Arrow To The Heart (De Bron Saga) (18 page)

“Ouch!” Kendrick’s expression was accusing. “Certainly gentleness is not an attribute that you possess,” he said. He damned Rowena anew for having left him alone with this unsympathetic crone.

“Nor gratitude one of yours!” Despite the criticism she continued her ministrations, calling the young woman named Maida into the room when he fought against her determined efforts.

“Alas, I am outnumbered!” Ceasing his struggle, he gave in to the inevitable, musing all the while. So, Rowena had gone. The  troublesome wench had actually done it. Where was she now? What was she thinking? What was she doing? Was she regretting her over-boldness? Well, perhaps a bit of a scare would give her her comeuppance. It would be good for her. Why should he worry? And yet he did. So much so that it nearly made him ill.

“There, that should do it.” As the old woman tied the clean bandage securely in place she looked pleased with herself. “Now, behave yourself, my lord, lest I  have to give you one of my sleeping potions.”

“No!” Kendrick quickly pretended to be the most obedient of patients. All the while his brain buzzed with ideas of how he would escape from this place and follow after the headstrong young lady. Then, just when it seemed hopeless, a chance presented itself.

“Watch after him for a moment, Maida, while I go get but a handful of some special herbs.” Something to ascertain that he would behave, her manner seemed to say.

“Oh, I will.” Batting her eyelashes at Kendrick the moment the old woman had left, Maida openly showed that guarding him would not be an unpleasant task. “Lady Rowena calls you the arrogant lord.” Her voice was a breathy whisper. “But I know from having heard Chad and Humbley  talk that you have a kind and compassionate side. If so, then tell me what has happened to them.”

“Prince John has, as he has put it, detained them!”

“Detained?” She shivered, fearing for the two men. “Are they…are they….?”

“We soon shall see, for I intend to get them back the moment I have regained my strength.”

Maida sighed longingly, obviously regretting his injured state, imagining what mischief she could create. “You’ll need more than strength to abide the mistress of this manor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lady Rowena has been acting strangely of late.

“Strangely.” Kendrick was most interested. “What do you mean?”

“She won’t let me help her dress any longer. She wants to be free from prying eyes, or so it seems.” She pouted petulantly. “And she keeps the latest hours.”

“Late hours?” He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She roams about in the night like some nocturnal creature. I’ve been watching her.” Maida’s voice took on a tattling tone. “She doesn’t think that I know, but I do.”

“So.” Jealousy threatened to poison Kendrick. Was it possible? Could it be? Had Rowena Fitz Hugh rejected his wooing because she had a lover? Pondering the matter, he decided otherwise. It had to be something else. But what?

Maida soon answered. “She has taken to dressing like a lad. I’ve seen her climbing up to her room by way of a thick vine when she thinks no one is watching.”

Dressing like a lad?  Kendrick closed his eyes, seeing first one face and then another. The lady, then the lad.  Rowena and the archer. Their features merged into the same face.

“Is it possible?” Could it be? No, it couldn’t. Rowena couldn’t possibly be the same person as the bothersome, unruly lad with the bow. Or could she?

Chapter Seventeen

Rowena rode at a punishing pace toward
Canterbury without so much as a pause, all the while determined to prove her mettle once and for all. She would not be daunted in this mission, she vowed, for there was much at stake, her pride being just one of the reasons goading her. It was either reach Canterbury or be damned.  She would show de Bron! She was no fragile flower in need of protection! She could manage quite well on her own, if you please. If the road was rutted and rocky, a far cry from the smooth pavement the Romans had instigated, she tried to ignore the fact.

The wind howled around her, rain from a sudden rain storm soaked her to the skin but she continued on her way, shivering against the chill, gathering her mantle tightly around her body in a futile effort to keep dry.  Push on.  Push on.  Push on
. The fate of Richard, nay perhaps of all England, might very well rest on her accomplishment this night.

“Keep going! You dare not stop!”

A person could only push themselves for so long, however.  After over eight hours in the saddle she was in misery.    It was the longest time she had ever been on horseback without dismounting  for a brief rest.  When her backside ached so intensely that she could not stand it, when every muscle in he body throbbed and begged for relief, she at last attuned her eyes for an inn.  She had been riding hard. She and the poor horse were in need of a rest.

“I will
stop but only for an hour or so,” she told herself, scanning the road ahead of her. The village just over the hill was much larger than those at Nottinghamshire.  Surely there must be at least one tavern or inn.

At last she spied
a likely resting place.   If it's thatched roof looked in serious need of repair, if some of it's shutters were cracked and broken, well, it would just have to do. Besides, one had to be suspect and cautious in the more commodious and well-furnished establishments, for thieves and spies were sure to abound. Sliding off her horse she hastened to the unpainted door and banged loudly.

