by N B Dixon
The iron was thrust back into the brazier. In the silence that followed, Robin could hear his own rapid breathing, and smell the sickening scent of his own burned flesh.
“The chest next,” Beaumont said. “I can make it stop, Locksley. You don’t have to suffer. Just tell us what we want to know.”
Robin gritted his teeth and kept silent. Through a haze of shock and pain, he watched the guard approach.
A sound abruptly shattered the quiet: a steady clang, clang, clang. At a sign from Beaumont, the guard paused, the iron so close to Robin’s chest, it singed the hair.
“That’s the alarm bell,” one of the other guards said.
Other noises reached them—shouting, running footsteps.
Robin listened, hardly able to believe it. How had they done it?
The door burst open, and a frantic guard poked his head in. “Intruders, Captain Beaumont.”
Beaumont cursed. “How many?”
“Difficult to say, Captain. One of the sentries was shot with an arrow. No one saw where it came from. His fellow guard raised the alarm.”
“Has the sheriff been informed?”
“His steward Joel has gone to rouse him.”
“Leave that,” Beaumont commanded the man standing over Robin. “Come with me. At all costs, we must make sure the sheriff and Prince John are safe.”
The men dashed from the room, leaving Robin alone. It was a temporary reprieve, at least. Robin had no idea what his fellow outlaws were up to, but if they could keep the soldiers busy enough, he could make his escape. His arm burned fiercely, but he forced himself to ignore the pain. He strained at the ropes binding him to the chair, but they did not give. He swore under his breath in mounting frustration.
“Here.”
Robin looked up. The soldier who had come to warn Beaumont was back. He took out a dagger from his belt and methodically cut through the ropes. As the last fell away, Robin stared at him. His face seemed familiar. The soldier picked up Robin’s tunic from where it lay crumpled on the floor and thrust it at him. “Don’t sit there gawping. Put that on and come with me.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“There’s no time.” The man gestured to Robin to follow him.
Robin pulled on his tunic with difficulty, hissing as he inadvertently brushed his scorched arm, and followed his rescuer.
Instead of leading him to the outer bailey, the man plunged deeper into the belly of the castle. He was heading for the cells.
Robin froze, suspicion rising in him.
“Come on,” the man hissed.
“This is the way to the dungeons. I’ve already spent enough time in there.”
“It also leads to your only way out. There is another who will be escaping with you. Come on, or I’ll leave you here for the sheriff’s men to find.”
Robin had no choice. He followed the soldier, all the while looking around for anything he could use as a weapon. In his current state, he would not be able to put up much of a fight, but he was damned if he was going to let himself be locked up again.
They reached a row of barred doors set into the wall. Many of them had faces pressed against them. The soldier withdrew a bunch of keys from his belt and inserted one into the door at the end. It creaked open. The cell’s occupant raised his head, staring listlessly at his visitors. His clothes were little better than rags. He had once had a monk’s tonsure, but it had begun to grow out.
“You are David?” the soldier demanded.
A nod.
“Your sister sent me. Get a move on.”
“What about the others?” Robin said.
“They’ll have to stay here. There isn’t time to help them all. Besides, the fewer we are, the less notice we’ll attract.”
Robin could not argue with that, but it went against every instinct he had to leave the poor wretches behind, though many of them looked incapable of walking.
The other prisoner, David, was out of his cell. He was staring around him like a hunted animal. His eyes fell on Robin.
“Who are you?”
“No time,” the soldier snapped. “This way!”
Robin put out his good arm to stop him. “Wait a moment. First, tell us who you are and why you are helping us?”
The man shot him a look full of hostility. “My name is Martin, and I’m doing this for Lady Marian. She seems to think you are worth saving.” He set off again, not giving Robin a chance to reply.
Martin led Robin and David back to the pit where Robin had so recently been incarcerated. At sight of the open, yawning hole, David froze, his eyes wide with terror.
“I’m not going in there. I won’t.”
