He flipped my hand over. “Stories aren’t about what’s true; what’s real and not real.”
His fingers trailed over mine, and mine chased after him, fingertips touching, kissing, breaking. “No?” I asked.
“No. Stories are told to make you feel something, and they can tell ours over and over again, and every time it will be something different.”
He drew a heart in my palm with his fingertip, and I looked at him.
He grinned. “Pay attention; Allan will be hurt if you miss it.”
In solid content together they lived,
With all their yeomen gay;
They lived by their hands, without any lands,
And so they did many a day.
But now to conclude, an end I will make
In time, as I think it good,
For the people that dwell in the North can tell
Of Marian and bold Robin Hood.
He finished with a great big flourish of music, and Rob’s hand slid full into mine. I looked at Rob, shy over my shoulder, and he were staring at me, drunk on me, leaning forward until our lips met.
All I could hear were the strange symphony of my breath and my heart and his heart until our lips parted, and then I could hear people clapping. I pulled away from him, frightened, but no one were cruel about it; they were smiling, laughing, clapping in a happy way, celebrating us.
Here. At court, where I’d only known games and claws and teeth.
I looked back at him. “I love you,” I whispered.
He nodded. “I love you too. And that’s the best chance we have,” he told me.
The clapping died down, and de Clare, sitting between Leicester and Margaret, cleared his throat.
“Surely, minstrel, your tale is taller than most,” he said.
Allan gave a fancy bow. “Nay, my lord, for the proof sits here with us.”
De Clare tapped his finger on the table. “Yes, the subjects of your story are here. But you failed to capture many things I’m sure the prince would be most upset about.”
“Please correct me, my lord, so I don’t make such a mistake in the future,” Allan said.
“You forgot the true hero of the story was the prince, triumphing over two fools who tested his patience and his generosity at every turn. They fought his knights, they stole his bread. The Lady Huntingdon even tried to kill him. You praise a traitor, minstrel.” De Clare twisted his cup on the table. “I cannot think that the prince will look kindly on such.”
“Lady Huntingdon is no traitor,” Margaret said to him.
“Forgive me; she was a traitor and is now a high-ranking lady instead,” de Clare said, taking her hand and squeezing hard enough that she winced. “Things change so quickly I can barely hope to keep up.”
“My wife is an uncommon thing,” Rob said, his deep voice rumbling. “Stalwart and brave in all things. It is the prince, and perhaps the law, that changes so swiftly, for she is like the evergreen forest, eternal and sure.”
De Clare chuckled. “The prince will be here soon, my lord,” de Clare told Rob, “and you’ll see how he feels about your wife. And you.” De Clare raised his cup to Allan. “You most of all, minstrel.”
“Come now, de Clare, it was a lovely song,” Lady Suffolk said.
“Yes,” Suffolk said, beside her. “But perhaps we ignored our best source of adventure. De Clare, please, tell us of the goings-on in the north.”
De Clare took a deep drink, enjoying the attention, and Rob’s hand wrapped warm around mine.
“I will say,” de Clare began, “that England has never been more resplendent, more proud and glorious. York was the first major city we went to, and the beauty we saw there—beyond compare.” He glanced round, taking in the warm smiles before going on. “The redheads, the blondes—Lord on high, I saw one bit of fun with the best—”
“Enough,” Isabel said.
De Clare laughed heartily.
“Quite enough,” Isabel repeated. “Or do you need to be removed from the table, de Clare?”
“With so lovely a dinner companion—” he started, pulling Margaret’s hand and trying to drag it to his mouth.
She pulled away with a gasp, and even her father glared.
“Don’t touch me,” he mocked. “Like you don’t enjoy a man’s hands on you.” He shrugged. “You’ll learn to like my touch soon enough, wife!” he crowed, drinking more wine.
“De Clare,” Leicester said, standing. “You’ve had enough for one night. Why don’t you absent yourself?”
De Clare got to his feet. He weren’t drunk at all, just an ill-mannered brute. “Very well, Father. I’m sure you know best.”
Leicester frowned. “Don’t mock the bonds of marriage,” Leicester said. “You will not refer to me as such until it’s true.”
De Clare laughed and turned back to Margaret. He leaned over her chair and took her chin, kissing her full on the mouth.
Leicester’s scowl burned red.
De Clare let her go, and quit the hall.
Chapter 30
Winchester returned, roaming the palace like a moody beast. Rob tried to keep him out of doors as much as he could.
Allan spent much of his time in London. He wouldn’t tell me for sure that Kate agreed to our plot, only that he knew she would come through when we needed her. It weren’t reassuring, and the days were passing faster.
We received word that Eleanor and her party would arrive by nightfall five days after Leicester. No one had heard when Prince John would come, but I could feel him drawing close like a gathering storm.
