Denial II, Ch. 7: By Order of the King
Title: Denial II, Chapter 7: By Order of the King
Authors: robinfanatic & jagnikjen
Characters/Pairings: Much/Carter, Richard, Robin
Rating: R
Genre: Drama
Words: 3671
Warnings: hints of slashy activities
Disclaimer: BBC & TA own; we just want to play in their universe
Notes: beta read by teamlavender ; takes place after 2x13 but prior to 3x01
Introduction and previous chapter links for DII are here...
Summary: Robin is anxious to return home but King Richard has one set of final orders for Much and Carter and for him before they begin their trek back toward England.
>>-------------------->
Chapter 7: By Order of the King
The king's camp began to stir as the sun crested the hills to the east. Much liked this time of day, especially when it followed nights not interrupted by the incessant beat of Saracen drums. He liked this time of day when he could lay next to Carter and listen to the sound of his steady breathing, when he could spoon his lover's body and feel the heat from their bare flesh. He liked this time of day when moments like these let him forget the war beyond the walls of their tent, let him dream of England.
Much nuzzled Carter's shoulder, closed his eyes, and thought of Bonchurch. There were footsteps outside but he imagined them to be servants beginning their daily chores at the lodge. The animals that brayed roamed through tall grasses in the pasture nearby, not the corral. The morning breeze carried tantalizing smells from the cooks' fires and made his stomach growl, reminding him of aromas drifting to the bedroom from downstairs.
"Sir Carter? Lord Much?" a young voice called.
Much drew in a deep breath then sighed. That wasn't one of the servants from Bonchurch. He pulled up on one elbow. "Yes?"
"The king commands your presence."
Carter stretched and Much leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "Awfully early," he grumbled.
"I'll let you tell him that." Grinning, Carter stood up and stretched again, every muscle in his body inviting hands to touch.
Much tossed Carter's leggings to him instead.
"Spoilsport."
Both men laughed and Carter extended his hand to help Much up. They dressed and hurried toward the king's pavilion, picking up their pace when Richard appeared, arms crossed, in front of his tent. He raised his head when he spotted them and then retreated back inside.
Carter and Much were admitted and found the king with both hands pressed to the edge of the table. He studied the map there, eyes fixated on the red lettering that marked the reason for this holy war: Jerusalem.
Much had seen the well-worn map dozens of times but usually watched from his station with other squires. He'd rarely been close enough to see the intricate designs drawn by the cartographer or the handwritten scribbles that King Richard or other members of his inner circle might have added.
A small carved block representing the Crusader army rested atop the map near Acre. The king dragged it south along the coast, then east.
Carter cleared his throat. "You asked to see us, Your Majesty?"
"I will miss you on our trek to the holy city. May winter be kind so your trip is free of hazards." The king straightened and looked at them. He pursed his lips and pointed, deep in thought, counting off three fingers. "Not two, but perhaps three or four months?"
Carter's face remained neutral. "Your Majesty?"
"Perhaps Jerusalem will be in our hands by the time you return."
"I didn't know we were going anywhere," Much said, confused.
The king threw him a small frown. "Had I not made that clear? Did I dream that conversation? Perhaps there was too much wine, too much...celebration...after your carpenter friend's wedding?"
Much swallowed, risking a sidelong glance at Carter.
Even Carter's brow was furrowed. "Sire, I must confess that--"
The king chuckled and stopped Carter with a wave of his hand. "You will depart with Locksley."
"Go with Robin?" Much asked. The thought of returning to England struck him with conflicting emotions. He could be there for Robin. Help him work through his grief - if he could get him to talk.
Would he let you? Has he ever let you?
Carter's words rang true but that would not mean he couldn't try. Much looked from the king to Carter. That Wilton calm, that unreadable mask had returned.
"Robin is anxious to return to England. You and Legrand will accompany him as far as Poitiers," the king said. "You will carry my personal greetings and other...sensitive...information to my mother."
Much tried to imitate Carter's Wilton face and hoped he hid his disappointment. He missed home. Still, Poitiers was a good journey, and it was away from the blinding sun and hot desert sands. And the war.
"As you wish, Sire," Carter replied. "Though would it not be best to serve you here in the coming campaign? Legrand or Lord Locksley could--"
"Her Majesty's reply must make its way back into my hands, milords. I will trust no one but you to fulfill this important mission. And intercepting messages is sport to our enemies. The more players we have, the better."
"Then to Poitiers and back, Sire." Carter smiled, nodding from the king to Much.
"Good." The king wandered back to his desk and sat down. He picked at the remains of his breakfast and regarded the two knights thoughtfully.
