Seducing the Sheriff of Nottingham, page 17
part #5 of A Kinda Fairytale Series
“The commander isn’t going to be upset about ‘the virgin thing.’” Cragg went on, amusement in his voice. “I promise you. He’ll be fine with the news that Hood never fucked you.”
“Well, I’m not fine with it.” Marion waved a hand through the air, correcting herself. “I’m fine with the not-sleeping-with-Robin part, obviously. The guy’s a waste of tights. But, in general, I’m not fine with being the only awkward, inexperience idiot left in Nottingham.”
“There are a lot of idiots in Nottingham.” Cragg assured her.
Marion barely heard him. “I want to be a badass at sex, but the stupid Maid shit they taught me gets in the way. And now I find out all that brainwashing just worked on me!” The more she considered it, the more she grew disappointed in herself. “I can’t believe everybody else was having sex. I could’ve been an expert by now, if I’d known I had a quarter century to practice.”
“I’m not sure the commander is much of an expert, either. I can’t recall him paying particular attention to any girl. Besides you, of course.”
That was gratifying to hear. Marion calmed a bit. “No one?”
Cragg hesitated. His stony brow furrowed, like he wanted to be completely honest. “Well… during the war, I got the feeling he might have a girl. But I’m sure he’s over that, by now.”
Marion made a face.
The door to her bedroom slammed open and the dour housekeeper came in, balancing a tray of snacks. Guyla Gisborn was middle-aged, but her perpetual misery made her seem older. The only joy in her life came from making other people just as unhappy as she was. Guyla seemed disappointed that she hadn’t caught Marion and Cragg in a more compromising position. No doubt, she’d hoped she could run off to tell some salacious new gossip.
“Come on in.” Marion told her sarcastically.
Guyla Gisborn slammed the tray down on the mattress and glowered at Marion.
Marion glowered back.
There was a moment of silent antipathy between them.
“Why do you hate me so much?” Marion asked, breaking the standoff.
Gulya blinked, like she hadn’t been expecting to be confronted so directly. “Your mother ruined my life.” She blurted out. “She stole away the man I loved. And now you’re trying to do the same. You’re exactly like her.”
Marion’s head tilted. “You loved my father? …And now you love Nick?”
“What the fuck…?” Cragg muttered in bafflement.
Guyla gave a “humph” of disgust and marched out again, without saying a word. The door crashed closed behind her.
“That was weird.” Cragg opined. “Like, you don’t need to worry at all. The commander is not gonna sleep with that creepy lady.”
“No kidding.” Marion would see the woman dead first.
Guyla’s rationale made no sense. From time to time, you could kind of see the attractive girl she’d once been peeking out from under her pinched, gray features. Her eyes were blue and her graying hair had once been red curls. But, no matter how pretty she’d been in her youth, Marion’s father would never have chosen Gulya over his True Love. He’d adored the duchess! Everyone said so. And Nicholas certainly didn’t seem romantically interested in the gloomy housekeeper. Marion would’ve noticed that and dealt with it already. The woman was either crazy or…
Actually, there didn’t seem to be an “or.” She was just crazy.
Whatever her deluded reasons, Guyla was consistent about despising Marion in every timeline, though. She’d lied at the trial, saying that she’d seen Marion come back to Nicholas’ room on the night he’d died. Marion wasn’t sure why the bitter crone made up the story, but her elaborate tale of Marion sneaking up the stairs to Nicholas’ tower, wearing a dark cloak “with probably nothing under it,” had riveted the court.
“Why did Nick even hire her?” Marion asked, with a shake of her head.
“He didn’t. She’s been here since the dark ages.” Cragg reached for his third bowl of ice cream. “It’s not like we can replace her. Not many people want to work for gargoyles, even if it means living in the castle.”
Marion rolled her eyes. “This kingdom really is the worst.” She settled back with her own massive scoop of frozen strawberries and fudge, dismissing Gulya from her mind. “We should all get out of here.”
“And go where?”
“Someone told me Neverland Beach is the best place to start over. Umbrella drinks and shirtless boys, as far as the eye can see.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Me too.”
