Arthen found himself nodding, because he thought upon the rough way in which he’d had his wife last night. He knew plainly she had been willing, still, the harsh way he’d left after their coupling made him uneasy at this time. Was Maggie right? And was Rowena so different than she’d been and in all ways repentant?
“Listen,” Rowena told him in a voice which held anguish. “I need to speak to you.”
Arthen looked upon her closely, thinking her anguish did not seem feigned. Yet, at this time, the sound of voices made him glance over his wife’s shoulder. He heaved a sigh, understanding the talk with Rowena would have to wait.
A loud,clipped voice from behind Emma made her startle. And she turned to see a tall lord accompanied by guards, and by a young knight and maiden, stride to where Arthen was, with wide, brisk steps.
“Why, Master Archer,” the lord called raising his grey eyebrows. “Have you heard of the mishap last night? A priest attacked by a knave in our town?”
Emma’s heart thumped in her chest. By this man’s garb and by the way he carried himself, she understood this was none other than the Sheriff of Nottingham. She glanced at Arthen, trying as hard as she could to hide her anguish for him, because she saw the sheriff could bring danger upon him if she were to show any anxiety over the sheriff’s presence.
“I heard it this morn from my pupils,” Arthen said with a shrug and a faint smile upon his lips. “Yet I gather he was unharmed. Shamed, rather, it seems. Can’t say I’m sorry for his shame. I know the priest is not well liked in our parish and he speaks far too often of fire and brimstone, rather than of forgiveness.”
“They say the fiend who did it must have been a skilled archer,” the sheriff said, casting Arthen a penetrating glance.
“I reckon. Yet it is no wonder,” Arthen spoke in the same unconcerned voice. “Nottingham is a town reputed for its archers and there are a number of able men who are quite skilled with a bow.”
The sheriff said nothing, but by the way he was now glancing at Arthen it seemed plain to Emma that he was well aware Arthen was the man he sought. For a while, the two men stared at one another, as if they were taking each other’s measure. At last the sheriff heaved a sigh.
“Time and again I asked you to come into my service, Master Archer. I need men like you, men who are skilled and fearless. A man such as yourself would soon rise if he were to take a position with me.”
“Time and again I told you, my lord, that I want no other master than myself. I’m free. I value my own freedom above all else,” Arthen answered with a small incline of his head.
“Have a care though,” the sheriff countered in a pointed voice. “And do not think you are entirely free. You answer to God and to our King. And then to me, if need ever arises.”
“Certainly. I remember only too well,” Arthen answered, yet his tone was as calm and unconcerned as before.
There was a long pause in which both men glanced steadily at one another. At last, the sheriff stared away, giving a wave of his hand.
"Fine, Master Archer. As long as you should mind these bounds," he conceded and looked about him at the pupils who, at Arthen’s terse command, had resumed their practice, striving not to stare too hard upon the noblemen and the guards who had come upon them.
Emma’s eyes now fell upon the young knight and lady who accompanied the sheriff. They were both close in age, the boy, dark and handsome with a keen look in his eye, and the girl just as dark as her brother, and slight and lean of form, more like a boy herself at this age than like a young woman. By their look, Emma understood the sheriff was their sire. The boy gazed upon the archers-in-training for a while.
“I am far better than this lot is,” he called out at last in sheer disdain while speaking Norman and casting Arthen a challenging stare. “And Master Archer, I reckonyoualready know I am better.”
“Better?” Arthen said in English with a raised eyebrow. “Well... you are skilled. How much more skilled than they are – I guess we’ll see that in two months from hence at the archery contest your father holds in Nottingham every summer.”
“The boy is skilled, but vain, as you well know, since you taught him once,” the sheriff nodded, yet the look he cast upon his arrogant son was fond and indulgent.
“Father, remember, I–” the girl suddenly spoke in a shy voice, looking upon her father with eager dark eyes.
And strange, deep rage rose within Emma as she heard the girl’s father sharply rebuke her at once.
“Be silent!”
Emma held her eyes downcast, to hide the blazing fury that unwittingly came to her because the voice she’d heard was one in which her uncle and her late husband usually spoke to her.Be silent. Those were words she’d so often heard in her life. In truth, she’d run away in order not to hear them spoken in that tone ever again.
The boy gave a laugh, and it sounded screeching and malicious to Emma’s ears.
“Oh, Father, let her speak. It is too diverting not to listen to her. You see, Master Archer, my sister fancies she can learn how to handle a bow as well as any man.”
The sheriff heaved a sigh and laughed along with his son with a shake of his grizzled head.
“A girlish fancy… It will pass. Marie is soon to be wed.”
Emma clenched her fists hard behind her back. The girl was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, even younger than Emma had been when she’d wed Lord Belfort. Emma glanced upon her face, which had gone fiercely red. It was now plain she was trying to school her features into a mask of blank obedience. Emma recalled how often she’d strived to do so herself.
“Off then we shall be, because I've other duties to think upon, rather than dwell upon petty concerns. Yet think well upon what I have said, Master Archer,” the sheriff proclaimed.