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Chapters (76)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART I
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. PART II
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. PART III
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. INTERLUDE
  35. PART IV
  36. TWENTY-SEVEN
  37. TWENTY-EIGHT
  38. TWENTY-NINE
  39. THIRTY
  40. THIRTY-ONE
  41. THIRTY-TWO
  42. THIRTY-THREE
  43. THIRTY-FOUR
  44. INTERLUDE
  45. PART V
  46. THIRTY-FIVE
  47. THIRTY-SIX
  48. THIRTY-SEVEN
  49. THIRTY-EIGHT
  50. PART VI
  51. THIRTY-NINE
  52. FORTY
  53. FORTY-ONE
  54. FORTY-TWO
  55. FORTY-THREE
  56. FORTY-FOUR
  57. FORTY-FIVE
  58. INTERLUDE
  59. PART VII
  60. FORTY-SIX
  61. FORTY-SEVEN
  62. FORTY-EIGHT
  63. FORTY-NINE
  64. FIFTY
  65. FIFTY-ONE
  66. FIFTY-TWO
  67. PART VIII
  68. FIFTY-THREE
  69. FIFTY-FOUR
  70. FIFTY-FIVE
  71. FIFTY-SIX
  72. EPILOGUE
  73. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  74. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  75. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  76. Newsletter Sign-up

“Wait,” William called out. “If you didn’t even know Gisbourne well enough to know he had wedded a Longchamp, why did you appoint him as sheriff?”

“I just wanted somebody who would be terrible,” Prince John called back, brushing some dirt from his trousers. “I think you’ll do fine.”

FORTY-EIGHT

ARABLE DE BUREL

NOTTINGHAM CASTLE

ARABLE COULDN’T HELP BUT laugh at what Lady Margery said. They lounged on a small balcony in the middle bailey’s wall, looking out over a cold clouded morning, having just finished a brief conversation and a bowl of dates. Arable picked up her dress and excused herself, eager to find William and share the joke with him.

“Perhaps it’s only a rumor,” Margery shrugged, waving her fingers in dismissal. “After all, you of anyone in the castle would know such a thing, wouldn’t you?”

Her meetings with the lady of Warwick were less frequent than she had first hoped, but her need for the relationship had similarly dwindled. Arable no longer sought escape from Nottingham, thanks to William’s new position. She had removed herself from the girls’ quarters entirely, leaving Mistress Roana scratching her head, and lived now in the chambers attached to William’s room. Her “lessons” with Lady Margery had transformed into tea-side chats and philosophical musings. They were a welcome relief from her days closeted away, helping William deal with his mountains of administrative distractions. As for Lady Margery, she had no one to call friend amongst her husband’s entourage, and loathed the other visiting ladies. Arable’s status as something-more-than-servant was apparently enough for her to be treated with a morsel of decency, so long as nobody witnessed it. Margery seemed eager to share her life’s worth of experiences with anyone willing to learn.

Which made it all the more queer that she would voice such a preposterous bit of gossip.

“The Lady Marion Fitzwalter is no common prisoner, I’m told. Is it true that Wendenal intends on a marriage with her?”

And Arable had laughed, because it was just so ridiculous, and she was off to tell William about it now.

Not so ridiculous—she hated using the word so. That had been a lesson Roger de Lacy had taught her once, rest his soul. It hurt to think of him. She missed his delight in stories and conversation. How he’d hold his elbow out for her hand, treating her like a true lady. Never like his servant, at least not privately. She used to find him in odd nooks of the castle, enraptured in thought or lost inside a book. And not epic tomes of laws and policy as she would have expected, but old ballads and fantasies, the kinds with gods and giants.

“I read whatever I choose to read, girl,” he defended himself.

“Why read stories such as those? You aren’t a child, why waste your time?”