townsfolk of the severe punishments for breaking the law.
“I’ll ask John to be lenient.” Perhaps a mere stay in the pillory would teach the young archer a lesson. He could only hope that would be so. It was the punishment that Kendrick suggested as he put the scrap of brown wool into the prince’s hands.
“Nay!” John had other ideas. Looking at Kendrick he raised one eyebrow in a gesture of displeasure. “I must catch him and make of him an example.”
“An example….” The way John said the word gave him shivers. At that moment Kendrick deeply regretted having set the wheel of so-called justice in motion.
“Aye, a lesson to all the outlaws who so outrageously roam about my forests.” His lips thinned as he grimaced. “Archer. Archer, so you say. No doubt he is one of Robin Hood’s ragged band.” Hissing with anger he enlightened Kendrick as to that hated outlaw’s antics then, walking to the window of the meeting chamber, he opened the wooden shutter and looked out upon the courtyard.
“Perhaps the lad is but emulating this Hood fellow. From what you say he has established himself as the common man’s hero.”
“Hero!” For just a moment it appeared that John would lose all semblance of self-control. “He is a thief, a nuisance, and a traitor. One for whom I would give anything that I own. Ah, to see him hanged.”
The way he said the word caused Kendrick to reach up and touch his throat. Once again he regretted having drawn attention to the bow-wielding lad. The boy had been annoying to be sure, yet had his mischief really done Kendrick any real harm? Struggling with his conscience, he was about to plead once more for clemency in the boy’s behalf when John craftily changed the subject.
“Ah, but let us not talk of punishments at the moment when we can speak of rewards.”
“Rewards….”
“Your lands, de Bron. I promised you that they would be given back and so it is done. The usurpers have been driven off. A mistake has been corrected.” He turned his head, waiting in expectation for an outpouring of gratitude that was not forthcoming, then said simply, “For, you see, I forgive you for the matter of Marian.”
Kendrick’s jaw tightened. He would make no apologies to any man, even a prince.
“Let us say then that you owe me, de Bron. Favor for favor. You owe me!”
The words rang hauntingly in Kendrick’s ears long after he had left the chamber.
Chapter Eight
It was good to be home! Good to wake up in her own bed. Lying on her side, Rowena snuggled amidst the blankets like a caterpillar in its cocoon thankful to have a soft mattress and peaceful quietude. Indeed there was only the crowing of a rooster to disturb her slumber. She was content, peaceful; that is until the events which had taken place the previous day snapped into her head.
“The cottage!” She sat up, so quickly that her head spun. How selfish of her to have put it out of her thoughts for longer than a moment. Swallowing hard she crossed herself. “Poor old Ethelred!” Poor Gwyneth.
She felt a physical ache at the finality of what had happened. It wasn’t fair! Gwyneth and her husband had been kind and gentle people. They had not deserved such violence to shatter both their lives, death for the dear old man and widowhood for his wife. How had it happened? Why?
“Dear God!”
Rowena remembered how elated Gwyneth had been at the thought of having her own home. She had looked forward to the future with hope and gratitude, thankful to Sir William for his generosity. How was she to have known that her father’s act would end up in tragedy?
The cottage and the land upon which it had been built was located between Grantham Manor and the neighboring Melburn Manor. For years its ownership had been in question, her father insisting it to be part of his land, the neighboring absentee lord determined to claim it for his heirs. The prince had been asked to intercede,
“I’ll ask John to be lenient.” Perhaps a mere stay in the pillory would teach the young archer a lesson. He could only hope that would be so. It was the punishment that Kendrick suggested as he put the scrap of brown wool into the prince’s hands.
“Nay!” John had other ideas. Looking at Kendrick he raised one eyebrow in a gesture of displeasure. “I must catch him and make of him an example.”
“An example….” The way John said the word gave him shivers. At that moment Kendrick deeply regretted having set the wheel of so-called justice in motion.
“Aye, a lesson to all the outlaws who so outrageously roam about my forests.” His lips thinned as he grimaced. “Archer. Archer, so you say. No doubt he is one of Robin Hood’s ragged band.” Hissing with anger he enlightened Kendrick as to that hated outlaw’s antics then, walking to the window of the meeting chamber, he opened the wooden shutter and looked out upon the courtyard.
“Perhaps the lad is but emulating this Hood fellow. From what you say he has established himself as the common man’s hero.”
“Hero!” For just a moment it appeared that John would lose all semblance of self-control. “He is a thief, a nuisance, and a traitor. One for whom I would give anything that I own. Ah, to see him hanged.”
The way he said the word caused Kendrick to reach up and touch his throat. Once again he regretted having drawn attention to the bow-wielding lad. The boy had been annoying to be sure, yet had his mischief really done Kendrick any real harm? Struggling with his conscience, he was about to plead once more for clemency in the boy’s behalf when John craftily changed the subject.
“Ah, but let us not talk of punishments at the moment when we can speak of rewards.”
“Rewards….”
“Your lands, de Bron. I promised you that they would be given back and so it is done. The usurpers have been driven off. A mistake has been corrected.” He turned his head, waiting in expectation for an outpouring of gratitude that was not forthcoming, then said simply, “For, you see, I forgive you for the matter of Marian.”
Kendrick’s jaw tightened. He would make no apologies to any man, even a prince.
“Let us say then that you owe me, de Bron. Favor for favor. You owe me!”
The words rang hauntingly in Kendrick’s ears long after he had left the chamber.
Chapter Eight
It was good to be home! Good to wake up in her own bed. Lying on her side, Rowena snuggled amidst the blankets like a caterpillar in its cocoon thankful to have a soft mattress and peaceful quietude. Indeed there was only the crowing of a rooster to disturb her slumber. She was content, peaceful; that is until the events which had taken place the previous day snapped into her head.
“The cottage!” She sat up, so quickly that her head spun. How selfish of her to have put it out of her thoughts for longer than a moment. Swallowing hard she crossed herself. “Poor old Ethelred!” Poor Gwyneth.
She felt a physical ache at the finality of what had happened. It wasn’t fair! Gwyneth and her husband had been kind and gentle people. They had not deserved such violence to shatter both their lives, death for the dear old man and widowhood for his wife. How had it happened? Why?
“Dear God!”
Rowena remembered how elated Gwyneth had been at the thought of having her own home. She had looked forward to the future with hope and gratitude, thankful to Sir William for his generosity. How was she to have known that her father’s act would end up in tragedy?
The cottage and the land upon which it had been built was located between Grantham Manor and the neighboring Melburn Manor. For years its ownership had been in question, her father insisting it to be part of his land, the neighboring absentee lord determined to claim it for his heirs. The prince had been asked to intercede,