Robin Hood: Fortune's Wheel - Chapter Thirteen
Title: Fortune's Wheel - Chapter Thirteen
Spoilers: through 2x11
Word Count: 5743
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
A/N: Bunches of thanks to my beta, starbuck_a_dale : D And for the story: Old Norse is quite similar to Old English; the languages began to diverge more noticeably after the Conquest.
22-24 March, 1193
Allan walked dutifully beside Guy, who was on his way to yet another meeting with the Black Knights, attempting to understand Guy's explanation of how the negotiations were proceeding. Allan could barely keep straight which knight was which, let alone try to remember the strange Norse names or who was currently allied with who or what insane amount of money had been the latest offer. He stopped and nodded when they reached the door of the map room, hoping that his expression made him look far more on top of things than he actually was. While Guy was in the meeting he could attempt to piece everything together-and work out why Guy had told him in the first place. Maybe one of the Norwegian servants could help. Allan had found he could mostly understand them if he listened really hard. That, and had a couple of beers down.
But Guy turned back after a step and nodded towards the open door. Surprised, it took Allan a moment to realize that he was expected to join Guy in the meeting. He had mentioned his pleasure in Allan's successful mission at taking the ransom money; this must be his reward. Guy's half smile confirmed his guess.
Allan's eyes darted around the high, dramatically lit room. As he surveyed the solemn faces arranged around the table, he began to grasp the significance of the moment. He had been inducted into something larger; something that had much higher stakes. Though he knew actual input from him would be frowned upon, if not punished, he could no longer merely claim to be a lackey-he was attending a meeting of the circle of Black Knights, planning an illegal treaty with nobles from another kingdom-he, himself, Allan A Dale, had just become part of the plot to kill the king and place John on the throne.
He suddenly felt queasy. This wasn't what he'd signed on for at all. He'd just wanted a warm place to sleep and enough coin to jingle in his pocket and keep food in his belly. He'd made himself betray Robin and collect taxes, but treason? War? Lord above, he thought. Allan A Dale, what have you gotten yourself into?
A strong streak of self-preservation kept Allan immobile when he'd have liked nothing better than to get out of there as fast as was possible. Vaysey gave him a flickering glance as he stepped into place at the edge of the table. Quietly, Allan slid farther behind Guy, deeper into the shadows.
“My Lords!” Vaysey announced, and the shifting and murmuring throughout the room went quiet. “I have received word from the Count of Mortain, the future King John!” His voice rang out into the silence and his words met with a scattered cheer of approval. “His final offer is this: we will supply Sigurd Magnusson, under the direction of Olaf Jarlsmagr -” Vaysey nodded in Olaf's direction - “with five thousand armed fighting men, five hundred of whom will be mounted. They will be at your disposal at Easter of next year, along with ten thousand silver marks, to support Sigurd's rightful claim to the throne of Norway.”
He paused, and a murmur went through the crowd. After the translators had finished, Vaysey continued. “In return for which, you will provide us with a fleet of two hundred ships, supplied with armed fighting men, who will sail to Scarborough as soon as this agreement is ratified and they can be mustered.”
So that was what all this was about, Allan surmised. They help John get the throne, John helps . . . whatever his name was. He thought back over all the ships and boats he had seen. How many men did two hundred ships carry? He'd seen rowboats for two and trading vessels from the continent which carried dozens of men. But he'd never seen a fighting ship. The thought chilled him. Stories were still told of the Norsemen's skill at sea and their brutality in battle. The memory of the folk was long, and it hadn't been such a long time since they had last attacked England. Why Scarborough, though? Other places seemed more important, offering better spoils. A memory cut through his thoughts, displacing questions of numbers and logistics: Will's family was in Scarborough.
Vaysey's voice, sounding loudly in the chamber, startled Allan back to the present moment. “In conclusion: when the political aims of both parties have been enacted, there will be an agreement of free trade between the two kingdoms. My lords,” he said, folding up the parchment to which he'd been referring, “please deliberate upon this proposal.”
Olaf nodded, his blue eyes sharp on Vaysey's. Then he met the gazes of his men and they retreated to an adjoining room to discuss the offer. After a moment, Allan moved forward to Guy's side, trying to keep his expression nonchalant.
“So, Giz, what's in Scarborough?”
Guy shot him a look. “Don't push your luck.” Allan pretended to look abashed, and Guy continued. “A port, and a castle. They'll burn the town, take the castle, and march to York, then south to Pontefract. By that point we should hold most of England.”
Burn the town. “How's that?”
Guy strode forward to the table. “There will be armies attacking from two other directions: the Welsh in the west, and men from Flanders in the south, starting with Winchester.” He drew a finger across one of the wooden blobs on the table, which Allan guessed was supposed to look like England. It was squigglier than he'd imagined. “We hold Nottingham obviously, which is one of the strongest castles in England, as well as several other castles throughout the country.” He pointed to places here and there on the map. “When most of the country is secured, we will turn to London. There is no way anyone will be able to match us in terms of men, or resources.”
Allan nodded slowly, trying to process what he was hearing. This sounded far more serious than any of the other plots Vaysey had cooked up in the past. “It sounds like you've got it all worked out, then.”
Guy crossed his arms, surveying the map. “The plan is perfect. We spent too long for it not to be.”
It was not long before the clang of the bolt was heard and the door swung open. Olaf strode to the table and met the eyes of each Black Knight who stood around it. “We accept your offer,” he announced in heavily-accented French.
The suffocating pitch of tension in the room immediately subsided.
“Good,” said Vaysey, smiling silkily. “Then shall we discuss specifics?”
Allan didn't catch much of what followed. There were too many unfamiliar names and terms he didn't understand. A messenger was summoned and sent off; there was discussion about crossing the North Sea and daily allowances for soldiers and other things that Allan didn't care about. Finally Vaysey shook hands with Olaf, and the meeting was adjourned. The men all headed to Great Hall for dinner and celebratory drinking. Allan joined them at each toast, but the ale had no taste for him.
*
Marian stumbled across Allan-literally-on her way to supper. She was taking her time getting there, as the men had been at drink all afternoon and she had little desire to join them. Allan half-sat, half-leaned against the stone seat in the open-air gallery. In the gloom of early evening she hadn't seen his black-clad legs sprawled out before him.
“Oh. Sorry Allan,” she said, stopping to fix her shoe, which she had nearly lost.
“S'okay,” he slurred with a lazy laugh. “I'm fine. Just fine.”
Marian turned and peered at him through the dark. “You don't look fine. Ugh,” she said, catching a whiff of Allan's beery breath. “I can see you were celebrating with the rest of them.” She didn't try to hide the disapproval in her voice.
