Romancing Robin Hood Read Online Free

food again.’ Then she collapsed to the ground, the terror and shock of the morning washing over her in a wave of misery.
    Does Mathilda seem miserable and scared enough? Grace wasn’t sure she’d laid the horror of the situation on thick enough. On the other hand, she didn’t want to drown her potential readers in suffering-related adjectives.
    No, on reflection it was fine; certainly good enough to leave and come back to on the next read through. She glanced at the clock at the corner of the computer screen. How the hell had it got to eight thirty already? Grace’s stomach rumbled, making her think of poor Mathilda in her solitary prison.
    Switching off her computer, Grace crammed all her notes into her bag so she could read over them at home, and headed out of her office. Walking down the Queen’s Road, which led from the university to her small home in Leicester’s Clarendon Park region, Grace decided it was way too hot, even at this time of the evening, to stand in the kitchen and attempt, and probably fail, to cook something edible, so she’d grab a takeaway.
    Grateful it wasn’t term time, so she didn’t have to endure the banter of the students who were also waiting for associated plastic boxes of Chinese food, Grace speedily walked home, and without bothering to transfer her chicken chow mein to another dish, grabbed a fork, kicked off her shoes, and settled herself down with her manuscript.
    The hall was foggy from a poorly-set fire, and it took Mathilda a few moments to take in her surroundings. The smoke stung her eyes, and even though the vast space was actually rather dark and dim, she blinked against the light, which was bright compared to the cell.
    Her arms and feet hadn’t been tied, but as a precaution against her potential escape the same surly man who’d deposited her in her prison earlier, dressed in the same dirty hose and capon, stood over her, his unusually tall frame giving off an unpleasant odour of sweat and fish.
    As the fishy aroma assaulted Mathilda’s nostrils, her mind flew to her brothers, and she opened her mouth to speak to the man sat at the table before her. The words never left her mouth though, as he raised his hand in a clear warning for her to remain silent.
    Mathilda stared at him. He was finely dressed in a peacock blue cloak, with a green and brown tunic and matching hose. There was braiding around his collar, but this was not a man of high birth, nor was he the local sheriff or bailiff. His birth status was obviously somewhere in between high nobility and public servant. Mathilda swallowed nervously, and lowered her gaze to the floor in a natural response to before her betters – even if ‘betters’ was entirely the wrong description in this case. This man had to be a Folville. Mathilda began to shake with increased fear as a million possibilities of what might happen to her flew around her head. None of them were pleasant.
    â€˜I see you wish to ask questions,’ His voice was husky but soft, and without the harsh edge she’d been expecting, ‘and yet wisely, and with a politeness I certainly appreciate considering the events of the day, you are waiting for permission. You will get your opportunity, but first I will ask you some questions.’
    Mathilda kept her eyes firmly on the dusty floor, concentrating on her cold bare feet.
    â€˜What is your name, child, and how old are you?’
    â€˜Mathilda of Twyford. I’m nineteen, my Lord.’
    â€˜You appear much younger.’ He looked harder into her face for a second before carrying on, ‘Tell me, Mathilda, do you know the stories of Robyn Hode?’
    Surprised by the question, Mathilda’s head snapped up and for a second she found herself gazing directly into her captor’s blue eyes. Is he one of the Folville brothers after all?
    There was a grunt of derision from the man Mathilda had come to think of as her jailer as the