The Carpenter and the Wood (part 2)
Title: The Carpenter and the Wood (part 2)
Author: tania_sings
Rating: R (one semi-explicit sex scene and some violence. Overall, it's pretty tame.)
Pairings: Luke/Kate, Luke/OMC, Luke/canon male character so obscure he might as well be an OMC, Kate/OMC, Will/Djaq, Much/Eve
Warnings: Slash and het, violence, character death
Word Count: 30457
Summary: The life and loves of Will and Luke Scarlett over the course of one lifetime.
Author's Notes: I've tried to include a bit of history here, but some reality had to be scrapped for the sake of the story. Just remember it takes place in a world where Maid Marian wears sweaters from Topshop, and you should be fine! Thanks to the amazing roh_wyn for her sensational and very speedy beta work. And to everyone who offered advice and suggestions on the help threads. And finally, thanks to ladylovelace for taking on the art challenge. I can't wait to see it. Much obliged!
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18039.html
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18470.html
Part 4: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18709.html
Chapter 8
Everybody should believe in something; I believe I'll have another drink.
~Author Unknown
"Well, I don't know why the likes of you would want to work in a dive like this, but the job's yours if you want it."
The man who called himself Will Scarlett stifled a sigh of relief and took Ralph Brewer's outstretched hand. "Work's hard to come by all over these days. I'd never turn away an honest wage."
Ralph nodded sagely. "True enough. But I thought with your pardon sorted you'd be set for a sweet life in London."
The younger man held up his mangled left hand, grateful for the excuse it provided. "King Richard needed someone to built catapults for the army, but I'm far too fond of the seven fingers I've got left. I'm useless as a carpenter these days and I didn't fancy living off royal charity. I'm a working man by nature."
Ralph smiled. "That's the sort I like. Just keep in mind I'm not a rich man, in case you feel the need to revive your old hobbies."
"You've got my word. I'll start tomorrow then?"
"Sounds good. Unless you've not gone anywhere to be tonight?"
"Not even a pillow on which to rest my head. I only got to York this morning."
"In that case, you can start right now. Your first duty is to pour us both a glass of something strong and tell me the tale of that hand. Something to do with Vaisey, I imagine."
Luke smiled, and hurried to obey. He liked Ralph Brewer already, which was a welcome change from some of the men he'd worked for in the past few years. Innkeepers were widely known for getting the customers blootered and then hiking up the prices while watering down the drinks. When Luke had called out his employer in Norwich on this very practice a bit too loudly, the man and his broadsword had strongly suggested Luke leave town.
Which was how he found himself in York. Despite vowing to never work in a tavern again, he'd immediately trusted Ralph Brewer's face. His gingery hair and bright blue eyes reminded Luke favorably of Allan-a-Dale and his thick beard and heavy build suggested John Little. Luke wasn't sure if he believed in God anymore, but if his older brother was sending him signs from Heaven he'd hate to be too stubborn to see them.
"Nothing that exciting, I'm afraid. Let's just say that when you walk out on a Saracen girl who's the apple of her uncle's eye, be prepared to leave a little bit of yourself behind."
It was his standard explanation and as good a reason as any for Will Scarlett to be back in the country without his lady love. Luke hadn't been prepared for the number of people who asked after Djaq or quizzed him on one detail or another about Robin's gang; he hadn't realised how quickly the legends had spread. There had been a couple of close shaves, but he had his story down pat now.
Besides, a failed love affair was still a kinder fate than the one poor Djaq had actually met.
"What happened anyway? As the bards were telling it, you two were like Tristan and Iseult."
Luke shrugged, enjoying the sweetness of the mead. "Standard war bride story in reverse, I suppose. Once my soldier got me home, she found we had nothing in common. Plus I can't cook to save my life."
Ralph laughed, a deep rumbling noise that seemed to come from the pit of his belly. "I'll include meals in your wages then."
Luke found himself working damned hard for those meals. Even at a time like this, when few enough people had two coins to rub together, alcohol was one thing that was sure to sell well. The news that Will Scarlett was working at the Red Lion also led to a jump in business; folks were eager to meet one of the heroes of Locksley in person. Now that King Richard had officially pardoned the outlaws, everyone wanted to be connected with Robin's gang in some way.
"My uncle was from Clun; used to give them old clothes to use as bandages."
"Do you remember May Prescott from Nettlesworth, Will? She used to leave biscuits for your lot outside her door. She was my old Gran, God rest her soul."
"Used to cut wood out by Sherwood; John Little walked right past me once. I swear the ground was shaking. What was he, Will, ten feet tall?"
For the most part, Luke just smiled and nodded. At first, he had worried that one of Robin's admirers would trip him up or catch him in a lie. But by now he knew better. If any of these men could even tell Locksley from Ipswich, he'd eat his hat.
So he didn't worry when Jacob Boyd mentioned that his visiting cousin had grown up near Sherwood and known the outlaws well. He just made sure to add an extra measure to poor Jake's drink. The carter's wife had died giving him twins, and he was bereft without his Beth. The cousin could tell all the tall tales she wanted, so long as she eased his burden a bit.
"Ah, here's the lass now! Two heroes of Sherwood in the same rank bar! Who'd have thought?"
Luke watched as the woman in the doorway elbowed her way through the crowd, her chin pushed forward. Unaccompanied women always caused something of a stir in the Lion, and Luke supposed this one would be pretty enough if she were to smile. But at the moment her brown eyes were red with exhaustion and her lips were pressed into a disapproving line. Luke didn't envy Jake a bit.
"You were due home an hour ago; you said you'd just have the one. Good lord, Jacob, look at you! How many have you had?"
Luke was stunned to hear that her accent was pure Locksley.
Jacob slid off the barstool to placate the girl, not a wise move as he immediately swayed and had to prop himself up against the bar.
"Come on love! This is a historic type moment. Don't sully it."
The girl flinched at the smell of liquor on Boyd's breath. "What are you talking about?"
Boyd waved an arm at Luke. "Cuz, this here is none other than Will Scarlett! Will, meet Kate."
Chapter 9
Freedom is that instant between when someone tells you to do something and when you decide how to respond.
~Jeffrey Borenstein
Will would have loved her.
Luke had no doubt about that. Kate was exactly right, a pretty peasant girl who knew about hard work. She was clever and brave. She understood the value of family. And she could hold her drink far better than Luke could.
Which was why he had to lean on her as they left the parish Christmas feast. Yes, Will would have loved her; all the Locksley men joked that if you could find a woman strong enough to carry you when you were in your cups, that should be enough to catch your heart. But Luke wasn't worrying about getting caught; he was feeling too good, too full of warm roast goose and holiday cheer and rough red wine.
And when Kate, who'd had more than her share of wine herself, followed Luke up the stairs to his room and climbed into his bed, well it all seemed like perfectly harmless. It was Christmas, after all, and she was a nice girl who had gone to all the trouble of helping him get home and he'd been alone for a very long time. And Will would have loved her.
But in April, Luke was drinking for a different reason.
"Did I ever tell you why I'm called Ralph Brewer?"
Luke wasn't sure what this had to do with anything. "Never gave it much thought, to be honest." He drained his drink.
Ralph refilled both their glasses. "My Mum was a Browne. And her Dad was a Browne, which meant it certainly wouldn't do for me to be one. She didn't have a clue what name my own Dad would have given me had he stuck around but since our family always had the tavern, Brewer seemed as good a choice as any. Just a little family joke that's followed me these last thirty some years."
Ah. "Always knew you were a bastard. Just didn't know it started at birth."
Ralph cuffed Luke affectionately on the back of the head. "Watch it boy. Or I'll start asking questions about what exactly Scarlett means." He took another drink and grew serious. "My Mum did her best for me, no question. But I won't pretend I had it easy; it's a hard way to start a life. You're doing the right thing."
Luke knew that. He just didn't like it.
Ralph took his hand. "Will... you're certain it's yours?"
Luke nodded. "The dates add up. And she doesn't have a reputation for spreading it around. I'm sure."
"Then why are you acting like a man about to be hung for a crime he didn't commit?"
"I don't ... I don't know. I don't love her, I guess."
Ralph snorted. "You've got the soul of a nobleman, Will; you really do. What's it matter if you love her? Do you love the plowhorse you buy in foal? No, but you know you've got a great deal."
Luke couldn't help but laugh. "And you've got the soul of a poet. Plowhorse ... honestly."
The laughter fell silent as the sound of breaking glass was followed by screaming, shattering the tranquility.
Ralph rolled his eyes and headed towards the door. "Not this again. Like it'll bring him back."
Small scale riots had been erupting all over the city for a week, ever since the news of King Richard's death had been reported. Supporters of Prince John had been celebrating nonstop, buoyed by the fact that their sovereign now had no obstacle to the throne. Those who had loved King Richard reacted as one might expect them to, and the end result was violence in the streets.
Ralph drew back the curtain and flinched. "It's bad out there. Best be getting back to your girl; it's no night for a woman to be alone."
Judging by what Luke could hear the other man was very right. He pulled his cloak on and drew the hood over his head, hoping he could pass through the city unrecognised. Far too many people were interested in what he or Kate had to say about the royal situation, and neither of them could afford to get drawn into this right now.
As soon as he hit the main roads, Luke could see that this was no ordinary clash between citizens with a difference of opinion. Armed soldiers were on the streets of York tonight, pounding on doors and stopping everyone who tried to get past them.
"Oi, you! Stop in the name of King John!"
He was still Prince John, and would be until the coronation, but Luke didn't see that any good would come from arguing the point with the soldier. He stopped immediately and lowered his hood. The soldier held a torch to Luke's face and peered at him in the light.
"No, not him. Carry on."
Fair enough.
"What's this, then?"
Damn. The soldier had noticed the wooden tag Luke wore around his neck. It was so much a part of his daily wardrobe that he put it on instinctively in the mornings; he'd no more leave the house without his tags than without his shirt. Which was a shame, because if he'd thought about it then he might have realised now was a particularly bad time to be associated with Robin Hood.
"Just an old memento, sir."
The soldier definitely recognised the symbol. "I'd heard a pair of you were in York. It's Scarlett, isn't it?"
"Will Scarlett, yes sir."
"Well then, Will Scarlett, why don't you spare yourself a lot of trouble and tell me where he is."
Luke had no idea what the soldier was talking about and told him as much.
"Robert Childe. The poet. Where is he?"
Luke had never even heard of Childe. "I don't know anything about any poet. I can't read, sir."
