Seducing the Sheriff of Nottingham, page 25
part #5 of A Kinda Fairytale Series
“I know what you look like, Marion. It was you.” She’d publically avoided him. Moving ahead of him. Not stopping when he called her name. Pretending he didn’t even exist. Which he no doubt deserved and he’d literally told her to do to save her reputation, but it still hurt like hell.
And the fact that she’d done it, so she could meet with her own True Love just pissed him off more.
Marion made an expansive gesture with her hands. “Ask Oore and Rockwell, if you don’t believe me. I was with them for part of the time. How could I be with them and on the midway?”
“I did ask them. I was looking for you --after the midway-- and I asked if they’d seen you go by. Oore pointed me in the direction of the damn tent.” Nicholas glowered at her. “Where you were apparently chatting with your vine-swinging boyfriend.”
“Robin wasn’t even there! Even if he had been, I wouldn’t have ‘rushed into his arms.’” More air quotes. “Why would I?”
“Because you’re devoted to him. You always have been.”
“Devoted?” Marion made a repulsed face. “After I was sent to the WUB Club, gold appeared in my commissary account. I assume it was from Robin. It would’ve been much harder to survive in that hellhole without money, so I was grateful. Aside from that one lapse in assholery, though, the man has been a total shit-nugget for decades. If I never see his smirking face again, it would be too…” She stopped and blinked, like a new thought had just occurred to her. “Wait, why would Robin give me money? He’s a thief! Huh. It must’ve been someone else who funded my account.”
Nicholas refused to be sidetracked on one of her tangents. “You went to the puppet tent to see Hood, so he’d rescue you from the Sheriff of Nottingham.” He decided grimly. “But, too bad. I’ve got you back in my granite clutches. You’re kidnapped. Deal with it.”
She scoffed, refocusing on him. “I don’t need anyone to rescue me. Not from anything.”
“Really? You needed me earlier. I’m the one who pulled you out of the damn tent, after your beloved boyfriend led you to it.”
Marion’s face changed, going cold. He hadn’t seen it look that way before. “No.” She said very clearly. “I don’t need anyone. You taught me that, Nick.”
Nicholas hesitated, momentarily surprised out of his jealousy. “I did?”
“At the wedding. Robin didn’t come for me. You told me, ‘When the chips are down, you can’t count on True Love to save you, Marion.’” She quoted it so quickly, he suspected the sentence was burned into her brain. “And it’s true.” She nodded. “I can only count on myself. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now. You were right.”
Was he?
Hearing Marion say it sounded… wrong.
Nicholas didn’t disagree with the general philosophy. The very fact True Loves existed annoyed him. The mystio-physiological bond was unbreakable. Part of a person’s blood and bone, heart and soul. Marion wanted that kind of destined pairing and Nicholas couldn’t offer it, because some stupid, arbitrary quirk of fate had given her to Hood, instead. That was all horseshit and he hated it.
But, contradictorily, Marion refusing to count on her True Love also annoyed him. He had no idea why, considering her True Love was Robin Hood. The woman was smart to doubt that dumbass. She’d do better relying on any random frog that hopped by to somehow morph into a prince.
Still, for some reason, Nicholas found himself wanting to argue about her lonely assertions that she could only depend on herself. He wanted to say that he would come for her, if she needed him. That she could always count on him to save her.
But what good would it do?
He wasn’t her True Love, so she wouldn’t want to hear it. Nicholas’ words were sure to be wrong and she wouldn’t believe them anyway. So, he didn’t say anything, at all.
Boulder came up beside him, leaning close to Nicholas’ shoulder to speak into his ear. “We tore the tent apart. No puppets. No Hood. Just this.” He handed over Marion’s pointy princess hat. There was an underlying suggestion that maybe Marion had imagined the whole thing, because Boulder always thought the worst about everything.
Marion frowned when she saw the hennin still in one piece.
Nicholas shook his head, his attention on Boulder. “Something was inside that tent.” He said quietly.