Much shifted nervously, waiting to be dismissed. He'd caught the little sparkle in the king's eyes. Apparently he wasn't ready to let them leave.
Richard popped a couple of dates in his mouth and practically swallowed them whole. "I do have one more job for you before you go," he finally said. "If you depart immediately, you'll be back by nightfall tomorrow. You must tell no one..."
>>-------------------->
"Birds?" Much shook his head as he grabbed the extra waterskin on the chest by his bunk. "We're meeting a man about a pair of birds."
Carter tried to remain straight-faced but the idea sounded so funny coming from Much that a chuckle slipped his lips. He cleared his throat. This was serious business - they were serving as King Richard's envoys. "They are hawks. Special hawks. A peace offering for Saladin."
Much tossed his pack over his shoulder. His new shield hung on a post by his bunk. He rubbed his hand across the smooth metal. "I know that's what the king said but--"
"We have our orders." Carter walked to the entrance to the tent.
"I know..."
Carter turned. "What? What is it?"
"We're leaving for Poitiers in a couple of days." Much pursed his lips. "I was hoping to help John watch Allan. I know he's going to be all right, but we'll be gone for a while and...well, I just wanted to sit there, be there if he wakes up."
Carter's expression softened. That's why he loved this man. "You know you can't be there all the time. We'll have a chance to say good-bye. You can spend some time with him then. And you trust Djaq - she'll tell Allan how his friends watched over him."
"That's true." Much stood unmoving, staring past Carter.
Carter knew there was more. "And?"
Much closed his eyes before meeting Carter's gaze. "I'm worried about Robin. We both know he's only waited this long to leave because of Will and Djaq's wedding. That, and Allan's condition, has been the only thing keeping him here. The only thing that has given him a chance to think about someone other than Marian." He fisted both hands, brought them to his mouth then raked his hands through his hair. "You didn't see him...see his face...when he was looking for Gisborne. When he saw Marian's body..." Much's voice trailed off. He's being reckless...and he's hurting. I want to help him, talk to him."
Carter reminded himself that he had to accept Much's concern for Robin. He couldn't tell him how much he dreaded the time they'd be cooped up on the ship to Marseilles. On the other hand, they'd leave behind the chants of Saracen warriors and the blood and stench of battle. He'd not have to worry that a Saracen sword might take his lover's life.
Carter wandered back to where Much stood, placing his hands on Much's shoulders. "When we leave for England, you'll have weeks to keep his company."
"I suppose you are right."
Carter's arms slid around Much. He pulled him close knowing the journeys ahead still might be fraught with danger.
When they let go of each other, Much adjusted the new sword at his waist, retrieved his shield, then raised it in a sign of confidence. "Let's go."
>>-------------------->
From his position at the opening of the mess tent, Robin watched Carter and Much go into the king's tent and come out again a short time later. They headed in the direction of the sleeping tents and returned in Robin's direction within a few minutes, looking as if they were going somewhere. Their official Private Guard tunics gleamed in the sunlight as they procured horses from the corral and rode off in high spirits, engaged in playful banter.
Jealousy and anger churned in Robin's stomach. Didn't anyone care about him or Marian? Did no one besides him want justice on her behalf? Did no one just want to go home? He spat in the sand. It seemed not.
If he was not mistaken, Djaq and Will would not be returning to England. Allan was not going anywhere any time soon. So that left John and himself.
He just wanted to go home. He wanted Vaizey dead and he wanted him dead as soon as possible. He no longer cared if Nottingham was razed. He would see to it that the people of Nottingham were relocated to the local villages or to wherever else they wanted to go. But Vaizey would die one way or another.
And how long did he have to wait? Hadn’t he waited long enough? Robin pushed off the support pole and headed for the king's tent. Perhaps His Majesty would grant him leave to go. Robin was allowed in without issue.
"Robin, what can I do for you?" The king rose from his throne and approached Robin with a fading smile. "You look a little out of sorts..."
"I am a lot out of sorts, Sire. I wish to go home and yet I've had to wait. First for Will and Djaq's wedding and now for your release. I do not understand why you have not sent me on my way. There is nothing keeping me here save your word. When do I get to go home?"
Richard offered him a sympathetic smile and curled an arm around his shoulder. "Soon. I promise. Much and Carter will return by tomorrow evening in time for the festivities and then you all may take your leave the following morning."
Robin stiffened at both the contact and the king's words. "What? Sire--why must I wait for them? Surely I am capable of getting home without a chaperon."
"I think not." Richard's voice took on that steely tone that meant he'd been displeased and Robin's stomach turned. "I have heard of your recent actions in Acre, Robin, and I must say, I'm disappointed in you."
