Lady of the Forest by Jennifer Roberson

Author:Jennifer Roberson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2013-04-11T16:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Eight

William deLacey swept the amber-dyed mantle around his shoulders and pinned it impatiently with a massive brooch of Celtic knotwork set with golden cairngorm. Though different in weight and style from the Huntington heraldic brooch, it served to remind him even more forcefully of Robert of Locksley’s unanticipated and wholly undesirable aid in rescuing Marian. That Archaumbault had failed made deLacey all the angrier; he had fully expected to be credited with the rescue in his guise as Sheriff of Nottingham. It was, after all, his job.

He stabbed the tang through wool, then strode purposefully out of the chamber into a smudgy corridor, glowering at the woman ineffectively sweeping the floor just outside his door. Another time he might have chastised her for poor work; just now, he had other things on his mind.

DeLacey had counted on the rescue. More than anything the rescue of a woman by a man made that man more attractive to the woman, and he had anticipated Marian’s gratitude in full measure, expecting it to aid his quest to secure her hand. But now it was Robert of Locksley she would thank for winning her back from Scarlet. The knowledge made deLacey grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

The overly familiar voice was strident, cutting through his surly thoughts like a scythe. “Where are you going?”

He swung around, coldly furious. “I told you to remain in your chambers. I put you there myself.”

Eleanor glared back as she came down the corridor. “You can hardly expect me to remain mewed up for days on end.”

“Of course not,” he returned silkily. “I value my hawks more highly than you, and would not discompose them with your company in the mews.”

It stopped her dead in her tracks, gaping at him most unattractively. Little helped her expression, he felt, but this one assuredly worsened it. Color suffused her sallow face. “Where are you going?”

“It is no concern of yours, Eleanor.”

“It is that FitzWalter girl?”

He arched one brow consideringly. “Perhaps I should have the surgeon examine your ears.”

Now her face was chalky. “She’s no better than I am, now—yet you treat me like a scullery wench!”

“You conduct yourself as someone akin to that station.”

Her hands clutched impotently at her kirtle, wadding up the wool until her knuckles shone white. “I came to ask you if you intended to bring her here at once.”

He eyed her. “I fail to see why that is any concern of yours. You have made your place—now bide in it!”

“And how many times have you done it?” Eleanor cried. “You and every other man, tumbling a woman whenever you feel like it! Why is it acceptable for you, but not for me?”

“A woman’s value resides in her chastity, and her ability to produce legitimate heirs,” he returned coldly. “One illicit bedding destroys that chastity—and her value—and a man prefers to know with complete certainty if the child she carries is his. It is somewhat disconcerting to learn the required heir was got by another man.”

“Ah,”

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