It wasn’t just Marion’s fear that had convinced him, although that would have been enough. He’d seen the desperate relief in her eyes, when he’d pulled her under the canvas side and into the sunlight. But, Nicholas had also felt the presence of something behind the canvas walls. Something that made the hairs on his arms stand up.
Boulder still didn’t look convinced.
In the festival ring, the juggling event was over. Nicholas wasn’t sure if there was a winner. Hopefully not, because they’d all been terrible. Next up was something to do with chickens. Nicholas was supposed to give a ribbon to the fastest one, according to the announcer he was half-listening to. The very, very loud announcer.
God, he hated his job sometimes.
Nicholas scowled at Boulder, ignoring the chickens. “Make sure somebody stays close to her.” He nodded towards Marion. Whatever had been in that puppet show, it could come back. Nicholas had made a vow to protect Marion, when he claimed his betrothal rights. Even without the vow, though, keeping her safe would always be his number one priority. “Nothing comes near my bride.”
“Afraid Robin’s going to come and save me?” Marion taunted, overhearing that remark and misunderstanding it. “Hold your breath for him to arrive. I dare you.”
“You already admitted he came for you.” Nicholas retorted, craning his neck around Boulder to glower at her. If she wanted to continue this argument, he was ready. Fury was still beating in his veins. It made no sense to feel betrayed. He knew that. But he felt it anyway and he couldn’t contain his reaction.
“Robin wasn’t there! I told you that.”
“You also said he was the reason you were in the tent to begin with. He was there. He was just late, for some reason. That’s all.” Hopefully, Hood was dead. Another tragic victim of puppet-cide.
“Nooo.” Marion corrected slowly, like maybe Nicholas had the IQ of one of the chickens. “I said I got a note, signed by Robin, to meet him at the puppet show. That’s all.”
“And how is that any different than what I just said?”
“Because you’re adding shit that didn’t happen! He wasn’t ‘late.’ He just wasn’t there. Do we really have to rehash this, again and again and again?” Her palm made circles in the air, representing a conversation on repeat.
Nicholas wasn’t budging. “Someone shot an arrow with a note on it, yes? Was that Hood? Or do other archers send you secret messages?”
“It was probably Robin,” she admitted grudgingly, “but we can’t be positive. I’m pretty sure I burned my only sample of his handwriting.”
Nicholas wasn’t willing to wait on forensics. “Hood was there.” There didn’t seem to be another explanation. “You just didn’t see him.” He arched a meaningful brow. “Is that why you’re upset? Do you think he’s avoiding you? Maybe he’s heard you had my hands all over you earlier and now he’s wondering what else you’ve been doing with me.”
Brown eyes narrowed. “I have never disliked you as much as I dislike you right now, Nicholas. Including the time I told you I’d hate you forever-after.” Marion crossed her arms over her chest and did her very best to ignore him all together.
Nicholas stifled a wince.
Boulder’s gaze slid over to Marion’s furious face and then back to Nicholas. “What are you doing?” He whispered fiercely. “Why are you deliberately pissing off your girl?”
Nicholas had no answer for that, so he went with something simpler. “She’s not my girl. She’s Hood’s girl.”
“Bullshit.”
What the hell was happening to his life? The other gargoyles were getting involved in his relationship? Boulder, of all people, wanted to lecture him on being more thoughtful? Why were they suddenly talking to him, like they expected him to talk back? He’d established the damn weekly gargoyle meeting, so he’d only have to communicate every seven days. Was his leadership growing more lax or were the men all going crazy?
Nicholas shot him a menacing glare. ”Leave.” It was a warning.
In the festival ring, chickens raced around in mindless circles, while Nottinghamers cheered them on. Even focusing on that pitiful spectacle was a step up from listening to Boulder give advice on women.
Boulder kept talking, his voice low. “You don’t want to do this, Commander. You worked too hard to get Maid Marion smiling at you. Every one of us has seen it. Don’t fuck it up, now.”
“You’ve been saying she was lying, since she got here.” Nicholas snapped, although he had no clue why he was bothering to respond, at all. “Now you’re suddenly changing your mind?”