The soldier wasn't surprised. "That's why he's drawing these." He shoved a scrap of paper in Luke's face.
Luke couldn't read the lettering, but from the crude drawing at the top of the page, depicting a young lion and an infant toad in a cradle together, he could guess it didn't say anything flattering about the prince. "I've never seen that before. I don't know anything about Childe."
The soldier was close enough to his face for Luke to see white spittle in the corners of the man's mouth. "Like you'd tell us if you had. Maybe you'll tell the Sheriff a different story." He grabbed Luke's arm.
Luke had never been a violent man. He and Will had sometimes wrestled together, but Will had been five years older and far taller, so that had never lasted long enough for him to hone any skills. And he'd scuffled a bit with some of the other village boys as a child, but that had never been anything serious. This WAS serious. Luke had no intention of ever speaking to any Sheriff again.
He acted purely on instict, twisting the wrist of the arm that held him. The soldier, not expecting any challenge from an unarmed man, yelled out in surprise. Luke kicked him, hard, in the stomach, then took advantage of his surprise to kick him again. The torch the soldier had been holding fell to the ground and sputtered out. Luke dived for it, scrambling in the dark. The sound of metal scraping against metal let him know the soldier was drawing his sword and he rolled out of the way, so close to the path of the blade that he could feel the breeze from when it cut through the air. Something hard jabbed him in the back and he realised that he'd rolled onto the torch. He grabbed it and sprung to his feet.
"Over here, ugly!"
The soldier spun in the direction of the insult, swinging blindly in the dark. Luke ducked, letting the sword pass over his head. Clenching his fist around the extinguished torch, he jabbed up, in the direction of the movement, driving the pointed wooden wedge into his adversarys' groin.
The soldier fell to his knees with the pain, his helmet clattering to the ground. Luke, thinking of nothing but the need to end this quickly and make a clean getaway, delivered a series of hard blows to the other man's head, oblivious to the blood flying from the semi-conscious lips. He stopped only when the soldier's groans fell silent and he ceased to even twitch. Luke paused only long enough to grab the soldier's sword before running towards home.
He heard Kate before he saw her, her voice carrying over the sound of the conflict. The citizens were capitulating, left with no choice when faced with a royal army on their quiet streets. Kate's resistance was like a sirens' song.
"I told you, your mates already searched the house. They made a right mess of it too; I'm not having another lot of you through here!"
There were three soldiers in the doorway; obviously Kate had been holding out for a while.
"We told YOU, woman; we've got royal permission to enter any home as often as we like. Now move out of the way or we'll move you!"
"I'll have you know I'm with child. Do you feel brave, threatening a pregnant woman?"
"Couldn't care less, love; it's nothing to do with us."
Luke stepped out of the shadows and pressed the tip of his sword into
the back of the soldier who had spoken. "It's something to do with me. Put your hands up and step away from my betrothed."
The other soldiers moved to grab their weapons, but Luke had his sword at their leader's throat now. "Tell them to drop their blades."
The armed men had no choice but to comply. Kate scooped up their swords, gasping as she saw Luke's face.
"Will, you're covered in blood!"
"None of it's mine." He addressed the soldiers now. "See, I took a blade off one of your fellows without losing a drop of my own blood. You know who I am, right? And who she is? Good. Now I'm armed, and she's armed. So this could get really bad for you. I know you could go and get a bunch of your friends, but believe me, we can do the same. Or, we could just agree that you've already searched this house."
As soon as the soldiers had beaten their hasty retreat down the road, Kate drew him inside.
"You're really not hurt?"
"I'm not. You?"
Kate shook her head. Luke let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Lucky then! Why not just let them in? You know they'll be looking to cause problems for us for years now!"
A ragged sob drew his attention to the man sitting at the kitchen table. He was younger than Kate, younger than Luke even. Barely more than a boy. Obviously terrified, he was white-faced and shaking. Kate cast him a reassuring smile.
"Will, apparently this young man is named Robert Childe. Master Childe, this is my intended, Will Scarlett."
Childe raised a hand in greeting. Luke nodded, as Kate pulled him out of the kitchen into the darkened corridor.
"Will, I'll admit I don't know him from Adam, but no one deserves to die just because of a few silly drawings. I'm sorry for all the trouble, but they'd have slit his throat if they found him."
Kate fell silent as Luke wrapped his arms around her. She made such a good show of being unintimidated that he hadn't realised how frightened she was until he felt her trembling. Her belly, only just beginning to swell, pressed against him; their baby was safe in spite of the dangerous night.
There was no doubt at all in Luke's mind. Will would have loved her.
Chapter 10
Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
~William Wordsworth
Kate Scarlett beamed as her husband cradled their newborn daughter in his arms. "She looks exactly like you."
Luke shook his head, awestruck by the baby. "She looks like my brother."
The little girl snuffled in her father's arms, working her mouth as though already trying to form words. She had ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes and neither of them could stop looking at her.
"I didn't know you had a brother." Kate traced one finger over her daughter's eyebrows, as if trying to account for every hair there. Her husband instinctively tightened his grip on the baby, reminded of what could happen if he let her drop.
Careless. His little baby made him careless, made him talk about the past. But he'd forgive her that and more.
"Luke. He died, a while back. He's buried in Scarborough."
Kate frowned; everyone knew that talk of death was bad luck around an unbaptised baby. But it was difficult to stay angry as her little girl strained towards her. She took the baby back onto her lap and guided the little mouth to her breast. Easy as a new lamb, the baby began to suck, and her parents both watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed.
"We could call her Lucy, if you like." Throughout the pregnancy, Kate had actually been angling for Matilda, but something about the baby made her feel pliable and generous. Her husband shook his head.
"Wilhelmina."
Kate laughed. "We're still young, Will, and obviously fertile with each other. I'm pretty sure I can give you a boy."
Luke didn't take his eyes off the baby. She was remarkable. Her eyes were a deep, hazy blue and seemed to lock on to his from the moment she first opened them. Her little nose, her little mouth -- amazing that someone so new to the world could feel so familiar.
"The next one can be Lucy or Luke or Matilda or Matthew. She's Wilhelmina. Please, Kate?"
His wife nodded her head. It was rather touching, really, that he would choose a daughter as his namesake. She'd worried a bit, when the old wives of York had made her walk in front of them and declared there was no way she was carrying a son. Her husband was used to being surrounded by men, and she didn't know how he'd feel about a daughter. But he was positively mesmerised by her, and who wouldn't be?
Kate's eyes were already closing when Luke took Wilhelmina from her mother. Kate instinctely reached for her baby, but Luke stroked his wife's hair and soothed her to sleep. She'd had an exhausting night and needed her rest. He would watch the baby.
He carried Wilhelmina out the front door of their house and through the city streets, explaining to her the cobblestones in the road, the yellow thatch of the roofs, the pink beams of the rising sun. Some of the food sellers were already setting up their stands, and Luke, with the shy pride of a boy, displayed his new baby. The old folks scolded him for taking her out in the air before she'd been seen by a priest, but Luke was a country boy, and he knew what his daughter needed.
The father and daughter moved towards the outskirts of town. Luke gave private thanks to whoever was listening that Wilhelmina had been born in the autumn, so that she could see right away the changing of the leaves and the ripe, plump pumpkins in the fields. When they reached the forest, he tucked her into his cloak so that she wouldn't be bothered by the biting midges, but he left her dark little head poking out the top. It was vital that she see this.
He broke off a branch from an oak tree, and placed it in Wilhelmina's hand. Her little fist closed around the wood like she had been waiting for it, and his heart turned over to see it. Awestruck, he passed on the first lesson that his father had taught him in a whisper.
"This is oak, little one. It's a hard wood, a strong wood. We use it for making heirlooms, things that we want to last. And this is pine. When it's cut right, it's as blonde as your mother's hair. I've made all your nursery things in pine, so you'll always be surrounded by sunshine. And this is yew. It's a tricky wood to work with; you have to treat it gently. But if you can make it like you, it's got the most beautifully textured grain. Your uncle Will, now he used to make amazing little works of art with yew, little horses and soldiers and such. Me, I preferred to work with cherry. This is cherry, see."
Luke knew he must have looked like a madman, marching through the forest at dawn, deep in conversation with a newborn. But there was no one around but the trees and the world's newest Scarlett and they, he was delighted to see, were too entranced with each other to worry about him.
Chapter 11
When there's a single thief, it's robbery. When there are a thousand thieves, it's taxation.
~Vanya Cohen
Luke filled the tax collectors' glasses up to the brim, smiling as the men whooped their appreciation.
"Ah, you're a good one, Will. Most of the places in this city won't even serve us, can you believe that?
Luke shrugged. "Just trying to earn back a bit of my silver, gents. Drink deep."
"To your health, and good King John's!" The men drained their glasses. Luke refilled them and then excused himself. Ralph was standing by the door to the cellar, and clearly wanted a word.
"Will, what the Hell are you doing? I don't want scum like that drinking in my tavern!"
Ralph's opinion was the same one held by most of York. King John was determined to outdo his brother's reign in terms of sheer opulance. The tax collectors had pocketed the better part of most people's yearly earnings and emotions were running high.
Luke grinned at his friend and employer. "Ralph, do you trust me?"
"Of course I do. But this is sickening."
"Believe me, it's for a greater purpose. But do you have anything stronger to hand? These guys are seasoned drunks; ale's not touching them."
Ralph looked even more confused. "There's a decent supply of whiskey in the back. I suppose you might as well move it while you can; once word gets out that we let Lackland's scum drink here, the locals will avoid us for a spell. You really know what you're doing?"
Luke's eyes gleamed. He hadn't felt a rush like this since he was a boy. "Trust," he reminded Ralph, before heading downstairs for the whisky.
Even the Devil's piss from Scotland hadn't been enough to take care of all the men, so once the first two were passed out, Luke sped up the process by clubbing the third over the head with a barstool when his back was turned. He wagered that in the morning the man would just attribute the headache to a massive hangover. At any rate, the unfortunate tax collector would have bigger things to worry about.
Luke hadn't trained under two of England's best carpenters for nothing, and he could tell right away that the locks on the strongboxes were flimsy things, no doubt made by an underpaid and bitter man. Picking them was harder than it would have been with all his fingers, but nevertheless he had the first box open inside of ten minutes.
Luckily, he knew the forest like he knew his own reflection. He could find the rotted out stump blindfolded, but a stranger could spend days in the forest before uncovering his hiding place.