It did sound good, dammit. But, she couldn’t just leave Nottingham yet, no matter how enticing the idea of blue water and palm trees sounded. First of all, she had a murderer to catch. Secondly, this rat-hole kingdom had wrecked her life and it was going to pay. Marion intended to stay right where she was and burn Nottingham down around her.
…Except she also needed to ensure Nicholas didn’t get caught in the crossfire. Crap. That might be tricky, considering he was kinda in charge of the dump. He might feel obliged to stop her campaign of terror.
“I need a cigarette.” She muttered, her brain hurting from thinking so much.
“Have some potato chips, instead.” Cragg nudged the bowl at her.
Marion shot them a quick frown. “Do we have any Gala-Chips, instead of these plain ones? I like the caramel-and-whey flavor best.”
“What are Gala-Chips?” He asked, with his mouth full.
Marion blinked in surprised. He might as well have asked her what peanut butter was. “Candy-coated potato chips, of course.” The damn things were more addictive than nicotine. “Wait. Have Gala-Chips not been invented, yet?”
It was hard to remember a time when Sir Galahad’s calorie-laden creation hadn’t been the number one snack food in every grocery store. People in jail traded them like currency.
Honestly, everything Camelot’s best knight ever invented was successful, according to all the newspapers, and magazines, and commercials, and award shows. She’d never met the man, but literally everyone in the universe had heard of Galahad’s splendorously splendid splendor.
Cragg shrugged and crushed up a handful of ordinary, bland potato chips to sprinkle over his ice cream. “I don’t think so. I never heard of them.”
“Huh.” Marion murmured thoughtfully.
“Something wrong?”
“Nope.” Marion pursed her lips. “Hey, do you know a real estate agent?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I’m selling my house.”
He blinked. “Really? The whole Huntingdon estate?”
“Every stick and stone and heirloom rug.” She settled back on the pillows. “I need cash and I feel like Nottingham’s housing market is about to take a sharp downward turn.”
The gardens alone would guarantee her a good price, even with a rushed sale. Not many people grew flowers in Nottingham’s gray landscape. The sour townsfolk were bitterly opposed to anything difficult or different, just on principle. But, the ostentatious showiness of the rare flowers was the envy of the elite. The old duke had loved the status symbol of the gardens. Marion had funneled money into their care to assuage his need to keep up appearances.
More importantly, the gardens had been granted a tax exemption from the palace for their “cultural contributions to Nottingham.” All the nobles coveted that piece of paper. The Huntingdons’ cultural tax exemption was the only one in Nottingham and it was worth a fortune. Marion had cried the day that unexpected news arrived. It had saved her family’s home from being seized and kept her ailing father safe in his own bed. Without King Richard giving her the exemption, she had no idea what she would have done.
That thought made her pause.
Wait. Why had Richard given her that exemption? She hadn’t asked for it. He didn’t even like her. Marion had been so overcome with gratitude that she’d never questioned how it all came about. Now, she questioned everything.
Cragg still wasn’t convinced of her plan to liquidate five-hundred years of Huntingdon flowers and history. “Where are you going to live without a house, though?”
Marion shook aside the tax issue. “With my handsome husband, of course.”
“Oh.” Cragg paused. “…With the commander, you mean?” He hazarded warily, like he wanted to be sure of which handsome husband she planned to move in with.
“With Nick.” Marion confirmed and ate an uninspired, uncandied potato chip. “So, who are you dating?” She asked in a more conversational tone. It was a far safer topic than her stubborn groom, Guyla’s lunacy, leveling kingdoms, or money problems. Besides, she’d talked enough. It was Cragg’s turn to share.
Cragg lifted a shoulder. “No one. At least, not in public. I sometimes sleep with Lampwick, the local blacksmith, but he doesn’t want anyone else to know about us.”
“Fuck him, then. You can do better.”
“Humans don’t get in really real relationships with gargoyles. We have to pay, afterwards. It’s expected.”