“Drinking,” Allan corrected. “Not celebrating.”
Marian put her hands on her hips and considered Allan for a long moment. “So they've ratified the treaty then?”
“Yup.”
He was farther gone than she thought. Marian sat down on the bench, pulling him down beside her. Allan protested, but sat.
“Do you know anything about it?”
Allan laughed. “Do I ever. Giz has made me one of them. I'm just waiting for the ring, I am. I always did like birds.”
Marian sucked in deep breath. “What do you mean 'Guy made you one of them'?”
“Told me I did a good job with stealin' that money. Let me come into the inner sanctum and hear all their top secret negon-negotiations. I'm a big man, now. Prince John, he'll be the biggest of them all.”
Marian gripped Allan's arm. “What did you hear?” she whispered
“Ow, leggo my arm.”
“Sorry.” After a moment, “Allan!”
He made a visible effort to concentrate. “They're going to burn Scarborough.”
“Scarborough? What do they want with Scarborough?” She wasn't even sure why she bothered, he wasn't going to make any sense.
“They'll take it all, Lady Maz, the Welsh will rule us all.”
It was beyond frustrating: finding Allan at a point when he was actually willing to give her information, but too far gone to be of any real use. He raised a cup she hadn't seen he'd had, and drank. Marian paused, reluctant to leave a possible source of information. No, best wait until she could hear something reliable. Wrong information could be just as deadly as no information.
*
The castle the next day was a mess. The other ladies went for a ride in the morning sunshine, as it was the first fine day in weeks, but Marian, as châtelaine, was forced to stay behind and see the castle put to rights. She seethed as she helped straighten and organize, angry at her forced containment and that the Black Knights had a reason to celebrate.
The Great Hall was a disaster, though there were servants to see to the worst of it. Marian stepped carefully through the pages and lesser knights who had bedded down in the hall and hadn't yet woken. She directed a servant to open the shutters on the windows high above them to let in light and hopefully get rid of the stale smell of alcohol.
“Oy, what'd you do that for?” said a voice by her feet, raising a hand against the light that had suddenly poured out over them.
Marian looked down to see Allan, his hair flat on one side and an empty tankard beside him. “So you managed to make your way back to the hall. I didn't think you could walk any more after I saw you last night.”
Allan lowered his hand enough to glare at her. “Yeah, well-oooh, my head.”
Marian bent low and whispered in his ear. “It serves you right for supporting these men.” It was petty, and she was a little ashamed, but it also assuaged her irritation somewhat.
Allan looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “You don't know anything, Marian, don't try to blame me.”
She sat on her heels. “Why don't you tell me then? You said last night Guy took you into the meeting with him. Help me, Allan.”
“No, no, no,” Allan replied, shaking his head. “I'm done with that, I'm done passing information. I'm just about done with this as well.”
“Allan, please.”
He raised his bright blue eyes to hers. For a moment she thought he might cave, but then he raised his hand to the bridge of his nose and sat back into the shadow of the corner. “Leave it Marian, it's bigger than all of us. There's no more we can do.”
She waited, hoping, but Allan didn't turn to look at her. Finally she pushed herself to her feet, clenching her hands into fists as she walked away.
*
The rest of the day, and the start of the next, were agonizing. The mood in the castle was palpably changed, at the same time both more relaxed and more intense. The reaching of an agreement seemed to have brought both an easing of tensions and a reorientation towards . . . whatever was to come next. Marian hated the feeling of having no idea what was going on, and hated even more that she had a way to find out that wasn't cooperating. At least she had a great deal to occupy herself with; after waking up and recovering from a castle-wide hangover, the knights and Norwegians gave orders for preparations to be made for leaving. The castle was thrown into chaos yet again, and Marian was scarcely able to take joy in the fact that everyone was finally leaving.
The first of the Black Knights left the following morning. Alys had asked her brother for a few more days, which pleased Marian, though she was upset that she wasn't able to properly enjoy her last few days with her new friend. They spent some time in conversation with the ladies who were leaving first, then Marian went down to the courtyard to make sure everything was being properly packed up and made ready for leaving. She was surprised to see Allan and some of Guy's other men loading up one of the wagons, not with chests but with bundles of . . . something. “What are you doing?” she asked, falling in step with Allan. “What is all this?”
“Nothing, Marian, just leave it.” His voice was flat, tired.
Marian tried to catch his gaze but he resisted. She grabbed Allan's elbow, and before he could pull away she flipped up a corner of the bundle to see the pommels of several swords. Allan jerked away as she stood, frozen.
“I told you to leave it be. Get out of here, don't let anyone know you saw this.”
Ignoring his words, her gaze slowly travelled to the wagon loaded up with similarly-shaped bundles. Guy's men were bringing them out of a storeroom that had been secured for months with one of the locks she did not have a key to (and despite her best efforts, hadn't been able to pick). When Allan had placed his bundle in the wagon she caught up with him again. “Are they distributing weapons? Allan?”
Finally he lifted his eyes to hers. It was not the gaze of the cheeky Allan A Dale that she knew; this expression was bleak, hopeless. “If I tell you something, will you get word to Robin?”
Marian nodded. “I promise.”
He took a deep breath. “Let's go for a walk, then.”
*
Marian guessed, and guessed correctly, that the records room would be empty. She had hurried through dinner, an obscenely sumptuous spread for Lent, and so most of the people in the castle were still in the hall, lingering over their last meal together. She dared not go to her room; though Alys was a friend, Marian wasn't quite ready to test her loyalty to her brother.
Marian picked the lock with little effort and slipped quietly into the room. She found scraps of parchment stacked on the side of a desk; ink, pen, and knife were sitting out. Sharpening the pen hurriedly, she nearly cut her finger in the weak light that came through the half-closed windows. Marian scrawled out a message, attempting to make it innocuous as possible, yet still convey the urgency of the situation. Having re-read it three times, she waved it in the air to dry the ink the rest of the way, then folded it. After a moment's hesitation, she decided to seal it, the necessary materials being readily available. It was safer for both her and Robin, as well as the messenger, if anything went badly.
Warning bells began sounding in the back of her mind. She did not know what she would do if she were caught again. But that thought would only serve to distract her, so she pushed it firmly to the back of her mind. England was more important than she was, she told herself. It was a cold reassurance.
Tucking the note into a fold on the inside of her belt, Marian exited as quietly as she had entered. The door couldn't be locked again without the key, but there was nothing she could do about it. She slipped quietly to the doorway that looked down upon the Great Hall. Robin had told her to send messages through Hawise, but she did not see her in the hall. Marian took the long way round to the kitchen, where she had to duck between servants carrying trays of food and pitchers of wine and mead and ale. It was hot here, probably the only place in the castle that was, and absolute chaos. After some searching, Marian was able to locate Hugh among the bustle.
