He slept the night through.
I looked at Rob, tempted to slide back into the bed with him, warm on warm, skin on skin. He stirred, and stretched, and looked at me where I stood with his sleepy eyes looking half drunk as he looked at me. It made heat rush over my skin, and I sat on the edge of the bed.
He half rolled over, his arm catching my waist as he beckoned me down to kiss him. I did, shy and soft.
After a moment that felt like a slow, dizzy whirl against his mouth, he broke the kiss, stroking my cheek. “Go get annulled,” he told me. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I frowned, tempted. “No. I imagine he wouldn’t take to that well.”
“Well, by all means, let’s keep him happy and kick him out after,” he said. He smiled then, like something just came to mind. “I love you,” he told me.
I smiled, desperate to keep tears out of my eyes. “I love you too.”
“Good. Get on with it; let’s make you an honest woman for once.” He rolled back in the bed, grinning at me.
I stood, smiling at him over my shoulder. “I ain’t never going to be honest, Robin Hood.”
He laughed out loud. “Have I ever told you you’re a terrible liar? Truly. You’re awful. Thief I’ll never argue with, but liar?”
I were shocked. “I kept enough secrets from you, didn’t I?”
He shrugged. “Not saying things and lying about them are very different.”
Shaking my head, I couldn’t help but laugh. “That weren’t what you said when you first found out.”
“Get on,” he told me, smiling.
“Yes, Sheriff,” I told him with a curtsy. He laughed at me as he lay in the bed, and I stood in the door a moment, remembering him. Every bit of him. Committing it all to memory where it wouldn’t never be taken from me, wouldn’t never tarnish or fade.
I went quick to the chapel. The castle priest were there, the very man what wed me, preparing for the morning mass, and he stopped. “My lady Leaford?” he questioned.
Genuflecting before the altar, I crossed myself and looked up at him. “Father, will you counsel me?”
“Of course, child.”
He came from the altar down to the pews, seating me in one and sitting beside me. I sucked in a deep breath, and he covered my hands. I nodded once, but the words didn’t come.
“What troubles you, child?”
“My marriage,” I told him. “My husband.”
His hand touched my cheek, looking on the bruises. “He treats you ill.”
“No. Well, yes, but that isn’t why I came to you.”
“No?”
“My husband had much to gain by our marriage. He were elevated, and he gained my lands and my tenants. He has mistreated me, he has threatened to mistreat those dependent on our land, and he has not performed his duty as a husband.”
“Duty?” he asked. “You mean, in all this time, he has not consummated the marriage?”
I shook my head slow. “Do I have any recourse in the eyes of the Church?” I asked.
He drew a breath. “The most solemn duty of a husband and wife is to bear fruit,” he said. “If he finds himself incapable, you can both petition the Church to have your marriage dissolved.”
“He will never agree to it. The marriage is wholly to his advantage,” I said.
He nodded slow. “It is possible, but unlikely. An archbishop would be able to do such, but they tend to be persuaded by none but the highest nobility.”
If you embrace who you are, you might find a great many tools at your disposal.
Eleanor’s words flooded back to me as relief broke like a wave in my chest, and I found myself leaking tears in the chapel for the second time in far too few days.
“Oh, my dear,” the priest said, pulling me into his arms. “I’m so sorry. But God will never abandon you to your darkest hour,” he told me soft.
I weren’t able to tell him that I were thrilled, not heartbroken, so I cried in his arms as the sun climbed higher, pouring in through the stained glass windows, casting the place in shimmering red light.
A princess of England could sway an archbishop. I were the daughter of the Lionheart, the granddaughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine, and if all that stood between Rob and me were learning to speak a bit better and looking the part of a lady, I would learn whatever I had to.
Marian had her future taken from her by the will of others—the Leafords, Gisbourne, even Prince John. And Scarlet were locked in Sherwood, unable to be with Rob, unable to have a future at all. But I could become more than a silly lady or a lowly thief—I would be a princess of England, and I would use it to steal back the right to my own heart.
I went slow to my chambers, steeling my will. When I rounded the corner there I saw two guards in the earl’s colors.
“Milady,” they greeted.
“Gentlemen.”
Standing before the door, I stared at it many long moments. It didn’t change what was on the other side of it, waiting for me. I crossed myself, and I prayed. That my bravery would hold through the coming storm. I had my hope; I would be every inch the noble lady I needed to be if it meant thwarting him. And I would dispatch the sheriff—my sheriff—to protect the Leaford lands from Gisbourne if I needed to. He wouldn’t win. I would never let him.
“He’s not in, my lady,” one guard said gentle.
“What?”
“He left last night and he hasn’t returned.”
