Beaumont knew the moment when his prisoner understood his news that her beloved outlaw was dead. Unlike most women he knew, she did not burst into tears or wail loud enough to bring down the roof. Her expression merely flickered like a candle flame guttering out and her knuckles whitened with her grip on the rusty iron bars of her cell. Her lovely eyes were dry as she stared up at him, composed, fearless even though she stood inside the infamous dungeon of Nottingham Castle. Her gaze was intense, burning through the shadows of what was left of his soul. Could she tell that he lied? His mind ran back through the story he had rehearsed. No, it was all right. She would never find a hole in the story. He lied far too well for that.
Even in the low, flickering light from the torch on the wall, he could see all that beautiful rage and disgust, which she clutched around her like a cloak, crumble. She looked so small and lost for a moment, not the self-styled Lady of Locksley. He almost felt sorry for her. But that was a mere dying ember of the fire she once kindled in him, easily snuffed out. No, she deserved everything she was getting.
“Not Robin,” she spoke, more a plea to the Lord than to him. “It can’t be.”
“Believe me, it is.” He pressed his proof into her hand. “You’ll recognize that.”
She turned the fine silver brooch to catch the light. Her eyes widened and with trembling fingers, she traced the intricate pattern surrounding a running fox, the same symbol as hung in the great hall of Locksley. The cloak clasp Robin was never without. The splashes of dark blood stood out in high contrast with the shining metal. She sagged against the bars, a faint recognition of the emotions she fought to deny. Part of him couldn’t wait to shatter that courage, another found it glorious.
“The clever little bastard almost made it,” Beaumont said. “He was captured just outside the dungeon gate.”
She flinched. “He was coming to rescue me.”
“Was there any doubt he would?”
“By himself?”
“No, no. The others took off running when the guards charged. Your Robin—”
“Was just being Robin.” Her voice sounded distant and muted. She closed her eyes and pulled in a bracing breath.
“You know, he never deserved your heart while he was alive, and he doesn’t deserve any tears now.”
“Do you see any tears?” She snarled.
“If it is any comfort, I’m told he died calling your name.” That wrenched a sob from deep within her. It should have made his heart soar, finally breaking through that stubborn reserve of hers, seeing her suffer, but it didn’t.
She crumpled to the filth on the cell floor like so much dirty linen. Up close, she was not so much the conniving witch whose trickery out-distanced even her beloved Robin Hood, the one who had enchanted him once. She was just a girl, pathetic and scared. He turned on his heel and was gone.
That should have been more fun. He strode past the guards and left the dungeon behind. As he crested the stairway into the castle, he shouted for a bath to be readied. He had to do something to banish the cloying stench of darkness and abject misery.
***
“He is dead! Do you hear me, dead!” The sheriff roared and slammed his hands down onto the table in front of where Marian was chained. “You know what that means? No one is coming for you! There will be no more rescue attempts!” Marian did not flinch, did not give any sign of noticing the sheriff’s existence. Beaumont had to give her credit; she did know how to work that man. If there was one thing the Lord High Sheriff of Nottingham could not bear, it was not being the center of attention. “There is no more hope for you. Just give it up and tell me what I want to know!”
Her eyes wavered though she continued to stare at a spot over the sheriff’s shoulder. If she even knew Beaumont was in the room, too, she never let on. She had been like this for days, since she had been told of Robin’s death. The utter emptiness in her gaze, the way she sat so still, as if she were but a corpse herself, was hard for even him to stomach.
“Where did he stash the loot he stole?!” Spittle frothed in the corner of the sheriff’s mouth. “Where? Where are the rest of his men hiding?”
When the girl did not answer, the sheriff reared back. His porcine eyes bulged and a dark rage rose like a fresh bruise across his face. Behind the rage, a fresh light ignited in his gaze. It was an expression Beaumont knew well, seen so often before. It never failed to make the hair on the back of his neck twitch.
The sheriff gave a feral sneer and snatched a fistful of Marian’s hair. With a ferocious twist, he snapped her head back and leaned in, so his face was mere inches from hers. “Do you think we’re playing here, little girl? Do you think you are being clever? That you would make your filthy outlaw proud? You’re not. And you’re not going to waste my time any longer.” He lowered his voice, the fury and something akin to amusement barely contained. “There are plenty of ways we can get answers from you, and I will have such fun showing you each and every one.” He let her go with a shove. He turned and swooped toward the door motioning Beaumont and a servant to follow. “Ready the chamber.” He proclaimed loudly enough for Marian and half the castle to have heard. “It is time for a more intense interrogation.”
“That’s all part of your plan, I assume,” Beaumont said. “You aren’t seriously thinking of—”
“Why ever not? She’s not different than any other prisoner. How long do you think it shall take to break her? Hmmm? A few pulled fingernails, perhaps? More?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Beaumont blocked the sheriff’s way down the hall. “You cannot torture a woman!”