“Hugh, have you seen Hawise? I cannot find her.”
Hugh straightened, wiping his sleeve over his forehead. “Her daughter is ill, my lady, and she asked for leave to nurse her.”
Marian's heart sank. “Then she is not in the castle?”
Hugh shook his head. I believe her daughter lives in Locksley.”
“Thank you, Hugh,” Marian said faintly. She left the kitchen by the courtyard door, which put her out close to the kitchen garden. Here and there sprouts had sprung up, but it was mostly still brown and bare. Even so, its paved paths made a good place to walk, and think. The only person in the castle she trusted as much as Hawise was her maidservant, Sarah, but Marian was reluctant to get her involved in something so dangerous that she had not freely chosen. She could not ask Allan; he was not fit for anything approaching stealth.
And then her heart sped up. The only people outside the keep were those unlucky enough to have guard duty. Everyone else was occupied. Before she realized what she was doing, her feet were already moving. Marian grabbed her cloak and gloves from her room, pulling them on with shaking fingers. Only adrenaline kept her moving. No one would notice, she told herself; she had hours yet before her presence would be missed.
She paid the stableboys a silver penny each to saddle Alys's horse quickly and promised them another when she returned if they kept silent to anyone who expressed any interest in the matter. When they brought her the horse, Marian allowed it a few moments to get used to her scent. It was dangerous, she knew, to ride a horse that didn't know her, but she also knew the guards could recognize her own mare. Luckily the horse was good-natured; Marian was soon mounted and settled. She pulled her muffler as high as it would go and her hood as low as possible. She stroked the creature's neck, attempting to reassure both it and herself. But she could feel her fear ebbing away; the familiar clarity she often experienced while on missions as the Nightwatchman was returning. It had been too long.
Marian took a deep breath and urged the horse forward out of the stable. The guards at the gate looked at her strangely but did not stop her. Marian kept her leisurely pace until she had passed through the city and out of the gates. Once clear, though, she dug her heels into the horse, urged on by a wild surge of energy at her sudden freedom. She had to ride fast anyway in order to make it back to the city before the gates closed at dusk. Marian galloped down well-remembered forest paths, not caring that the cold air whipped her face and began to numb her fingers. She had a few blessed moments that were all her own.
Not long after she entered the shade of the forest a figure appeared in the middle of the road. “Much!” she called, reigning in her mount.
“Lady Marian!”
“I have urgent news for Robin. Is he at the camp?”
Much nodded, then looked away, fidgeting. Marian shrugged away his odd behavior, then turned her horse off the road and into the trees. He didn't follow.
The door to the camp was open, and Robin, Will, and Djaq sat close to the fire, occupied with various tasks. Robin scrambled to his feet when he saw her, and ran out to meet her.
“What are you doing here?” he cried, before she had slid from her horse. Marian dismounted and tossed him the reigns. He stared at her a moment before looping them around a low branch.
“Urgent news. It could not wait.” It took her a moment to work up the courage to meet his eyes.
“Marian, what could be worth risking your life?”
Marian took a deep breath. Would he really fight about this? “England. England is in danger.”
Djaq, who was out of earshot, called to them. “Come sit by the fire!”
Marian considered it for a moment, but realized she wouldn't be able to sit still for more than a moment. “Let's walk,” she told Robin. His expression was serious, his eyes intent on hers. He nodded, and fell into step with her.
“It is what we feared. It is worse than we feared,” she began, after they'd taken a few steps.
“The Norwegians . . . ?”
“Are only part of the plot. Robin, they finalized their agreement today.” She told him what she had gleaned from Allan, as well as the news that Prince John had returned from France. When she was finished, Robin was silent for a long moment before letting out a single, emphatic “Damn.”
“It's worse, Robin,” Marian said gently. “The Sheriff's been having armourers working for him for months, churning out weapons-and probably armour, too. They're preparing for war. Here.”
Robin looked away, into the forest that was black with mud and only just touched with green leaf-buds. It was fittingly bleak; an appropriate setting for such hopeless news. “How do we . . . ? How is it . . . ? Christ, Marian.” He was quieter, calmer, than she had expected him to be. It unnerved her.
“What do we do?” she asked.
As if from a great distance, he asked, “the Norwegians, did they send off a messenger? Or are they going back themselves?”
“They're leaving tomorrow, but I've no idea if they sent the news ahead.”
Robin nodded. Then he laughed, bitterly. “And what can I do about this?”
Marian was scared. She took his elbows and turned him to face her. “You will think of something. You are Robin Hood; I know you will.” Her voice was probably too forced to soothe. He had to have a plan.
His eyes came into focus on hers; she couldn't tell what he was thinking. “You should get back to the castle. If you're going back . . . ?”
“I'm going back,” Marian said quietly, and for a moment she remembered how dangerous it was that she was here. “Tell me what I can do.”
Robin nodded, his mouth set. “First I have to work out what I need to do.”
Marian nodded, and they looked at each other, uncertainly. Then he pulled her close, and kissed her fiercely. After a moment Marian remembered that she liked this. She raised a hand, tentatively, but before she could slide it on his arm, or around his neck, he had pulled away. She looked up at him, but his thoughts were already far away. “Go,” he said hoarsely.
*
By the time she reached the castle, Marian's heart was beating fast enough to send the blood rushing in her ears. She had barely made it back into the city in time, and she feared the castle guards would look too closely if she had to ask them to open the gates. Luckily, though, the guards had acquired a jug of mead somewhere, so they only nodded at her when she rode in.
Once inside the courtyard, Marian slid off Alys's horse so she wouldn't be quite so exposed. She moved quickly but purposefully, glancing in all directions, but the courtyard seemed deserted. The stable boys were nowhere in sight, and Marian worked quickly, untacking the horse and returning her to her stall. As she worked, her nerves calmed. There was no one out searching for her; there were no extra guards out. If her absence had been noticed, surely there would be more commotion. Marian latched the stall door and turned, and nearly jumped out of her skin. Someone stood between her and the stable door.
It wasn't until the figure began moving-towards her, quickly-that she realized who it was.
Guy grabbed her arms, just above her elbows. “What have you been doing?” His voice was hard, and she could not read his face in the semi-darkness. He was so close to her that she could barely breathe, and it took a moment before she could force words out.
“I-I just wanted to visit the horses. I haven't had time lately, with everything going on.” Marian hoped that her expression was neutral, for her heart was pounding.