"When will Much learn to keep his mouth shut?" Robin muttered, shaking his head.
"It was not Much, so do not think to chastise him upon your next meeting. He is more loyal than any man deserves and you'd do well to leave him be." The king tightened his grip around Robin's shoulders and then allowed his hand to slide down Robin's arm and come to rest on the curve of Robin's hip and arse. The king's fingers made circles there. Robin immediately felt itchy all over.
"Carter, then. Much tells him everything." Despite the urge, Robin resisted shrugging off the king's arm. The touch of others, even that of the king, irritated him, physically, as if he were being burned or poked with a million hot needles on his skin. If the king thought to take Robin to his bed, as he suspected the king was considering, Robin would have a very difficult time not insulting him by running screaming from the tent.
"Nay, 'twas not Carter, either. Do you forget who I am, Robin? There are many who curry my favor by reporting what they see. I have eyes and ears all over the place. You ought to know that by now.” The king released him, but turned Robin so they faced one another. He looked deep into Robin's eyes as if searching for something.
Robin nodded and held his majesty's gaze. He did know it. But it didn't lessen Robin's feelings toward either Carter or Much at the moment. “Did you have to send them out now? Surely there are other knights perfectly capable of completing such a short-lived mission."
Richard smiled. "Well, it wasn't really a mission. I sent them off to celebrate their union. Alone."
"What?" Robin's tone bordered on insubordination and he knew it as soon as the word passed his lips.
Richard lifted a brow.
Robin hung his head. "Apologies, Majesty, I am not myself and I don't understand why I have to continue to wait. I can take my men and go." His man, actually. Just him and John.
"No. You must all travel together. First to France and then to England. I cannot chance anything happening to any of you. There is safety in numbers and right now we must do all we can to keep you safe."
"I do not care about my safety. I care about getting home." I care about justice being served. To hell with the rule of law and due process.
"Then think of your men, if not of yourself. I know you are not so consumed with grief and anger as to put your men at risk. You will not leave until morning after next."
Robin looked to the ground again. "Majesty, please."
"No, Robin, I have spoken. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Majesty."
"Good. Dismissed."
Once Robin cleared the flap of the king's tent he stormed off in search of someone to spar with or a great deal of alcohol. He needed to purge his anger and exhaust himself enough to sleep or get drunk enough to pass out.
>>-------------------->
Much and Carter had made this trek south of Acre before, though that had been with a few thousand other men and all the equipment that accompanies an army on the move. Those were punishing journeys, slow crawls advancing only a few miles a day. Fending off Saracen attackers who swooped down from the hills at all hours of the day and night. Carter pushed back the memory of one attack that nearly cost Much his life. At least this time, they travelled with little cause for worry. Saladin’s troops were further inland, and the Crusader army controlled the roads as far south as Arsuf.
The palatial home of Sheik Abdullah Rahman Suliel withstood both Saracen and Crusader invasions for over fifty years. Perched on a promontory overlooking the sea, it was an isolated gem that had hosted both Saladin and Richard the Lionheart at different times. As the land exchanged hands as far back as the Second Crusade, so did the home, serving as temporary headquarters for many leaders. And for whatever reason, none had ordered its destruction.
An older gray-haired servant with rounded sun-washed cheeks and a large nose admitted the two knights into the home's expansive foyer. He escorted them to the dining room and indicated his master urged them to enjoy the lavish spread of food and drink there.
“Is our host not joining us?” Carter asked when he noticed only two places set at the massive table that would easily sit thirty people.
“No,” the servant replied.
“But he is expecting us?”
The old man pointed toward the fare. Carter looked at Much and nodded. “Hungry, Lord Much?”
Much tipped his head from side to side, his hands planted at his waist. "I would not be against having a bite to eat," he replied, approaching the table with an air of indifference that almost made Carter laugh.
Three types of bread, beef and lamb, bowls of dates and pomegranates, rice, and vegetables. A meal fit for a king. Or two knights. Two knights about to embark on a long journey where they would only dream of a meal like this.
Sitting across from each other at one end of the table, they filled their plates with food and their time with idle chatter. Carter steeled himself, ultimately waiting for Robin's name to come up in the conversation. When that did not happen, he couldn't decide whether that was good or bad. How could he still feel so insecure, especially after last night? He brought the wine to his lips, watching Much over the top of the goblet. When he placed the drink back down, he held onto the stem, his eyes intent on the ring Much had given him. He was being foolish. Wasn't their bond like the gold encircling his finger? An unbroken circle...solid, enduring, never-ending...