A tall man with carrot red hair and a toothy grin opened the portal, beckoning her inside.  "Come in, come in, come in," he said.  "It ain't fancy but its warm and its dry."  He reached for her mantle but Rowena shook her head.  "A
’wright then."

Following him into the murky wooden dwelling that smelled of grease, sweat, stale wine and smoke, Rowena looked around her.  Hardly the place for a lady, but for a "lad" it would do quite well
, despite the fact that the rushes were in dire need of a change and the benches threatened to have splinters.  After her hectic ride it would be moderately comfortable. Far better a place to rest than a stable.

"A mug of ale for the lad here!" boomed the tavern keeper, motioning to the tavern maid.  He took one look at Rowena's green garments and winked.  "A small reward for wot
yer did for me.  I'll not soon be forgetting how yer saved me hide and purse from the Prince's thieving rascals.”

“I…?” Rowena stared into his face. No, he was not one of the men she had rescued. Who had rescued him then.”

“Aye, you and your merry men…..” He pounded her on the back most heartily, pushing her down on a bench.

Clearly it was a case of mistaken identity, the innkeeper mistaking her for someone else, one of Robin Hood's men no doubt.  Nevertheless Rowena didn't correct the error, nor did she refuse the reward.  She was thirsty.

"Thank you," she said to the tavern maid as she handed her a mug of ale. 

"Is there anything else you be wanting?"

Looking up, Rowena found herself staring into the eyes of a big bosomed woman who made it very clear she had much more than serving drinks on her mind.  Much more.  Had she not guessed the woman's intent, the bold hand reaching towards Rowena's crotch said it all.

"Nothing more," Rowena said gruffly, pushing the woman's hand aside.   A woman like this might see through her disguise or force he
r to some rash action.

"Nothing...."  The tavern wench was flirting, teasing.
Obviously she was one of the prostitutes who frequented inns, preying on gullible patrons.

"Nothing!"  It was women like this who gave all women a bad name,  Rowena thought with a scowl, making it blatantly obvious that she wasn't interested.

"Well, I'll leave you alone then," was the reply.

"Good.  Good."   Rowena sighed in relief. 

Scanning the crowd of patrons she quickly noted that as in most villages the favorite recreation here was drinking. Drinking and gaming. Huddled and hunkered down in the far corner, five men were playing at dice. The dicemaker’s guild had strict laws against making fraudulent dice, but nevertheless there were some who managed to obtain a pair or two. Hopefully, there would not be any trouble . Taking a hurried drink of her ale, then another and another, she didn’t feel that she could relax for long. Standing up Rowena sauntered over to a table of dun and brown clothed men. She would ask if they had heard any word about the king.

"Rich
ard?" asked one of the villagers, casting her a wary glance. “Lionheart?”

"There is no other," she said tartly, sitting in the empty chair beside the man.  Her words seemed to earn his trust and she listened as he told the tale he had heard of Richard's betrayal.  A seaman had access to such tattlings.

“Richard was thoroughly disheartened over his defeat in Jerusalem. He sailed on the ship I was on from Palestine in October. It was not possible for him to go by way of France, however, because his feud with King Philip had grown very biter. Instead he decided to return by the Adriatic and across Germany.”

“
Germany?” A most unwise decision, Rowena thought.

“He had received reports of John’s activities and realized no time should be lost.”

“And astute observation.” Rowena said softly. “but pray tell, what happened?”

The seaman sadly shook his head. “Alas, Richard’s jeweled baldric somehow arrived at
Rome and was offered openly for sale in that city.”

“What?” Rowena had not heard this. “Surely  not his.”

“Queen Berengaria identified it herself, for there could be no mistake. It was a hand woven thing of blue velvet with the royal insignia and the letter ‘R’ embroidered on it in gold thread. At first ‘twas thought the king’s ship had gone down in crossing the Mediterranean and that the baldric had been among the possessions saved.”

“Oh no!” For just a moment Rowena feared the worst. And if Richard was dead, then John would be king. A horrible thought.

“In truth it has been learned instead that the king landed on the coast of Istria and, disguising himself as a pilgrim had ridden north into the territory of his most bitter enemies.”

“The new German Emperor, Henry VI and Leopold of Austria,” Rowena gasped. "So, ‘tis
already known," Rowena said softly.

"Aye."

None of those gathered doubted for a moment that Prince John had had a hand in the matter.  All assembled got involved in what they had  heard of the story. Richard, so it was told, had landed on the coast of Austria disguised as a pilgrim.  He had ridden north into territory held by his enemies, the new German Emperor and Leopold of Austria.  Coming to a small village, he had arrived at a dire time when rumors of his arrival had already spread through the foreign land.  Alas, he had been discovered.