I looked at Rob, tempted to slide back into the bed with him, warm on warm, skin on skin. He stirred, and stretched, and looked at me where I stood with his sleepy eyes looking half drunk as he looked at me. It made heat rush over my skin, and I sat on the edge of the bed.
He half rolled over, his arm catching my waist as he beckoned me down to kiss him. I did, shy and soft.
After a moment that felt like a slow, dizzy whirl against his mouth, he broke the kiss, stroking my cheek. “Go get annulled,” he told me. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I frowned, tempted. “No. I imagine he wouldn’t take to that well.”
“Well, by all means, let’s keep him happy and kick him out after,” he said. He smiled then, like something just came to mind. “I love you,” he told me.
I smiled, desperate to keep tears out of my eyes. “I love you too.”
“Good. Get on with it; let’s make you an honest woman for once.” He rolled back in the bed, grinning at me.
I stood, smiling at him over my shoulder. “I ain’t never going to be honest, Robin Hood.”
He laughed out loud. “Have I ever told you you’re a terrible liar? Truly. You’re awful. Thief I’ll never argue with, but liar?”
I were shocked. “I kept enough secrets from you, didn’t I?”
He shrugged. “Not saying things and lying about them are very different.”
Shaking my head, I couldn’t help but laugh. “That weren’t what you said when you first found out.”
“Get on,” he told me, smiling.
“Yes, Sheriff,” I told him with a curtsy. He laughed at me as he lay in the bed, and I stood in the door a moment, remembering him. Every bit of him. Committing it all to memory where it wouldn’t never be taken from me, wouldn’t never tarnish or fade.
I went quick to the chapel. The castle priest were there, the very man what wed me, preparing for the morning mass, and he stopped. “My lady Leaford?” he questioned.
Genuflecting before the altar, I crossed myself and looked up at him. “Father, will you counsel me?”
“Of course, child.”
He came from the altar down to the pews, seating me in one and sitting beside me. I sucked in a deep breath, and he covered my hands. I nodded once, but the words didn’t come.
“What troubles you, child?”
“My marriage,” I told him. “My husband.”
His hand touched my cheek, looking on the bruises. “He treats you ill.”
“No. Well, yes, but that isn’t why I came to you.”
“No?”
“My husband had much to gain by our marriage. He were elevated, and he gained my lands and my tenants. He has mistreated me, he has threatened to mistreat those dependent on our land, and he has not performed his duty as a husband.”
“Duty?” he asked. “You mean, in all this time, he has not consummated the marriage?”
I shook my head slow. “Do I have any recourse in the eyes of the Church?” I asked.
He drew a breath. “The most solemn duty of a husband and wife is to bear fruit,” he said. “If he finds himself incapable, you can both petition the Church to have your marriage dissolved.”
“He will never agree to it. The marriage is wholly to his advantage,” I said.
He nodded slow. “It is possible, but unlikely. An archbishop would be able to do such, but they tend to be persuaded by none but the highest nobility.”
If you embrace who you are, you might find a great many tools at your disposal.
Eleanor’s words flooded back to me as relief broke like a wave in my chest, and I found myself leaking tears in the chapel for the second time in far too few days.
“Oh, my dear,” the priest said, pulling me into his arms. “I’m so sorry. But God will never abandon you to your darkest hour,” he told me soft.
I weren’t able to tell him that I were thrilled, not heartbroken, so I cried in his arms as the sun climbed higher, pouring in through the stained glass windows, casting the place in shimmering red light.
A princess of England could sway an archbishop. I were the daughter of the Lionheart, the granddaughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine, and if all that stood between Rob and me were learning to speak a bit better and looking the part of a lady, I would learn whatever I had to.
Marian had her future taken from her by the will of others—the Leafords, Gisbourne, even Prince John. And Scarlet were locked in Sherwood, unable to be with Rob, unable to have a future at all. But I could become more than a silly lady or a lowly thief—I would be a princess of England, and I would use it to steal back the right to my own heart.
I went slow to my chambers, steeling my will. When I rounded the corner there I saw two guards in the earl’s colors.
“Milady,” they greeted.
“Gentlemen.”
Standing before the door, I stared at it many long moments. It didn’t change what was on the other side of it, waiting for me. I crossed myself, and I prayed. That my bravery would hold through the coming storm. I had my hope; I would be every inch the noble lady I needed to be if it meant thwarting him. And I would dispatch the sheriff—my sheriff—to protect the Leaford lands from Gisbourne if I needed to. He wouldn’t win. I would never let him.
“He’s not in, my lady,” one guard said gentle.
“What?”
“He left last night and he hasn’t returned.”