The tax collectors were furious, of course, but Kate swore up and down that her husband had been home by midnight and Ralph Brewer clearly remembered walking his bartender home after their three esteemed guests fell asleep. So, many empty threats later, the tax collectors left York, vowing to return with a horde of soldiers. Luke wasn't worried. If King John's reputation was anything to go by, these particular men certainly wouldn't be back.
As the disheartned men rode out of town, ducking a barrage of rotten tomatoes hurled by an exhuberant population, Luke grabbed Kate and swung her in a wide circle, his heart racing. God, he'd forgotten how GOOD this could make a man feel, like he was capable of anything!
"Easy there!" Kate Scarlett clearly didn't grasp that this was a happy occasion. She seemed more put out than anything else.
"Fuck easy! Come on, love! We just pulled off the first great scam of the century!"
"You did, anyway." Luke looked closely at Kate. She was sporting the little furrow she got between her brows when she was worried or frustrated and, out of nowhere, it occurred to him she looked like nothing so much as a little boy who'd been left out of a game of kick-the-bladder.
"You're not cross, are you, pet? Come on, we've got our money back. We should celebrate!"
Kate wasn't backing down. "We've got our money back for now. You're mad if you think that's the end of it. If you'd trusted me with what you were planning, we could have pinned it on some roving band of thieves out of Lincoln or something. We could have given them someone to chase besides us. As it is, we've got a little extra time, that's all."
Luke wanted to disagree, but no arguments would come. Damn the woman, she was right. If he'd thought it over, he would have realised that taking back the silver wasn't a permanent solution, but seeing history repeat itself, seeing decent, hardworking people losing everything at a royal whim, had sparked a kind of fury in him. He'd hatched the plan and executed the robbery all within a the space of a few hours. The shooting star he was riding began to plummet. Fortunately, Kate was sensible enough not to press her victory once she had it.
"Will, don't worry. We'll put the time to good use and work something out before Lackland has time to react. Just remember, you're probably the only thief in England who doesn't need to keep what he does from his wife. Might as well put that to good advantage. Remember what it was like in Sherwood. Anyone who went off on his own would always run into trouble. You need someone to watch your back."
Of course, Luke had no idea what things had been like in Sherwood, but there was no way he could tell Kate that. At any rate, she was right and he told her so.
Kate smiled. "You'd do well to remember that. Now come on. Let's kick off this party."
"Party?"
"Of course!" Kate took his arm and pulled him towards the inn. "You just pulled off the first great scam of the century! And apparently poor Ralph's got several bottles of whisky that have only been half drunk. Let's help him out, shall we?"
Luke grinned, his good mood returning. "I live to serve."
And, although miles away a king with a fierce temper was waiting for silver that wasn't coming, the two thieves entered the tavern hand in hand with smiles on their faces.
Chapter 12
I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.
~Thomas Moore
"To Scarlett!"
The men and women gathered in the Red Lion were all drunk as lords, or well on their way to being there. King John and the Sheriff of York had taken a great deal from them over the course of the last year, and it was a naughty delight to be able snatch a little bit back.
Kate had regaled them all with stories of the old days. It was remarkable how different her Sherwood had been from the one Will had described to him the last time they met. Kate's stories were full of warrior monks and long lost brothers, the heroic rebirth of Gisbourne and the madness of Isabella. Will's Sherwood had been eating squirrel on skewers, sleeping in a cave as the rain fell all around, and marveling at the sheer variety of biting insects the world had to offer. It had been a group of men who loved each other like brothers, surviving on sheer determination to do what was right, and, more often than not, sheer luck.
Maybe Kate was just a better storyteller than Will had been. Luke was content to let her do the talking while he settled back comfortably into the twin cushions of drink and congratulations until she announced she was leaving.
"Need someone to walk you home?" He didn't really want to go, but a gentleman would do as he must. Thankfully, she demurred.
"I think I'm just sober enough to find the door. Best get home though, before my milk turns to beer! Ralph, you'll make sure my husband stays out of trouble?"
Ralph nodded from beind the bar. "I'll keep a close watch on him, ma'am."
"I know you will." Then, after playfully tousling Luke's hair, she was gone.
He watched her go with nothing but fondness. Being married to Kate was working out better than he could have hoped. So they weren't like most married couples they knew, still less like the courting couples currently celebrating in dark corners of the tavern. What of it? There was a comfortable, almost fraternal affection between them that he cherished. Kate was one of his best friends.
His other best friend refilled his beer mug. "I owe you an apology Will. I'll admit I didn't know what you were up to, but I should have known you had a reason for cozying up to the taxmen. Forgive me?"
Through the mist of beer, Ralph looked like nothing so much as a big apologetic ginger sheepdog. Luke laughed for no particular reason than utter happiness. "Think nothing of it! I'll find a way for you to make it up to me."
Ralph lifted his glass in a salute. "No doubt. Just so long as it doesn't include letting you off cleaning duty tonight. There'll be an unholy mess after this little knees-up ends."
There was indeed. So after the last of the revellers had disappeared into the night, Luke grabbed a broom and began trying in vain to have some positive effect on the total chaos around them.
"Get off your arse and help me out, big man. This'll take till dawn on my own."
Ralph made no move to help; instead he took Luke's broom and guided the younger man to a booth.
"I want you to know I meant what I said. I shouldn't have doubted you, and I'm sorry."
Luke could never be angry at Ralph. "Really, it's all right."
"If you do want to be getting home, I reckon I can manage all right here."
Luke shook his head. "No, it's fine. I think Kate would actually be grateful if I were out a bit longer. She could use the sleep."
Ralph grunted. "Keeping her up all night, are you?"
"No! I meant, you know, the baby and all." Damn, why was he blushing?
Of course, Ralph noticed. "Look at you all coloured up like a girl! It's to be expected with newlyweds, Will. And you've not even been married a year yet."
"No, I know. But it's not like that with me and Kate. We're not--"
Luke didn't have the words to explain. Fortunately, they didn't seem to be needed.
"No. I thought not."
In the morning, Luke wouldn't remember how they moved from that booth to Ralph's room above the tavern. He had a feeling he probably sacrificed all dignity by lurching over the table and smashing his mouth against his startled friend's, but that didn't matter.
This was so different from what he was used to, a bloke and a bed and a whole night ahead of them instead of a damp wall pressed against his back and hurried little snatches of sensation. It felt like a whole new world: slow easy kisses, and the weight of this good, kind man on top of him, and all the time he could want to savour the matching hardness against his own. It felt like paradise.
"Love you." The words couldn't lessen the pain as Ralph entered him, but they could make it seem so worthwhile. "Love you, Will. Love you so much."
"Luke." The name slipped thoughtlessly past his lips along with the breathless little gasps and moans. "My name's Luke."
Ralph shifted and his cock touched something deep inside Luke that made the world disappear so that nothing was left but a shower of golden sparks and the words, half-whispered, half-panted in his ear. "Love you, Luke."
Chapter 13
It sometimes happens, even in the best of families, that a baby is born. This is not necessarily cause for alarm. The important thing is to keep your wits about you and borrow some money.
~Elinor Goulding Smith
When the strong, healthy baby boy was born, Luke smiled tenderly but made no move to take him from his wife.
"I think this one looks more like your side of the family."
Kate's new son definitely resembled his mother. He had little wisps of blond hair that were already beginning to curl and a tiny dimple in his chin. He also strongly resembled Kate's closest relative in York, her second cousin, Jacob Boyd. This made sense, as Luke strongly suspected Jake was the baby's father.
When Kate had rolled over onto his side of the bed eight months earlier, he'd immediately guessed that she was pregnant. Nothing short of that would have compelled her to cross the invisible line between them and reintroduce sexuality to a marriage that was doing just fine without it. He'd almost laughed at the time; one of his favorite things about Kate was the way she would just uncomplainingly throw herself into any task that needed doing, however unpleasant.
So he'd done his duty by his wife, and when, a week later, she announced that she was pregnant, he'd celebrated with her. Why not, after all? Money was tight, but they could afford one more child. And why shouldn't Kate have something for herself?
"Don't you want to hold him?" Kate looked worried. So Luke obliged, gently cradling the little boy in his arms.
"A little outlaw in the making, this one! Brawling already!" Luke laughed as he dodged the tiny fists; Kate visibly relaxed.
"So what shall we call him?" Luke asked, handing back the baby.
Kate shrugged. "You choose."
They hadn't discussed names. At the time, Luke had taken that to mean that she and Jacob had decided on something privately. Apparently not.
There was a wide range of options. Dan, of course, or Matthew. Kate still expected him to name a baby for his lost brother, Luke. Robin or Allan -- Kate would love either of those. Even John, far less popular than it had been before the current king took the throne, would resonate sweetly for her.
"Jack."
The look of startled delight on Kate's face confirmed all his suspicions about the child's paternity, but he hadn't been thinking of Jacob Boyd when he'd suggested the name. Instead, as he'd remembered the group of ragged outlaws, his mind's eye had settled on a slim, dark figure who'd thought the name was worth preserving. He'd come to think of her far more kindly over the last year than he had in the ones that preceded it. He let her be a young woman in love for the first time, eager to share the wonders of her home with her exotic new husband, rather than the foreigner who tempted Will to the place where he died. All his secret condemnations wouldn't change what had happened, so he might as well believe she was worth it. And, he reflected, those who are in love themselves are more inclined to look kindly on lovers.
"Jack Matthew Scarlett", Kate confirmed.
"A good name."
The voice startled them both. Jacob Boyd stood in the doorway, clutching what appeared to be a stuffed donkey made of old socks. A good-hearted widower who'd had to learn to mend his own clothes and change the nappies of his twins by himself, the man always had a bit of an air of confusion around him even when he was at ease. At this particularly awkward moment, he looked positively terrified.
Luke decided to put him out of his misery. "Come in Boyd! See our little Jack! Isn't he remarkable?"
Boyd was at the bedside in an instant, kneeling beside Kate to drink in the sight of the baby. "Yes. He is." He pressed a soft kiss to Kate's temple. "Well done."
Luke was already shrugging on his coat. "If it's not too much trouble, would you mind sitting with him and Kate for a couple of hours? I'd like to drink a toast to his health down at the Lion."
Boyd agreed so speedily that Luke had to fight the urge to laugh. He'd make a point of drinking slowly. Those in love are inclined to look kindly on lovers.
"A bottle of the best for every table! It's a boy!"
A general cheer went up as Ralph handed out glasses. When Luke moved behind the bar to help, the big man leaned in close and Luke delighted at the tiny stolen moment.
