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Sherwood arrived in front of Baselard and as his sullen silence continued, the baron gestured to his men. They dragged Baselard to his feet. “Tell me something useful, Smithy,” Sherwood said softly.
Baselard swung his gaze to the mayor. “You going to let this Englishman run your town?”
Albert cleared his throat. “My lord Sherwood, I must protest—”
“Protest away,” he said, and slammed a fist into Baselard’s stomach.
The blacksmith struggled against the arms of Sherwood’s men, but there were four of them, and he was one, and as Sherwood struck again, Gustav got to his feet, as did the doctor, all staring in shock.
“Are you going to let him do this?” Gustav demanded.
Alfred the mayor made a sound of distress and then, for the second time in as many days, drew his sword in defense of one of his townsfolk, with no money in it for him at all.
It was really quite inspiring.
And it would delay Sherwood at least half a day.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
THEY DOCKED AT THE ENGLISH PORT the next morning.
Didier did the sort of precise maneuvering required by skilled captains to get his craft close enough to offload—bashed into a few unsuspecting boats, nudged others out of the way, to the curses and raised fists of other captains attempting to do the same thing. Their boat hit the quay with a heavy wooden thud, and the offloading began.
The docks were busy, the city beyond even more. Dogs barked, men shouted, hawkers called, and shoppers jostled one another in the markets, sometimes good-naturedly, sometimes not. Knights clinked down the streets and great ladies glided around mud puddles, brightly-dressed servants trailing in their wake, while their poorer relations hurried straight through the puddles, shopping baskets swinging off elbows and water jugs propped atop heads. Above the terrestrial havoc, kites and other birds cried a thousand different cries, whirling and swooping through the air, seeking mates, warning rivals, and always, always, on the hunt for food.
And everywhere—at every corner, on every ship, and at every shop door—soldiers.
The turmoil of war that had been brewing in France had reached its culmination here in England. Knights and foot soldiers with dozens of lords’ devices crowded the streets, armed and armored. Some even wore the livery of Prince John and, peeking out from under a goodly number of the cloaks, Tadhg saw the fleurs-de-lis, the crest of the royal house of France, and King Philippe.
“I do not like this,” he muttered. “What is happening?”
Behind him, Didier tossed a canvas cargo bag onto the docks. “Don’t know,” he muttered, and bent for another bag, his gaze warily scanning the scene. “Never seen it before.”
Maggie turned to them with an earnest face. “Perhaps a different port…?”
Tadhg shook his head, staring at the chaos. “William the Marshal is here. I must find him.”
She nodded. “Then we shall simply have to slip in without undue attention.”
“An excellent suggestion,” he agreed.
Nodding to Didier, he leapt off the boat and turned to her, holding out his hands. She came ashore with a graceful little leap.
She was still wrapped up inside King Richard’s cloak and voluminous hood. The fur-lined edges framed her heart-shaped face and her eyes were huge and dark. Swoops of red-brown hair draped across her forehead and sprayed beside her cheeks, a vivid contrast to her pale, almost luminous skin.
“Keep your head down, lass,” he said softly.
?
?Me? I should think you are the one who needs to keep his head down.”
“That I do,” he said absently as he examined the crowd for the best, most invisible route through. “This is not welcoming scene, and I do not know how popular I shall be in England. But you, lass, are fey beautiful, and you will be noticed.”
She smiled at him from under the warmth of his hood. “If one has to abscond with an outlaw, you are surely the one to do so with.”
He lifted his hand and drew his knuckles down her cheek. Her face was cold. He had to get her to warmth and safety. “I hope you still feel that way in a few hours,” he said grimly. “Now just keep your head down and do everything I say.”
Behind them Didier climbed off the boat as someone in a badged tunic made his way from one vessel to another, papers in hand.