“For God’s sake,” Martin muttered. He skirted the open pit until he came to another trapdoor on the opposite side of the corridor. Extracting his keys once more, he fitted one into the lock and it swung open. A flight of shallow steps led down into blackness. Martin reached up and snatched a burning torch from its wall bracket, pushing it at Robin.
“These steps lead down into the caves that run below Nottingham Castle. If you follow the passage and avoid any of those that branch off it, you will come out behind one of the taverns in Nottingham Square. You will have to hide out until the curfew is lifted. That’s all I can do for you.”
Martin eyed Robin. “You killed several men at arms. Many of them were my friends. I was forced to hang some of my own men because of you. Their wives and children are still crying, wondering why their menfolk had to die.”
Robin’s temper flared. His arm throbbed. He was close to exhaustion, and there wasn’t a part of his body that didn’t hurt.
“If you are looking for an apology, I can’t give it. I don’t enjoy killing and I’m sorry for the families who were left behind, but I’m an outlaw. I have my own men to think of. Do you expect us to stand and allow your men to execute us without putting up a fight?”
Martin remained calm. “You helped my sister’s boy, Daniel. Without you, he’d probably be dead. I’ve paid that debt, but after this, we’re even.” He held something out to Robin—an arrow head. Through the coating of mud, it gleamed silver. “Lady Marian wanted you to have this.”
David stared between them in evident confusion.
Robin wondered when Marian had picked up the arrow head. Had she gone back for it after his arrest? He tucked it inside his tunic.
“You seem like a decent man, Martin. John has spoken of you before. You may well have to make a decision soon about which side you are truly on. I hope you make the right one.” With that, Robin began descending the steps. Martin gave David a shove and he reluctantly followed. The trapdoor slammed behind them.
***
Guy jolted awake with a groan. For a moment, he thought the hollow booming sound was coming from the inside of his head. He had drunk far too much wine and his body was making its displeasure known to him. After a few seconds, his befuddled senses cleared enough for him to recognise the castle bell. An alarm.
Beside him, the servant girl who was his current favourite stirred and murmured a sleepy question. There were only two reasons the bell would be sounding—an attack or an escape.
Guy shot out of bed, which was a mistake. The room spun, nearly causing him to fall. Cursing, he reached for his clothes. The servant girl clutched the blanket around her, staring at Guy with wide, frightened eyes.
“Get out!” he barked at her, but did not wait for her compliance. With his tunic still half laced, he bolted from the room.
He met Hugo Beaumont, whose face was grim. “He’s escaped.”
“How?”
“A sentry was killed. We’re searching for intruders.”
Guy swore with every oath he knew. Who? Who had betrayed him? There was no one loyal to Locksley in the castle…was there?
“Keep searching. Barricade all gates to the city. We must find him.”
“My Lord?” Guy looked around at the new voice. It was Joel. He looked flustered. “The prince requests your pre
sence immediately. He wishes an explanation for this disturbance.”
Lady Marian appeared then, her hair tousled, her eyes heavy from sleep. “What is it? Has something happened?”
“Go back to your room, My Lady,” Guy ordered. “Locksley is loose. He may be somewhere in the castle. If he sees you, he might perhaps use you as a hostage to buy his escape. I will post a guard on your door. You will stay in your room until I give you leave to come out. Do you understand?”
She nodded, looking frightened, and retreated.
Guy turned to the still-hovering Joel. “Tell the prince I am on my way.”
***
“Let me understand you, Gisborne.” Prince John’s voice dripped with menace. “You had Locksley thrown in the pit, a place from which it is impossible to escape without assistance.”
“Yes, Sire,” Guy said tightly.
“You placed a guard there just in case?”
“I did, Sire.”
“And yet Locksley was still able to escape. Why was that?”
“He escaped from the interrogation chamber. I had him taken there for questioning. A guard was killed and his fellow sentry raised the alarm. Locksley must have escaped in the confusion.”