“She’s a traitor, or have you forgotten, old man? By rights she should already be hanging from the gallows.”
“That was not part of the plan.”
“Plans change all the time, Beaumont. Do try to keep up.”
“But you have Hood. I know because he’s driving my guards insane with constant jabbering from the pit at Beaumont Manor. Go to him for your information.”
“He would never tell the truth. Besides, this way is so much more fun.”
Beaumont just stared.
“My patience with this conversation wears thin. Do your job, Beaumont, or you can join the girl.” The sheriff stalked off with a swirl of his cloak, humming tunelessly to himself.
***
He had to be crazy, Beaumont thought as he slammed past Beaumont Manor’s door and sent a handful of servants scurrying for cover. That he could even consider doing what he was about to do was unbelievable – a possible death sentence if found out. But he couldn’t just do nothing.
“And how fares the prisoner?” he inquired of Dudley, the hulking guard who patrolled the wing leading to the dungeons. For once he could not hear Hood’s shouting echoing off the walls.
“Quiet, praise the Lord.”
Beaumont nodded. “Does he still breathe?”
“As far as I know. Though there was talk amongst the guards of cutting out his tongue early this morn.”
It was a thought he had entertained many times himself over the years. Fantasies of doing just that, or far, far worse to permanently shut Hood up had warmed him on many a cold dark night. “The next time it comes up, tell the men they have my blessing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But at this moment, you must go ready the men to ride. Violence in the village. Angry peasants threatening rebellion, you know the routine.”
The big man glowered from under his thick brows and lurched off. At least he was easily diverted. He knew the others would follow his commands. He had long cultivated a reputation that brooked no questioning or disobedience.
The dungeon was dark even at noon. The arrow-slit windows high above did nothing to banish the stench. The stone walls never relinquished the chill and dirt floors were always sticky with muck. Beaumont bypassed the door leading to the cells, which were surprisingly empty. The villagers had been unusually law-abiding lately. He stalked to the far corner of the lower level and found a pair of guards lounging against the wall near the trapdoor to the pit. Ten feet of solid, clammy stone and mud below, Robin Hood languished in the tiny six-foot by six-foot cell. The guards snapped to attention when they saw him with a speed and dear that nearly made him smile. “Get him out of there.”
It took some doing, and much competent swearing in a couple of languages to drag Robin up the ladder to the exit, especially with Hood’s hands still bound. But finally, the prisoner stood before him, glaring from a swollen black eye. “I’ll take it from here,” Beaumont said, dismissing the guards. They exchanged a speculative glance but scampered off quickly enough.
“What? Did you miss me?” Hood smirked, oddly cocky and assured despite being bound and wounded. That, Beaumont hadn’t lied to Marian about. The man had put up a heck of a fight. “You come to gloat again? Or maybe to kill me with no one to tell the tale of your cowardice?”
“No.”
“At least free my hands and let’s do this properly.” He was plenty dangerous even tied up and Beaumont knew that all too well. “Or are you too afraid to face me one on one?”
“If I had wanted you dead, you would be.” Should be. It would be so easy…
“You think so?”
“You are in my dungeon, alive merely because I haven’t bothered to kill you yet, though my men may beat me too it.”
“They’re welcome to try.”
With a sigh, Beaumont took his dagger from his belt. Possible actions flashed through his mind. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered. “Just shut up and give me your hands.” With a quick slash, he cut Hood free.
Momentarily confused, Robin rubbed at his wrists and watched Beaumont intently. That cool blue gaze was known to have withered many a foe before him.
“Take this,” Beaumont pressed a key ring into Hood’s hands. “Go to her.”
“What?”
“Marian. Go to her. She needs you more than I need you here.”
“Do you think I’m stupid? I’m not walking into any trap of yours.”
“No traps. Honestly. I’ve sent the guards away, and the sheriff’s busy for a while, so she’ll be alone. Get her out of there.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.” He sighed, trying to find words to convince Robin and explain it to himself. “But I loved her once, too, you know. No matter how much I want to forget… want to hate her… as much as I hate you… I just can’t. She needs you. Go be her hero.”
Whatever Hood was looking for, apparently, he found it in Beaumont’s eyes. He nodded warily and headed out the door, clearly walking like he fully expected a knife plunged into his back at any moment.
“Just so you know,” Beaumont said. “This doesn’t change anything. I still hate you.”
Robin glanced over his shoulder. “The feeling is mutual.”
“One day, I will kill you.”
One side of Hood’s mouth quirked up. “Just try me anytime.”
“You never deserved her.”
Hood held his gaze for a moment. “I never said I did.” With that, Hood left. All Beaumont could do was hope for the best, that Marian and Robin would be safely back wherever it was they hid away when they weren’t making his life miserable, and that the sheriff never figured out his role in this prison break.