Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

Hanging was a common enough activity, and regardless of where or who the criminal was, crowds turned out to watch. But there was a different feel to this crowd . . . an unsettled one . . . that made her want to stop and see more.

“Do you know about this?” Marian asked Bruse.

He nodded, his face grave. The man had reached past forty summers, yet his eyes still shone clear and gray. He was also one of the strongest men she knew, and amusing as well. But at this time there was no hint of humor in his expression. “See you that the woman has been beaten?”

“Well and truly, it appears,” Marian said, wincing inwardly at the pain she must have endured. They’d stopped their horses near the edge of the crowd and were watching the proceedings.

“Aye, and ’twas from a man who wanted more than the cloth she weaves. He was her betrothed husband. He took her off behind the apple orchard and forced himself on her. Then he used his fists and a knife to mark her, and she managed to get his dagger. While trying to escape, she struck him in the neck.”

“And so her crime is murder?” Marian asked.

“Aye. She’ll hang for murder.” Bruse looked at her, and she read the bleakness in his eyes. “If my daughter were set upon by such a man, I would cry delight if she sliced him open. This was not the first time he did this to her, and ’tis a fact that he planned to wed her and did not wish to wait for the priest’s blessing. But the sheriff has no mercy and she’s to be hung. He’ll tolerate no breaking of the law in Nottinghamshire.”

So in the stead of living a life of beatings and rapes, the woman defended herself and killed her assailant while doing so. The sheriff cried murder and would make her an example.

Marian felt ill when she realized the man who’d only last night made her quiver and cry with pleasure would raise his powerful hand and end the poor woman’s life. If she’d thought he might have any mercy, her belief in that possibility was now gone.

Were these the sorts of things-destroying property, hanging abused women-Will did every day? Was this how he went about his business?

Disgusted and horror-struck, she wheeled her horse and started back to the keep. She could not watch such a travesty, for she knew naught would veer William de Wendeval’s black heart from its purpose.

The only thing that kept her from hating him more than Prince John at that moment was the fact that he conducted his foul affairs openly, rather than slyly behind closed doors. At the least he was honest about who he was.

CHAPTER 11

W ill watched Marian ride away, then turned back to the crowd.

The horde was angry, but of course it was a fury that simmered beneath the surface. Someday it might rise to the top and spill over into a force to be reckoned with. He didn’t wish to be there when that time came, for ’twould be bloody and violent.

He already sensed a sort of independence growing among the barons, which had begun to churn mightily after Richard’s appalling choice of Longchamp for justiciar and chancellor. John’s love for England and lust for power had resulted in some good when he and the barons united to run the despicable man out of the country.

Having seen how easily the barons allied themselves when faced with such a vast problem, Will knew that the day they required their king and liege to give them more authority and equality was not so far off-mayhap even closer than Richard and his current heir, John, realized. ’Twas possible that one of them would need to negotiate with their vassals, and relinquish some of their absolute control, before the reign of the Plantagenets was over.

But here in Ludlow Village, the villeins and freemen had even less power and influence than their overlords, and had no choice but to accept the decisions inflicted upon them. Including this one, in which Will had chosen to obey the law down to the letters in which it was written.

Ella Weaver was a favorite in the village, and although their world was already one of simplicity and violence, the bruises on her face and the deep cuts on her body had horrified men and women alike. In truth, the sight of her battered face and what little he’d seen of her other wounds had moved him more than he would have liked to admit.

Yet, she had killed a man. And as per the law, a woman was beholden to any man who owned her-from her husband to her father, to her liege lord. This man had been her intended husband, and therefore had claim on her thus. She could be beaten, raped, or otherwise punished if necessary to keep her in line. Even if she was killed in the course of such discipline, the law hardly noticed.

And if she retaliated, she must be punished. It was the law.

And Will, above all, was beholden to the law.

He glanced up and noted how far across the sky the sun had moved, and gritted his teeth. He’d delayed as long as he could. If Robin Hood did not act soon, Ella Weaver would hang by her slender, bruised neck.

Taking his time, Will stood, clasping his hands behind his back. He walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down over the crowd. Anger shone in the faces he saw there, overt in some, subtle in others. Once again, he had made an unpopular decision that blackened his character further in the eyes of the village and his peers.