“I didn’t change my mind, exactly. I just know you’re fucking up.”
Nicholas was done. “Find Hood and kill him.” He ordered. If that arrow-shooting son of a bitch was dead, all of Nicholas’ problems would be solved.
Muttering under his breath, Boulder turned away. He started to stomp off, only to stop short when Marion laid a hand on his arm.
“Boulder, wait.”
Boulder waited. His gaze slashed down to her manicured palm on his rocky-skin, as if he’d never seen anything like it. He probably hadn’t. No other Maid would touch a gargoyle. Not in public. His astonished eyes jumped back to Marion’s face.
“When we had the trial, you were the only one who testified on my behalf.” She said, missing his amazement. “You won’t remember, because it hasn’t happened yet. But you were on guard duty by the castle gate, when Nick was murdered.”
“Thursday.” Boulder’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “My shift on the castle gate starts at midnight on Thursday.”
Nicholas felt a chill.
Marion nodded. “You said that no one could have slipped past you, that night. You said I couldn’t have gotten through the castle gate, without being seen.”
Nicholas frowned, thinking that over.
“You said Nick was too well trained for me to take him down, anyway.” Marion went on, her eyes on Boulder. “You said that there was no real motive for me to do it, since I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. That everyone knew it. You said I was innocent and the real killer was still free.”
Boulder stared at her.
She gave a small shrug. “Nobody believed you, of course. The prosecution accused you of vile things, because you were a gargoyle. But, you stood there and said it all, anyway.” She patted his arm in gratitude and withdrew her hand. “I want you to know, I have always appreciated that. Thank you.”
Boulder swallowed and then gave a curt nod. He left without giving a response, but Nicholas knew Marion had just made another conquest. She didn’t even have to try. The woman was just irresistible.
And she was so damn pissed at Nicholas that she’d probably hate him forever-after.
He closed his eyes, knowing Boulder was right. He was fucking up. He might’ve already fucked things up beyond repair. And for what? Was it any wonder Hood was trying to steal her back? Was Nicholas even surprised? What would Nicholas do, in Hood’s place? If some obsessed, stalking, gargoyle asshole took Marion from him and tried to force her into an unwanted marriage?
Granted, he wouldn’t enter May Day tournaments or hire puppeteers. (What the hell was Hood thinking with that shit?) But, Nicholas would do other dangerous, foolish, desperate things, if that’s what it took to save her. All of Nottingham would bleed, until Marion was back in his arms.
Nicholas scraped a hand through his hair, trying to get his raging emotions under control. Whatever was happening, Marion was at the center of it. She was a target. His anger paled beside his need to protect this small, exasperating woman. Nothing mattered except her.
“I will find out who owns that marionette tent.” He promised, in a calmer tone than he’d used in an hour. “I will make sure they pay for frightening you.”
Marion glanced his way. “Why? You don’t even believe me about what happened today.” It wasn’t a question.
“That’s not true.” He shook his head, feeling defensive. “I believe Hood wrote you a note, in some harebrained scheme to rescue you. I’m not sure why he involved the deranged puppets, but the man is always absurd, so I can’t say I’m surprised, either.” Nicholas rolled his eyes in disgust, remembering the slaughter at Kirklees. “Hood makes poor choices.”
Her gaze was intense, like she wasn’t sure how to make him understand what she needed him to understand. “There was something evil inside that tent, Nick. It wasn’t Robin. I swear it.”
“I know something was in the tent. I’ll find it and kill it. You have my promise.” He hesitated, her earlier words still preying on his mind. Even though it made no sense and might not even have happened. “Why did you once tell me you hated me? What did I do?”
“You tricked me.”
He seriously doubted that. Marion was so much smarter than him, he didn’t see any way he could’ve successfully fooled her. “I’m a big, blunt hammer, remember? Predictable. If I tricked you, you must’ve wanted to be tricked.”
To his surprise, Marion seemed to consider his words. She turned and studied him in an appraising way, as if she had some thought to share. He waited, because Marion had been telling him all her ideas for days. He fully expected her to explain what was going on in her razor-sharp mind.
