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I looked up with wide eyes, shaking my head. I didn’t want Gregory to know I was crazy. “It’s nothing. I was, erm, just thinking about my brother.”
His face crinkled with a fond smile. “Your brother was a good lad. Strong, true, kind. That last one’s the hardest to come by.”
“I know. I’ll never live up to him.” I hung my head with a sigh.
“No, you’ll never live up to me, Robin. You’ll surpass me.”
Robert’s words brought tears to my eyes.
I couldn’t think on it long, though, because I had more pressing matters. The present.
What about when I return home? When Gregory leaves, and I have no one? I had a new worry to contend with, too: returning to Wilford a criminal, after the wayward event with Peter Fisher. A sick part of me hoped he died of blood loss or shock in that forest, so I’d never get caught for what I’d done to him.
The thought disturbed me. I found myself furrowing my brow, wondering where it came from. Am I so desensitized to violence and heartache that I wish the death of a man who once tried to help me?
Of course, Squire Fisher only “helped” me from Rosco and his boys because he thought I would freely give him something in return. Something I’d never given any man. And once he couldn’t have it, he tried to take it.
A fool and a blowhard, that one.
Father spun on Gregory, thrusting a shaking finger at him. “How long did you know she stayed in that chest like a pack rat? Did you two collude on this little misadventure?”
“No, Tom,” Gregory said with a sigh. “I found out shortly before you did.”
I raised my eyebrows. He’d known the whole cart ride. It was nice of Gregory to lie for me, even if it wouldn’t make a lick of difference once he was gone. I was in for some debilitating punishment.
It can’t be as bad as jail in Nottingham, right? Can’t be as awful and unimaginable as losing my freedom—my ability to escape into the forest, or freely walk into town with Emma, or gamble with the guttersnipes . . . can it?
“My estate will be in ruins by the time I return,” Father lambasted, putting his hands on his head. “There is no one to run the shop while I’m gone.”
I hated how he called it his estate. We all knew it was Mama Joan’s. Gregory knew better than anyone, since he had given the workshop and estate over to his younger sister so he could go soldiering and live a different life away from stuffy royalty.
I envied him, in a way.
“You never trusted Robin to tend the estate as it was,” Gregory reminded him. “What has changed? Your maids will take control.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what they’ll do. Raise a coup and take control!”
Gregory bared his teeth. “You sound paranoid and foolish, Tom. That isn’t going to happen.”
I wished it would. I’d love for Emma to start a resistance against the tyrannical hand of my father. From everything I’d heard through the rumor mill in town, my father reflected the ideals of the wicked Prince John in spades. Like most nobility, he appreciated the prince’s significant taxes and levies because they filled his coffers.
The poor people—the peasants and lower-class yeomen and villeins—were getting fleeced. Living destitute lives, while the rich flourished more than they had in years. Prince John claimed the steep taxes were to help fund his brother’s holy quest in Jerusalem. To aid King Richard the Lionheart in retrieving the throne of Christianity.
The poor folk didn’t see it that way. What had started as a stir of unrest a few months ago seemed to be building into something darker as time dragged on and financial straits worsened.
I’d heard Emma speak of rebellion, in hushed voices with the other maids. Eavesdropped on shop owners, cobblers, and farmers as they spoke of Prince John’s vileness. Saw how they were forced to shutter their stores earlier and earlier, because no one had any money to buy their wares. The taverns were teeming with angry folk, filled to burst.
At least that’s what I reckoned. I couldn’t be too sure about anything, because those types of matters weren’t for women to concern themselves with.
Bullshit, that.
Father waved his hand at me. “What about when the girl begins to shed her blood around us? We’ll all grow sick and die from her illness!”
Gregory blinked in shock. We were both stupefied. Father was reaching far.
“Thomas,” Gregory mumbled. “You’ve lived with your wife for years. I lived with mine. Did either of us ever grow sick and die when they were going through their monthly balance? No.”
“Because we stay away from them! Which will be impossible—”