"You all right then, poor old cuckold?"
Luke faked a pout. "I'll need you to soothe my wounded pride tonight."
Ralph laughed his deep, rumbling laugh. "Count on it, Scarlett."
He'd been Scarlett in public and Luke in private ever since that first night. He'd told Ralph the whole story as the sun came up, though they'd kept the curtains drawn to make the night last a little longer. Ralph hadn't said a word, just rubbed gentle circles on his back and let him speak through the tears that fell on the bigger man's shoulder. And he had been Scarlett or Luke ever since.
Only to Ralph, of course. Everyone else still called him Will.
"Hurry up with the drinks!" This came from a crowded table at the back of the room. Soon, the cry was taken up from all corners, and Luke had to laugh as he piled the dripping glasses onto a tray.
"It's my celebration and I'm still taking orders! Where's the justice, eh?"
Once the drinks were distributed and toasts drunk, Ralph passed the hat for "Scarlett's new little one." It was a York tradition to give a coin for a new baby, and, though no one in the bar was rich, they dug into their pockets to give what they could.
Luke gratefully accepted the hat of money and slid it beneath the bar. He was relieved he had done so, as not more than a minute later the tarvern door banged open and a wild-eyed man burst into the room. Luke tensed; highwaymen were rare in the cities but not unheard of. In this case though, he needn't have worried, as Ralph hurried around the bar to take the newcomer a chair.
"Father Stevens, what's the matter?"
Luke hadn't recognized the parish priest, as he hadn't attended church in years. The other men in the room were apparently more faithful, and they gathered around the priest with worried faces.
"It's the treasury! We have to stop him. The king, he's taking the treasury from York Minster!"
Chapter 14
When I saw others straining toward God, I did not understand it, for though I may have had him less than they did, there was no one blocking the way between him and me, and I could reach his heart easily. It is up to him, after all, to have us, our part consists of almost solely in letting him grasp us.
~Rainer Maria Rilke
Was he the only one who realised just how lightly they were getting off?
A year ago, Luke had sent the tax collectors out of York with empty coffers and their tails between their legs. He and Kate spent the next few months waiting for a reprisal until they realised King John, encountering far more resistance than he'd expected from all across the country, wasn't going to risk tangling with two of Robin Hood's men until his grip on the throne was a good deal more secure. Still, he'd never entirely let his guard down; John was going to want the taxes he felt were his due from the city of York.
And apparently he'd found a harmless way to to get them! As far as Luke was concerned, a few gold crosses gone from the church were no loss whatsoever.
But he was the only one who seemed to hold this opinion. When the priest had announced that Lackland would be raiding the Minster treasury, every man in the tavern had gasped in shock. Three hours later, an impromptu committee had formed in the Red Lion, with a lot of agitated people looking for a solution.
Luke just sold them drinks.
"He wants the cloth of gold from the canopies; the one we always use at Easter. What's he going to do, melt down the threads for coin?" Jim Connelly, the butcher, looked close to tears.
"I rub that little angel statue ever time I visit my Mum's grave. If that's gone, it'll be like losing her all over again." Annie Spencer was weeping openly.
"I'm sixty-eight years old and I've taken communion from the same chalice every Sunday of my life. He can't take that away from me, can he?" The widow Jenkins was trembling with outrage.
"What are we going to do?"
When the room fell silent, Luke looked around for the reason, only to find all eyes on him. He laughed and wiped down the bar. "You're on your own with this one, folks. I don't do God, remember?"
It was true. It wasn't exactly that he didn't believe, but, as of late, he'd lost any desire to be part of the church. Being a bartender was much the same as being a priest; people felt the need to share their sins with him. Unsurprisingly, he'd found that the church's idea of a black stain that doomed a soul to hell as opposed to a little mark barely worth a mention was pretty much the exact opposite of his. And since it was a fight he wasn't going to win, he just stayed well out of it.
It seemed the little priest wasn't giving up that easily though.
"Your daughter was baptised in my church. Your new wee one will be too, though we'll have to use a slop bucket if King John gets his way!"
Luke shrugged. "That's the wife's doing. I don't care one way or another about baptism."
The others soon chimed in, claiming that they couldn't get by without this tapestry or that medallion for comfort. Surely Will Scarlett -- the hero from Sherwood, the champion of the common people -- wouldn't just let this happen. As they described the sheer beauty and worth of the artifacts they wanted to keep, It occurred to Luke that a truly intelligent king would just outlaw the Holy Roman church and seize its land and its goods once and for all. He'd make a fortune.
Luke shouted over them. "Listen people! What you're talking about here isn't bread. It's not water and it's not medicine. I've got no problem with squaring off against Lackland if people are going to starve otherwise. But none of you have any idea how dangerous this can be, and I just can't see how it's worth fighting over."
He could tell he'd convinced no one. The begging started again instantly, and the priest began some long-winded speech about 'spiritual starvation'. Ralph pounded loudly on the bar and bellowed for silence. Luke barely had a moment to register that his lover's cocky, shit-eating grin should have put him on alert before it was too late.
"Scarlett... the king's trying to take what's ours. We don't want him to have it."
Luke opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. He looked around him at the group of over-reacting hysterics to find that they'd transformed into his friends and neighbors, who were being robbed of something they loved by a man who thought he was better than them just because he'd been squeezed from a royal fanny.
"Fine. Let's get started."
Chapter 15
Charlatanism of some degree is indispensable to effective leadership.
~Eric Hoffer
Luke had to wonder if Lord Robin had ever felt like quite this much of a killjoy.
The group of men who'd assembled to help guard the treasury of York Minster were aching for a fight. For years now, King John's taxmen had walked away with the better part of their earnings, ensuring that His Grace could eat pheasant from gold plates while they went hungry. They wanted to bash some skulls, see some blood flow. They wanted to do battle for what was rightfully theirs.
So when Luke explained what he really needed them to do was get the treasure out of the church, hide it, and then hide themselves, the volunteers were understandably disappointed.
To make him feel like even more of a twat, it turned out Kate was an absolute natural at giving orders.
"Did any of you live in Sherwood Forest? Did any of you fight with Robin Hood? No. Now I don't care what stories the bards are telling; I'm telling you, and Will can tell you, we spent most of our time hiding under bushes. Do you want ballads written about you, or do you want to save the treasure? Now come on, move!"
"You're amazing, do you know that?" Luke said admiringly. "You just had a baby; no one would blame you for sitting this one out."
"Not on your life." Kate was quick to respond. "I owe Lackland just as much as you do. We're in this together. How's your special project coming?"
"Take a look."
Luke showed her the twelve statues he'd done in the shape of the
apostles. It had been a long time since he'd made anything decorative; ever since his injury he'd limited his carpentry to the likes of fixing wobbly tables, not wanting to see how his skills had diminished. He'd been surprised by his muscle memory, the way his fingers instinctively remembered what they were doing even as he was second-guessing himself.
"They're beautiful." Kate ran her fingers over each of the exquisitely carved faces. "But don't they look too new?"
Luke nodded. "I'm going to burn them a bit; if I can get them a bit ashy and crumbly they'll look more like old stone. Once I have them painted, no one who's not looking too closely will be able to tell the difference. And I think the tax collectors will be happy to just get them loaded up and out of York."
Luke finished the work all of one night before the king's men were due to arrive. His body humming with nerves, he was only able to pick at his dinner despite Kate's reminders that he'd need his strength. He sat quietly in the nursery until the children fell asleep then decided to head towards the church. It was where his mind was already; his body might as well follow.
"I won't say goodbye." Kate declared. "After all, we've both been through worse than this before, haven't we? You'll be coming back."
Out of nowhere, Luke remembered the burn of the hangman's noose around his neck, the sensation of the world falling away. He remembered an old man's voice penetrating his fever, telling him his brother had been slaughtered like a Christmas goose. He nodded. He may not have lived the life Kate thought he had, but he'd been through worse than this.
"Just remember," Kate continued, as she helped him on with his coat, "Lackland's only real love is himself. You can't appeal to his reason; he doesn't have any. You need to stroke his ego. To him, that IS reason."
Luke nodded again. His only experience with the king had been during the man's triumphant parade through York, but even from a distance the vanity of the monarch had been clear. He kissed her gently on the forehead and headed off into the night.
He didn't know what he expected to find at York Minster-- surely it would be locked down tight-- but when he saw Ralph Brewer sitting on the steps he knew what he'd been hoping for.
"Couldn't keep away either, huh?"
Ralph shook his head silently. Luke sat beside him, relishing the warmth of the other man's reassuring bulk, the weight of Ralph's head resting on his shoulder.
"I talked you into this. Luke, I could kick myself. I never thought it would go down like this."
Luke shrugged. "It's what I should be doing. I want you to make me a promise."
"Anything." Ralph's voice sounded oddly thick.
"If I don't come back--"
"Don't even say that!"
"Shhh. If I don't come back, take care of Kate. And the children. Wilhelmina's going to need a father figure; it's a rough world for a child without a dad. And if you ever think she's ready, tell her about me. Tell her who I was."
"Okay." Ralph's grip on his hand was tight enough to crack the bones, but Luke cherished the pressure.
"And tell Kate... tell her that she was the perfect wife for me. Heaven-sent. Tell her I had absolutely no reason to complain about her and I knew that. Please."
"I will. Can we stop talking now?"
Luke agreed; he was out of words anyway. The two men sat in silence as the sun rose, breaking apart only once they heard the priest's footsteps on the flagstone path. The poor man looked positively terrified, and despite the dangers of his own situation, Luke couldn't help but feel a stab of pity for him.
The three of them moved the locked strongboxes to the courtyard. Luke noted with a sense of relief that the rocks inside simulated the heft of gold fairly well, and that through the thick wood, it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between the clink of tin and the sound of more precious metals. He set his statues out in front as a show of good faith.
"Guess this is it." Ralph had been moving deliberately slow, but they both knew that wouldn't slow down the tax collectors' horses.
"Guess so." Luke tried to fake a smile, but he could tell he must have been grimacing instead. "Lock it behind me."
He opened the largest box and lifted out the false bottom. There was just enough room for him to lie flat. Ralph replaced the false bottom, and Luke heard the tin coins being heaped on top. Then there was a thud and a series of more substantial clicks and he knew he was locked in.
He concentrated on breathing through the minute cracks in his little prison as the murmur of voices let him know the taxmen had arrived. With a sickening lurch, his box was thrown onto the back of their cart. They began to move and Luke knew he was on his way to either a dazzling victory or a miserable failure
Author: tania_sings
Rating: R (one semi-explicit sex scene and some violence. Overall, it's pretty tame.)
