Lion Heart
Page 20
I were sitting on a padded bench, in a dress—the ladies hadn’t had much on hand in the way of men’s clothing when we bathed—and facing the fire. Eleanor stood and sat beside me, but the opposite way, so our legs were pressed together but I were looking into flame and she were looking at the cold night of the English countryside.
“My girl,” she murmured. “You were fearsome today.”
I shut my eyes. “Yes.”
“I have been through battles, Marian.” I turned to her a bit, the profile of her white stone face bright. “I rode in the Second Crusade—did you know that?”
“I thought it were a story.”
“Was,” she corrected. She shook her head. “No. I rode. No one touched me, and I swung my sword and carved a path through men. Through flesh.” Her eyes shut. “It was gruesome, to say the least. The blood—I still carry that blood on me, some days.”
I looked at my hands, and they were bandaged, clean, and if anything, a little pink from scrubbing and pain. I’d washed off the blood of men’s lives.
“I wasn’t very good at it. It made it easy to never do it again. I was making a statement, trying to inspire our men. And I did—oh, I did. And I learned more about what sends men to war. What keeps them alive when they’re there.”
I knew she looked at me then, but I looked to the fire instead of her.
“They’re fighting for something. I’ve made a life of convincing them they’re fighting for me, but that’s rather beside the point. A fighting man will die without something to fight for.”
“And a woman?” I asked her.
She drew a slow breath. “Everyone needs something—someone—to fight for, Marian.”
I turned my eyes to her slow, and she met mine with a sad smile like she knew what I were about to say. “I’m not going to Ireland,” I told her soft.
She smoothed my hair back over my shoulder, nodding with a heavy sigh.
“There is no safety to be had,” I told her. “Death has walked this far with me as a shadow just behind me, and all I’ve ever had, chained in a dungeon or hiding in the forest, is my ability to fight. To never give up. To never let this awful world win. You told me to protect the things I love, Eleanor, and I will do that the only way I know how. In Nottingham, with Rob, with a knife in my hand. I will try to stay out of Prince John’s notice as long as I can manage, but he will find out I’m alive. And when he does, I will do everything I can to stop him.”
She nodded. “Then there are things you can do. You’re a noblewoman, now—not an earl in your own right, but you control an earldom. You’re one of the highest ladies in the land, and not so far below John himself. You must show the nobles that—and make them see that John’s retaliation can strike them as well.”
I frowned. “Eleanor, if I represent an earldom, I have dependents, don’t I? Vassals. People who are being asked to pay the tax. Who is collecting it from them? Was this land taken from someone else? Do they know?”
She glanced out the window. “It was taken from the Crown’s own coffers, my dear. It was one of the lands John oversaw.”
My eyes widened. “My father gave me Prince John’s toys to play with, and he didn’t think that would stir up trouble?”
“Nottingham,” she said, looking back at me. “He gave you Nottingham. You’re the Lady of Huntingdon now.”
A shiver ran over me. “Rob’s title,” I whispered.
She nodded.
My eyes shut and I shook my head. Rob had never betrayed that title; he had grown up as the heir to Huntingdon, and he’d returned from the Crusades to find his father dead and his title stolen from him, but he had ever acted as the earl. Protecting his people the way he were meant to. For me to have that title now—well, God had a very strange sense of humor. “You would have let me get to Ireland before I ever thought to read that paper.”
“Yes,” she said, unapologetically. “It complicates things.”
“Only if I leave,” I told her.
She gripped my hand. “This path—I cannot keep you safe, Marian.”
“I’ve never been safe,” I told her. “No sense in starting now.”
The next morning, I went walking about the grounds, at an utter loss with what to do with myself. I wanted to leave and ride hard for Nottingham, but I were injured and weak, and I didn’t want to leave until Eleanor were safe. So I meant to sleep and ended up walking, and I saw Margaret’s bright gown in the graveyard amidst all the gray stone and quiet.
I came up to her. She were sitting in front of a grave with a crumbling stone of a marker. “Friend of yours?” I asked.
She glanced up at me. She weren’t quite as young as I thought; maybe around my own age, just—sweeter. Newer, in some way. “Do you know who is buried here?” she asked.
It were fair clear I didn’t, since I just asked, so I sat beside her and waited for her to tell me.
“King Arthur and Guinevere,” she told me.
I frowned at the grave marker. “Shouldn’t it be more grand?”
She nodded. “Yes. It should. But they’ve been dead a very long time.”
