Read Online Jennifer Roberson - [Robin Hood 01] by Lady of the Forest - Free Book Online Page A

in. He rubbed idly at his lower lip, weighing Locksley’s expression, then smiled and paced away from the earl and his son. Eventually he swung back. The swaying, slurring vulgarian was abruptly replaced with a cunning intentness and pointed declaration. “We all know what kind of ‘confidences’ my brother shared, do we not? Am I then to believe you were one of his—especial companions?”
    Sweat tickled the earl’s upper lip. He rubbed at it in distracted annoyance, staring worriedly at his son. He desired very much to interupt, but recognized the baleful light in John’s eyes: he was a hound upon the scent, and nothing would turn him back.
    Locksley’s quiet tone was uninflected. “There were many of us he called ‘friend,’ my lord. Does he not call his brother such?”
    John was undeterred. His voice was a whip-crack. “He has a wife, and yet no child. Certain reports say Berengaria is barren—while others say it is no fault of hers; that a woman can hardly be expected to conceive when she is yet a maiden. A married maiden, Locksley!”
    The shout echoed in the chamber. The earl drew a careful breath and looked at his son. Let him be circumspect. Let him remember there is no need for battlefield manners here, nor a tongue too sharp for John’s unpredictable taste.
    Locksley stood very still, strangely at ease. Collected, the earl thought, as if he considered this dalliance with words, albeit a dangerous one, as much a battle as anything he had faced in the Holy Land. “It was his greatest regret, that there was no heir for England.”
    The earl caught his breath in an undetectable jolt of surprise. He was adept at reading the truths behind purposeful falsehoods and approved of Robert’s shrewd, layered answer, but was nonetheless taken aback at the magnitude of the undertaking. Perhaps Robert had learned statecraft and intrigue—often one and the same—while on Crusade. In between killing Saracens.
    “No heir?” John hissed. “Of course there is an heir! I am heir, by grace of God, two dead brothers, a harridan for a mother, and a fool for a father who named Richard instead of me—” And then he stopped, very black of face, shaking with rage, and let the shouting die. He smiled at Locksley, color fading slowly, abruptly calm once more. He smoothed the soiled fabric of his costly clothing, touching the heavy chain of office. “There is an heir, of course. He must have meant no blood of his own blood—no seed of his own loins . . .” The tone thinned, sharpened, as the topic was altered. “Has he loins, do you think?”
    The earl held his breath. He had seen that look before: probing, precariously tumescent; had heard that tone before, elaborate provocation. Clearly, John walked the edge. A single word could push him off, and then everyone would suffer.
    Locksley did not hesitate. “Men call him a bull, my lord.”
    The words hung in the air. The earl began to breathe again, shallowly, and waited for John’s reaction.
    Dark eyes narrowed. Then John arched a single brow. “What do you call him?”
    Locksley inclined his head. “King of England, my lord.”
    “Damn you.” John’s tone was malevolent. “Damn your pretty face and prettier mouth—I want the truth from you!” He lurched forward a step, clutching the chain of office so hard his knuckles shone white. “Do you think I am a fool? Do you think I have no resources? Do you think I haven’t heard?”
    “Heard, my lord?” Pale brows rose. “Forgive me, but I have been away for two years. Perhaps you could enlighten me—”
    “En light en you!” In three strides, John stood before Locksley. “They say he sleeps with boys. And you were one of them!”
     
    Sunset gilded the walls of Huntington’s castle, playing hop-rock with crenelations and coy arrow-loops. Sir Guy of Gisbourne, sweat drying in the dusk, paused outside the exterior door leading to the inner ward and leaned against the masonry wall. Part of him automatically