Pairings: Luke/Kate, Luke/OMC, Luke/canon male character so obscure he might as well be an OMC, Kate/OMC, Will/Djaq, Much/Eve
Warnings: Slash and het, violence, character death
Word Count: 30457
Summary: The life and loves of Will and Luke Scarlett over the course of one lifetime.
Author's Notes: I've tried to include a bit of history here, but some reality had to be scrapped for the sake of the story. Just remember it takes place in a world where Maid Marian wears sweaters from Topshop, and you should be fine! Thanks to the amazing roh_wyn for her sensational and very speedy beta work. And to everyone who offered advice and suggestions on the help threads. And finally, thanks to ladylovelace for taking on the art challenge. I can't wait to see it. Much obliged!
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18039.html
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18470.html
Part 4: http://community.livejournal.com/bigbanghood/18709.html
Chapter 8
Everybody should believe in something; I believe I'll have another drink.
~Author Unknown
"Well, I don't know why the likes of you would want to work in a dive like this, but the job's yours if you want it."
The man who called himself Will Scarlett stifled a sigh of relief and took Ralph Brewer's outstretched hand. "Work's hard to come by all over these days. I'd never turn away an honest wage."
Ralph nodded sagely. "True enough. But I thought with your pardon sorted you'd be set for a sweet life in London."
The younger man held up his mangled left hand, grateful for the excuse it provided. "King Richard needed someone to built catapults for the army, but I'm far too fond of the seven fingers I've got left. I'm useless as a carpenter these days and I didn't fancy living off royal charity. I'm a working man by nature."
Ralph smiled. "That's the sort I like. Just keep in mind I'm not a rich man, in case you feel the need to revive your old hobbies."
"You've got my word. I'll start tomorrow then?"
"Sounds good. Unless you've not gone anywhere to be tonight?"
"Not even a pillow on which to rest my head. I only got to York this morning."
"In that case, you can start right now. Your first duty is to pour us both a glass of something strong and tell me the tale of that hand. Something to do with Vaisey, I imagine."
Luke smiled, and hurried to obey. He liked Ralph Brewer already, which was a welcome change from some of the men he'd worked for in the past few years. Innkeepers were widely known for getting the customers blootered and then hiking up the prices while watering down the drinks. When Luke had called out his employer in Norwich on this very practice a bit too loudly, the man and his broadsword had strongly suggested Luke leave town.
Which was how he found himself in York. Despite vowing to never work in a tavern again, he'd immediately trusted Ralph Brewer's face. His gingery hair and bright blue eyes reminded Luke favorably of Allan-a-Dale and his thick beard and heavy build suggested John Little. Luke wasn't sure if he believed in God anymore, but if his older brother was sending him signs from Heaven he'd hate to be too stubborn to see them.
"Nothing that exciting, I'm afraid. Let's just say that when you walk out on a Saracen girl who's the apple of her uncle's eye, be prepared to leave a little bit of yourself behind."
It was his standard explanation and as good a reason as any for Will Scarlett to be back in the country without his lady love. Luke hadn't been prepared for the number of people who asked after Djaq or quizzed him on one detail or another about Robin's gang; he hadn't realised how quickly the legends had spread. There had been a couple of close shaves, but he had his story down pat now.
Besides, a failed love affair was still a kinder fate than the one poor Djaq had actually met.
"What happened anyway? As the bards were telling it, you two were like Tristan and Iseult."
Luke shrugged, enjoying the sweetness of the mead. "Standard war bride story in reverse, I suppose. Once my soldier got me home, she found we had nothing in common. Plus I can't cook to save my life."
Ralph laughed, a deep rumbling noise that seemed to come from the pit of his belly. "I'll include meals in your wages then."
Luke found himself working damned hard for those meals. Even at a time like this, when few enough people had two coins to rub together, alcohol was one thing that was sure to sell well. The news that Will Scarlett was working at the Red Lion also led to a jump in business; folks were eager to meet one of the heroes of Locksley in person. Now that King Richard had officially pardoned the outlaws, everyone wanted to be connected with Robin's gang in some way.
"My uncle was from Clun; used to give them old clothes to use as bandages."
"Do you remember May Prescott from Nettlesworth, Will? She used to leave biscuits for your lot outside her door. She was my old Gran, God rest her soul."
"Used to cut wood out by Sherwood; John Little walked right past me once. I swear the ground was shaking. What was he, Will, ten feet tall?"
For the most part, Luke just smiled and nodded. At first, he had worried that one of Robin's admirers would trip him up or catch him in a lie. But by now he knew better. If any of these men could even tell Locksley from Ipswich, he'd eat his hat.
So he didn't worry when Jacob Boyd mentioned that his visiting cousin had grown up near Sherwood and known the outlaws well. He just made sure to add an extra measure to poor Jake's drink. The carter's wife had died giving him twins, and he was bereft without his Beth. The cousin could tell all the tall tales she wanted, so long as she eased his burden a bit.
"Ah, here's the lass now! Two heroes of Sherwood in the same rank bar! Who'd have thought?"
Luke watched as the woman in the doorway elbowed her way through the crowd, her chin pushed forward. Unaccompanied women always caused something of a stir in the Lion, and Luke supposed this one would be pretty enough if she were to smile. But at the moment her brown eyes were red with exhaustion and her lips were pressed into a disapproving line. Luke didn't envy Jake a bit.
"You were due home an hour ago; you said you'd just have the one. Good lord, Jacob, look at you! How many have you had?"
Luke was stunned to hear that her accent was pure Locksley.
Jacob slid off the barstool to placate the girl, not a wise move as he immediately swayed and had to prop himself up against the bar.
"Come on love! This is a historic type moment. Don't sully it."
The girl flinched at the smell of liquor on Boyd's breath. "What are you talking about?"
Boyd waved an arm at Luke. "Cuz, this here is none other than Will Scarlett! Will, meet Kate."
Chapter 9
Freedom is that instant between when someone tells you to do something and when you decide how to respond.
~Jeffrey Borenstein
Will would have loved her.
Luke had no doubt about that. Kate was exactly right, a pretty peasant girl who knew about hard work. She was clever and brave. She understood the value of family. And she could hold her drink far better than Luke could.
Which was why he had to lean on her as they left the parish Christmas feast. Yes, Will would have loved her; all the Locksley men joked that if you could find a woman strong enough to carry you when you were in your cups, that should be enough to catch your heart. But Luke wasn't worrying about getting caught; he was feeling too good, too full of warm roast goose and holiday cheer and rough red wine.
And when Kate, who'd had more than her share of wine herself, followed Luke up the stairs to his room and climbed into his bed, well it all seemed like perfectly harmless. It was Christmas, after all, and she was a nice girl who had gone to all the trouble of helping him get home and he'd been alone for a very long time. And Will would have loved her.
But in April, Luke was drinking for a different reason.
"Did I ever tell you why I'm called Ralph Brewer?"
Luke wasn't sure what this had to do with anything. "Never gave it much thought, to be honest." He drained his drink.
Ralph refilled both their glasses. "My Mum was a Browne. And her Dad was a Browne, which meant it certainly wouldn't do for me to be one. She didn't have a clue what name my own Dad would have given me had he stuck around but since our family always had the tavern, Brewer seemed as good a choice as any. Just a little family joke that's followed me these last thirty some years."
Ah. "Always knew you were a bastard. Just didn't know it started at birth."
Ralph cuffed Luke affectionately on the back of the head. "Watch it boy. Or I'll start asking questions about what exactly Scarlett means." He took another drink and grew serious. "My Mum did her best for me, no question. But I won't pretend I had it easy; it's a hard way to start a life. You're doing the right thing."
Luke knew that. He just didn't like it.
Ralph took his hand. "Will... you're certain it's yours?"
Luke nodded. "The dates add up. And she doesn't have a reputation for spreading it around. I'm sure."
"Then why are you acting like a man about to be hung for a crime he didn't commit?"
"I don't ... I don't know. I don't love her, I guess."
Ralph snorted. "You've got the soul of a nobleman, Will; you really do. What's it matter if you love her? Do you love the plowhorse you buy in foal? No, but you know you've got a great deal."
Luke couldn't help but laugh. "And you've got the soul of a poet. Plowhorse ... honestly."
The laughter fell silent as the sound of breaking glass was followed by screaming, shattering the tranquility.
Ralph rolled his eyes and headed towards the door. "Not this again. Like it'll bring him back."
Small scale riots had been erupting all over the city for a week, ever since the news of King Richard's death had been reported. Supporters of Prince John had been celebrating nonstop, buoyed by the fact that their sovereign now had no obstacle to the throne. Those who had loved King Richard reacted as one might expect them to, and the end result was violence in the streets.
Ralph drew back the curtain and flinched. "It's bad out there. Best be getting back to your girl; it's no night for a woman to be alone."
Judging by what Luke could hear the other man was very right. He pulled his cloak on and drew the hood over his head, hoping he could pass through the city unrecognised. Far too many people were interested in what he or Kate had to say about the royal situation, and neither of them could afford to get drawn into this right now.
As soon as he hit the main roads, Luke could see that this was no ordinary clash between citizens with a difference of opinion. Armed soldiers were on the streets of York tonight, pounding on doors and stopping everyone who tried to get past them.
"Oi, you! Stop in the name of King John!"
He was still Prince John, and would be until the coronation, but Luke didn't see that any good would come from arguing the point with the soldier. He stopped immediately and lowered his hood. The soldier held a torch to Luke's face and peered at him in the light.
"No, not him. Carry on."
Fair enough.
"What's this, then?"
Damn. The soldier had noticed the wooden tag Luke wore around his neck. It was so much a part of his daily wardrobe that he put it on instinctively in the mornings; he'd no more leave the house without his tags than without his shirt. Which was a shame, because if he'd thought about it then he might have realised now was a particularly bad time to be associated with Robin Hood.
"Just an old memento, sir."
The soldier definitely recognised the symbol. "I'd heard a pair of you were in York. It's Scarlett, isn't it?"
"Will Scarlett, yes sir."
"Well then, Will Scarlett, why don't you spare yourself a lot of trouble and tell me where he is."
Luke had no idea what the soldier was talking about and told him as much.
"Robert Childe. The poet. Where is he?"
Luke had never even heard of Childe. "I don't know anything about any poet. I can't read, sir."