“Don't lie to me!” Guy cried, shaking her. “I saw you ride in through the castle gate. What have you been doing, Marian?”
He had backed her up nearly to the wall, and he was positively looming over her, so close, too close; just like-Think Marian! she screamed at herself. She had known this was a possibility, but why were the words not coming, why couldn't she think?
“Answer me!” he cried, but it was as if someone were pouring hot water on the crown of her head and it flowed down, over her neck and shoulders and spine. Her limbs felt heavy, her brain miles from her tongue.
“Nothing. It was nothing, Guy,” she said weakly, hating this, hating her inability to save herself, hating that he could make her feel this way. His hold on her arms slackened; it was an opening she could use. “Please remove your hands from me,” she said, forcing her voice into poised coolness.
Guy pulled away as if he'd been burned. In the tense pause that followed she heard what had caught his attention-the sound of footsteps. Alys suddenly appeared in the stable door, little more than a silhouette.
“Marian, what's taking you so-Sir Guy, hello.” She dipped her head.
Guy straightened. “Lady Alys,” he said by way of greeting.
“The other ladies have been waiting for us to get back from our ride,” Alys said pointedly to Marian. She smiled apologetically at Guy.
“You were riding with Lady Marian?” Guy asked, his voice thick with surprise and suspicion. He looked from Alys to Marian.
“I just had to get out of the castle for awhile. The weather's finally nice enough to go outdoors,” she said, approaching them. “Lady Marian was so kind as to show me the nicest paths around the city, though it's taken days to get her to agree to go.” She smiled blandly up at Guy.
Marian hurriedly tried to gather her thoughts, get her limbs in order. She was puzzled, but grateful. And yet . . . lying to him again, so blatantly-she had to, she told herself uneasily.
Guy looked back and forth between them. “Why didn't I see you come in when she did?”
“I rode in before her, perhaps you just missed me,” she said breezily. Her tone was pleasant, but firm, that of a noblewoman who was not used to being questioned.
Guy's expression was inscrutable; Marian found herself holding her breath. “You should not have gone out without an escort,” he said, finally. “The country paths can be dangerous, especially for nobles. I'm surprised Lady Marian did not tell you of the outlaws that plague the shire.” Guy's gaze shifted to Marian. “I was worried for you,” he said quietly, intensely. Marian looked away. “The Sheriff would not have been happy if he'd found out that you were out alone.”
Marian bit her lip at his warning. “I know.”
“It is my fault,” Alys said. “I pushed her to go. I did not realize the danger. It will not happen again, I promise.”
After a pause, Guy said finally, flatly, “See that it doesn't.”
Alys turned to her. “Come, Marian. They'll be wondering what's become of us.” She took Marian by the hand and pulled her past Guy. “Good evening, Sir Guy!”
Marian caught Guy's eye as she passed. His gaze was troubled, but he gave her a small nod. She could not tell if he believed her, or if he were giving her the benefit of the doubt. Outside, the first stars winked in the evening sky.
When they were in the keep, with no one around them, Marian asked, “Why did you help me?”
It was a moment before Alys responded. “I saw Sir Guy storm out of the hall and thought you might need it.”
Marian was not sure what all lay in those words, but she did not want to ask. “Thank you,” she said. And then, “Alys-”
“Don't tell me what you were doing.”
Marian stopped. “It is dangerous for you to be involved.”
Alys put a finger before her lips and pulled Marian along until they reached Marian's room. It wasn't until the door was safely shut and locked behind them that Alys spoke again.
“You don't seem the secret lover type, so I'm guessing it's political. I don't care about politics, so it's better if I don't know anything about it.”
Marian fumbled with the clasp on her cloak. “How can you not care that Prince John wants to take the throne? That the Black Knights tax the poor unfairly to fund his schemes for the crown?”
Alys sighed. “Is Richard any better than John?”
“He is rightful king!”
“A king who has not been in his realm for years. Marian, do you not remember the taxes he raised to go on Crusade?”
In truth, she did not. She had had other, more personal things on her mind in those years. Things that involved Robin, and the breaking of their engagement. Since then, though, she'd bemoaned that resources were being spent abroad when they could be used to help the poor. “That does not change the fact that the Count of Mortain will destroy the country in trying to get the throne.”
Alys held up a hand, a silent plea not to say too much. “They are all the same,” she said gently. “They all want the power, and the money, and the glory.” Marian turned away, hanging her cloak on a peg by the fire and then removing her gloves. She did not agree with Alys, and yet her words lingered in her mind. It couldn't be true that Richard was no better than his brother. Robin had fought alongside the king; he knew him well, and he fully supported him. Robin's trust was enough for her. It had to be.
*
Guy watched silently as the women disappeared, feeling at home in the quiet darkness. Lady Alys's story was suspect, but he couldn't put the newly ratified treaty at risk by accusing her of sneaking around and upsetting Spenser. Besides, it was his job to keep his sister in line, not Guy's. It seemed likely she was just covering up for Marian. He knew how much she liked to ride, and foul late-winter weather had kept them all cooped up in the castle for the past several weeks. At least, that was what he wanted to believe it was, and so he did. It was a small enough matter save for the foolishness of going out unescorted-and the fact of Vaysey's wrath.
Marian's horse put its head over the stable door. Guy stepped forward and stroked its head while it nudged at him, probably looking for treats. She always did overindulge her horses. And perhaps Alys had been telling the truth after all. He'd been speaking with Stephen about the plans for Lady Day when he'd happened to see Marian; it was possible he'd missed Alys. After all, Marian had taken her duty to keep the guests happy seriously, which made him proud. She was a good châtelaine; there hadn't been a hitch since their guests had arrived.
Guy's attention suddenly focused on the animal. It wasn't Marian's. They were the same color, but this one had a longer, leaner face; a star on its forehead while Marian's had a blaze. Guy went down the row of stalls until he found Marian's horse. It blinked at him sleepily. He put a hand on its neck; it clearly hadn't been ridden that evening.
What the hell was going on? She was clearly lying about something, but what? Guy was torn between wanting to dash upstairs to her room to demand an explanation and wanting to do . . . nothing. He leaned forward over the stall, resting his weight on his forearms. He was certain it was her he'd seen. It hurt, that she had not been honest with him. A few months ago it would have been unsurprising, but lately things between them had been . . . good. Why would she lie about so small a thing, unless . . . but that was unthinkable. Except, he knew now, it wasn't. Guy kicked the stable door, startling awake half the horses in the barn. She wouldn't be out to talk to Hood, she wouldn't. He let his head fall down onto his crossed arms. God, he wanted to believe her. Believe in her. But she wasn't making it easy. Tomorrow, they would have to talk.