"...winter marches south - I won't miss that," Much was saying in between bites. "Though I am surprised the king doesn't feel he needs us...well, you."
"Us," Carter reiterated, delighted to see the smile that washed across Much's face. "And he does need us. Just not in the Holy Land for a short while."
Much sat back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. His eyes suddenly filled with a mischievous glint. "I suppose he has a few other good knights."
Carter chuckled. "Though none as cunning or strong--"
"Nor brave," Much added.
"And handsome." Carter winked.
"Well, there is Legrand, though he'll be travelling with us, too."
"You think Legrand is--"
"Of course!" Heat rose in Much's cheeks. "Don't you?" He sat back up and stuffed another chunk of beef in his mouth.
"Just a bit hungry, eh?" Carter watched as Much savoured his meal. "I'd say you've had enough for an army."
Before Much could utter a denial, the servant reappeared and placed a platter of cheese and fruit in the center of the table. Much's eyes bulged at the sight of more food, but it was the purple leafy frond that garnished the plate that made the edges of his mouth curl. He picked up the stem and breathed in its scent.
Carter and Much had come from Aquitaine with lavender, including dried bouquets Queen Eleanor had them deliver to her son. But Carter had never seen it at the markets in Acre. He was intrigued that their host had it amongst his herbs. It evoked such special memories for him and made his heartbeat quickened. How long had it been since he'd stood in the pouring rain in a field of lavender and declared his love for Much?
The old man silently refilled their goblets with wine and set the pitcher down next to Carter. "Will there be anything else, milords?"
"Your master?" Carter asked.
"Yes. I have a letter for you."
"A letter? Where is Sheik Suleil?"
"I was told this would explain everything, milords," he said, handing Carter a small sealed parchment.
Carter recognized the embossed lettering on the seal. "This is from King Richard."
The servant nodded.
"What does it say?" Much asked.
"If you require nothing further I shall see you in the morning," the servant said. "There is more food in the kitchens should you need it."
Carter quickly scanned the note, his expression unreadable.
"In the morning?" Much frowned. Sunset was hours away. "Carter? What is in the letter from the king?"
Carter held two fingers up to Much then turned to the servant. "Thank you. You may go now."
The old man bowed and left one anxious-looking newly-knighted fellow leaning forward on the table awaiting to hear the contents of the king's message. Carter held his countenance, listening as the old man padded across the marble flooring in the foyer and left the house.
"Well?" Much asked, finally noticing the mischievous twinkle in Carter's blue eyes.
Carter picked up the largest strawberry from the fruit platter and placed it between his lips. He rose from his chair then leaned over the table, shoving plates aside as he dragged himself across it. He was so close that Much could smell the sweet fragrance of the berry in his mouth.
"What...are you doing?" Much whispered. He looked past Carter, his face flustered, as if he expected the servant might return. "Where is the man with the hawks?"
Carter slipped his hand round Much's neck, pulling him closer. He pressed his lips to Much's, forcing Much to open his mouth to share the strawberry. Juice dribbled down their chins as they kissed and devoured the fruit.
Much sighed as the kiss ended. "What is going on? I mean, I know what you just did...and I know that look in your eyes. The birds?"
Carter chuckled. "There are no hawks. There is no mission."
"Then what did the king intend--" Much's eyes grew wide. "Oh...that sly lion. He set us up, didn't he?"
"I'm not complaining. Are you?" Carter twisted round and sat up. He faced Much, his legs dangling over the edge of table. "His letter says this was the only gift he could give us. A little time - completely alone." Carter ran a finger across Much's forehead then traced down his temple and along his clean-shaven jaw line, a look he'd taken on the morning of his knighting ceremony.
Much pressed his cheek into Carter's hand, a throaty sigh escaping from his lips. "We have this whole house to ourselves?" he asked.
Before Carter could respond, Much's fingers clenched his tunic. He dragged him closer and their lips met again, mouths and tongues hot, breaths short, rasping, needy. Hands found their way beneath his clothing. Carter's heartbeat quickened when Much stood and slowly pushed his tunic up and over his head. Much reached past him, grasping a handful of strawberries. He crushed them against Carter's chest, painting his muscles with bits of the red fruit. Pushing Carter flat against the table, Much began to nibble on his artwork. He suckled at nipples glistening with luscious juice then brushed wet kisses up his chest and across his shoulders.
Fire grew in Carter's belly, an ache that swept every nerve in his body. He groaned as Much palmed the growing hardness beneath his leggings.
Much's hot breath tickled his neck. "If I'd known you were dessert, I wouldn't have had so much of that beef," he whispered.