And it mattered not. None of them had any choice in the matter. It was the way of the world. Duty. Honor. Fealty.

Just as he raised his hand to gesture for the hood to be placed over Ella’s head, an arrow whizzed through the air. Just missing his fingers.

The crowd responded with gasps and undercurrents of joy, and Will turned to look, slowly lowering the hand that had nearly been skewered. By God’s teeth, the outlaw was an insolent bastard. There were moments when he’d as lief toss Locksley in the gaol for his impertinence as much as for his crimes.

Or, better yet, strip down to naught but his braies and pummel the snot out of the man.

But now the buzz of the crowd had risen, and Will could do naught but watch as his men were held at arrow point as Robin Hood swooped in to save the day. Feeding the legend, Robin of Locksley pirouetted onstage, bowing to the delight of the crowd and then turning to do the same to the young woman. Then he swung the smiling Ella Weaver over his shoulder and leapt off the dais onto a waiting horse and galloped off down the street, kicking up dust and leaving the roar of approval in his wake.

Will just stood there, appearing ineffective and stymied by the outlaw.

“Mayhap a stroll along the parapet, my lady?” asked Sir Roderick. “The moon is full and fat this evening.”

Marian glanced at the high table. The meal had ended some time ago, but the entertainment provided by a troupe of tumbling acrobats had kept the diners amused after the trenchers and platters had been taken away. But the high table was now empty, and John and his companions were nowhere in sight. Only a few remained at the lower tables, mingling with the hounds that skulked about for their meals and the serfs clearing away the last bit of remains.

A reprieve tonight, perhaps. Especially if she was to disappear for a time, walking in the moonlight with Sir Roderick, where no one would think to look for her.

“I should find a walk most enjoyable,” she said, slipping her fingers around his arm. The sooner she disappeared from the hall, the better.

“Then let us go.” He turned, but stopped just as suddenly, for their path between the tables was blocked.

Marian looked up into the expressionless eyes of the sheriff. Her heart sank and she squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. But when she opened them, he was still there. Implacable and clearly in poor humor.

“Lady Marian’s presence is required elsewhere,” Will said. Though his countenance was unemotional as usual, she recognized a deep weariness in his demeanor. He held himself stiffly, as though unwilling to trust himself to unbend for fear he’d show a trace of weakness. His cheeks were hollow, his mouth was tight and controlled, and the lines radiating from the corners of his eyes were deeper than she recalled.

Sir Roderick looked down at her, and Marian hesitated. He must have felt her fingers tense around his, and from the expression on his face, she knew he would intervene if she indicated unwillingness. But before she could speak, Will reached forward and took her arm, smoothly and quickly, and the next thing she knew, she stood next to Will instead of Roderick.

“Do not make trouble for the lady,” he said to Roderick . . . but it was Marian on whom his glare settled. She read the meaning there: he was warning her not to put Roderick in a position that would cause problems for the knight.

“Nay, sir,” she said lightly, looking at her would-be escort. “I am simply a bubblehead and had forgotten my other responsibilities.” She couldn’t help a bit of bitterness in that last word.

Before Roderick could speak or even excuse her from leaving, Will turned and maneuvered Marian along with him. She had no choice but to follow, for any scene she might make would simply end poorly for anyone who intervened.

And her fate would still be the same.

Yet, fury boiled up inside her as the sheriff directed her with sharp, rough movements through the hall. Could she not have one night of peace? Could she not have one night away from the pawing hands of the prince?

And her loathing of Will himself bubbled to the surface. She yanked her arm away from the fingers that gripped it and paused near the back of the hall. “What a glorious day you’ve had, sirrah. Burning the village, hanging a poor woman . . . and now on to the carnal pleasures that await you abovestairs. How amusing it must be for you to take such advantage of those weaker than yourself.”

Then she pressed a finger to her chin in a pretense of sudden comprehension. “Ah, but not everything went as planned, did it? Robin Hood, hero of the poor, saved that unfortunate woman while you could do naught but grind your teeth. And now you intend to drag me abovestairs to take your fury out on an unwilling woman of your own.”

His face grew even stonier. Blanker. Except for his eyes. They pierced her with silent rage, so dark they appeared completely black. She felt him shift, and knew he balled his fist, ready to silence her with the same violence he used against his underlings.