Spoilers: through 2x11
Word Count: 5743
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
A/N: Bunches of thanks to my beta, starbuck_a_dale : D And for the story: Old Norse is quite similar to Old English; the languages began to diverge more noticeably after the Conquest.
22-24 March, 1193
Allan walked dutifully beside Guy, who was on his way to yet another meeting with the Black Knights, attempting to understand Guy's explanation of how the negotiations were proceeding. Allan could barely keep straight which knight was which, let alone try to remember the strange Norse names or who was currently allied with who or what insane amount of money had been the latest offer. He stopped and nodded when they reached the door of the map room, hoping that his expression made him look far more on top of things than he actually was. While Guy was in the meeting he could attempt to piece everything together-and work out why Guy had told him in the first place. Maybe one of the Norwegian servants could help. Allan had found he could mostly understand them if he listened really hard. That, and had a couple of beers down.
But Guy turned back after a step and nodded towards the open door. Surprised, it took Allan a moment to realize that he was expected to join Guy in the meeting. He had mentioned his pleasure in Allan's successful mission at taking the ransom money; this must be his reward. Guy's half smile confirmed his guess.
Allan's eyes darted around the high, dramatically lit room. As he surveyed the solemn faces arranged around the table, he began to grasp the significance of the moment. He had been inducted into something larger; something that had much higher stakes. Though he knew actual input from him would be frowned upon, if not punished, he could no longer merely claim to be a lackey-he was attending a meeting of the circle of Black Knights, planning an illegal treaty with nobles from another kingdom-he, himself, Allan A Dale, had just become part of the plot to kill the king and place John on the throne.
He suddenly felt queasy. This wasn't what he'd signed on for at all. He'd just wanted a warm place to sleep and enough coin to jingle in his pocket and keep food in his belly. He'd made himself betray Robin and collect taxes, but treason? War? Lord above, he thought. Allan A Dale, what have you gotten yourself into?
A strong streak of self-preservation kept Allan immobile when he'd have liked nothing better than to get out of there as fast as was possible. Vaysey gave him a flickering glance as he stepped into place at the edge of the table. Quietly, Allan slid farther behind Guy, deeper into the shadows.
“My Lords!” Vaysey announced, and the shifting and murmuring throughout the room went quiet. “I have received word from the Count of Mortain, the future King John!” His voice rang out into the silence and his words met with a scattered cheer of approval. “His final offer is this: we will supply Sigurd Magnusson, under the direction of Olaf Jarlsmagr -” Vaysey nodded in Olaf's direction - “with five thousand armed fighting men, five hundred of whom will be mounted. They will be at your disposal at Easter of next year, along with ten thousand silver marks, to support Sigurd's rightful claim to the throne of Norway.”
He paused, and a murmur went through the crowd. After the translators had finished, Vaysey continued. “In return for which, you will provide us with a fleet of two hundred ships, supplied with armed fighting men, who will sail to Scarborough as soon as this agreement is ratified and they can be mustered.”
So that was what all this was about, Allan surmised. They help John get the throne, John helps . . . whatever his name was. He thought back over all the ships and boats he had seen. How many men did two hundred ships carry? He'd seen rowboats for two and trading vessels from the continent which carried dozens of men. But he'd never seen a fighting ship. The thought chilled him. Stories were still told of the Norsemen's skill at sea and their brutality in battle. The memory of the folk was long, and it hadn't been such a long time since they had last attacked England. Why Scarborough, though? Other places seemed more important, offering better spoils. A memory cut through his thoughts, displacing questions of numbers and logistics: Will's family was in Scarborough.
Vaysey's voice, sounding loudly in the chamber, startled Allan back to the present moment. “In conclusion: when the political aims of both parties have been enacted, there will be an agreement of free trade between the two kingdoms. My lords,” he said, folding up the parchment to which he'd been referring, “please deliberate upon this proposal.”
Olaf nodded, his blue eyes sharp on Vaysey's. Then he met the gazes of his men and they retreated to an adjoining room to discuss the offer. After a moment, Allan moved forward to Guy's side, trying to keep his expression nonchalant.
“So, Giz, what's in Scarborough?”
Guy shot him a look. “Don't push your luck.” Allan pretended to look abashed, and Guy continued. “A port, and a castle. They'll burn the town, take the castle, and march to York, then south to Pontefract. By that point we should hold most of England.”
Burn the town. “How's that?”
Guy strode forward to the table. “There will be armies attacking from two other directions: the Welsh in the west, and men from Flanders in the south, starting with Winchester.” He drew a finger across one of the wooden blobs on the table, which Allan guessed was supposed to look like England. It was squigglier than he'd imagined. “We hold Nottingham obviously, which is one of the strongest castles in England, as well as several other castles throughout the country.” He pointed to places here and there on the map. “When most of the country is secured, we will turn to London. There is no way anyone will be able to match us in terms of men, or resources.”
Allan nodded slowly, trying to process what he was hearing. This sounded far more serious than any of the other plots Vaysey had cooked up in the past. “It sounds like you've got it all worked out, then.”
Guy crossed his arms, surveying the map. “The plan is perfect. We spent too long for it not to be.”
It was not long before the clang of the bolt was heard and the door swung open. Olaf strode to the table and met the eyes of each Black Knight who stood around it. “We accept your offer,” he announced in heavily-accented French.
The suffocating pitch of tension in the room immediately subsided.
“Good,” said Vaysey, smiling silkily. “Then shall we discuss specifics?”
Allan didn't catch much of what followed. There were too many unfamiliar names and terms he didn't understand. A messenger was summoned and sent off; there was discussion about crossing the North Sea and daily allowances for soldiers and other things that Allan didn't care about. Finally Vaysey shook hands with Olaf, and the meeting was adjourned. The men all headed to Great Hall for dinner and celebratory drinking. Allan joined them at each toast, but the ale had no taste for him.
*
Marian stumbled across Allan-literally-on her way to supper. She was taking her time getting there, as the men had been at drink all afternoon and she had little desire to join them. Allan half-sat, half-leaned against the stone seat in the open-air gallery. In the gloom of early evening she hadn't seen his black-clad legs sprawled out before him.
“Oh. Sorry Allan,” she said, stopping to fix her shoe, which she had nearly lost.
“S'okay,” he slurred with a lazy laugh. “I'm fine. Just fine.”
Marian turned and peered at him through the dark. “You don't look fine. Ugh,” she said, catching a whiff of Allan's beery breath. “I can see you were celebrating with the rest of them.” She didn't try to hide the disapproval in her voice.