On to Chapter 8...
Authors: robinfanatic & jagnikjen
Characters/Pairings: Much/Carter, Richard, Robin
Rating: R
Genre: Drama
Words: 3671
Warnings: hints of slashy activities
Disclaimer: BBC & TA own; we just want to play in their universe
Notes: beta read by teamlavender ; takes place after 2x13 but prior to 3x01
Introduction and previous chapter links for DII are here...
Summary: Robin is anxious to return home but King Richard has one set of final orders for Much and Carter and for him before they begin their trek back toward England.
>>-------------------->
Chapter 7: By Order of the King
The king's camp began to stir as the sun crested the hills to the east. Much liked this time of day, especially when it followed nights not interrupted by the incessant beat of Saracen drums. He liked this time of day when he could lay next to Carter and listen to the sound of his steady breathing, when he could spoon his lover's body and feel the heat from their bare flesh. He liked this time of day when moments like these let him forget the war beyond the walls of their tent, let him dream of England.
Much nuzzled Carter's shoulder, closed his eyes, and thought of Bonchurch. There were footsteps outside but he imagined them to be servants beginning their daily chores at the lodge. The animals that brayed roamed through tall grasses in the pasture nearby, not the corral. The morning breeze carried tantalizing smells from the cooks' fires and made his stomach growl, reminding him of aromas drifting to the bedroom from downstairs.
"Sir Carter? Lord Much?" a young voice called.
Much drew in a deep breath then sighed. That wasn't one of the servants from Bonchurch. He pulled up on one elbow. "Yes?"
"The king commands your presence."
Carter stretched and Much leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "Awfully early," he grumbled.
"I'll let you tell him that." Grinning, Carter stood up and stretched again, every muscle in his body inviting hands to touch.
Much tossed Carter's leggings to him instead.
"Spoilsport."
Both men laughed and Carter extended his hand to help Much up. They dressed and hurried toward the king's pavilion, picking up their pace when Richard appeared, arms crossed, in front of his tent. He raised his head when he spotted them and then retreated back inside.
Carter and Much were admitted and found the king with both hands pressed to the edge of the table. He studied the map there, eyes fixated on the red lettering that marked the reason for this holy war: Jerusalem.
Much had seen the well-worn map dozens of times but usually watched from his station with other squires. He'd rarely been close enough to see the intricate designs drawn by the cartographer or the handwritten scribbles that King Richard or other members of his inner circle might have added.
A small carved block representing the Crusader army rested atop the map near Acre. The king dragged it south along the coast, then east.
Carter cleared his throat. "You asked to see us, Your Majesty?"
"I will miss you on our trek to the holy city. May winter be kind so your trip is free of hazards." The king straightened and looked at them. He pursed his lips and pointed, deep in thought, counting off three fingers. "Not two, but perhaps three or four months?"
Carter's face remained neutral. "Your Majesty?"
"Perhaps Jerusalem will be in our hands by the time you return."
"I didn't know we were going anywhere," Much said, confused.
The king threw him a small frown. "Had I not made that clear? Did I dream that conversation? Perhaps there was too much wine, too much...celebration...after your carpenter friend's wedding?"
Much swallowed, risking a sidelong glance at Carter.
Even Carter's brow was furrowed. "Sire, I must confess that--"
The king chuckled and stopped Carter with a wave of his hand. "You will depart with Locksley."
"Go with Robin?" Much asked. The thought of returning to England struck him with conflicting emotions. He could be there for Robin. Help him work through his grief - if he could get him to talk.
Would he let you? Has he ever let you?
Carter's words rang true but that would not mean he couldn't try. Much looked from the king to Carter. That Wilton calm, that unreadable mask had returned.
"Robin is anxious to return to England. You and Legrand will accompany him as far as Poitiers," the king said. "You will carry my personal greetings and other...sensitive...information to my mother."
Much tried to imitate Carter's Wilton face and hoped he hid his disappointment. He missed home. Still, Poitiers was a good journey, and it was away from the blinding sun and hot desert sands. And the war.
"As you wish, Sire," Carter replied. "Though would it not be best to serve you here in the coming campaign? Legrand or Lord Locksley could--"
"Her Majesty's reply must make its way back into my hands, milords. I will trust no one but you to fulfill this important mission. And intercepting messages is sport to our enemies. The more players we have, the better."
"Then to Poitiers and back, Sire." Carter smiled, nodding from the king to Much.
"Good." The king wandered back to his desk and sat down. He picked at the remains of his breakfast and regarded the two knights thoughtfully.
