Lady Thief
Page 31
“Scar—” Much said soft, touching my arm.
“Scar,” John grunted, raising his chin. I looked past Much and frowned.
“I don’t think Gisbourne would appreciate his wife mixing with the common element,” de Clare said, walking close, his armor clattering and making me jump, though it looked fair foolish on him. “It doesn’t look good for a man of his, well, uncertain stature.” De Clare were inches away, and with my back against the fence the space felt oversmall.
I slid my sore hand behind me, keeping it from him, but even though every muscled bit of me were screaming to step away from him, I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t never run from a bully.
“His wife’s fair common herself,” I said. “And between the two of us, you’re the only one looking foolish.”
De Clare’s lip curled. “You brazen little animal—” he started, but John laughed. John were leaning on the fence with me and Much, looking easy enough, but his jaw were bunched with muscle and his neck looked like a sailor’s rig with all the lines running to and fro. “Something amuses you?” de Clare asked John.
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” John said with a dash of his head. “By all means, keep talking. I would dearly love to see your face when you see how I—and all these menfolk behind me—take to you insulting her.”
De Clare smiled at John. “Yes, I’m sure you’re quite interesting to tangle with.” He sneered. “Quite the brawler. Don’t worry, you lowborn churl, she may be safe out here with your kind of rabble. But I can find her in the castle, alone, vulnerable. I can do whatever I want to her, and you won’t—”
He stopped yapping, most because there were John’s fist crashing into his mug—the one bit of him that weren’t covered in shiny metal. And, like a toy, he spun a mite bit and fell back, dropping onto the ground.
“John, go,” I told him as everyone began to look over. “Well put, but go.”
He smiled and grabbed Much, and the townfolk stood and covered them as they went. The nobles were all looking over and staring at me.
“Marian?” someone said, and it took a breath to realize it were meant for me. I turned and Gisbourne were there, in only a bright chestplate, his black hair wild and wet. He reached over the fence and pulled me to him, and even with a giant beam between us, it were surprisingly close in a way I didn’t much like. “Did he touch you again?” he snarled.
“Why, he threatened her life!” someone said. “Her life and all her future progeny! Awful!”
I turned to the voice and saw Allan there, looking overbright in a red cape. I frowned at him.
“And one of the townsfolk stood up for her, he did. The beloved jewel of Nottinghamshire. Never fear, my lord Leaford, for no true harm would come to her while these good people can prevent it.”
Gisbourne glowered at him. “You sound Irish, minstrel.”
He gave an elaborate bow. “Well spotted, my lord Leaford.”
“Then how have you any idea what these people will do?”
Allan sprang up, unruffled. “Tis clear, my lord. Your wife—and for certain yourself, by your nearness to her—is adored by these people.” He bowed again.
Gisbourne grunted an oath under his breath. Other men were helping de Clare up, and he were muttering without making much sense. Gisbourne shook his head and ducked under the fencing.
“What are you doing?” I breathed, stepping back from him.
Muscles in his jaw rolled like wagon wheels, and he stepped forward, taking my arm. “Come, Marian. I’ll see you back to the dais.”
“Gisbourne,” Winchester called, coming from the noble’s side. “You’re up in the lists. I’ll escort your wife, if you wish.”
Gisbourne swept down his head so beads of sweat flew off. “Your Grace.”
Winchester ducked under the fence. He had no armor on, and his arm were warm as it held mine. “Not tilting today, your Grace?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I have all the favor, money, and glory I require. I don’t see the point in it. Besides, then how could I rescue young ladies?”
I looked back at de Clare, who had just bare found his feet. “Who or what were you rescuing me from?”
“A treacherous walk back to the dais, clearly. And myself, from boredom. I did so enjoy seeing de Clare flat on his back. Your friend has excellent aim.”
“You have no idea,” I told him. “It is fair strange that I’ve found myself unable to do my own defending.”
“You have a broken hand,” he told me. “And yet I’m sure, without so many men eager to prove themselves around you, that knife you have along the small of your back would have been marvelously well employed. Your seat, my lady.”
We had reached the dais and my empty chair. He held my hand until I were settled into it, and I stared up at him, fair shocked.
He bowed over my hand. “My lady. Your Highness,” he said, and I turned.
Eleanor inclined her regal head to him. “Winchester.”
Winchester left, and I drew a breath. I didn’t much know what to say to a queen.
“You have many friends,” she noted. “It seems they are a more common equivalent of my loyal knights.”
Looking at Isabel’s seat, I sighed. “I reckon I have more enemies than would-be knights.”
“You know,” the queen said, her voice thoughtful and quiet. I went fair still, listening. “When I was made Louis’ wife and queen of France at fifteen, my husband’s court thought me … wild,” she said slow. “I spoke my mind, and I loved to dance more than they thought entirely appropriate. They called me such names.” Her cool, austere face curved with a regal smile. “I won them over, in time. They shouted my name and threw roses at my feet.”