“Drinking,” Allan corrected. “Not celebrating.”
Marian put her hands on her hips and considered Allan for a long moment. “So they've ratified the treaty then?”
“Yup.”
He was farther gone than she thought. Marian sat down on the bench, pulling him down beside her. Allan protested, but sat.
“Do you know anything about it?”
Allan laughed. “Do I ever. Giz has made me one of them. I'm just waiting for the ring, I am. I always did like birds.”
Marian sucked in deep breath. “What do you mean 'Guy made you one of them'?”
“Told me I did a good job with stealin' that money. Let me come into the inner sanctum and hear all their top secret negon-negotiations. I'm a big man, now. Prince John, he'll be the biggest of them all.”
Marian gripped Allan's arm. “What did you hear?” she whispered
“Ow, leggo my arm.”
“Sorry.” After a moment, “Allan!”
He made a visible effort to concentrate. “They're going to burn Scarborough.”
“Scarborough? What do they want with Scarborough?” She wasn't even sure why she bothered, he wasn't going to make any sense.
“They'll take it all, Lady Maz, the Welsh will rule us all.”
It was beyond frustrating: finding Allan at a point when he was actually willing to give her information, but too far gone to be of any real use. He raised a cup she hadn't seen he'd had, and drank. Marian paused, reluctant to leave a possible source of information. No, best wait until she could hear something reliable. Wrong information could be just as deadly as no information.
*
The castle the next day was a mess. The other ladies went for a ride in the morning sunshine, as it was the first fine day in weeks, but Marian, as châtelaine, was forced to stay behind and see the castle put to rights. She seethed as she helped straighten and organize, angry at her forced containment and that the Black Knights had a reason to celebrate.
The Great Hall was a disaster, though there were servants to see to the worst of it. Marian stepped carefully through the pages and lesser knights who had bedded down in the hall and hadn't yet woken. She directed a servant to open the shutters on the windows high above them to let in light and hopefully get rid of the stale smell of alcohol.
“Oy, what'd you do that for?” said a voice by her feet, raising a hand against the light that had suddenly poured out over them.
Marian looked down to see Allan, his hair flat on one side and an empty tankard beside him. “So you managed to make your way back to the hall. I didn't think you could walk any more after I saw you last night.”
Allan lowered his hand enough to glare at her. “Yeah, well-oooh, my head.”
Marian bent low and whispered in his ear. “It serves you right for supporting these men.” It was petty, and she was a little ashamed, but it also assuaged her irritation somewhat.
Allan looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “You don't know anything, Marian, don't try to blame me.”
She sat on her heels. “Why don't you tell me then? You said last night Guy took you into the meeting with him. Help me, Allan.”
“No, no, no,” Allan replied, shaking his head. “I'm done with that, I'm done passing information. I'm just about done with this as well.”
“Allan, please.”
He raised his bright blue eyes to hers. For a moment she thought he might cave, but then he raised his hand to the bridge of his nose and sat back into the shadow of the corner. “Leave it Marian, it's bigger than all of us. There's no more we can do.”
She waited, hoping, but Allan didn't turn to look at her. Finally she pushed herself to her feet, clenching her hands into fists as she walked away.
*
The rest of the day, and the start of the next, were agonizing. The mood in the castle was palpably changed, at the same time both more relaxed and more intense. The reaching of an agreement seemed to have brought both an easing of tensions and a reorientation towards . . . whatever was to come next. Marian hated the feeling of having no idea what was going on, and hated even more that she had a way to find out that wasn't cooperating. At least she had a great deal to occupy herself with; after waking up and recovering from a castle-wide hangover, the knights and Norwegians gave orders for preparations to be made for leaving. The castle was thrown into chaos yet again, and Marian was scarcely able to take joy in the fact that everyone was finally leaving.
The first of the Black Knights left the following morning. Alys had asked her brother for a few more days, which pleased Marian, though she was upset that she wasn't able to properly enjoy her last few days with her new friend. They spent some time in conversation with the ladies who were leaving first, then Marian went down to the courtyard to make sure everything was being properly packed up and made ready for leaving. She was surprised to see Allan and some of Guy's other men loading up one of the wagons, not with chests but with bundles of . . . something. “What are you doing?” she asked, falling in step with Allan. “What is all this?”
“Nothing, Marian, just leave it.” His voice was flat, tired.
Marian tried to catch his gaze but he resisted. She grabbed Allan's elbow, and before he could pull away she flipped up a corner of the bundle to see the pommels of several swords. Allan jerked away as she stood, frozen.
“I told you to leave it be. Get out of here, don't let anyone know you saw this.”
Ignoring his words, her gaze slowly travelled to the wagon loaded up with similarly-shaped bundles. Guy's men were bringing them out of a storeroom that had been secured for months with one of the locks she did not have a key to (and despite her best efforts, hadn't been able to pick). When Allan had placed his bundle in the wagon she caught up with him again. “Are they distributing weapons? Allan?”
Finally he lifted his eyes to hers. It was not the gaze of the cheeky Allan A Dale that she knew; this expression was bleak, hopeless. “If I tell you something, will you get word to Robin?”
Marian nodded. “I promise.”
He took a deep breath. “Let's go for a walk, then.”
*
Marian guessed, and guessed correctly, that the records room would be empty. She had hurried through dinner, an obscenely sumptuous spread for Lent, and so most of the people in the castle were still in the hall, lingering over their last meal together. She dared not go to her room; though Alys was a friend, Marian wasn't quite ready to test her loyalty to her brother.
Marian picked the lock with little effort and slipped quietly into the room. She found scraps of parchment stacked on the side of a desk; ink, pen, and knife were sitting out. Sharpening the pen hurriedly, she nearly cut her finger in the weak light that came through the half-closed windows. Marian scrawled out a message, attempting to make it innocuous as possible, yet still convey the urgency of the situation. Having re-read it three times, she waved it in the air to dry the ink the rest of the way, then folded it. After a moment's hesitation, she decided to seal it, the necessary materials being readily available. It was safer for both her and Robin, as well as the messenger, if anything went badly.
Warning bells began sounding in the back of her mind. She did not know what she would do if she were caught again. But that thought would only serve to distract her, so she pushed it firmly to the back of her mind. England was more important than she was, she told herself. It was a cold reassurance.
Tucking the note into a fold on the inside of her belt, Marian exited as quietly as she had entered. The door couldn't be locked again without the key, but there was nothing she could do about it. She slipped quietly to the doorway that looked down upon the Great Hall. Robin had told her to send messages through Hawise, but she did not see her in the hall. Marian took the long way round to the kitchen, where she had to duck between servants carrying trays of food and pitchers of wine and mead and ale. It was hot here, probably the only place in the castle that was, and absolute chaos. After some searching, Marian was able to locate Hugh among the bustle.
