Chapters (76)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- PROLOGUE
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- PART II
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- PART III
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- INTERLUDE
- PART IV
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- INTERLUDE
- PART V
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART VI
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- INTERLUDE
- PART VII
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- PART VIII
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
THE QUALITY OF DINNER had vastly improved. What once was meager rabbit stew for every meal had been upgraded to fresh venison, salted potatoes with garlic, and flasks of wine that could compare favorably to any nobleman’s cellar. There were stores to spare, though not yet enough to make the winter seem less daunting. For the moment, however, Marion let herself enjoy their accomplishments. Life was not so comfortable as it was when Locksley Castle thrived, but only because they now had a bounty on their head. Otherwise, the company was joyful. For a week they had focused on themselves, building up their campsite, raising real structures that could survive the winter. They ate a well-tended meal around a healthy fire, and enjoyed conversation and frivolity again. It was a luxury, Marion recognized, for life to be comfortable enough that laughter was an option.
Some way or another, tonight’s dinner turned into a competition of macabre theatrics, as they shared dark stories about Gilbert with the White Hand.
“I see him talking to himself at night sometimes.” Arthur layered his voice thick with dread, ripping the meat off a bone with his hands and sucking on his fingers. “Talking to his dead family. You haven’t heard his story? He was a tanner in Nottingham, spent all his money on whores. When the tax collectors came, he just barely had enough to pay for himself. But not for his sister, or his wife, or his son, or his daughter, and especially not for his horse.”
With every name Arthur grew quieter, and the crowd leaned in to enjoy the tale. It certainly wasn’t Marion’s preferred subject, but there was no point in spoiling their fun. Elena tried to put her hands over Much’s ears, but he wiggled free.
Arthur continued. “So rather than let himself be arrested, he killed every one of them. He strangled his children each with one hand as his wife watched, then he tied his wife and sister to a table and set his shop on fire.”
“Arthur!” Marion scolded him. “In front of Much?”
“It’s just a story,” the boy scolded her back.
“His shop burned down,” Arthur continued, “which meant he didn’t have to pay his piece of ten on it, so the tax collectors let him keep his horse. He rode out of Nottingham … but the souls of his family wouldn’t let him go. They grabbed his hand and tried to pull him into death, and their touch withered it down to naught but bone. That’s why he keeps the glove on, so nobody knows that he’s half-dead already.”