His fingers trailed over mine, and mine chased after him, fingertips touching, kissing, breaking. “No?” I asked.
“No. Stories are told to make you feel something, and they can tell ours over and over again, and every time it will be something different.”
He drew a heart in my palm with his fingertip, and I looked at him.
He grinned. “Pay attention; Allan will be hurt if you miss it.”
In solid content together they lived,
With all their yeomen gay;
They lived by their hands, without any lands,
And so they did many a day.
But now to conclude, an end I will make
In time, as I think it good,
For the people that dwell in the North can tell
Of Marian and bold Robin Hood.
He finished with a great big flourish of music, and Rob’s hand slid full into mine. I looked at Rob, shy over my shoulder, and he were staring at me, drunk on me, leaning forward until our lips met.
All I could hear were the strange symphony of my breath and my heart and his heart until our lips parted, and then I could hear people clapping. I pulled away from him, frightened, but no one were cruel about it; they were smiling, laughing, clapping in a happy way, celebrating us.
Here. At court, where I’d only known games and claws and teeth.
I looked back at him. “I love you,” I whispered.
He nodded. “I love you too. And that’s the best chance we have,” he told me.
The clapping died down, and de Clare, sitting between Leicester and Margaret, cleared his throat.
“Surely, minstrel, your tale is taller than most,” he said.
Allan gave a fancy bow. “Nay, my lord, for the proof sits here with us.”
De Clare tapped his finger on the table. “Yes, the subjects of your story are here. But you failed to capture many things I’m sure the prince would be most upset about.”
“Please correct me, my lord, so I don’t make such a mistake in the future,” Allan said.
“You forgot the true hero of the story was the prince, triumphing over two fools who tested his patience and his generosity at every turn. They fought his knights, they stole his bread. The Lady Huntingdon even tried to kill him. You praise a traitor, minstrel.” De Clare twisted his cup on the table. “I cannot think that the prince will look kindly on such.”
“Lady Huntingdon is no traitor,” Margaret said to him.
“Forgive me; she was a traitor and is now a high-ranking lady instead,” de Clare said, taking her hand and squeezing hard enough that she winced. “Things change so quickly I can barely hope to keep up.”
“My wife is an uncommon thing,” Rob said, his deep voice rumbling. “Stalwart and brave in all things. It is the prince, and perhaps the law, that changes so swiftly, for she is like the evergreen forest, eternal and sure.”
De Clare chuckled. “The prince will be here soon, my lord,” de Clare told Rob, “and you’ll see how he feels about your wife. And you.” De Clare raised his cup to Allan. “You most of all, minstrel.”
“Come now, de Clare, it was a lovely song,” Lady Suffolk said.
“Yes,” Suffolk said, beside her. “But perhaps we ignored our best source of adventure. De Clare, please, tell us of the goings-on in the north.”
De Clare took a deep drink, enjoying the attention, and Rob’s hand wrapped warm around mine.
“I will say,” de Clare began, “that England has never been more resplendent, more proud and glorious. York was the first major city we went to, and the beauty we saw there—beyond compare.” He glanced round, taking in the warm smiles before going on. “The redheads, the blondes—Lord on high, I saw one bit of fun with the best—”
“Enough,” Isabel said.
De Clare laughed heartily.
“Quite enough,” Isabel repeated. “Or do you need to be removed from the table, de Clare?”
“With so lovely a dinner companion—” he started, pulling Margaret’s hand and trying to drag it to his mouth.
She pulled away with a gasp, and even her father glared.
“Don’t touch me,” he mocked. “Like you don’t enjoy a man’s hands on you.” He shrugged. “You’ll learn to like my touch soon enough, wife!” he crowed, drinking more wine.
“De Clare,” Leicester said, standing. “You’ve had enough for one night. Why don’t you absent yourself?”
De Clare got to his feet. He weren’t drunk at all, just an ill-mannered brute. “Very well, Father. I’m sure you know best.”
Leicester frowned. “Don’t mock the bonds of marriage,” Leicester said. “You will not refer to me as such until it’s true.”
De Clare laughed and turned back to Margaret. He leaned over her chair and took her chin, kissing her full on the mouth.
Leicester’s scowl burned red.
De Clare let her go, and quit the hall.
Chapter 30
Winchester returned, roaming the palace like a moody beast. Rob tried to keep him out of doors as much as he could.
Allan spent much of his time in London. He wouldn’t tell me for sure that Kate agreed to our plot, only that he knew she would come through when we needed her. It weren’t reassuring, and the days were passing faster.
We received word that Eleanor and her party would arrive by nightfall five days after Leicester. No one had heard when Prince John would come, but I could feel him drawing close like a gathering storm.