“Hugh, have you seen Hawise? I cannot find her.”
Hugh straightened, wiping his sleeve over his forehead. “Her daughter is ill, my lady, and she asked for leave to nurse her.”
Marian's heart sank. “Then she is not in the castle?”
Hugh shook his head. I believe her daughter lives in Locksley.”
“Thank you, Hugh,” Marian said faintly. She left the kitchen by the courtyard door, which put her out close to the kitchen garden. Here and there sprouts had sprung up, but it was mostly still brown and bare. Even so, its paved paths made a good place to walk, and think. The only person in the castle she trusted as much as Hawise was her maidservant, Sarah, but Marian was reluctant to get her involved in something so dangerous that she had not freely chosen. She could not ask Allan; he was not fit for anything approaching stealth.
And then her heart sped up. The only people outside the keep were those unlucky enough to have guard duty. Everyone else was occupied. Before she realized what she was doing, her feet were already moving. Marian grabbed her cloak and gloves from her room, pulling them on with shaking fingers. Only adrenaline kept her moving. No one would notice, she told herself; she had hours yet before her presence would be missed.
She paid the stableboys a silver penny each to saddle Alys's horse quickly and promised them another when she returned if they kept silent to anyone who expressed any interest in the matter. When they brought her the horse, Marian allowed it a few moments to get used to her scent. It was dangerous, she knew, to ride a horse that didn't know her, but she also knew the guards could recognize her own mare. Luckily the horse was good-natured; Marian was soon mounted and settled. She pulled her muffler as high as it would go and her hood as low as possible. She stroked the creature's neck, attempting to reassure both it and herself. But she could feel her fear ebbing away; the familiar clarity she often experienced while on missions as the Nightwatchman was returning. It had been too long.
Marian took a deep breath and urged the horse forward out of the stable. The guards at the gate looked at her strangely but did not stop her. Marian kept her leisurely pace until she had passed through the city and out of the gates. Once clear, though, she dug her heels into the horse, urged on by a wild surge of energy at her sudden freedom. She had to ride fast anyway in order to make it back to the city before the gates closed at dusk. Marian galloped down well-remembered forest paths, not caring that the cold air whipped her face and began to numb her fingers. She had a few blessed moments that were all her own.
Not long after she entered the shade of the forest a figure appeared in the middle of the road. “Much!” she called, reigning in her mount.
“Lady Marian!”
“I have urgent news for Robin. Is he at the camp?”
Much nodded, then looked away, fidgeting. Marian shrugged away his odd behavior, then turned her horse off the road and into the trees. He didn't follow.
The door to the camp was open, and Robin, Will, and Djaq sat close to the fire, occupied with various tasks. Robin scrambled to his feet when he saw her, and ran out to meet her.
“What are you doing here?” he cried, before she had slid from her horse. Marian dismounted and tossed him the reigns. He stared at her a moment before looping them around a low branch.
“Urgent news. It could not wait.” It took her a moment to work up the courage to meet his eyes.
“Marian, what could be worth risking your life?”
Marian took a deep breath. Would he really fight about this? “England. England is in danger.”
Djaq, who was out of earshot, called to them. “Come sit by the fire!”
Marian considered it for a moment, but realized she wouldn't be able to sit still for more than a moment. “Let's walk,” she told Robin. His expression was serious, his eyes intent on hers. He nodded, and fell into step with her.
“It is what we feared. It is worse than we feared,” she began, after they'd taken a few steps.
“The Norwegians . . . ?”
“Are only part of the plot. Robin, they finalized their agreement today.” She told him what she had gleaned from Allan, as well as the news that Prince John had returned from France. When she was finished, Robin was silent for a long moment before letting out a single, emphatic “Damn.”
“It's worse, Robin,” Marian said gently. “The Sheriff's been having armourers working for him for months, churning out weapons-and probably armour, too. They're preparing for war. Here.”
Robin looked away, into the forest that was black with mud and only just touched with green leaf-buds. It was fittingly bleak; an appropriate setting for such hopeless news. “How do we . . . ? How is it . . . ? Christ, Marian.” He was quieter, calmer, than she had expected him to be. It unnerved her.
“What do we do?” she asked.
As if from a great distance, he asked, “the Norwegians, did they send off a messenger? Or are they going back themselves?”
“They're leaving tomorrow, but I've no idea if they sent the news ahead.”
Robin nodded. Then he laughed, bitterly. “And what can I do about this?”
Marian was scared. She took his elbows and turned him to face her. “You will think of something. You are Robin Hood; I know you will.” Her voice was probably too forced to soothe. He had to have a plan.
His eyes came into focus on hers; she couldn't tell what he was thinking. “You should get back to the castle. If you're going back . . . ?”
“I'm going back,” Marian said quietly, and for a moment she remembered how dangerous it was that she was here. “Tell me what I can do.”
Robin nodded, his mouth set. “First I have to work out what I need to do.”
Marian nodded, and they looked at each other, uncertainly. Then he pulled her close, and kissed her fiercely. After a moment Marian remembered that she liked this. She raised a hand, tentatively, but before she could slide it on his arm, or around his neck, he had pulled away. She looked up at him, but his thoughts were already far away. “Go,” he said hoarsely.
*
By the time she reached the castle, Marian's heart was beating fast enough to send the blood rushing in her ears. She had barely made it back into the city in time, and she feared the castle guards would look too closely if she had to ask them to open the gates. Luckily, though, the guards had acquired a jug of mead somewhere, so they only nodded at her when she rode in.
Once inside the courtyard, Marian slid off Alys's horse so she wouldn't be quite so exposed. She moved quickly but purposefully, glancing in all directions, but the courtyard seemed deserted. The stable boys were nowhere in sight, and Marian worked quickly, untacking the horse and returning her to her stall. As she worked, her nerves calmed. There was no one out searching for her; there were no extra guards out. If her absence had been noticed, surely there would be more commotion. Marian latched the stall door and turned, and nearly jumped out of her skin. Someone stood between her and the stable door.
It wasn't until the figure began moving-towards her, quickly-that she realized who it was.
Guy grabbed her arms, just above her elbows. “What have you been doing?” His voice was hard, and she could not read his face in the semi-darkness. He was so close to her that she could barely breathe, and it took a moment before she could force words out.
“I-I just wanted to visit the horses. I haven't had time lately, with everything going on.” Marian hoped that her expression was neutral, for her heart was pounding.
