An Indecent Betrothal [Book One of the Lady Heloise Adventures]

Chapter Three

In three hours since beginning, the group had made little process. From his vantage point, Robin could still spot the dark hair of Will Scarlett in the distance, creating the basic line for which the path would follow.

The cave itself was situated in a secluded area of forest, half a mile from the main road that led to Nottingham. At this rate, the gang wouldn’t reach the castle by the end of the week. And if going by the hasty message in the scroll, Robin did not have time to gamble with.

“Come on, men!” he barked, grabbing his own shovel and moving down the recently cleared track to aid Djaq. “For Malmesbury!”

“For the King!” Much exclaimed, repeating the group’s catechism.

“For Robin Hood!” All of the gang roared, excluding Will who was too far to pick up the conversation.

“For bacon, a bed and a warm woman to share it with!” Allan added, groggily ploughing through the snow.

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Nottingham Castle

The Sheriff, swaddled in warm bear skin, watched the work from the window of his privy chamber. Smirking, he sipped at mulled wine as his numbskull guards cleared away snow and debris from the castle courtyard. His page boy stood next to him, a jug of yet more wine in his hands. The Sheriff licked his lips. The delicacy had been a gift from Gisbourne’s lands in France. The people there were known for their aromatic beverages and the Sheriff savoured every drop.

From behind, his ears pricked up as the door opened and the wizened form of the jailer arrived. The ugly runt of a man hobbled over, his mouth hanging open and drool coating his chin.

“M’lord,” he snorted, snot oozing from his wonky, red nose. “We ‘ave a problem!”

“Spit it out, Randall,” the Sheriff sighed. “Not on me, you blithering fool!” The jailer took an alarmed step back. “What is it?”

“You see, m’lord, we’re running out of food for the prisoners. The guards ‘ave been using the gruel to feed the animals and… we ‘ave none left, m’lord.” The idiot bowed, staring down at the floor.

“Now that is a problem. How many prisoners have we got?”

“Eleven, sire. Ten are just common thieves. Then there’s ye’ chef.”

“Still alive, I take it? Well, we’ll just have to see about that.” The Sheriff leaned forward and poked his head through the window. “Guards!” he roared. “Clear the snow off the gallows.” Turning back to the jailer, he grinned. “Does that solve your problem, Randall?”

“Yes, m’lord. Thank ye’, m’lord!” The jailer bowed his way out of the chamber, an ugly grin plastered to his face.

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 Heloise laughed. The feeling felt strange and alien after the last few days of boredom and silence. Clutching her brother’s hand, she smiled up at him as he gazed back affectionately at her. This was right. This was how things should be. Just the two of them. Alone.

Heloise was not naturally good with people. Her mother had died at her birth and her nursemaid had passed away when she was but a girl of seven. At that age, her father had decided against finding another nurse and merely allowed her to grow wild whilst he busied himself with hunting, wedding yet more short-lived wives and defending his lands. By her ninth birthday, Heloise could climb up a tree, curse like a sailor and play games with a dagger, her favourite being the one where she had to look the other way whilst she blindly stabbed between her fingers. All of these skills she had learned first-hand from the band of mercenaries who resided at the castle regularly.