Even as he said this, Guy’s brain was working frantically. Beaumont had told him Locksley was tied down, meaning someone must have released him. The same person who killed the sentry?
“Have you found this assassin?”
“I’ve had the castle scoured from top to bottom, Sire. Whoever he was, he seems to have vanished.”
“That is not good enough, Gisborne,” the prince roared. “Locksley is once again at large. By tomorrow, we will be a laughing stock. Question every guard, every servant. Find the culprit.”
Beaumont spoke up. “You believe it was someone already in the castle, Sire?”
“It would seem a logical conclusion. Find them, whoever they are.”
Guy bowed. “Yes, Sire.”
***
Marian stood at her open window, feeling the night breeze caress her face. She had stood on this exact spot not an hour earlier. It was from this window that she had fired the arrow—the arrow meant only to frighten, but which had ended up taking a life. She had wanted to hit the ground beside the sentry, but an errant gust of wind had foiled her aim. The arrow had struck, and the man had fallen.
Marian knew she should feel guilty. She had taken a life. She supposed it would hit her later. All her nerves were on edge. Below her, the upper bailey buzzed with activity as soldiers ran here and there at the orders of their captain. They were searching for the assassin. Marian prayed that Martin had got Robin away safely. She had seen him at one point, busy ordering a squad of guards to conduct a search of the outbuildings. He’d been alone. She hoped that meant Robin was clear of the castle.
She could imagine Guy and Prince John’s fury on learning their prisoner had escaped. It brought a smile to her lips. Once Robin was safely out of the city and among the protection of Sherwood’s mighty oaks, no one would be able to find him. Did he know her part in his escape? Had Martin told him? Would he be grateful?
Marian had more than one goal in freeing Robin. She was certain that any day, Prince John would announce the husband he had chosen for her. It wouldn’t matter how much she protested that he had no right, that only King Richard could have the disposal of her hand. She would be married off and to someone the prince trusted. Guy was the obvious choice, but there was one way to foil them both.
Much of a woman’s attraction lay in her chastity. A virgin was always preferable if a man wanted to make sure any children born were his. If she could scupper that plan, if she could even get herself with child, then her value in the marriage market would decrease dramatically.
Robin was her choice. He was handsome, charismatic and brave. Her father had wanted him to become the Earl of Huntingdon, so surely he would not disapprove. Yes, Robin was an outlaw, but nobody knew what the future held. If somehow King Richard was released from captivity—and rumour had it his mother was doing everything to bring that about—then he would return. Prince John would be thrown down and all his supporters with him. Robin could be pardoned and his lands restored to him.
She needed Robin to bed her soon if the plan was to succeed. The question was, how to manage it? Gratitude would be a strong incentive, but would it be enough? Marian had to admit Robin had shown no interest in her.
Then I shall have to make him interested.
Whatever it took, whatever means she had to resort to, she would bring Robin Hood to her bed and if fortune was with her, she would make sure no one else ever became Earl of Huntingdon.
Chapter 14
Will was startled awake by Edward’s excited cry.
“He’s back! Robin is back!”
The whole camp woke, scrambling to their feet, demanding to know what was going on. Will gripped Edward’s shoulders.
“Where? Where is he?”
“I’m right here,” said a voice.
Robin appeared through the trees. Will let out an involuntary gasp at the sight of him. His face was crusted with dried blood. One eye was swollen shut, and there were bruises along one cheekbone and his jaw. From the way he walked, it was clear he was in pain, and he held one arm close to his chest. He looked on the verge of collapse.
Will started to his feet, but the presence of a second man caused him to freeze in his tracks. He and John laid hands on their weapons.
Robin managed to smile, though it looked painful. “At ease. Neither of us will bite. I must say, I expected a friendlier homecoming.”
John lowered his axe, relief breaking across his face. “Christ, man, how did you get out of there?”
“With a little help from your friend Martin.”
“Martin? He has no love for you.”
