Excerpt: Embers in the Ashes

Katarin tightened her grip on the decanter of wine as she leaned forward to pour more wine into Lord Darby’s goblet. He did not look up from his plate, but his elbow narrowly missed jogging her arm as he scooped another large mound of pyke and cabbage into his mouth. Katarin trapped her gasp in her chest as she carefully moved aside and back to the shadowy edges of the room with the other servants. The two men who were minding the dishes were as cool and impassive as the statues in the churchyard. Her palms were still sweating, and the tips of her fingers had lost all vestiges of blood, but she refused to shame her mistress in front of her guests by acting as nervous as she felt.

“Tell me, Sheriff, is it true what I’ve heard? A specter of Robin Hood is haunting these woods?” Lord Darby asked around a half-chewed mouthful. “News of this advent has reached even London.”

The Honorable Sheriff of Nottingham was a florid man in ordinary circumstances, a craggily built man who wore the duties of his office with a form of dignity Katarin could respect, even if she disliked his brash, bold manners. The question caused his face to flush deeper under his black beard, and he reached for his goblet, quaffing most of its contents in a mighty effort to gain time before replying.

“Robin Hood was ever only a legend, milord. This troublemaker merely hopes to glorify himself by trading on its effectiveness.” He snapped his fingers in Katarin’s general direction and held up his goblet, glancing down the table at Marian, who presided over the little gathering at the head of the table. “I’ve heard many people call the man a phantom, but his doings are definitely of this world. There is no need for anyone to fear apparitions in this county.”

Marian smoothed the green sleeve of her gown, a move Katarin recognized as boredom. Thankfully, the guests were not as attuned to the lady’s mannerisms. A tight smile stretched her lips as she acknowledged his attentions. “I have never had reason to fear as long as you have presided over Nottingham.”

The sheriff settled back with a satisfied smile. Marian turned in her chair, chalice upraised, to find Katarin. Her blue eyes were desperate as she motioned Katarin near.

“But the abbot of St. Michael’s was accosted on the highway just outside of Nottingham, was he not?” Lord Darby was less willing to let the topic pass.

As the sheriff cleared his throat, Katarin leaned in to fill Marian’s cup.

“Pray St. Rita’s indulgence that Cook only made five courses this evening.”

The low murmur in her ear brought a smile to Katarin’s lips, even as she struggled to keep a serious expression. She lowered her eyelids, keeping the stream of wine in her sights. Marian would never be ungracious to her guests, but this gathering was hardly her idea of pleasant company.

As she straightened from her task, her eyes fell on the deputies, seated on the right side of the table next to the sheriff. One of them was frankly eyeing her, stroking his ashy blonde beard in contemplation. Katarin quickly averted her eyes and withdrew, checking to be sure her headscarf had not slipped to reveal any of her hair. Hopefully the shadows would hide her enough that the young man would lose his interest. Having grown up in the back hallways of the castle, she knew all too well what that expression meant.

“’Tis true that many of the recent attacks have been near the township,” the sheriff was saying, tugging at his collar a little as he endured the skewering gaze of the lord. “But this outlaw knows better than to leave the safety of the greenwood. He would not venture too near the village.”

“So ‘tis better to leave travelers to the hospitality of highwaymen rather than flush such menaces out of their dens?” Lord Darby pounced on the comment. “And the people of the county? Do they share your view, or are they supportive of this Robin Hood’s exploits? I would imagine many of the people would rejoice to see those in power mocked.”

“If the people support him, it will do them no good. They know the laws.” the sheriff insisted, motioning to the deputies. “My men patrol the streets often. Ranulf here has caught five people breaking curfew only this week.”

Dirty-Blonde-Beard nodded, grinning. “A couple who should have been in a handfast before I happened upon them, and several rowdies who justly deserved their three days in the sheriff’s dungeon.”

Katarin pressed her back against the wall as Ranulf’s head turned toward her, unable to repress the shudder that coursed through her at the look in his pale green eyes. She did not like his manner, nor the roar of laughter from the men at the table at his words. Marian leaned back in her chair, the set of her shoulders telling Katarin that she was also less than pleased.

The side door opened and three men walked in, bearing steaming tureens of stew that smelled strongly of pork. Marian sat forward again, welcoming the interruption. “Milord, you must take the first dish of this stew. My cook has been preparing for your visit for days and is most anxious for a man from court to sample it.”

Lord Darby sniffed appreciatively and pushed aside his empty trencher. “Lady Marian, you set a table fit for the prince himself. I will certainly bring a favorable report of your hospitality back to London.”

Marian masked a grimace into a smile. “Thank you, milord. Katarin, more wine.”