My hands curled to fists—I left my damn knives in the chambers. Which were probably a blessing, considering what notions ran through my head just then.
“Lady Leaford,” Isabel called, not turning her head to me. She did crook a finger, though, and I took that as a summons. I stepped on the swatter’s foot as I went and stood beside Isabel.
“Your Highness,” I murmured.
“You shall be our guide,” she said. “Come. This is your city, is it not? I wish to see it.”
“It isn’t truly,” I denied, careful to say it straight.
“But you know it well. Don’t be difficult. Show me,” she said, meeting my eyes and still keeping her nose up. She weren’t hard to look at, that were sure. Her skin were pale and her eyes brown and dark lashed; she were a fair English rose.
My mouth went tight. “Yes, your Highness.”
We walked side by side down through the castle to the gate. I couldn’t help but watch her dress drag through the dirt and mud and snow. Course that happened to most common folk too, but they tried to avoid it. The princess’s dress were meant for it, and yet it might see a washing or two before the thing was cast aside. It were a miserable practice to flaunt to those that were oft born and buried in the same clothes.
The guards opened the gate, and like the skirt collecting dirt, two guards followed behind us as we went out.
I counted in my head. I were used to moving fast and quick—it didn’t help to be a still target when you were a thief—and these ladies were slower than changing seasons. I took a step and counted, then took another.
“So,” Isabel said to me, “you must tell me how you know Eleanor.”
My mouth opened to question it when I realized who she were thinking of. “Of Aquitaine? You mean the queen?”
“Queen Mother,” she corrected. “Yes, of course.”
I made a fair unladylike sound that one of the women jumped at. “I never met her before yesterday.” I shrugged. “Well, she near run me down in a carriage the day before.”
“My dear, you are not well skilled at such games. You see, I know there is something between you two. Eleanor of Aquitaine approves of no one and she’s publicly lauded you. Beyond that, she requested to sit next to you at the joust.”
My fingers pressed light to the bruises on my face. “I fair think she only defended me, not approved overmuch,” I said. “And I can’t speak to the rest. If Eleanor has some sort of interest in me, I don’t know of it.”
She waved her hand. “Fine. Keep your secrets; I’ll discover them in time anyway.” She sniffed, raising her chin. “It was curious that my husband and I didn’t see you with Guy while he’s been at court,” Isabel said, her voice fair quiet, like she wanted it to be kept secret.
“Not so curious,” I said with a shrug.
“No? A dutiful wife should always travel with her husband.”
Were this where he got the notion? “I’m not the most dutiful of wives.”
She looked at me and her eyes caught on the bruises. “No,” she said, “but you are lucky. Guy is a fine gentleman.”
I frowned at her, but caught the disbelieving words that were like to fly out of my mouth. Like it or not, I told him I’d behave and I never liked to cross out a promise. “You must know him … better than most.”
She smiled. Beautiful girls shouldn’t smile half as much as they do; it weren’t nearly fair to the rest of us. “I do; I’ve known him since I was a child. He was always such a kind friend.”
My mouth twisted up to keep words in. Kind? Kind? “I watched him kill a child without any cause,” I said, my voice quiet and low, the proper words not hard to find when my blood ran hot. “An innocent child. Such a man can never be called kind.”
Her shoulders went back and her chin went up higher. “You may be married to him, but you don’t know him. And you have no right to judge. You glorify that thief Robin Hood, but he’s killed as well. You, a lady, I can well imagine has killed. A despicable thing. And yet, you don’t even pause to consider what a man Guy was before you ran from him, before he scoured the earth to hunt you down. You created his cruelty.”
“No,” I said, vicious and fast. “He had a black pall on his soul before ever I met him. I could feel it from the first. And Rob and I never harmed a living thing for profit or sport. You know nothing of this.”
“Scarlet!” someone yelled, and I turned. It were Ben Clarke, the oldest of Mistress Clarke’s three boys and Will’s older brother. He were tall and long, like someone had stretched him before his body knew to do it. He were standing before a stall in the beginning of the market lane, with armor plates and such.
“Morning, Ben,” I said with a smile, trying to cool my rushing blood. It were a strange thing, how much the use of my name soothed me.
The ladies behind me were tittering though, and it took me a long moment to remember that in London, the night girls were called scarlets.
“You look awful fine,” Ben said to me with a laugh. “Passing strange, but very fine.”
“Ain’t no way to compliment a lady,” I told him, smacking him up the head with a touch of effort for his height.
Isabel made a noise, and Ben looked past me, losing his color and bowing, then dropping his rear down to kneel. Then he thought better of his knees in the cold mud and sort of crouched.
