HUNTINGDON CASTLE
“I CANNOT APOLOGIZE ENOUGH,” Lord Robert said, so much later that Marion could scarce believe it was not yet dawn. He brought a cold plate of roasted chicken to her room, arriving only minutes after she had finally retired herself. It wasn’t until she smelled the food that she even realized she’d never eaten, and took some small solace in the knowledge that Robert had kept track of her.
The evening had bled into night, the night bled into midnight and later, with Marion pulled in every direction. The countess had thrown all the onus of this ill-advised council onto Marion, and every soul in the castle wanted her attention first. Her grandfather was aghast at the announcement and threatened to disappear early, for fear of being identified as an accomplice to what he perceived as Marion’s inept political hackery. There was no way for her to explain how Countess Magdalena had ambushed her, nor was there any time. She was beset by all manner of the castle waitstaff as well, as the countess had disavowed even organizational duties to her. There were a hundred details to arrange that Marion couldn’t possibly care about, for an event she had never wanted to even exist.
The only two people she wanted to speak with—or, more accurately, scream at—were Lord Robert and Lady Magdalena, both of whom had become conspicuously indisposed the moment after the announcement was made.
Until now, when Lord Robert came and apologized. His eyes were strained, every muscle in his face tense, as if his very life depended on her forgiveness. “I fought against it, I promise you, but mine was the only voice against. They would not let me so much as warn you.”
Marion did not have the energy to do anything but stare at him. “Henry de Bohun.”
Robert’s lips pursed in confirmation.
She had guessed as much. The great Earl of Hereford, and father to Lady Magdalena. He was by far the most important man who had actually answered the invitation, bringing with him his other two daughters and their husbands—the Earls of Warwick and Oxford. Marion had no difficulty imagining the heated family argument that must have taken place upon their arrival, chastising Magdalena’s negligence. The answer to their dilemma was so obvious Marion couldn’t believe she’d been blindsided by it. By shifting the blame of the council onto Marion and her already infamous rebelliousness, they maintained their protection from the council’s fallout while still exerting their control over its purpose.
And Marion was sworn to continue playing the puppet.
“You’ve a wretched family,” she accused Lord Robert.
“They’re not my family.” He threw his hands up in a polite surrender. “They’re Maggie’s. But yes, sometimes, wretched isn’t inaccurate.”
He did not elaborate, so she stared at him until he realized he should.
“Lord Henry made it clear that no one in his family could be tied to this. I thought Maggie would have fought him on that, she’s so hard-willed at times, but she was more than happy to abandon her own plan. Part of me wonders if she expected it to fall this way.”
“I have no doubt,” Marion answered, because of course she had. It was why Marion had been asked to greet the guests. If the invitations had garnered greater attendance, no doubt Lady Magdalena would have gladly welcomed each one personally. “She admitted that she penned those invitations weeks ago. Why do you think she waited to send them until I was here? She knew I’d make an easy scapegoat in case her plan faltered, which it did.”
“It’s not so bad as all that, though, is it?” His neck twisted, as if he might look further down her eyes into her very brain. “This council, isn’t it something you want, too? The Chancellor and his corruption, that’s why you were out there, doing what you do.”
It was Marion’s favorite thing—her very favorite—when men explained her own motives to her.
“You may very well be the best person to rally this cause,” he continued. “And it doesn’t put any additional danger on you. In the eyes of many, you’re already an assassin and a traitor, aren’t you? It can’t exactly get worse.”
She hated that she laughed at that, but he was right. And she didn’t have the energy to argue. His intentions seemed genuine, if poorly aimed. Hopefully it was true that he hadn’t known his wife’s plan beforehand. “Thank you for coming, I do appreciate it.”
Robert stood and straightened himself, but his face slacked. “I was afraid you’d be angry with me. If I could have sent you a warning, I would have. Lord Henry is a wise man, but holy God is he stubborn. Maggie has clearly learned it from the very best.”
He sighed softly, as a moment of fatigue washed over him. For a man who always seemed poised and performing, it was a relief to see that he too bore the burden of human frailty.
“Tomorrow will be difficult, to say the very least.” He fidgeted. “You should know that they won’t participate—any of them. Lord Henry, Maggie, Warwick, Oxford—they’ve all decided to watch and listen but not contribute. I am … obligated to do the same. It’s all on you, Marion. But anything I can do to help … you know, behind the scenes … you know I’m there for you.”
“You could beat them to a pulp,” she suggested, only barely joking.
“Oh.” He grimaced. “I just washed my hands.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“I can’t beat them to a pulp, because I just washed my hands. I’d get blood on them. And have to wash them again.” He blinked. “Don’t make me explain it again.”
“You know you’re not very funny, don’t you?” she asked.
“I don’t, actually.” He grinned. “If I knew that, I’d probably stop trying at it. Anyways, I’ll leave you to eat.”
“No, stay,” she said before meaning it, her fingers reaching out to the empty air between them. It brought a tear to her eye to realize how much she needed a bit of basic connection with another human being. “If only for a bit. I have no idea how to handle this thing tomorrow. I am desperate for advice.”
“Now that,” he smiled, pointing a finger and a smirk at her, “I don’t believe. In all the time I have known you, I’ve never once seen you helpless.”
A gasp pushed through her, a tear escaped to roll down her cheek. “Are you making fun of me? I was the very definition of helpless. Why do you think I came here? Why did I bring my people to you, starving and dying? We had nowhere to go, I had nowhere to take them, I had failed them in every way.”
“You led them here,” he said, his voice broken with admiration. He caught her eye with such sincerity that she could not look away, while a lump caught tight in her throat. “You saved them, every one of them. You convinced me to bring in a group of outlaws during already difficult times—and for the life of me, I’m still not sure how you did that. You are … a bear, Marion Fitzwalter. You are ferocious and unrelenting, you find possibilities where others would find surrender. You’re the type of born leader that I constantly only pretend at. People are drawn to you, they’re drawn to help you, to believe in you. If you ask me, you’re the only person to lead this council tomorrow. If Maggie were to lead it, it’d be a prickly business, or her father…? He’d bore them to mass suicide. You can light them afire, Marion, you’re good at that. You don’t need my help.”
The compliments deflected away, she had no use for them. “I do need your help,” she replied, pained that he couldn’t see that. “Now, as I did then. I needed you to lift me up.”
“But not because I reached down for you from on high.” He smiled wide. “All I did was let you step on my back. You’re above me, Marion, you always will be. Just speak from your heart tomorrow, and see how they fall in line.”
It could have been the late hour, or the tireless day, or the merciless winter, but Marion’s heart clenched and she let herself cry. It almost shamed her to realize how much she’d needed to hear something like that.
“You’re sweet,” she said once she was able, sniffing. “Right until the point where you called me a bear.”
He laughed. “You didn’t like that?”
“Don’t ever call a woman a bear, there’s literally no woman alive who would appreciate that.”
“Bears are strong!”
“Bears are huge and hairy,” she exclaimed, wiping her face. “I don’t know how on earth you’ve managed to keep a wife.”
His hand, gentle but certain, found her shoulder. She startled at it and he retracted, but he was only saying a goodbye. He chuckled and gave a mocking apology, and left Marion to her thoughts.
She could only hope he was right, that she might find the words to turn the next day into a success. She had to pivot away from the mindset of a hostage, she knew that. It was blinding her, this feeling of being cornered. If she took on this task as a responsibility rather than a passion, she would fail. If she did little more than help Lady Magdalena save face, then she would deserve this subservient position she had found herself in.
But if she met this challenge fully—as a lionheart—she might just flip the tables on the countess entirely.