Marion frowned at that news. Even for Nottingham that arrangement was unwholesome. It really was a terrible place to live, no matter your station, gender or species.
“Lampwick is willing to see me for free! That must mean he likes me, right?” Cragg sighed. “And he’s so pretty. He’s sure to be named May Day King this year.”
Marion resisted the urge to scoff. “He’ll probably cheat to win, like that hag Clorinda does.”
The King and Queen of May Day were crowned at the Maypole Ball, after everyone danced around and drank a lot. It was nothing but a talent contest and literally didn’t matter, at all. Marion barely even cared about the plastic rhinestone tiara. Hardly even thought about the unfairness of Clorinda taking home the title, instead of her.
Bitch.
“Lampwick is big, too.” Cragg went on, halfheartedly poking at his ice cream. “I want someone at least as big as I am, ya know? Otherwise, I feel like I’m going to crush him.” He held up his gigantic stony arms to illustrate the problem.
Poor Cragg.
“If you’re willing to wait ten years, I can hook you up with a bridge ogre named Benji.” She offered. “He’s furry, but he’s a sweetheart.” If you discounted the fact that he was a Red level felon at the WUB Club. “He does have some legal problems, now and then, though.”
Cragg pondered that description, intrigued by the notion of dating a Bad boy. “How big is he?”
“He once lifted up the entire Eastlands’ bridge.”
Cragg made a considering face, looking more encouraged. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Thirteen
King Jonathan’s Secret Lovechild Confirmed!
Records show that the playboy prince had an illegitimate offspring, before he became king.
Where is this missing heir to the throne?
And was its mother an alien?
Alan A. Dale- “Nottingham’s Naughtiest News”
Nicholas might’ve been the least popular man in Nottingham among the humans, but among the gargoyles, he was a superstar. Marion spent her breakfast watching his men stumble all over themselves to win his approval. Nicholas didn’t notice how much they adored him, which made the whole spectacle even more endearing.
Within twenty minutes, she’d realized she’d have to change all her plans. Again. Nicholas’ gargoyle family would be heartbroken if they got left behind in this shithole kingdom, when she destroyed it. And Nick would be sad if they died in the flames of destruction. She’d have to save them.
No biggie. Marion liked making plans, now that she had the opportunity.
She watched her groom writing some quick thoughts on the economic report he was half-reading. “Have you ever heard of Gala-Chips?”
“No.
“Gala-Gum?”
“No.”
“Gala-Shoes?”
“No.” He glanced at her. “Why?”
“No reason. More coffee?”
“I haven’t had any yet. You drank all mine and none of yours.”
“I like yours better.”
Nicholas grunted, but he didn’t tell her to stop. Instead, his mouth curved slightly, watching her drink from his mug.
Marion surreptitiously eyed the paper covered in Nicholas’ notes, trying to get a clear look at the words. Unfortunately, it was at the wrong angle. Too bad she couldn’t grab it without him seeing.
No biggie. She’d just have to search his room later. Flexibility was the key to any successful plan.
A particularly rocky-looking gargoyle came hustling in and silently laid a folder by Nicholas’ elbow. Whoever had carved him had been incredibly untalented. He was by far the biggest man she’d ever seen, with large chunks of unfinished stone protruding from his massive body.
He gave Marion a shy wave and set a borogrove blossom, by her plate. It was displayed in a half-cleaned mason jar, the roots still attached. Someone had ripped the plant right out of a garden. Her garden, by the look of it. In Nottingham, only the Huntingdon estate grew borogroves. They were incredibly delicate and expensive, so seeing it murdered like this was a real tragedy.
“What a nice gesture!” She enthused, anyway.
Nicholas didn’t think so. His expression darkened, his eyes on the fragile pedals, like he might just incinerate them with his stare. His gaze slowly switched to Gravol. “Who sent my fiancée flowers?” He asked in a very calm voice.
“You did.” Gravol told him proudly.
Nicholas was confused. “No, I didn’t.”
Marion wasn’t going to laugh. She wasn’t. She quickly covered her mouth, to hide her grin.