“Scar,” John grunted, raising his chin. I looked past Much and frowned.
“I don’t think Gisbourne would appreciate his wife mixing with the common element,” de Clare said, walking close, his armor clattering and making me jump, though it looked fair foolish on him. “It doesn’t look good for a man of his, well, uncertain stature.” De Clare were inches away, and with my back against the fence the space felt oversmall.
I slid my sore hand behind me, keeping it from him, but even though every muscled bit of me were screaming to step away from him, I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t never run from a bully.
“His wife’s fair common herself,” I said. “And between the two of us, you’re the only one looking foolish.”
De Clare’s lip curled. “You brazen little animal—” he started, but John laughed. John were leaning on the fence with me and Much, looking easy enough, but his jaw were bunched with muscle and his neck looked like a sailor’s rig with all the lines running to and fro. “Something amuses you?” de Clare asked John.
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” John said with a dash of his head. “By all means, keep talking. I would dearly love to see your face when you see how I—and all these menfolk behind me—take to you insulting her.”
De Clare smiled at John. “Yes, I’m sure you’re quite interesting to tangle with.” He sneered. “Quite the brawler. Don’t worry, you lowborn churl, she may be safe out here with your kind of rabble. But I can find her in the castle, alone, vulnerable. I can do whatever I want to her, and you won’t—”
He stopped yapping, most because there were John’s fist crashing into his mug—the one bit of him that weren’t covered in shiny metal. And, like a toy, he spun a mite bit and fell back, dropping onto the ground.
“John, go,” I told him as everyone began to look over. “Well put, but go.”
He smiled and grabbed Much, and the townfolk stood and covered them as they went. The nobles were all looking over and staring at me.
“Marian?” someone said, and it took a breath to realize it were meant for me. I turned and Gisbourne were there, in only a bright chestplate, his black hair wild and wet. He reached over the fence and pulled me to him, and even with a giant beam between us, it were surprisingly close in a way I didn’t much like. “Did he touch you again?” he snarled.
“Why, he threatened her life!” someone said. “Her life and all her future progeny! Awful!”
I turned to the voice and saw Allan there, looking overbright in a red cape. I frowned at him.
“And one of the townsfolk stood up for her, he did. The beloved jewel of Nottinghamshire. Never fear, my lord Leaford, for no true harm would come to her while these good people can prevent it.”
Gisbourne glowered at him. “You sound Irish, minstrel.”
He gave an elaborate bow. “Well spotted, my lord Leaford.”
“Then how have you any idea what these people will do?”
Allan sprang up, unruffled. “Tis clear, my lord. Your wife—and for certain yourself, by your nearness to her—is adored by these people.” He bowed again.
Gisbourne grunted an oath under his breath. Other men were helping de Clare up, and he were muttering without making much sense. Gisbourne shook his head and ducked under the fencing.
“What are you doing?” I breathed, stepping back from him.
Muscles in his jaw rolled like wagon wheels, and he stepped forward, taking my arm. “Come, Marian. I’ll see you back to the dais.”
“Gisbourne,” Winchester called, coming from the noble’s side. “You’re up in the lists. I’ll escort your wife, if you wish.”
Gisbourne swept down his head so beads of sweat flew off. “Your Grace.”
Winchester ducked under the fence. He had no armor on, and his arm were warm as it held mine. “Not tilting today, your Grace?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I have all the favor, money, and glory I require. I don’t see the point in it. Besides, then how could I rescue young ladies?”
I looked back at de Clare, who had just bare found his feet. “Who or what were you rescuing me from?”
“A treacherous walk back to the dais, clearly. And myself, from boredom. I did so enjoy seeing de Clare flat on his back. Your friend has excellent aim.”
“You have no idea,” I told him. “It is fair strange that I’ve found myself unable to do my own defending.”
“You have a broken hand,” he told me. “And yet I’m sure, without so many men eager to prove themselves around you, that knife you have along the small of your back would have been marvelously well employed. Your seat, my lady.”
We had reached the dais and my empty chair. He held my hand until I were settled into it, and I stared up at him, fair shocked.
He bowed over my hand. “My lady. Your Highness,” he said, and I turned.
Eleanor inclined her regal head to him. “Winchester.”
Winchester left, and I drew a breath. I didn’t much know what to say to a queen.
“You have many friends,” she noted. “It seems they are a more common equivalent of my loyal knights.”
Looking at Isabel’s seat, I sighed. “I reckon I have more enemies than would-be knights.”
“You know,” the queen said, her voice thoughtful and quiet. I went fair still, listening. “When I was made Louis’ wife and queen of France at fifteen, my husband’s court thought me … wild,” she said slow. “I spoke my mind, and I loved to dance more than they thought entirely appropriate. They called me such names.” Her cool, austere face curved with a regal smile. “I won them over, in time. They shouted my name and threw roses at my feet.”