But she did not cease. Her emotions-exhaustion, loathing, fear-boiled over, spilling forth in words as sharp and cutting as his stare. She did not care if he struck her. Mayhap then she would be too damaged to attend the prince.

“And if I were to raise a hand to defend myself, you’d black hood me and raise me on the dais with a rope necklet about my throat as well, would you not? An evil, vile creature you’ve become, William de Wendeval. My father would suffer greatly if he knew how repugnant his ward had become.”

His hand flashed out and she nearly recoiled, but the wall was behind her, and instead of raising a fist to her face, he merely snatched up her arm once again. She felt the vibration of his rage in the fingers that closed over her, but he said nothing, merely directed her forcefully from the hall.

Her heart beating harder, she tried to pull free, suddenly sure he would kill her. She struggled and kicked, trying to wrench her arm away.

“Cease,” he spit, “or, by God, Marian, I’ll wrap my hands around your neck and stop you myself.”

She realized then that he was directing her not to the stairs leading to John’s chambers but to the ones that led to her own. Now her palms grew damp and her heart raced, but for a different fear.

Up the stairs he propelled her none too gently, and every glimpse of his face sent a new frisson of fear down her spine. She’d pushed him too far. She’d seen how tense and taut he was in the hall. He had plenty of cause to retaliate, and no reason to hold back.

At her chamber, he shoved the door open, sending Ethelberga scuttling from the anteroom without a command from him. He released Marian with a little shove and stalked into the rear chamber, leaving her to look after him with shaking and weak knees. Moments later he reemerged and walked past her in an angry swish.

At the door to the hallway, he turned, his mouth pressed tightly and his eyes angry. “You won’t be bothered any further this evening-at the least, not by me. The prince has declined your presence this evening. Rest well this night, my lady, for you will need your strength on the morrow.”

He closed the door behind him and she heard his heavy footfalls fade into silence.

Moments later, she heard the door open again and Ethelberga walked in. “He has placed a watch outside the door, my lady,” she said, her eyes wide.

And so he would ensure that she was bothered by no one this night.

He’d granted her a reprieve.

Marian slept poorly, but she did sleep.

She cared not to revisit the dreams that had haunted her slumber when at last she opened her eyes and found the sun streaming through the window slit. Instead, she tucked away the tendrils of images that had again left her body feeling skittish and yet expectant and called for Ethelberga.

After helping her mistress dress, the maid arranged her hair in two fat braids and twisted them into intricate coils over each ear while Marian chewed on a few mint leaves and some cloves.

When she entered the great hall to break her fast, she found the other ladies buzzing with news. A quick glance at the empty high table told Marian that John either had chosen to break his own fast elsewhere or had come and gone.

She was glad she did not have to face Will this morning. Yesterday had left her unsettled and discomfited, and he’d been a prominent part of last night’s dreams.

“Have you been invited, Marian?” Lady Joanna asked, her eyes bright with glee. “I have, and Catherine and Pauletta too. Poor Alys has not, but mayhap ’tis because she is a ward of the queen and not the Crown. He dare not overstep his mother.”

A prickle of unease trickled over her shoulders, though Marian didn’t know why it should. Mayhap simply because the prince’s name had been invoked. “Invited? I don’t believe I’ve been invited to anything.”

“To the prince’s gathering anight,” replied Lady Pauletta. Her eyes gleamed like those of a cat with its paw dipped in the cream. A mysterious smile tipped the corner of her mouth as she looked at Marian. “ ’ Tis too bad if you have not been asked. The prince is very generous to those who attend.”

“But even if you do not attend that, at the least you will be pleased to hear about the archery contest. The prize for that is a gold arrow, and ’tis certain that Robin Hood himself will make an attempt to win,” Joanna said in a placating tone. “We shall be able to see the great archer and how he handles his arrow.”

Pauletta and Catherine tittered along with Joanna, looking at Marian over hands covering their mouths.

“My, such a great bit of news this morning,” Marian replied. “What sort of gathering is the prince hosting?”

Pauletta’s feline smile widened. “ ’ Tis a very special night. I have attended in the past, for my lord has given such parties before. He calls it his night of living statues. There is a contest, and he is most generous to the winners.”