Free Lady Thief: A Scarlet Novel by A.C. Gaughen Page B

hair and too-bright eyes—not a lick of which were known to me. “I don’t know you.”
    He swept into an awful proper bow. “Allan a Dale, my lady thief.”
    Tucking my new knives into their proper places, I frowned at him. “You know me?”
    “I came up in London behind your legend. And still it grows,” he told me, tossing me an apple from a stand. He waved me forward. “Walk with me?”
    “Dangerous prospect,” I said, but I did, and I bit the apple. “I miss London every now and a bit.”
    “Filthy, pest-ridden, hard-scrabble, beautiful city,” he said, grinning.
    “But how did you know me?”
    He looked cut. “A knife-wielding lady who cut off her ownhair to fight a thief taker? There aren’t many of you in the world, my lady.”
    I snorted. “Don’t have to call me lady, Allan.”
    “Dressed like that I think I do.” He cast about in the marketplace. “So where is Robin Hood?”
    “Where he ought,” I said. “With his people.” We passed a shanty of a house on the edge of the marketplace, and two children were there, filthy and still, watching all the people go by.
    Frowning, I turned back to the nearest bakers stall and gave the rest of my coin for bread. “You’re
paying
for things?” Allan said.
    Lifting my shoulders, I went back toward the children. “Not my coin, so that ain’t quite so.”
    He laughed. I gave a loaf to the two children and quick enough others came, and Allan were quick to take bread from my stack and rip it apart to spread round. “I’ve heard this is what you do,” he said. “Stealing to feed people.” His head went to the side. “It’s so … strange.”
    “It’s what nobles do,” I said bitter. “Prince John feasting every night—he’s taking the game and the crops from the people of the shire, putting them to starve in winter. Least I ain’t stealing to feed myself.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “He’s stealing to feed his ego, not his belly. It hasn’t been so well tended these days.”
    “His ego?”
    Allan kept the last bit of bread for himself, and with thefood gone, the children went too. He nodded, chewing. “You didn’t hear?”
    I frowned. “I ain’t much for gossip.”
    He stopped, swallowed, and then did a turn with a tuck of his cap, winking for show. “This is the royal court, fair thief. It lives on gossip, perception, and hearsay.” His hands spread wide. “Let me spin you a tale, then.”
    He bowed and I crossed my arms.
    With a shrug, he stood. “Well, when Richard left for the Holy Crusade, he kicked John to France. Told him to stay out of his country while he was away, and named his wee nephew his heir. Because God knows, Richard knows how to steal a crown—it was taught to him in the womb, so they say. Eleanor of Aquitaine herself incited her sons in rebellion against their father. And if he didn’t learn violence from her, then maybe from the Devil that bore them all.”
    “Devil?” I asked.
    “Oh aye, you haven’t heard that one either? Richard loves to boast of his Devil’s blood, begat when his ancestor wed a serpent.”
    My eyes rolled. “Christ, you’re a fool.”
    “Don’t let a few silly truths muddle up a good story,” he told me sharp.
    I looked Heavenward, but there weren’t no help there. “What’s this about John’s ego?” I reminded.
    He frowned. “Can’t appreciate a decent yarn. Something wrong in your head, Lady Scar. Richard kicked John out ofEngland, and the bishops were bickering as bishops are wont to do, and Eleanor petitioned for John to come back. So Richard allows it, right, and John’s been setting up his own royal court outside of the bishops meant to rule in Richard’s stead. The two courts have been rising, both powerful, and fighting each other in petty ways. So Richard sends in the Archbishop from Rouen to keep the peace—and knock John’s legs out. Prince John makes his stand and he’s expecting everyone to rally to him, but they don’t. They keep