“Maybe not, but he saved my skin. Beaumont and his men were interrogating me for information.”
Will paled. He knew only too well what form that interrogation would have taken. Their eyes met briefly.
“I’m all right, Will. Martin caused a diversion somehow, and while the guards were running around, he got us out.” Robin indicated the man standing beside him. “David will be joining us.”
John and Wat eyed the newcomer dubiously. Will could not blame them. The man looked as though the smallest shove would knock him over. He was staring around at all of them, but the moment anybody held his gaze, he dropped it.
“He’s a scrawny devil,” Wat commented.
Sir Richard gave him a chiding look. “So would you be if you had spent time in a dungeon.”
“I don’t know about this, Robin,” John said. “Can he fight?”
Robin sank to the ground and took the ale skin Edward brought him, draining it in one. “Why not ask him?”
John turned to David. “Well? Can you?”
“Can I what?”
John rolled his eyes. “Can you use a longbow or a quarterstaff? How about a sword? I don’t suppose you can wrestle?”
“No.”
John looked pointedly at Robin.
“He can learn, just as Edward did.”
Will could have pointed out that Edward at least had been able to defend himself. This man looked as though he would run at the first sign of danger. He kept his mouth shut, though. He could not stop staring at Robin. He was alive, he was back with them. Will’s conversation with Sir Richard came back to him, and his throat locked around the words he longed to say. His emotions seesawed. He wanted to grab Robin and kiss him. He wanted to punch him in the face for being so reckless.
The others drifted away to collect firewood and start cooking breakfast. Robin and Will were left alone.
“What’s wrong with your arm?”
“They branded me.”
Will sucked in a breath.
“I’ll live.” Robin regarded him. “Out with it, then. I can see you won’t be happy otherwise.”
Will uttered an inarticulate sound of frustration. “Of all t
he mad, pigheaded things you’ve ever done, this beats the lot. I swear, your damn pride will be the death of you, and what will happen to the poor then? What about Edward? The lad looks up to you. He’s convinced you can do no wrong—”
“You’re right.”
Will glared, cut off in mid-flow. “Say that again.”
“I underestimated Gisborne. It was arrogant and foolish, and I nearly paid the price for it. I will not make that mistake again.”
Will was speechless. He’d expected Robin to fight back, not agree with him. He felt wrong-footed.
“Where else are you hurt?”
Robin grimaced. “Everywhere. The ribs are the worst. Bruised, I think, maybe broken.”
“Stay there. Don’t even think about moving.”
***
Will approached Robin, salve in hand. He had traded in Locksley for a few basic medicines the last time they were there. He had a steely glint in his eye, which told Robin he was still angry. On balance, he thought it better to submit to Will’s ministrations. The others were busy preparing breakfast and ignoring them for now.
“Get that tunic off.”
Robin hesitated.
“Do it, or I’ll rip it off you.”
Their eyes met and held. The atmosphere grew charged between them. Robin knew Will would make good on his threat. With some effort, he unlaced the filthy, bloodstained garment, letting it slide to the ground.
Will’s gaze roved over him, taking in the bruises and welts that covered his chest and torso. His eyes lingered on the angry red brand on Robin’s upper arm, before finally settling on his face. With extraordinary gentleness, he cupped Robin’s face in his hand. Robin held still. He didn’t think he could have pulled away even if he’d wanted to.
Will slicked salve on his fingers. How many times had they done this for each other? As Will’s fingers stroked along his jaw, Robin tensed. One part of his brain was screaming at him to run, to put distance between them before he did something he would regret, but a stronger part insisted he stay right where he was. He willed his mind to be calm, but his body had other ideas. As Will’s fingers glided over his face, alternately wiping away the crusted blood and then smoothing the salve into his injuries, his body responded. His chest tightened. His groin ached. Breathing was difficult. Will’s gaze never left his, and the look in his eyes was more intense than Robin had ever seen. Hostility would have been far easier to deal with.