“I wouldn’t have been buried with her,” I told her. “Guinevere was disloyal. With his best friend—the worst sort of disloyal. She buried him as sure as a knife, and took the whole of his kingdom down with her.”
“My girl,” she murmured. “You were fearsome today.”
I shut my eyes. “Yes.”
“I have been through battles, Marian.” I turned to her a bit, the profile of her white stone face bright. “I rode in the Second Crusade—did you know that?”
“I thought it were a story.”
“Was,” she corrected. She shook her head. “No. I rode. No one touched me, and I swung my sword and carved a path through men. Through flesh.” Her eyes shut. “It was gruesome, to say the least. The blood—I still carry that blood on me, some days.”
I looked at my hands, and they were bandaged, clean, and if anything, a little pink from scrubbing and pain. I’d washed off the blood of men’s lives.
“I wasn’t very good at it. It made it easy to never do it again. I was making a statement, trying to inspire our men. And I did—oh, I did. And I learned more about what sends men to war. What keeps them alive when they’re there.”
I knew she looked at me then, but I looked to the fire instead of her.
“They’re fighting for something. I’ve made a life of convincing them they’re fighting for me, but that’s rather beside the point. A fighting man will die without something to fight for.”
“And a woman?” I asked her.
She drew a slow breath. “Everyone needs something—someone—to fight for, Marian.”
I turned my eyes to her slow, and she met mine with a sad smile like she knew what I were about to say. “I’m not going to Ireland,” I told her soft.
She smoothed my hair back over my shoulder, nodding with a heavy sigh.
“There is no safety to be had,” I told her. “Death has walked this far with me as a shadow just behind me, and all I’ve ever had, chained in a dungeon or hiding in the forest, is my ability to fight. To never give up. To never let this awful world win. You told me to protect the things I love, Eleanor, and I will do that the only way I know how. In Nottingham, with Rob, with a knife in my hand. I will try to stay out of Prince John’s notice as long as I can manage, but he will find out I’m alive. And when he does, I will do everything I can to stop him.”
She nodded. “Then there are things you can do. You’re a noblewoman, now—not an earl in your own right, but you control an earldom. You’re one of the highest ladies in the land, and not so far below John himself. You must show the nobles that—and make them see that John’s retaliation can strike them as well.”
I frowned. “Eleanor, if I represent an earldom, I have dependents, don’t I? Vassals. People who are being asked to pay the tax. Who is collecting it from them? Was this land taken from someone else? Do they know?”
She glanced out the window. “It was taken from the Crown’s own coffers, my dear. It was one of the lands John oversaw.”
My eyes widened. “My father gave me Prince John’s toys to play with, and he didn’t think that would stir up trouble?”
“Nottingham,” she said, looking back at me. “He gave you Nottingham. You’re the Lady of Huntingdon now.”
A shiver ran over me. “Rob’s title,” I whispered.
She nodded.
My eyes shut and I shook my head. Rob had never betrayed that title; he had grown up as the heir to Huntingdon, and he’d returned from the Crusades to find his father dead and his title stolen from him, but he had ever acted as the earl. Protecting his people the way he were meant to. For me to have that title now—well, God had a very strange sense of humor. “You would have let me get to Ireland before I ever thought to read that paper.”
“Yes,” she said, unapologetically. “It complicates things.”
“Only if I leave,” I told her.
She gripped my hand. “This path—I cannot keep you safe, Marian.”
“I’ve never been safe,” I told her. “No sense in starting now.”
The next morning, I went walking about the grounds, at an utter loss with what to do with myself. I wanted to leave and ride hard for Nottingham, but I were injured and weak, and I didn’t want to leave until Eleanor were safe. So I meant to sleep and ended up walking, and I saw Margaret’s bright gown in the graveyard amidst all the gray stone and quiet.
I came up to her. She were sitting in front of a grave with a crumbling stone of a marker. “Friend of yours?” I asked.
She glanced up at me. She weren’t quite as young as I thought; maybe around my own age, just—sweeter. Newer, in some way. “Do you know who is buried here?” she asked.
It were fair clear I didn’t, since I just asked, so I sat beside her and waited for her to tell me.
“King Arthur and Guinevere,” she told me.
I frowned at the grave marker. “Shouldn’t it be more grand?”
She nodded. “Yes. It should. But they’ve been dead a very long time.”
“I wouldn’t have been buried with her,” I told her. “Guinevere was disloyal. With his best friend—the worst sort of disloyal. She buried him as sure as a knife, and took the whole of his kingdom down with her.”