This time she decided not to include him, though. Instead, Marion pressed her lips together and turned away to watch the end of the chicken melee.
Nicholas felt like he’d been slapped. He’d liked being in her confidence. Even when he disagreed with her, he really did feel like they were a team. Losing that privilege was worse than the public snubbing had been. He slumped back in his chair.
For a very long time, there was only quiet between them.
It ate at him.
He got up and grudgingly handed out a blue ribbon to which ever random chicken owner approached the box, but all his thoughts were on Marion. Nicholas had always been fine with silence before, but now it felt different. Marion wasn’t silent. Not really. Her mind was filled with words. He just didn’t know what they were, because she was keeping them secret.
He slammed back into his seat, the inhuman weight of his body shaking the entire royal box. Marion didn’t seem to notice. “The witch-practitioner really said you were free from any spells?” He asked, just for something to say.
“Yes. I’m fine.” Marion assured him distractedly. She hadn’t even made any snarky comment about the chicken race winner crying with joy over his bird’s performance, which didn’t seem like her, at all. Maybe she was saving all her wittiest remarks for Hood.
You can hold the woman captive, but you can’t make her talk to you.
Nicholas drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.
He’d always known this would happen. Marion wasn’t truly his fiancée, no matter how much he wished otherwise. He’d abducted her from her home. That’s why she was here with him. That’s why she didn’t want to spend the day chatting. That was normal. It was her behavior up until this point that had been strange. It was why he’d thought she was under a spell. This new aloofness was exactly what he’d expected, in the first place. It would be best to accept reality and allow the distance to grow.
But Nicholas never accepted that a barrier couldn’t be toppled, if he pushed hard enough.
“Puppets are toys.” He heard himself say.
Marion looked his way, again.
“That supposed factory you supposedly own with the supposed David Doncaster supposedly makes toys.” Nicholas lifted a shoulder. “It’s an odd coincidence. Or it’s not a coincidence, at all.”
Brown eyes blinked, a faraway expression falling over her face. “It’s toying with everyone. We’re all just puppets. That’s what its saying.” She murmured and then she was quiet again.
This time the silence wasn’t about keeping him away, though. It was Marion trying to figure out a puzzle. Nicholas could accept that. He enjoyed watching her mind work.
Feeling slightly encouraged, he reached into the pocket of his uniform. He pulled out the Carbonated Magic Bean Juice he’d bought for her, while she was with the witch-practitioner. Reaching over, he placed it on the wooden railing of the royal viewing box, directly in front of her. Then, he withdrew his hand, leaving it like bait in a trap.
Marion glanced up at him with an unreadable expression.
Nicholas stayed still and waited.
Suspicious and wary, she slowly took the can and then settled back in her seat.
Satisfaction filled Nicholas. He still thought that “juice” was unhealthy and possibly unnatural, but at least she seemed content with it. He grunted, afraid to say anything for fear it would be wrong. He didn’t want to fuck up even worse.
Marion busied herself with opening her drink. “How close did you get?”
“To what?”
“To the woman on the midway. How close were you?”
“A few yards.”
She gave another nod and drank some of her syrupy beverage.
Trumpets sounded, signaling the start of the main event, and Nicholas literally cringed at the noise. The announcer’s excited voice proclaimed that the wonderful, fabulous, oh-so-thrilling archery contest was about to begin. Nottinghamers clapped in breathless anticipation. Target shooting was the height of sophistication and sport, after all. Only jousting could rival it in the hearts of the kingdom. There was nothing more thrilling to the citizens of Nottingham then morons with perfectly-formed fingers firing arrows at a bullseye.
Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest and hated the world.
A woman in a low-cut dress walked around the interior of the arena, proudly holding up the spray-painted arrow for the crowd to see. “Oohs” and “ahhs” abounded. Sunlight glinted off the golden surface and Nicholas had to admit that Marion’s arts and crafts project looked pretty damn convincing, from a distance. Everyone was impressed with the glistening prize.