Much shifted nervously, waiting to be dismissed. He'd caught the little sparkle in the king's eyes. Apparently he wasn't ready to let them leave.
Richard popped a couple of dates in his mouth and practically swallowed them whole. "I do have one more job for you before you go," he finally said. "If you depart immediately, you'll be back by nightfall tomorrow. You must tell no one..."
>>-------------------->
"Birds?" Much shook his head as he grabbed the extra waterskin on the chest by his bunk. "We're meeting a man about a pair of birds."
Carter tried to remain straight-faced but the idea sounded so funny coming from Much that a chuckle slipped his lips. He cleared his throat. This was serious business - they were serving as King Richard's envoys. "They are hawks. Special hawks. A peace offering for Saladin."
Much tossed his pack over his shoulder. His new shield hung on a post by his bunk. He rubbed his hand across the smooth metal. "I know that's what the king said but--"
"We have our orders." Carter walked to the entrance to the tent.
"I know..."
Carter turned. "What? What is it?"
"We're leaving for Poitiers in a couple of days." Much pursed his lips. "I was hoping to help John watch Allan. I know he's going to be all right, but we'll be gone for a while and...well, I just wanted to sit there, be there if he wakes up."
Carter's expression softened. That's why he loved this man. "You know you can't be there all the time. We'll have a chance to say good-bye. You can spend some time with him then. And you trust Djaq - she'll tell Allan how his friends watched over him."
"That's true." Much stood unmoving, staring past Carter.
Carter knew there was more. "And?"
Much closed his eyes before meeting Carter's gaze. "I'm worried about Robin. We both know he's only waited this long to leave because of Will and Djaq's wedding. That, and Allan's condition, has been the only thing keeping him here. The only thing that has given him a chance to think about someone other than Marian." He fisted both hands, brought them to his mouth then raked his hands through his hair. "You didn't see him...see his face...when he was looking for Gisborne. When he saw Marian's body..." Much's voice trailed off. He's being reckless...and he's hurting. I want to help him, talk to him."
Carter reminded himself that he had to accept Much's concern for Robin. He couldn't tell him how much he dreaded the time they'd be cooped up on the ship to Marseilles. On the other hand, they'd leave behind the chants of Saracen warriors and the blood and stench of battle. He'd not have to worry that a Saracen sword might take his lover's life.
Carter wandered back to where Much stood, placing his hands on Much's shoulders. "When we leave for England, you'll have weeks to keep his company."
"I suppose you are right."
Carter's arms slid around Much. He pulled him close knowing the journeys ahead still might be fraught with danger.
When they let go of each other, Much adjusted the new sword at his waist, retrieved his shield, then raised it in a sign of confidence. "Let's go."
>>-------------------->
From his position at the opening of the mess tent, Robin watched Carter and Much go into the king's tent and come out again a short time later. They headed in the direction of the sleeping tents and returned in Robin's direction within a few minutes, looking as if they were going somewhere. Their official Private Guard tunics gleamed in the sunlight as they procured horses from the corral and rode off in high spirits, engaged in playful banter.
Jealousy and anger churned in Robin's stomach. Didn't anyone care about him or Marian? Did no one besides him want justice on her behalf? Did no one just want to go home? He spat in the sand. It seemed not.
If he was not mistaken, Djaq and Will would not be returning to England. Allan was not going anywhere any time soon. So that left John and himself.
He just wanted to go home. He wanted Vaizey dead and he wanted him dead as soon as possible. He no longer cared if Nottingham was razed. He would see to it that the people of Nottingham were relocated to the local villages or to wherever else they wanted to go. But Vaizey would die one way or another.
And how long did he have to wait? Hadn’t he waited long enough? Robin pushed off the support pole and headed for the king's tent. Perhaps His Majesty would grant him leave to go. Robin was allowed in without issue.
"Robin, what can I do for you?" The king rose from his throne and approached Robin with a fading smile. "You look a little out of sorts..."
"I am a lot out of sorts, Sire. I wish to go home and yet I've had to wait. First for Will and Djaq's wedding and now for your release. I do not understand why you have not sent me on my way. There is nothing keeping me here save your word. When do I get to go home?"
Richard offered him a sympathetic smile and curled an arm around his shoulder. "Soon. I promise. Much and Carter will return by tomorrow evening in time for the festivities and then you all may take your leave the following morning."
Robin stiffened at both the contact and the king's words. "What? Sire--why must I wait for them? Surely I am capable of getting home without a chaperon."
"I think not." Richard's voice took on that steely tone that meant he'd been displeased and Robin's stomach turned. "I have heard of your recent actions in Acre, Robin, and I must say, I'm disappointed in you."