“Don't lie to me!” Guy cried, shaking her. “I saw you ride in through the castle gate. What have you been doing, Marian?”
He had backed her up nearly to the wall, and he was positively looming over her, so close, too close; just like-Think Marian! she screamed at herself. She had known this was a possibility, but why were the words not coming, why couldn't she think?
“Answer me!” he cried, but it was as if someone were pouring hot water on the crown of her head and it flowed down, over her neck and shoulders and spine. Her limbs felt heavy, her brain miles from her tongue.
“Nothing. It was nothing, Guy,” she said weakly, hating this, hating her inability to save herself, hating that he could make her feel this way. His hold on her arms slackened; it was an opening she could use. “Please remove your hands from me,” she said, forcing her voice into poised coolness.
Guy pulled away as if he'd been burned. In the tense pause that followed she heard what had caught his attention-the sound of footsteps. Alys suddenly appeared in the stable door, little more than a silhouette.
“Marian, what's taking you so-Sir Guy, hello.” She dipped her head.
Guy straightened. “Lady Alys,” he said by way of greeting.
“The other ladies have been waiting for us to get back from our ride,” Alys said pointedly to Marian. She smiled apologetically at Guy.
“You were riding with Lady Marian?” Guy asked, his voice thick with surprise and suspicion. He looked from Alys to Marian.
“I just had to get out of the castle for awhile. The weather's finally nice enough to go outdoors,” she said, approaching them. “Lady Marian was so kind as to show me the nicest paths around the city, though it's taken days to get her to agree to go.” She smiled blandly up at Guy.
Marian hurriedly tried to gather her thoughts, get her limbs in order. She was puzzled, but grateful. And yet . . . lying to him again, so blatantly-she had to, she told herself uneasily.
Guy looked back and forth between them. “Why didn't I see you come in when she did?”
“I rode in before her, perhaps you just missed me,” she said breezily. Her tone was pleasant, but firm, that of a noblewoman who was not used to being questioned.
Guy's expression was inscrutable; Marian found herself holding her breath. “You should not have gone out without an escort,” he said, finally. “The country paths can be dangerous, especially for nobles. I'm surprised Lady Marian did not tell you of the outlaws that plague the shire.” Guy's gaze shifted to Marian. “I was worried for you,” he said quietly, intensely. Marian looked away. “The Sheriff would not have been happy if he'd found out that you were out alone.”
Marian bit her lip at his warning. “I know.”
“It is my fault,” Alys said. “I pushed her to go. I did not realize the danger. It will not happen again, I promise.”
After a pause, Guy said finally, flatly, “See that it doesn't.”
Alys turned to her. “Come, Marian. They'll be wondering what's become of us.” She took Marian by the hand and pulled her past Guy. “Good evening, Sir Guy!”
Marian caught Guy's eye as she passed. His gaze was troubled, but he gave her a small nod. She could not tell if he believed her, or if he were giving her the benefit of the doubt. Outside, the first stars winked in the evening sky.
When they were in the keep, with no one around them, Marian asked, “Why did you help me?”
It was a moment before Alys responded. “I saw Sir Guy storm out of the hall and thought you might need it.”
Marian was not sure what all lay in those words, but she did not want to ask. “Thank you,” she said. And then, “Alys-”
“Don't tell me what you were doing.”
Marian stopped. “It is dangerous for you to be involved.”
Alys put a finger before her lips and pulled Marian along until they reached Marian's room. It wasn't until the door was safely shut and locked behind them that Alys spoke again.
“You don't seem the secret lover type, so I'm guessing it's political. I don't care about politics, so it's better if I don't know anything about it.”
Marian fumbled with the clasp on her cloak. “How can you not care that Prince John wants to take the throne? That the Black Knights tax the poor unfairly to fund his schemes for the crown?”
Alys sighed. “Is Richard any better than John?”
“He is rightful king!”
“A king who has not been in his realm for years. Marian, do you not remember the taxes he raised to go on Crusade?”
In truth, she did not. She had had other, more personal things on her mind in those years. Things that involved Robin, and the breaking of their engagement. Since then, though, she'd bemoaned that resources were being spent abroad when they could be used to help the poor. “That does not change the fact that the Count of Mortain will destroy the country in trying to get the throne.”
Alys held up a hand, a silent plea not to say too much. “They are all the same,” she said gently. “They all want the power, and the money, and the glory.” Marian turned away, hanging her cloak on a peg by the fire and then removing her gloves. She did not agree with Alys, and yet her words lingered in her mind. It couldn't be true that Richard was no better than his brother. Robin had fought alongside the king; he knew him well, and he fully supported him. Robin's trust was enough for her. It had to be.
*
Guy watched silently as the women disappeared, feeling at home in the quiet darkness. Lady Alys's story was suspect, but he couldn't put the newly ratified treaty at risk by accusing her of sneaking around and upsetting Spenser. Besides, it was his job to keep his sister in line, not Guy's. It seemed likely she was just covering up for Marian. He knew how much she liked to ride, and foul late-winter weather had kept them all cooped up in the castle for the past several weeks. At least, that was what he wanted to believe it was, and so he did. It was a small enough matter save for the foolishness of going out unescorted-and the fact of Vaysey's wrath.
Marian's horse put its head over the stable door. Guy stepped forward and stroked its head while it nudged at him, probably looking for treats. She always did overindulge her horses. And perhaps Alys had been telling the truth after all. He'd been speaking with Stephen about the plans for Lady Day when he'd happened to see Marian; it was possible he'd missed Alys. After all, Marian had taken her duty to keep the guests happy seriously, which made him proud. She was a good châtelaine; there hadn't been a hitch since their guests had arrived.
Guy's attention suddenly focused on the animal. It wasn't Marian's. They were the same color, but this one had a longer, leaner face; a star on its forehead while Marian's had a blaze. Guy went down the row of stalls until he found Marian's horse. It blinked at him sleepily. He put a hand on its neck; it clearly hadn't been ridden that evening.
What the hell was going on? She was clearly lying about something, but what? Guy was torn between wanting to dash upstairs to her room to demand an explanation and wanting to do . . . nothing. He leaned forward over the stall, resting his weight on his forearms. He was certain it was her he'd seen. It hurt, that she had not been honest with him. A few months ago it would have been unsurprising, but lately things between them had been . . . good. Why would she lie about so small a thing, unless . . . but that was unthinkable. Except, he knew now, it wasn't. Guy kicked the stable door, startling awake half the horses in the barn. She wouldn't be out to talk to Hood, she wouldn't. He let his head fall down onto his crossed arms. God, he wanted to believe her. Believe in her. But she wasn't making it easy. Tomorrow, they would have to talk.