The soldier wasn't surprised. "That's why he's drawing these." He shoved a scrap of paper in Luke's face.
Luke couldn't read the lettering, but from the crude drawing at the top of the page, depicting a young lion and an infant toad in a cradle together, he could guess it didn't say anything flattering about the prince. "I've never seen that before. I don't know anything about Childe."
The soldier was close enough to his face for Luke to see white spittle in the corners of the man's mouth. "Like you'd tell us if you had. Maybe you'll tell the Sheriff a different story." He grabbed Luke's arm.
Luke had never been a violent man. He and Will had sometimes wrestled together, but Will had been five years older and far taller, so that had never lasted long enough for him to hone any skills. And he'd scuffled a bit with some of the other village boys as a child, but that had never been anything serious. This WAS serious. Luke had no intention of ever speaking to any Sheriff again.
He acted purely on instict, twisting the wrist of the arm that held him. The soldier, not expecting any challenge from an unarmed man, yelled out in surprise. Luke kicked him, hard, in the stomach, then took advantage of his surprise to kick him again. The torch the soldier had been holding fell to the ground and sputtered out. Luke dived for it, scrambling in the dark. The sound of metal scraping against metal let him know the soldier was drawing his sword and he rolled out of the way, so close to the path of the blade that he could feel the breeze from when it cut through the air. Something hard jabbed him in the back and he realised that he'd rolled onto the torch. He grabbed it and sprung to his feet.
"Over here, ugly!"
The soldier spun in the direction of the insult, swinging blindly in the dark. Luke ducked, letting the sword pass over his head. Clenching his fist around the extinguished torch, he jabbed up, in the direction of the movement, driving the pointed wooden wedge into his adversarys' groin.
The soldier fell to his knees with the pain, his helmet clattering to the ground. Luke, thinking of nothing but the need to end this quickly and make a clean getaway, delivered a series of hard blows to the other man's head, oblivious to the blood flying from the semi-conscious lips. He stopped only when the soldier's groans fell silent and he ceased to even twitch. Luke paused only long enough to grab the soldier's sword before running towards home.
He heard Kate before he saw her, her voice carrying over the sound of the conflict. The citizens were capitulating, left with no choice when faced with a royal army on their quiet streets. Kate's resistance was like a sirens' song.
"I told you, your mates already searched the house. They made a right mess of it too; I'm not having another lot of you through here!"
There were three soldiers in the doorway; obviously Kate had been holding out for a while.
"We told YOU, woman; we've got royal permission to enter any home as often as we like. Now move out of the way or we'll move you!"
"I'll have you know I'm with child. Do you feel brave, threatening a pregnant woman?"
"Couldn't care less, love; it's nothing to do with us."
Luke stepped out of the shadows and pressed the tip of his sword into
the back of the soldier who had spoken. "It's something to do with me. Put your hands up and step away from my betrothed."
The other soldiers moved to grab their weapons, but Luke had his sword at their leader's throat now. "Tell them to drop their blades."
The armed men had no choice but to comply. Kate scooped up their swords, gasping as she saw Luke's face.
"Will, you're covered in blood!"
"None of it's mine." He addressed the soldiers now. "See, I took a blade off one of your fellows without losing a drop of my own blood. You know who I am, right? And who she is? Good. Now I'm armed, and she's armed. So this could get really bad for you. I know you could go and get a bunch of your friends, but believe me, we can do the same. Or, we could just agree that you've already searched this house."
As soon as the soldiers had beaten their hasty retreat down the road, Kate drew him inside.
"You're really not hurt?"
"I'm not. You?"
Kate shook her head. Luke let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Lucky then! Why not just let them in? You know they'll be looking to cause problems for us for years now!"
A ragged sob drew his attention to the man sitting at the kitchen table. He was younger than Kate, younger than Luke even. Barely more than a boy. Obviously terrified, he was white-faced and shaking. Kate cast him a reassuring smile.
"Will, apparently this young man is named Robert Childe. Master Childe, this is my intended, Will Scarlett."
Childe raised a hand in greeting. Luke nodded, as Kate pulled him out of the kitchen into the darkened corridor.
"Will, I'll admit I don't know him from Adam, but no one deserves to die just because of a few silly drawings. I'm sorry for all the trouble, but they'd have slit his throat if they found him."
Kate fell silent as Luke wrapped his arms around her. She made such a good show of being unintimidated that he hadn't realised how frightened she was until he felt her trembling. Her belly, only just beginning to swell, pressed against him; their baby was safe in spite of the dangerous night.
There was no doubt at all in Luke's mind. Will would have loved her.
Chapter 10
Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.
~William Wordsworth
Kate Scarlett beamed as her husband cradled their newborn daughter in his arms. "She looks exactly like you."
Luke shook his head, awestruck by the baby. "She looks like my brother."
The little girl snuffled in her father's arms, working her mouth as though already trying to form words. She had ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes and neither of them could stop looking at her.
"I didn't know you had a brother." Kate traced one finger over her daughter's eyebrows, as if trying to account for every hair there. Her husband instinctively tightened his grip on the baby, reminded of what could happen if he let her drop.
Careless. His little baby made him careless, made him talk about the past. But he'd forgive her that and more.
"Luke. He died, a while back. He's buried in Scarborough."
Kate frowned; everyone knew that talk of death was bad luck around an unbaptised baby. But it was difficult to stay angry as her little girl strained towards her. She took the baby back onto her lap and guided the little mouth to her breast. Easy as a new lamb, the baby began to suck, and her parents both watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed.
"We could call her Lucy, if you like." Throughout the pregnancy, Kate had actually been angling for Matilda, but something about the baby made her feel pliable and generous. Her husband shook his head.
"Wilhelmina."
Kate laughed. "We're still young, Will, and obviously fertile with each other. I'm pretty sure I can give you a boy."
Luke didn't take his eyes off the baby. She was remarkable. Her eyes were a deep, hazy blue and seemed to lock on to his from the moment she first opened them. Her little nose, her little mouth -- amazing that someone so new to the world could feel so familiar.
"The next one can be Lucy or Luke or Matilda or Matthew. She's Wilhelmina. Please, Kate?"
His wife nodded her head. It was rather touching, really, that he would choose a daughter as his namesake. She'd worried a bit, when the old wives of York had made her walk in front of them and declared there was no way she was carrying a son. Her husband was used to being surrounded by men, and she didn't know how he'd feel about a daughter. But he was positively mesmerised by her, and who wouldn't be?
Kate's eyes were already closing when Luke took Wilhelmina from her mother. Kate instinctely reached for her baby, but Luke stroked his wife's hair and soothed her to sleep. She'd had an exhausting night and needed her rest. He would watch the baby.
He carried Wilhelmina out the front door of their house and through the city streets, explaining to her the cobblestones in the road, the yellow thatch of the roofs, the pink beams of the rising sun. Some of the food sellers were already setting up their stands, and Luke, with the shy pride of a boy, displayed his new baby. The old folks scolded him for taking her out in the air before she'd been seen by a priest, but Luke was a country boy, and he knew what his daughter needed.
The father and daughter moved towards the outskirts of town. Luke gave private thanks to whoever was listening that Wilhelmina had been born in the autumn, so that she could see right away the changing of the leaves and the ripe, plump pumpkins in the fields. When they reached the forest, he tucked her into his cloak so that she wouldn't be bothered by the biting midges, but he left her dark little head poking out the top. It was vital that she see this.
He broke off a branch from an oak tree, and placed it in Wilhelmina's hand. Her little fist closed around the wood like she had been waiting for it, and his heart turned over to see it. Awestruck, he passed on the first lesson that his father had taught him in a whisper.
"This is oak, little one. It's a hard wood, a strong wood. We use it for making heirlooms, things that we want to last. And this is pine. When it's cut right, it's as blonde as your mother's hair. I've made all your nursery things in pine, so you'll always be surrounded by sunshine. And this is yew. It's a tricky wood to work with; you have to treat it gently. But if you can make it like you, it's got the most beautifully textured grain. Your uncle Will, now he used to make amazing little works of art with yew, little horses and soldiers and such. Me, I preferred to work with cherry. This is cherry, see."
Luke knew he must have looked like a madman, marching through the forest at dawn, deep in conversation with a newborn. But there was no one around but the trees and the world's newest Scarlett and they, he was delighted to see, were too entranced with each other to worry about him.
Chapter 11
When there's a single thief, it's robbery. When there are a thousand thieves, it's taxation.
~Vanya Cohen
Luke filled the tax collectors' glasses up to the brim, smiling as the men whooped their appreciation.
"Ah, you're a good one, Will. Most of the places in this city won't even serve us, can you believe that?
Luke shrugged. "Just trying to earn back a bit of my silver, gents. Drink deep."
"To your health, and good King John's!" The men drained their glasses. Luke refilled them and then excused himself. Ralph was standing by the door to the cellar, and clearly wanted a word.
"Will, what the Hell are you doing? I don't want scum like that drinking in my tavern!"
Ralph's opinion was the same one held by most of York. King John was determined to outdo his brother's reign in terms of sheer opulance. The tax collectors had pocketed the better part of most people's yearly earnings and emotions were running high.
Luke grinned at his friend and employer. "Ralph, do you trust me?"
"Of course I do. But this is sickening."
"Believe me, it's for a greater purpose. But do you have anything stronger to hand? These guys are seasoned drunks; ale's not touching them."
Ralph looked even more confused. "There's a decent supply of whiskey in the back. I suppose you might as well move it while you can; once word gets out that we let Lackland's scum drink here, the locals will avoid us for a spell. You really know what you're doing?"
Luke's eyes gleamed. He hadn't felt a rush like this since he was a boy. "Trust," he reminded Ralph, before heading downstairs for the whisky.
Even the Devil's piss from Scotland hadn't been enough to take care of all the men, so once the first two were passed out, Luke sped up the process by clubbing the third over the head with a barstool when his back was turned. He wagered that in the morning the man would just attribute the headache to a massive hangover. At any rate, the unfortunate tax collector would have bigger things to worry about.
Luke hadn't trained under two of England's best carpenters for nothing, and he could tell right away that the locks on the strongboxes were flimsy things, no doubt made by an underpaid and bitter man. Picking them was harder than it would have been with all his fingers, but nevertheless he had the first box open inside of ten minutes.
Luckily, he knew the forest like he knew his own reflection. He could find the rotted out stump blindfolded, but a stranger could spend days in the forest before uncovering his hiding place.
