beamed at this unexpected praise. She had been certain her father had not noticed her efforts, being too involved in worrying about his own declining health.

  “I wish—” she started, then broke off. There was no use in making her father unhappier than he already was.

  “What, my dear? What do you wish?”

  “I wish I could stay at Huntingdon forever. I wish it didn’t have to be given to anyone. I can look after it well enough. The tenants here know and respect me. Who knows how they will react to a stranger?”

  Her father grew suddenly stern. “They have no say in the matter. Their obedience is to the lord of the castle, whoever he may be. As for living here alone, you know perfectly well that the law will not allow it. It is not proper.” The rest of his words died as a fit of coughing seized him.

  Marian released his hand to pour a cup of water from the pitcher by his bed. Helping him to sit, she put the cup into his hands, trying to ignore the spots of blood smeared over his dry lips and chin. When he was gone, the care of Huntingdon would fall to her. She would have to make sure it was given the best guardian possible.

  ***

  Marian was in her bower, absorbed in a particularly complicated piece of tapestry work, when the servant came to find her.

  “Begging your pardon, My Lady, but there is a gentleman here.”

  Marian laid aside her work. “The scribe? My father is expecting him.”

  “Not the scribe, My Lady. It is the sheriff.”

  Marian’s stomach gave an uneasy lurch. She had seen Guy of Gisborne only a handful of times since he’d become sheriff. Rumour had it that he had been away in France for several years. There was some sort of scandal surrounding him, but Marian was hazy about the details. She had seen him at various gatherings, including the feast held on the day he took office. He was a handsome man, courteous, witty, with an undeniable air of authority about him. He was a strict man by all accounts, who enforced the laws of the shire with a ruthless dedication, but he had always been pleasant to her, and he had made the effort to get to know her father. Marian felt certain he was courting her. He had shown a marked preference for her, much to the envy of the other society beauties who wished to share his bed.

  She wondered if her father had summoned him. Perhaps a marriage treaty was being considered. It was like her father to forget to tell her. He was often absent-minded. Sometimes he spoke of matters as if they’d discussed them before, while Marian had no idea what he was talking about. At other times, like now, something would be sprung on her without warning.

  If Guy of Gisborne were to become the next Earl of Huntingdon, she felt sure he would manage the estate well. Still, he did not rouse any particularly strong emotion in her. No overwhelming attraction gripped her whenever she laid eyes on him.

  She found him in the great hall, where a serving maid was in the process of supplying him with wine.

  “Forgive me, Sir Guy.” She gave her best curtsy. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

  He had risen at her entrance, and making her a courtly bow, he smiled warmly at her. “Not at all. I have just arrived. I came to see how your father is.”

  “He is failing. I fear he does not have long.”

  His smile faded, replaced at once by concern. “I’m sorry to hear it. Can nothing more be done for him?”

  “The physician has bled him, but there’s nothing more he can do. I just pray that his end will be swift.” Her voice shook with those last words. More than anything, she wanted an end to her father’s pain.

  Guy took her hand. “I wish I could do something to help you.
You should not have to go through this alone.”

  “There are servants to help me.”

  He shrugged dismissively. “Servants can only be of practical use. I was thinking of someone of your own station to comfort you in this troubled time. I would be more than happy to send my sister to Huntingdon Castle to be with you. Female companionship would surely be a help.”

  Marian forced a smile. She had never warmed to Lady Katrina, Sir Guy’s sister. “You are kind, My Lord, but there is much for me to see to at the moment. There are my father’s affairs to put in order. Also, I would like to spend what little time remains with him. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course.” He pressed her hand.

  Marian wanted to pull it away, but knew it would be rude. It was with relief that she saw the servant approaching. He bowed as Guy released her and stepped back.

  “The scribe has arrived, My Lady.”

  “Very well. Show him to my father’s chamber.”

  The servant bowed again and withdrew.

  “Your father has asked for a scribe?” Sir Guy said. “I had no idea it was so serious.”