“Lady Leaford,” Isabel called, not turning her head to me. She did crook a finger, though, and I took that as a summons. I stepped on the swatter’s foot as I went and stood beside Isabel.
“Your Highness,” I murmured.
“You shall be our guide,” she said. “Come. This is your city, is it not? I wish to see it.”
“It isn’t truly,” I denied, careful to say it straight.
“But you know it well. Don’t be difficult. Show me,” she said, meeting my eyes and still keeping her nose up. She weren’t hard to look at, that were sure. Her skin were pale and her eyes brown and dark lashed; she were a fair English rose.
My mouth went tight. “Yes, your Highness.”
We walked side by side down through the castle to the gate. I couldn’t help but watch her dress drag through the dirt and mud and snow. Course that happened to most common folk too, but they tried to avoid it. The princess’s dress were meant for it, and yet it might see a washing or two before the thing was cast aside. It were a miserable practice to flaunt to those that were oft born and buried in the same clothes.
The guards opened the gate, and like the skirt collecting dirt, two guards followed behind us as we went out.
I counted in my head. I were used to moving fast and quick—it didn’t help to be a still target when you were a thief—and these ladies were slower than changing seasons. I took a step and counted, then took another.
“So,” Isabel said to me, “you must tell me how you know Eleanor.”
My mouth opened to question it when I realized who she were thinking of. “Of Aquitaine? You mean the queen?”
“Queen Mother,” she corrected. “Yes, of course.”
I made a fair unladylike sound that one of the women jumped at. “I never met her before yesterday.” I shrugged. “Well, she near run me down in a carriage the day before.”
“My dear, you are not well skilled at such games. You see, I know there is something between you two. Eleanor of Aquitaine approves of no one and she’s publicly lauded you. Beyond that, she requested to sit next to you at the joust.”
My fingers pressed light to the bruises on my face. “I fair think she only defended me, not approved overmuch,” I said. “And I can’t speak to the rest. If Eleanor has some sort of interest in me, I don’t know of it.”
She waved her hand. “Fine. Keep your secrets; I’ll discover them in time anyway.” She sniffed, raising her chin. “It was curious that my husband and I didn’t see you with Guy while he’s been at court,” Isabel said, her voice fair quiet, like she wanted it to be kept secret.
“Not so curious,” I said with a shrug.
“No? A dutiful wife should always travel with her husband.”
Were this where he got the notion? “I’m not the most dutiful of wives.”
She looked at me and her eyes caught on the bruises. “No,” she said, “but you are lucky. Guy is a fine gentleman.”
I frowned at her, but caught the disbelieving words that were like to fly out of my mouth. Like it or not, I told him I’d behave and I never liked to cross out a promise. “You must know him … better than most.”
She smiled. Beautiful girls shouldn’t smile half as much as they do; it weren’t nearly fair to the rest of us. “I do; I’ve known him since I was a child. He was always such a kind friend.”
My mouth twisted up to keep words in. Kind? Kind? “I watched him kill a child without any cause,” I said, my voice quiet and low, the proper words not hard to find when my blood ran hot. “An innocent child. Such a man can never be called kind.”
Her shoulders went back and her chin went up higher. “You may be married to him, but you don’t know him. And you have no right to judge. You glorify that thief Robin Hood, but he’s killed as well. You, a lady, I can well imagine has killed. A despicable thing. And yet, you don’t even pause to consider what a man Guy was before you ran from him, before he scoured the earth to hunt you down. You created his cruelty.”
“No,” I said, vicious and fast. “He had a black pall on his soul before ever I met him. I could feel it from the first. And Rob and I never harmed a living thing for profit or sport. You know nothing of this.”
“Scarlet!” someone yelled, and I turned. It were Ben Clarke, the oldest of Mistress Clarke’s three boys and Will’s older brother. He were tall and long, like someone had stretched him before his body knew to do it. He were standing before a stall in the beginning of the market lane, with armor plates and such.
“Morning, Ben,” I said with a smile, trying to cool my rushing blood. It were a strange thing, how much the use of my name soothed me.
The ladies behind me were tittering though, and it took me a long moment to remember that in London, the night girls were called scarlets.
“You look awful fine,” Ben said to me with a laugh. “Passing strange, but very fine.”
“Ain’t no way to compliment a lady,” I told him, smacking him up the head with a touch of effort for his height.
Isabel made a noise, and Ben looked past me, losing his color and bowing, then dropping his rear down to kneel. Then he thought better of his knees in the cold mud and sort of crouched.