The tax collectors were furious, of course, but Kate swore up and down that her husband had been home by midnight and Ralph Brewer clearly remembered walking his bartender home after their three esteemed guests fell asleep. So, many empty threats later, the tax collectors left York, vowing to return with a horde of soldiers. Luke wasn't worried. If King John's reputation was anything to go by, these particular men certainly wouldn't be back.
As the disheartned men rode out of town, ducking a barrage of rotten tomatoes hurled by an exhuberant population, Luke grabbed Kate and swung her in a wide circle, his heart racing. God, he'd forgotten how GOOD this could make a man feel, like he was capable of anything!
"Easy there!" Kate Scarlett clearly didn't grasp that this was a happy occasion. She seemed more put out than anything else.
"Fuck easy! Come on, love! We just pulled off the first great scam of the century!"
"You did, anyway." Luke looked closely at Kate. She was sporting the little furrow she got between her brows when she was worried or frustrated and, out of nowhere, it occurred to him she looked like nothing so much as a little boy who'd been left out of a game of kick-the-bladder.
"You're not cross, are you, pet? Come on, we've got our money back. We should celebrate!"
Kate wasn't backing down. "We've got our money back for now. You're mad if you think that's the end of it. If you'd trusted me with what you were planning, we could have pinned it on some roving band of thieves out of Lincoln or something. We could have given them someone to chase besides us. As it is, we've got a little extra time, that's all."
Luke wanted to disagree, but no arguments would come. Damn the woman, she was right. If he'd thought it over, he would have realised that taking back the silver wasn't a permanent solution, but seeing history repeat itself, seeing decent, hardworking people losing everything at a royal whim, had sparked a kind of fury in him. He'd hatched the plan and executed the robbery all within a the space of a few hours. The shooting star he was riding began to plummet. Fortunately, Kate was sensible enough not to press her victory once she had it.
"Will, don't worry. We'll put the time to good use and work something out before Lackland has time to react. Just remember, you're probably the only thief in England who doesn't need to keep what he does from his wife. Might as well put that to good advantage. Remember what it was like in Sherwood. Anyone who went off on his own would always run into trouble. You need someone to watch your back."
Of course, Luke had no idea what things had been like in Sherwood, but there was no way he could tell Kate that. At any rate, she was right and he told her so.
Kate smiled. "You'd do well to remember that. Now come on. Let's kick off this party."
"Party?"
"Of course!" Kate took his arm and pulled him towards the inn. "You just pulled off the first great scam of the century! And apparently poor Ralph's got several bottles of whisky that have only been half drunk. Let's help him out, shall we?"
Luke grinned, his good mood returning. "I live to serve."
And, although miles away a king with a fierce temper was waiting for silver that wasn't coming, the two thieves entered the tavern hand in hand with smiles on their faces.
Chapter 12
I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.
~Thomas Moore
"To Scarlett!"
The men and women gathered in the Red Lion were all drunk as lords, or well on their way to being there. King John and the Sheriff of York had taken a great deal from them over the course of the last year, and it was a naughty delight to be able snatch a little bit back.
Kate had regaled them all with stories of the old days. It was remarkable how different her Sherwood had been from the one Will had described to him the last time they met. Kate's stories were full of warrior monks and long lost brothers, the heroic rebirth of Gisbourne and the madness of Isabella. Will's Sherwood had been eating squirrel on skewers, sleeping in a cave as the rain fell all around, and marveling at the sheer variety of biting insects the world had to offer. It had been a group of men who loved each other like brothers, surviving on sheer determination to do what was right, and, more often than not, sheer luck.
Maybe Kate was just a better storyteller than Will had been. Luke was content to let her do the talking while he settled back comfortably into the twin cushions of drink and congratulations until she announced she was leaving.
"Need someone to walk you home?" He didn't really want to go, but a gentleman would do as he must. Thankfully, she demurred.
"I think I'm just sober enough to find the door. Best get home though, before my milk turns to beer! Ralph, you'll make sure my husband stays out of trouble?"
Ralph nodded from beind the bar. "I'll keep a close watch on him, ma'am."
"I know you will." Then, after playfully tousling Luke's hair, she was gone.
He watched her go with nothing but fondness. Being married to Kate was working out better than he could have hoped. So they weren't like most married couples they knew, still less like the courting couples currently celebrating in dark corners of the tavern. What of it? There was a comfortable, almost fraternal affection between them that he cherished. Kate was one of his best friends.
His other best friend refilled his beer mug. "I owe you an apology Will. I'll admit I didn't know what you were up to, but I should have known you had a reason for cozying up to the taxmen. Forgive me?"
Through the mist of beer, Ralph looked like nothing so much as a big apologetic ginger sheepdog. Luke laughed for no particular reason than utter happiness. "Think nothing of it! I'll find a way for you to make it up to me."
Ralph lifted his glass in a salute. "No doubt. Just so long as it doesn't include letting you off cleaning duty tonight. There'll be an unholy mess after this little knees-up ends."
There was indeed. So after the last of the revellers had disappeared into the night, Luke grabbed a broom and began trying in vain to have some positive effect on the total chaos around them.
"Get off your arse and help me out, big man. This'll take till dawn on my own."
Ralph made no move to help; instead he took Luke's broom and guided the younger man to a booth.
"I want you to know I meant what I said. I shouldn't have doubted you, and I'm sorry."
Luke could never be angry at Ralph. "Really, it's all right."
"If you do want to be getting home, I reckon I can manage all right here."
Luke shook his head. "No, it's fine. I think Kate would actually be grateful if I were out a bit longer. She could use the sleep."
Ralph grunted. "Keeping her up all night, are you?"
"No! I meant, you know, the baby and all." Damn, why was he blushing?
Of course, Ralph noticed. "Look at you all coloured up like a girl! It's to be expected with newlyweds, Will. And you've not even been married a year yet."
"No, I know. But it's not like that with me and Kate. We're not--"
Luke didn't have the words to explain. Fortunately, they didn't seem to be needed.
"No. I thought not."
In the morning, Luke wouldn't remember how they moved from that booth to Ralph's room above the tavern. He had a feeling he probably sacrificed all dignity by lurching over the table and smashing his mouth against his startled friend's, but that didn't matter.
This was so different from what he was used to, a bloke and a bed and a whole night ahead of them instead of a damp wall pressed against his back and hurried little snatches of sensation. It felt like a whole new world: slow easy kisses, and the weight of this good, kind man on top of him, and all the time he could want to savour the matching hardness against his own. It felt like paradise.
"Love you." The words couldn't lessen the pain as Ralph entered him, but they could make it seem so worthwhile. "Love you, Will. Love you so much."
"Luke." The name slipped thoughtlessly past his lips along with the breathless little gasps and moans. "My name's Luke."
Ralph shifted and his cock touched something deep inside Luke that made the world disappear so that nothing was left but a shower of golden sparks and the words, half-whispered, half-panted in his ear. "Love you, Luke."
Chapter 13
It sometimes happens, even in the best of families, that a baby is born. This is not necessarily cause for alarm. The important thing is to keep your wits about you and borrow some money.
~Elinor Goulding Smith
When the strong, healthy baby boy was born, Luke smiled tenderly but made no move to take him from his wife.
"I think this one looks more like your side of the family."
Kate's new son definitely resembled his mother. He had little wisps of blond hair that were already beginning to curl and a tiny dimple in his chin. He also strongly resembled Kate's closest relative in York, her second cousin, Jacob Boyd. This made sense, as Luke strongly suspected Jake was the baby's father.
When Kate had rolled over onto his side of the bed eight months earlier, he'd immediately guessed that she was pregnant. Nothing short of that would have compelled her to cross the invisible line between them and reintroduce sexuality to a marriage that was doing just fine without it. He'd almost laughed at the time; one of his favorite things about Kate was the way she would just uncomplainingly throw herself into any task that needed doing, however unpleasant.
So he'd done his duty by his wife, and when, a week later, she announced that she was pregnant, he'd celebrated with her. Why not, after all? Money was tight, but they could afford one more child. And why shouldn't Kate have something for herself?
"Don't you want to hold him?" Kate looked worried. So Luke obliged, gently cradling the little boy in his arms.
"A little outlaw in the making, this one! Brawling already!" Luke laughed as he dodged the tiny fists; Kate visibly relaxed.
"So what shall we call him?" Luke asked, handing back the baby.
Kate shrugged. "You choose."
They hadn't discussed names. At the time, Luke had taken that to mean that she and Jacob had decided on something privately. Apparently not.
There was a wide range of options. Dan, of course, or Matthew. Kate still expected him to name a baby for his lost brother, Luke. Robin or Allan -- Kate would love either of those. Even John, far less popular than it had been before the current king took the throne, would resonate sweetly for her.
"Jack."
The look of startled delight on Kate's face confirmed all his suspicions about the child's paternity, but he hadn't been thinking of Jacob Boyd when he'd suggested the name. Instead, as he'd remembered the group of ragged outlaws, his mind's eye had settled on a slim, dark figure who'd thought the name was worth preserving. He'd come to think of her far more kindly over the last year than he had in the ones that preceded it. He let her be a young woman in love for the first time, eager to share the wonders of her home with her exotic new husband, rather than the foreigner who tempted Will to the place where he died. All his secret condemnations wouldn't change what had happened, so he might as well believe she was worth it. And, he reflected, those who are in love themselves are more inclined to look kindly on lovers.
"Jack Matthew Scarlett", Kate confirmed.
"A good name."
The voice startled them both. Jacob Boyd stood in the doorway, clutching what appeared to be a stuffed donkey made of old socks. A good-hearted widower who'd had to learn to mend his own clothes and change the nappies of his twins by himself, the man always had a bit of an air of confusion around him even when he was at ease. At this particularly awkward moment, he looked positively terrified.
Luke decided to put him out of his misery. "Come in Boyd! See our little Jack! Isn't he remarkable?"
Boyd was at the bedside in an instant, kneeling beside Kate to drink in the sight of the baby. "Yes. He is." He pressed a soft kiss to Kate's temple. "Well done."
Luke was already shrugging on his coat. "If it's not too much trouble, would you mind sitting with him and Kate for a couple of hours? I'd like to drink a toast to his health down at the Lion."
Boyd agreed so speedily that Luke had to fight the urge to laugh. He'd make a point of drinking slowly. Those in love are inclined to look kindly on lovers.
"A bottle of the best for every table! It's a boy!"
A general cheer went up as Ralph handed out glasses. When Luke moved behind the bar to help, the big man leaned in close and Luke delighted at the tiny stolen moment.