  “As I told you, he has little time left. He wishes to make a will.”

  “What does he plan for your future? Young and unmarried as you are, you will need some male protection.”

  Marian was shocked by the boldness of the question. Her future was none of Sir Guy’s concern. She allowed a hint of frost to enter her voice.

  “I have no idea what he has planned for me. I am sure I shall be informed in due course.”

  He seemed to realise his mistake. “Forgive me. I worry for you. I hate to think of you being passed off to a stranger. I would like to think that in the short time I have known you, we have become friends. You know I will do anything to help you if it is in my power.”

  “I am grateful for your concern. Be assured I will let you know if you can be of any assistance.”

  He took his leave at last. Marian returned to the seclusion of her bower and took up her work, but she found it impossible to concentrate. What were her father and the scribe discussing behind closed doors? Would Sir Guy try again to see her father before he died? Any liking she’d felt for him had quite evaporated. He was a conniving, greedy man. Not content with being Sheriff of Nottingham, He wanted the earldom. He would be only the first, but with his position and influence—it was said he was a great favourite with Prince John—Marian was afraid he might succeed.

  ***

  Guy arrived back at Nottingham Castle to find it in a state of chaos. The royal standard was raised and fluttering in the breeze. Guy repressed a sigh. Prince John had a habit of turning up when he was least expected. Guy supposed he had the right. But he did wish the prince would see fit to send some prior notice. Guy dismounted, handing the reins to a scurrying stable boy. Hugo Beaumont came to meet him, looking harassed.

  “When did he get here?” Guy muttered, conscious of the prince’s men, who were scattered throughout the gatehouse and outer bailey.

  “About half an hour ago. Servants are getting his rooms ready as we speak. He demanded to see you as soon as you arrived.”

  Guy grimaced and followed his captain.

  Prince John was in the great hall. He had already made himself at home, occupying the chair on the dais where Guy usually sat.

  Guy bowed as he approached. “Sire. This is an unexpected honour.”

  “Indeed, Gisborne.”

  The prince had a rather high, nasal voice, which grated on Guy’s ears. He was a small, compact man whose tastes ran to garish clothing.

  A serving girl approached with a pitcher of wine and proceeded to pour a cup for the prince. Guy saw his eyes rake her body. The prince’s lechery was well known. No woman, be she serving girl or highborn lady, was safe from his notice.

  The serving girl poured wine for Guy as well. She did not meet his eyes, and Guy suppressed his irritation with difficulty. This girl was a favourite of his. He’d had her many times, and he did not appreciate having to share what was his.

  “I wish to speak to you, Gisborne,” the prince announced. “I think a rise in taxes is called for.”

  Guy, who had been in the process of taking a gulp of wine, choked a little. “More taxes, Sire?”

  “Indeed. News has reached me that my brother Richard has been taken prisoner by Leopold of Austria.”

  This was news to Guy. “Are you certain, Sire?”

  “He was apprehended in Vienna. It seems he made many enemies among the other crusading kings. The entire venture was a fiasco. The armies never even reached Jerusalem. Richard was forced to negotiate a peace treaty with that man, Saladin, or whatever his name is. According to my spies, the other kings wearied of the enterprise and left early. Richard quarrelled with a good many of them, and now they are taking their revenge.”

  “I assume a ransom has been demanded?”

  “A hundred thousand marks.”

  Guy’s jaw dropped. Such an amount was impossible. It would bankrupt the entire country.

  Prince John leaned forward. His wine-laden breath blasted in Guy’s face. “Naturally, England will want to contribute to the ransom. The people are desperate to see their hero king return. Therefore, we must collect as much as possible. My mother is even now seeking funds for his release.”

  Guy said nothing. He knew the prince of old. If there was one person alive who would be rejoicing at the news of Richard’s capture, it was John. He had coveted Richard’s throne since before Richard even came to it. John had been the favoured son of their father, King Henry, and he had believed the throne would come to him. Richard and his other brothers had rebelled against their father when John was young, and he had mistakenly believed that would prejudice the king against them. He had been wrong. Four years ago, when he realised that the king intended to give the throne to Richard, he had attempted a rebellion. Guy had been among the conspirators, and when the rebellion failed, he, along with the few who survived, had been forced to flee into exile.

