“Well and truly, it appears,” Marian said, wincing inwardly at the pain she must have endured. They’d stopped their horses near the edge of the crowd and were watching the proceedings.
“Aye, and ’twas from a man who wanted more than the cloth she weaves. He was her betrothed husband. He took her off behind the apple orchard and forced himself on her. Then he used his fists and a knife to mark her, and she managed to get his dagger. While trying to escape, she struck him in the neck.”
“And so her crime is murder?” Marian asked.
“Aye. She’ll hang for murder.” Bruse looked at her, and she read the bleakness in his eyes. “If my daughter were set upon by such a man, I would cry delight if she sliced him open. This was not the first time he did this to her, and ’tis a fact that he planned to wed her and did not wish to wait for the priest’s blessing. But the sheriff has no mercy and she’s to be hung. He’ll tolerate no breaking of the law in Nottinghamshire.”
So in the stead of living a life of beatings and rapes, the woman defended herself and killed her assailant while doing so. The sheriff cried murder and would make her an example.
Marian felt ill when she realized the man who’d only last night made her quiver and cry with pleasure would raise his powerful hand and end the poor woman’s life. If she’d thought he might have any mercy, her belief in that possibility was now gone.
Were these the sorts of things-destroying property, hanging abused women-Will did every day? Was this how he went about his business?
Disgusted and horror-struck, she wheeled her horse and started back to the keep. She could not watch such a travesty, for she knew naught would veer William de Wendeval’s black heart from its purpose.
The only thing that kept her from hating him more than Prince John at that moment was the fact that he conducted his foul affairs openly, rather than slyly behind closed doors. At the least he was honest about who he was.
CHAPTER 11
Will watched Marian ride away, then turned back to the crowd.
The horde was angry, but of course it was a fury that simmered beneath the surface. Someday it might rise to the top and spill over into a force to be reckoned with. He didn’t wish to be there when that time came, for ’twould be bloody and violent.
He already sensed a sort of independence growing among the barons, which had begun to churn mightily after Richard’s appalling choice of Longchamp for justiciar and chancellor. John’s love for England and lust for power had resulted in some good when he and the barons united to run the despicable man out of the country.
Having seen how easily the barons allied themselves when faced with such a vast problem, Will knew that the day they required their king and liege to give them more authority and equality was not so far off-mayhap even closer than Richard and his current heir, John, realized. ’Twas possible that one of them would need to negotiate with their vassals, and relinquish some of their absolute control, before the reign of the Plantagenets was over.
But here in Ludlow Village, the villeins and freemen had even less power and influence than their overlords, and had no choice but to accept the decisions inflicted upon them. Including this one, in which Will had chosen to obey the law down to the letters in which it was written.
Ella Weaver was a favorite in the village, and although their world was already one of simplicity and violence, the bruises on her face and the deep cuts on her body had horrified men and women alike. In truth, the sight of her battered face and what little he’d seen of her other wounds had moved him more than he would have liked to admit.
Yet, she had killed a man. And as per the law, a woman was beholden to any man who owned her-from her husband to her father, to her liege lord. This man had been her intended husband, and therefore had claim on her thus. She could be beaten, raped, or otherwise punished if necessary to keep her in line. Even if she was killed in the course of such discipline, the law hardly noticed.
And if she retaliated, she must be punished. It was the law.
And Will, above all, was beholden to the law.
He glanced up and noted how far across the sky the sun had moved, and gritted his teeth. He’d delayed as long as he could. If Robin Hood did not act soon, Ella Weaver would hang by her slender, bruised neck.
Taking his time, Will stood, clasping his hands behind his back. He walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down over the crowd. Anger shone in the faces he saw there, overt in some, subtle in others. Once again, he had made an unpopular decision that blackened his character further in the eyes of the village and his peers.
And it mattered not. None of them had any choice in the matter. It was the way of the world. Duty. Honor. Fealty.
Just as he raised his hand to gesture for the hood to be placed over Ella’s head, an arrow whizzed through the air. Just missing his fingers.
The crowd responded with gasps and undercurrents of joy, and Will turned to look, slowly lowering the hand that had nearly been skewered. By God’s teeth, the outlaw was an insolent bastard. There were moments when he’d as lief toss Locksley in the gaol for his impertinence as much as for his crimes.
Or, better yet, strip down to naught but his braies and pummel the snot out of the man.
But now the buzz of the crowd had risen, and Will could do naught but watch as his men were held at arrow point as Robin Hood swooped in to save the day. Feeding the legend, Robin of Locksley pirouetted onstage, bowing to the delight of the crowd and then turning to do the same to the young woman. Then he swung the smiling Ella Weaver over his shoulder and leapt off the dais onto a waiting horse and galloped off down the street, kicking up dust and leaving the roar of approval in his wake.
Will just stood there, appearing ineffective and stymied by the outlaw.
“Mayhap a stroll along the parapet, my lady?” asked Sir Roderick. “The moon is full and fat this evening.”
Marian glanced at the high table. The meal had ended some time ago, but the entertainment provided by a troupe of tumbling acrobats had kept the diners amused after the trenchers and platters had been taken away. But the high table was now empty, and John and his companions were nowhere in sight. Only a few remained at the lower tables, mingling with the hounds that skulked about for their meals and the serfs clearing away the last bit of remains.
A reprieve tonight, perhaps. Especially if she was to disappear for a time, walking in the moonlight with Sir Roderick, where no one would think to look for her.
“I should find a walk most enjoyable,” she said, slipping her fingers around his arm. The sooner she disappeared from the hall, the better.
“Then let us go.” He turned, but stopped just as suddenly, for their path between the tables was blocked.
Marian looked up into the expressionless eyes of the sheriff. Her heart sank and she squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. But when she opened them, he was still there. Implacable and clearly in poor humor.
“Lady Marian’s presence is required elsewhere,” Will said. Though his countenance was unemotional as usual, she recognized a deep weariness in his demeanor. He held himself stiffly, as though unwilling to trust himself to unbend for fear he’d show a trace of weakness. His cheeks were hollow, his mouth was tight and controlled, and the lines radiating from the corners of his eyes were deeper than she recalled.
Sir Roderick looked down at her, and Marian hesitated. He must have felt her fingers tense around his, and from the expression on his face, she knew he would intervene if she indicated unwillingness. But before she could speak, Will reached forward and took her arm, smoothly and quickly, and the next thing she knew, she stood next to Will instead of Roderick.
“Do not make trouble for the lady,” he said to Roderick. . but it was Marian on whom his glare settled. She read the meaning there: he was warning her not to put Roderick in a position that would cause problems for the