"You all right then, poor old cuckold?"
Luke faked a pout. "I'll need you to soothe my wounded pride tonight."
Ralph laughed his deep, rumbling laugh. "Count on it, Scarlett."
He'd been Scarlett in public and Luke in private ever since that first night. He'd told Ralph the whole story as the sun came up, though they'd kept the curtains drawn to make the night last a little longer. Ralph hadn't said a word, just rubbed gentle circles on his back and let him speak through the tears that fell on the bigger man's shoulder. And he had been Scarlett or Luke ever since.
Only to Ralph, of course. Everyone else still called him Will.
"Hurry up with the drinks!" This came from a crowded table at the back of the room. Soon, the cry was taken up from all corners, and Luke had to laugh as he piled the dripping glasses onto a tray.
"It's my celebration and I'm still taking orders! Where's the justice, eh?"
Once the drinks were distributed and toasts drunk, Ralph passed the hat for "Scarlett's new little one." It was a York tradition to give a coin for a new baby, and, though no one in the bar was rich, they dug into their pockets to give what they could.
Luke gratefully accepted the hat of money and slid it beneath the bar. He was relieved he had done so, as not more than a minute later the tarvern door banged open and a wild-eyed man burst into the room. Luke tensed; highwaymen were rare in the cities but not unheard of. In this case though, he needn't have worried, as Ralph hurried around the bar to take the newcomer a chair.
"Father Stevens, what's the matter?"
Luke hadn't recognized the parish priest, as he hadn't attended church in years. The other men in the room were apparently more faithful, and they gathered around the priest with worried faces.
"It's the treasury! We have to stop him. The king, he's taking the treasury from York Minster!"
Chapter 14
When I saw others straining toward God, I did not understand it, for though I may have had him less than they did, there was no one blocking the way between him and me, and I could reach his heart easily. It is up to him, after all, to have us, our part consists of almost solely in letting him grasp us.
~Rainer Maria Rilke
Was he the only one who realised just how lightly they were getting off?
A year ago, Luke had sent the tax collectors out of York with empty coffers and their tails between their legs. He and Kate spent the next few months waiting for a reprisal until they realised King John, encountering far more resistance than he'd expected from all across the country, wasn't going to risk tangling with two of Robin Hood's men until his grip on the throne was a good deal more secure. Still, he'd never entirely let his guard down; John was going to want the taxes he felt were his due from the city of York.
And apparently he'd found a harmless way to to get them! As far as Luke was concerned, a few gold crosses gone from the church were no loss whatsoever.
But he was the only one who seemed to hold this opinion. When the priest had announced that Lackland would be raiding the Minster treasury, every man in the tavern had gasped in shock. Three hours later, an impromptu committee had formed in the Red Lion, with a lot of agitated people looking for a solution.
Luke just sold them drinks.
"He wants the cloth of gold from the canopies; the one we always use at Easter. What's he going to do, melt down the threads for coin?" Jim Connelly, the butcher, looked close to tears.
"I rub that little angel statue ever time I visit my Mum's grave. If that's gone, it'll be like losing her all over again." Annie Spencer was weeping openly.
"I'm sixty-eight years old and I've taken communion from the same chalice every Sunday of my life. He can't take that away from me, can he?" The widow Jenkins was trembling with outrage.
"What are we going to do?"
When the room fell silent, Luke looked around for the reason, only to find all eyes on him. He laughed and wiped down the bar. "You're on your own with this one, folks. I don't do God, remember?"
It was true. It wasn't exactly that he didn't believe, but, as of late, he'd lost any desire to be part of the church. Being a bartender was much the same as being a priest; people felt the need to share their sins with him. Unsurprisingly, he'd found that the church's idea of a black stain that doomed a soul to hell as opposed to a little mark barely worth a mention was pretty much the exact opposite of his. And since it was a fight he wasn't going to win, he just stayed well out of it.
It seemed the little priest wasn't giving up that easily though.
"Your daughter was baptised in my church. Your new wee one will be too, though we'll have to use a slop bucket if King John gets his way!"
Luke shrugged. "That's the wife's doing. I don't care one way or another about baptism."
The others soon chimed in, claiming that they couldn't get by without this tapestry or that medallion for comfort. Surely Will Scarlett -- the hero from Sherwood, the champion of the common people -- wouldn't just let this happen. As they described the sheer beauty and worth of the artifacts they wanted to keep, It occurred to Luke that a truly intelligent king would just outlaw the Holy Roman church and seize its land and its goods once and for all. He'd make a fortune.
Luke shouted over them. "Listen people! What you're talking about here isn't bread. It's not water and it's not medicine. I've got no problem with squaring off against Lackland if people are going to starve otherwise. But none of you have any idea how dangerous this can be, and I just can't see how it's worth fighting over."
He could tell he'd convinced no one. The begging started again instantly, and the priest began some long-winded speech about 'spiritual starvation'. Ralph pounded loudly on the bar and bellowed for silence. Luke barely had a moment to register that his lover's cocky, shit-eating grin should have put him on alert before it was too late.
"Scarlett... the king's trying to take what's ours. We don't want him to have it."
Luke opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. He looked around him at the group of over-reacting hysterics to find that they'd transformed into his friends and neighbors, who were being robbed of something they loved by a man who thought he was better than them just because he'd been squeezed from a royal fanny.
"Fine. Let's get started."
Chapter 15
Charlatanism of some degree is indispensable to effective leadership.
~Eric Hoffer
Luke had to wonder if Lord Robin had ever felt like quite this much of a killjoy.
The group of men who'd assembled to help guard the treasury of York Minster were aching for a fight. For years now, King John's taxmen had walked away with the better part of their earnings, ensuring that His Grace could eat pheasant from gold plates while they went hungry. They wanted to bash some skulls, see some blood flow. They wanted to do battle for what was rightfully theirs.
So when Luke explained what he really needed them to do was get the treasure out of the church, hide it, and then hide themselves, the volunteers were understandably disappointed.
To make him feel like even more of a twat, it turned out Kate was an absolute natural at giving orders.
"Did any of you live in Sherwood Forest? Did any of you fight with Robin Hood? No. Now I don't care what stories the bards are telling; I'm telling you, and Will can tell you, we spent most of our time hiding under bushes. Do you want ballads written about you, or do you want to save the treasure? Now come on, move!"
"You're amazing, do you know that?" Luke said admiringly. "You just had a baby; no one would blame you for sitting this one out."
"Not on your life." Kate was quick to respond. "I owe Lackland just as much as you do. We're in this together. How's your special project coming?"
"Take a look."
Luke showed her the twelve statues he'd done in the shape of the
apostles. It had been a long time since he'd made anything decorative; ever since his injury he'd limited his carpentry to the likes of fixing wobbly tables, not wanting to see how his skills had diminished. He'd been surprised by his muscle memory, the way his fingers instinctively remembered what they were doing even as he was second-guessing himself.
"They're beautiful." Kate ran her fingers over each of the exquisitely carved faces. "But don't they look too new?"
Luke nodded. "I'm going to burn them a bit; if I can get them a bit ashy and crumbly they'll look more like old stone. Once I have them painted, no one who's not looking too closely will be able to tell the difference. And I think the tax collectors will be happy to just get them loaded up and out of York."
Luke finished the work all of one night before the king's men were due to arrive. His body humming with nerves, he was only able to pick at his dinner despite Kate's reminders that he'd need his strength. He sat quietly in the nursery until the children fell asleep then decided to head towards the church. It was where his mind was already; his body might as well follow.
"I won't say goodbye." Kate declared. "After all, we've both been through worse than this before, haven't we? You'll be coming back."
Out of nowhere, Luke remembered the burn of the hangman's noose around his neck, the sensation of the world falling away. He remembered an old man's voice penetrating his fever, telling him his brother had been slaughtered like a Christmas goose. He nodded. He may not have lived the life Kate thought he had, but he'd been through worse than this.
"Just remember," Kate continued, as she helped him on with his coat, "Lackland's only real love is himself. You can't appeal to his reason; he doesn't have any. You need to stroke his ego. To him, that IS reason."
Luke nodded again. His only experience with the king had been during the man's triumphant parade through York, but even from a distance the vanity of the monarch had been clear. He kissed her gently on the forehead and headed off into the night.
He didn't know what he expected to find at York Minster-- surely it would be locked down tight-- but when he saw Ralph Brewer sitting on the steps he knew what he'd been hoping for.
"Couldn't keep away either, huh?"
Ralph shook his head silently. Luke sat beside him, relishing the warmth of the other man's reassuring bulk, the weight of Ralph's head resting on his shoulder.
"I talked you into this. Luke, I could kick myself. I never thought it would go down like this."
Luke shrugged. "It's what I should be doing. I want you to make me a promise."
"Anything." Ralph's voice sounded oddly thick.
"If I don't come back--"
"Don't even say that!"
"Shhh. If I don't come back, take care of Kate. And the children. Wilhelmina's going to need a father figure; it's a rough world for a child without a dad. And if you ever think she's ready, tell her about me. Tell her who I was."
"Okay." Ralph's grip on his hand was tight enough to crack the bones, but Luke cherished the pressure.
"And tell Kate... tell her that she was the perfect wife for me. Heaven-sent. Tell her I had absolutely no reason to complain about her and I knew that. Please."
"I will. Can we stop talking now?"
Luke agreed; he was out of words anyway. The two men sat in silence as the sun rose, breaking apart only once they heard the priest's footsteps on the flagstone path. The poor man looked positively terrified, and despite the dangers of his own situation, Luke couldn't help but feel a stab of pity for him.
The three of them moved the locked strongboxes to the courtyard. Luke noted with a sense of relief that the rocks inside simulated the heft of gold fairly well, and that through the thick wood, it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between the clink of tin and the sound of more precious metals. He set his statues out in front as a show of good faith.
"Guess this is it." Ralph had been moving deliberately slow, but they both knew that wouldn't slow down the tax collectors' horses.
"Guess so." Luke tried to fake a smile, but he could tell he must have been grimacing instead. "Lock it behind me."
He opened the largest box and lifted out the false bottom. There was just enough room for him to lie flat. Ralph replaced the false bottom, and Luke heard the tin coins being heaped on top. Then there was a thud and a series of more substantial clicks and he knew he was locked in.
He concentrated on breathing through the minute cracks in his little prison as the murmur of voices let him know the taxmen had arrived. With a sickening lurch, his box was thrown onto the back of their cart. They began to move and Luke knew he was on his way to either a dazzling victory or a miserable failure