  When Richard came to the throne in 1199, he had gifted John with Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, Dorset, Cornwall, Somerset and Devon. These, together with the lands John inherited from his wife, Isabella of Gloucester, were meant to keep him satisfied. They hadn’t. John’s lust for power had only grown during his brother’s absence.

  “This is what we shall tell the people,” John said. “They will be more than willing to dip into their pockets if they believe it will bring the Lionheart back to them. I intend to make sure the money never reaches its goal. I have debts, and if I am to take the throne, I cannot do it without money and support. I trust I may count on both from you.”

  “You know I wish only to serve, Sire.”

  “That is what I expected. I will reward those who are loyal to me. You will double the taxes.”

  Guy inclined his head in assent, then reached out for the wine pitcher to refill their goblets.

  “Is that not the Gisborne ring?” John’s eyes were on Guy’s left hand. The ring he had given the assassin was once more on his third finger.

  “It is, Sire.”

  “I take it the mission was a success, then? Locksley is dead?”

  If there were a man who hated Robin of Locksley more than Guy, it was the prince. Locksley had been the one to expose the rebellion four years ago. John’s plans had been thwarted, and his allies scattered.

  Guy hesitated only a moment before confessing the truth. “I fear not. Locksley is alive. What is more, he is back in England.”

  John’s face mottled with rage. Guy braced himself for the explosion.

  “That assassin was supposed to be the best!”

  “He came highly recommended,” Guy agreed. He only just stopped himself from adding, by you.

  “Do not mumble at me, man. Explain how it is that Locksley still lives.”

  “It seems he was able to overcome the assassin. He returned to Locksley a few days ago. I outlawed him. He is currently in hiding in Sherwood.”
<
br />   “Sherwood?” The angrier John grew, the higher his voice rose. “Do you know how hard it is to find anyone in that accursed forest? We could hunt for years and never see the man.”

  “I believe we will not have to wait too long, Sire. I think Locksley will reveal himself soon.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “He has set himself up as the peasants’ hero. Recently, he rescued a boy from hanging. The boy was a known poacher. Locksley has a grudge against me and a score to settle. He will make a mistake soon, and then we shall have him.”

  “You seem confident.” John’s voice had turned from shrill and indignant to low and menacing. “I hope for your sake you are correct, Guy. I want that man dealt with before he causes any real mischief.”

  “I shall see to it, Sire.”

  ***

  Later that evening, Guy sat in his private solar with his sister and her husband.

  “I take it the prince has demanded you kill Robin?” Katrina said.

  Guy knew if he could count on any ally, it was her. She wanted Locksley dead as much as he did.

  “He wishes Locksley dealt with.”

  “As long as he’s in Sherwood, he has the advantage,” Hugo pointed out. “I’ve had men combing the forest for days, and none of them have seen hide nor hair of him.”

  “Then we will have to lure him out of Sherwood,” Katrina said.

  “The hanging of a few villagers should do the trick,” Guy mused. “He will not sit back and allow innocent peasants to die for him.”

  Katrina gave him a pitying look. “Much as I hate to say it, brother, those peasants are needed. How do you expect to meet Prince John’s new taxes without them?”

  Guy was irritated. Katrina had the ability to make him feel like a foolish little boy. “What do you suggest?”

  “What of Sir Richard of Lee? He was unable to pay his debt to the Abbot of Saint Mary’s, and it is likely he helped his nephew to escape. Robin has affection for him. Arrest Sir Richard, and Robin will certainly try to rescue him.”

  Katrina was never more annoying than when she was right. Guy knew he wasn’t in a position to disagree. He hadn’t been able to come up with any better plan himself. He turned to Hugo. “You will arrest him tomorrow.”