"There he be sittin' before a fire in the kitchen of an inn," exclaimed an old man who recounted the tale as he guzzled his drink.  "The mayor strode in as big as you please and said, 'hail, King of England.  Thy face betrays who thou art.
’  Richard was trussed up like a rooster for plucking and never seen again."

Rowena winced at the thought.  "Poor Richard.  Taken to
Vienna."

"Ah yes, but the good Prince hopes to ra
ise a ransom to bring our good king safely home again," said another man, tottering on his feet, obviously in his cups.

“The prince has pretended that?” Rowena wrinkled her nose in disgust. How like John to pretend to be rescuer when instead he was at fault.

“John, indeed! The king had best look to his back,” said another man. His golden hair bespoke of Saxon heritage.

Rowena
asked about Hubert Walter, the archbishop.  "Surely he will do all he can to free the king once he hears."  She intended to be the one to bringing him that message.

"The a
rchbishop already knows and he is no fool.  He trusts John not at all.  Hubert Walter intends to see personally to the collecting of the ransom."

"Oh?"  Rowena turned her head to look at the man who had just spoken, a stout man who towered over her by nearly a foot and a half.  He was clothed in a mantle with a hood and carried a staff, bow and quiver of arrows.  "And just why are you so well informed?"

"Because I am returning from speaking with the archbishop."  The big man crossed his massive arms across his chest.

"You?"   She wondered if
this could be a trap.  Perhaps the archbishop was in danger.  What would happen if that holy personage were to come to mishap?  Would not John then have free reign.  "And just
who
are
you
?"

"Who am I?"  Throwing his head back the big man guffawed.

"Aye, I ask again, who are you?"  Though the man was a giant, Rowena refused to be intimidated.

"Little John," came the answer as the man lowered his head and looked at her nose to nose.

"Little John."  Now it was her turn to laugh.  “And just who is
he
?”

The man sitting next to her nudged her ribs. “The most important of all outlaws in
England, except for Robin Hood himself.”

Little John bowed mockingly. “So, lad, you see….”

“Little John, ha!” As if that one would be so bold as to show himself with the price he had on his head.  "If you are Little John then I am…. I... I... am Robin Hood."

"Robin Hood?"  A tiny little man in the corner looked at her with awe.  "Really?  Why, I thought that he would be taller."

"Robin Hood.  Robin Hood."  Little John tweaked her on the nose.  "For a surety you are not, for I know him well."  The description he gave was accurate, so much so that Rowena was convinced.  She had seen Maid Marion's lover up close.  "But methinks you be a brave lad  nonetheless.  Tell me, can you put your courage where your mouth is?"

"Aye!"  She
intended to say more, but the hum of voices interrupted her. Turning towards the men in the corner she heard accusations of cheating at dice. Suddenly havoc broke out in the tavern.

"I recognize that one.  Little John," cried a voice, pointing his finger in the direction of the giant outlaw.
“Get him.”

“There is a reward on his head.” Several men garbed in brown
suddenly threw off their mantles, revealing themselves to be Prince John's followers.  They came at Little John, outnumbering him at least four to one.   

"Forsooth, I should not have been so foolhardy
in revealing my identity," Little John swore,  "but I thought I was among friends." He readied himself for a scuffle.

"And you are."  The innkeeper
joined in the  ruckus. 

Rowena didn't like the odds of the scuffle.  It was too one-sided in John's favor.  Picking up a large wooden chair, she threw it at the mob
, joining in.  If she had doubted Little John's identity or his loyalties she did not now. 

"Count me in," she shouted out.  "It seems, big man, that you have need of another friend."

He laughed despite the danger. "It seems that I do!"

Oh what a fight it was!  Little John fought with the strength of a wild boar, as good with his hands as he was with his staff.  He took on two men at a time, three men, four, and still bested them.  Indeed, he might have won an easy victory had it not been for the fact that the number of the Prince's men increased steadily, entering through the windows and doors.

Rowena picked up a tankard of ale and struck first one of the prince's men then another.  "Take this, you usurper's hound.  And this!"  Wishing she had brought  her bow and arrow into the inn, she had to suffice with what was at hand.  Proudly she realized that even weaponless she held her own.  But only a fool was so stubborn as not to admit when the odds were against them.

"Methinks it best we leave, my fine fellow," Little John said at last.  Grabbing her by the arm, he led her out the door, taking advantage of the melee the inn's patrons were creating as they
threw themselves in between John and the prince's men. Together they pushed through.

Rowena slammed the door in their pursuers’ faces, bracing herself against the wood to hold them off as best she could. “Hurry. Ride,” she ordered, calling out to Little John. “I can only hold the
m so long.”

“Indeed!” He mounted his horse.
"You're a brave one.  We would welcome you in our band," he yelled out. 

"Oh, y
ou would!" Hurrying away from the door, she flung herself upon her horse’s saddle.

“Follow me. “I’ll take you to our camp.”