"When will Much learn to keep his mouth shut?" Robin muttered, shaking his head.
"It was not Much, so do not think to chastise him upon your next meeting. He is more loyal than any man deserves and you'd do well to leave him be." The king tightened his grip around Robin's shoulders and then allowed his hand to slide down Robin's arm and come to rest on the curve of Robin's hip and arse. The king's fingers made circles there. Robin immediately felt itchy all over.
"Carter, then. Much tells him everything." Despite the urge, Robin resisted shrugging off the king's arm. The touch of others, even that of the king, irritated him, physically, as if he were being burned or poked with a million hot needles on his skin. If the king thought to take Robin to his bed, as he suspected the king was considering, Robin would have a very difficult time not insulting him by running screaming from the tent.
"Nay, 'twas not Carter, either. Do you forget who I am, Robin? There are many who curry my favor by reporting what they see. I have eyes and ears all over the place. You ought to know that by now.” The king released him, but turned Robin so they faced one another. He looked deep into Robin's eyes as if searching for something.
Robin nodded and held his majesty's gaze. He did know it. But it didn't lessen Robin's feelings toward either Carter or Much at the moment. “Did you have to send them out now? Surely there are other knights perfectly capable of completing such a short-lived mission."
Richard smiled. "Well, it wasn't really a mission. I sent them off to celebrate their union. Alone."
"What?" Robin's tone bordered on insubordination and he knew it as soon as the word passed his lips.
Richard lifted a brow.
Robin hung his head. "Apologies, Majesty, I am not myself and I don't understand why I have to continue to wait. I can take my men and go." His man, actually. Just him and John.
"No. You must all travel together. First to France and then to England. I cannot chance anything happening to any of you. There is safety in numbers and right now we must do all we can to keep you safe."
"I do not care about my safety. I care about getting home." I care about justice being served. To hell with the rule of law and due process.
"Then think of your men, if not of yourself. I know you are not so consumed with grief and anger as to put your men at risk. You will not leave until morning after next."
Robin looked to the ground again. "Majesty, please."
"No, Robin, I have spoken. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Majesty."
"Good. Dismissed."
Once Robin cleared the flap of the king's tent he stormed off in search of someone to spar with or a great deal of alcohol. He needed to purge his anger and exhaust himself enough to sleep or get drunk enough to pass out.
>>-------------------->
Much and Carter had made this trek south of Acre before, though that had been with a few thousand other men and all the equipment that accompanies an army on the move. Those were punishing journeys, slow crawls advancing only a few miles a day. Fending off Saracen attackers who swooped down from the hills at all hours of the day and night. Carter pushed back the memory of one attack that nearly cost Much his life. At least this time, they travelled with little cause for worry. Saladin’s troops were further inland, and the Crusader army controlled the roads as far south as Arsuf.
The palatial home of Sheik Abdullah Rahman Suliel withstood both Saracen and Crusader invasions for over fifty years. Perched on a promontory overlooking the sea, it was an isolated gem that had hosted both Saladin and Richard the Lionheart at different times. As the land exchanged hands as far back as the Second Crusade, so did the home, serving as temporary headquarters for many leaders. And for whatever reason, none had ordered its destruction.
An older gray-haired servant with rounded sun-washed cheeks and a large nose admitted the two knights into the home's expansive foyer. He escorted them to the dining room and indicated his master urged them to enjoy the lavish spread of food and drink there.
“Is our host not joining us?” Carter asked when he noticed only two places set at the massive table that would easily sit thirty people.
“No,” the servant replied.
“But he is expecting us?”
The old man pointed toward the fare. Carter looked at Much and nodded. “Hungry, Lord Much?”
Much tipped his head from side to side, his hands planted at his waist. "I would not be against having a bite to eat," he replied, approaching the table with an air of indifference that almost made Carter laugh.
Three types of bread, beef and lamb, bowls of dates and pomegranates, rice, and vegetables. A meal fit for a king. Or two knights. Two knights about to embark on a long journey where they would only dream of a meal like this.
Sitting across from each other at one end of the table, they filled their plates with food and their time with idle chatter. Carter steeled himself, ultimately waiting for Robin's name to come up in the conversation. When that did not happen, he couldn't decide whether that was good or bad. How could he still feel so insecure, especially after last night? He brought the wine to his lips, watching Much over the top of the goblet. When he placed the drink back down, he held onto the stem, his eyes intent on the ring Much had given him. He was being foolish. Wasn't their bond like the gold encircling his finger? An unbroken circle...solid, enduring, never-ending...