Gravol leaned closer to Marion. “I’m supposed to say it’s from him.” He told her in a confidential tone. “The others said so. But I picked it for you.”
“I see.” She nodded gravely. “Thank you, Gravol. I’m very touched.”
He beamed at her and she felt her heart melt. She couldn’t recall exactly which gargoyles had escorted her from her home at the beginning of this kidnapping/engagement. It had been ten years ago, for her. But she was suddenly sure Gravol had been there. She remembered him patting her back, with one baseball-mitt-sized hand, as she unsuccessfully tried to evade the abduction. It stuck in her mind, because Gravol had nearly knocked her over with his overly enthusiastic commiseration. The man was massive and had no clue about his own strength.
Clearly, he was also a sweetheart.
Gravol looked back at Nicholas, like a desperate first-grader wanting a smiley-face sticker on his arithmetic test.
“Nick, tell Gravol what a good job he did.” She urged.
“Nice work, Gravol.” Nicholas muttered absently, giving up on understanding the flower debacle and already flipping through the folder.
Those three words were apparently more praise than he usually lavished on the gargoyles, because the other man honest-to-God gasped in wonder. Taking the extravagant response as a mark of high favor, Gravol saluted in grateful respect, his eyes shimmering with emotion, and he all but floated from the room. It was an interesting thing, watching a guy who weighed close to a ton float.
Marion glanced back to her oblivious groom. “Your men like you.” Enough to try and play matchmaker for him, it seemed. First Cragg and now Gravol.
Nicholas shrugged, his eyes still on the papers Gravol had delivered.
“Do gargoyles treat every commander with such glowing admiration?”
He glanced up at her with a slight frown. “They don’t treat me like that.”
“They do. They worship you. It’s highly entertaining to witness.”
Nicholas looked nonplussed by that news. “I barely even speak to them.”
“I guess you say enough.”
He shook his head. “I just ask them to be fair about enforcing the law, follow orders, protect each other, and to tell me if they think I’m screwing up.” He paused. “But not to talk to me at breakfast. I like to eat in peace and quiet.” He paused again. “Unless you’re here. I always like to hear you. Your voice is very soothing.”
“Sweet talker.” She rested her chin in her palm, elbow on the table in a way her decorum tutor would have fainted at seeing. “Why did the other gargoyles choose you to be their commander? You’re young for the job.”
She would’ve expected them to resent Nicholas. Unlike most of the gargoyles, his face was beautiful, he had an education, and he’d been raised by a loving parent. By their standards, he must seem quite favored. It was logical that the less fortunate gargoyles would blame Nicholas for his advantages. Instead, they all followed him with unquestioned loyalty.
“They chose me for the job, because they thought I’d be a good leader.”
“Why did they think that?”
“Because I told them I would be a good leader.” He made it sound obvious.
“And that was enough to earn the other gargoyles’ respect? Just telling them?”
He shrugged again.
Marion resisted the urge to pull out her hair. “What did you do to show them you were a good leader? Give me some details.”
Tension began to creep into Nicholas’ shoulders, but he gave her what she wanted. “During the war, I was head of a gargoyle squadron. Hood oversaw the division, but most of the gargoyles here in the castle served directly under me. At the Battle of Kirklees, we were in the middle of the line. The first ones ordered in. We were supposed to protect the noblemen, coming in behind us. Soften the enemy for the more important troops.”
Marion’s jaw tightened. Assholes.
“You don’t ‘soften’ Nessus Theomaddox’s forces.” Nicholas went on. “The man is a savage warlord.”
Marion nodded at that analysis.
“The centaurs would have wiped us out.” Nicholas seemed like he was trying to convince her. “They had emplaced weapons that catapulted fireballs. There were simply too many of them, and they knew the terrain, and they knew we were coming. The gargoyles all would have died, so rich humans could have an easier fight. And the rich humans would’ve lost anyway. I couldn’t go through with it. I wouldn’t.”
“So what did you do?”
He met her eyes. “I moved my men down the line and let the noblemen die, instead.”
