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

Chapter Four

Right now, she would be in the Sheriff’s privy chambers, having a private supper with the Sheriff, Sir Guy and the frail Sir Edward. Robert had been reluctantly invited but after making polite chatter for half an hour and concluding that all was safe, he made an excuse and left for the hall where he could at least have a decent drink and a good conversation.

Heloise detested the Sheriff, eve after yesterday’s surprise reprieve. She didn’t need words to say it. Robert could tell instinctively. Something about the man set her on edge like a cat preparing to fight. Robert, on the other hand, had no problem with the man. He had saved their lives, after all. He was a loyal servant of Prince John. What was the problem with that?

Draining away yet the dregs of another cup, he called the serving girl over. She was a pretty thing: blonde and bosomy. She smiled invitingly at him, leaning over to flash well-formed cleavage at him in her low-cut gown. Swallowing back tears and nausea, he whispered an invite into her ear. Giggling, she nodded in reply, grabbing his hand and pulling him with little effort to his feet. As he staggered after her out the hall, wolf-whistles and bawdy comments followed in their wake.

Outside, in the courtyard and under the gallows, the night was freezing. Rubbing his hands together, Robert looked up skywards, the stars shining down on Nottingham from the heavens. He hoped that whichever one was supposed to represent his mother would be absent tonight. He would not like her to witness what he was about to do.

Up against the cold, stone wall, he pushed the serving girl. She quickly mumbled her name (Bridget) before the couple dissolved into a torrent of kisses and caresses, their hands and lips moving fast so as not to freeze. Lifting her skirts up, he mounted her lazily, the drink numbing the usual feeling of excitement and pleasure.

Her sighs grew with intensity until the rising tension finally peaked and they both climaxed simultaneously, panting breathlessly in the cold, November air. Her eyes met his, gleaming with joy, and he prayed to the Lord Above that she would not quicken with child. If a bastard of a noble found it hard to eat between two loafs then the bastard of a bastard would fare no better. In fact, he’d be lucky to collect crumbs.

Whilst Bridget rearranged her hair and gown, Robert took the opportunity to relieve his bladder, pissing up against the side of the gallows. The large volume of alcohol consumed had gone directly to his head and he used the wooden structure of the scaffold to keep him from slipping on the treacherous ice beneath. In his moment of dizziness, he did not notice Bridget silently returning inside nor did he spot the solitary figure climbing out of the window above until…

CRASH!

Grabbing his sword from his scabbard, Robert spun around whilst clumsily fumbling with the laces of his breeches so as to preserve his modesty. The spinning almost made him faint, light-headed as he was.

“Who goes there?” he roared, his head turning from left to right and back to left. “Bridget?”

The courtyard was empty and silent apart from a faint whimper from only twelve feet away. Taking a careful step forward, with his sword raised, Robert crept over to the source: a bundle of dark clothing. Grabbing a fistful of cloak, he pulled it back and gasped.

“Lady Marian?” he whispered, incredulously.  The noble woman lay on the snowy ground, her body splayed out on the ground. She was oddly attired, wearing a dark tunic and dark trousers. A small leather mask rested on string around her throat, her face bare and still. For a second, he thought her dead, his heart thudding noisily in his chest. But then her eyes blinked and her lips trembled.

“My leg,” she groaned, trying to sit up. “I think I broke it.” Robert knelt next to her, his hands gently probing. As his fingers applied pressure to her right calf, her face screwed up and she whimpered further.