"...winter marches south - I won't miss that," Much was saying in between bites. "Though I am surprised the king doesn't feel he needs us...well, you."
"Us," Carter reiterated, delighted to see the smile that washed across Much's face. "And he does need us. Just not in the Holy Land for a short while."
Much sat back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. His eyes suddenly filled with a mischievous glint. "I suppose he has a few other good knights."
Carter chuckled. "Though none as cunning or strong--"
"Nor brave," Much added.
"And handsome." Carter winked.
"Well, there is Legrand, though he'll be travelling with us, too."
"You think Legrand is--"
"Of course!" Heat rose in Much's cheeks. "Don't you?" He sat back up and stuffed another chunk of beef in his mouth.
"Just a bit hungry, eh?" Carter watched as Much savoured his meal. "I'd say you've had enough for an army."
Before Much could utter a denial, the servant reappeared and placed a platter of cheese and fruit in the center of the table. Much's eyes bulged at the sight of more food, but it was the purple leafy frond that garnished the plate that made the edges of his mouth curl. He picked up the stem and breathed in its scent.
Carter and Much had come from Aquitaine with lavender, including dried bouquets Queen Eleanor had them deliver to her son. But Carter had never seen it at the markets in Acre. He was intrigued that their host had it amongst his herbs. It evoked such special memories for him and made his heartbeat quickened. How long had it been since he'd stood in the pouring rain in a field of lavender and declared his love for Much?
The old man silently refilled their goblets with wine and set the pitcher down next to Carter. "Will there be anything else, milords?"
"Your master?" Carter asked.
"Yes. I have a letter for you."
"A letter? Where is Sheik Suleil?"
"I was told this would explain everything, milords," he said, handing Carter a small sealed parchment.
Carter recognized the embossed lettering on the seal. "This is from King Richard."
The servant nodded.
"What does it say?" Much asked.
"If you require nothing further I shall see you in the morning," the servant said. "There is more food in the kitchens should you need it."
Carter quickly scanned the note, his expression unreadable.
"In the morning?" Much frowned. Sunset was hours away. "Carter? What is in the letter from the king?"
Carter held two fingers up to Much then turned to the servant. "Thank you. You may go now."
The old man bowed and left one anxious-looking newly-knighted fellow leaning forward on the table awaiting to hear the contents of the king's message. Carter held his countenance, listening as the old man padded across the marble flooring in the foyer and left the house.
"Well?" Much asked, finally noticing the mischievous twinkle in Carter's blue eyes.
Carter picked up the largest strawberry from the fruit platter and placed it between his lips. He rose from his chair then leaned over the table, shoving plates aside as he dragged himself across it. He was so close that Much could smell the sweet fragrance of the berry in his mouth.
"What...are you doing?" Much whispered. He looked past Carter, his face flustered, as if he expected the servant might return. "Where is the man with the hawks?"
Carter slipped his hand round Much's neck, pulling him closer. He pressed his lips to Much's, forcing Much to open his mouth to share the strawberry. Juice dribbled down their chins as they kissed and devoured the fruit.
Much sighed as the kiss ended. "What is going on? I mean, I know what you just did...and I know that look in your eyes. The birds?"
Carter chuckled. "There are no hawks. There is no mission."
"Then what did the king intend--" Much's eyes grew wide. "Oh...that sly lion. He set us up, didn't he?"
"I'm not complaining. Are you?" Carter twisted round and sat up. He faced Much, his legs dangling over the edge of table. "His letter says this was the only gift he could give us. A little time - completely alone." Carter ran a finger across Much's forehead then traced down his temple and along his clean-shaven jaw line, a look he'd taken on the morning of his knighting ceremony.
Much pressed his cheek into Carter's hand, a throaty sigh escaping from his lips. "We have this whole house to ourselves?" he asked.
Before Carter could respond, Much's fingers clenched his tunic. He dragged him closer and their lips met again, mouths and tongues hot, breaths short, rasping, needy. Hands found their way beneath his clothing. Carter's heartbeat quickened when Much stood and slowly pushed his tunic up and over his head. Much reached past him, grasping a handful of strawberries. He crushed them against Carter's chest, painting his muscles with bits of the red fruit. Pushing Carter flat against the table, Much began to nibble on his artwork. He suckled at nipples glistening with luscious juice then brushed wet kisses up his chest and across his shoulders.
Fire grew in Carter's belly, an ache that swept every nerve in his body. He groaned as Much palmed the growing hardness beneath his leggings.
Much's hot breath tickled his neck. "If I'd known you were dessert, I wouldn't have had so much of that beef," he whispered.
On to Chapter 8...