God had been far too good to Locksley.
James Fitzhugh seethed inside while carefully maintaining his stony, inscrutable expression, watching the young earl swagger down the stairs and fling himself into his seat at the Council of Nobles.
The smile alone the man had flashed at his boon companion Bonchurch was enough to earn him Fitzhugh's unending hatred, a smile that could clearly disarm, bedazzle, or bewitch any woman who saw it. If he were a betting man, Fitzhugh would wager Locksley was well acquainted with its power and used it to good advantage to take whatever he wanted. Annora, young and foolish as she was, wouldn't have stood a chance under its spell.
Add to that, a tall, well built physique that moved with easy, natural grace, overabundant boyish charm, expressive blue eyes that could only be described as "beautiful," a straight aristocratic nose, full lips, a strong chin with an infuriating cleft, and a deep, mellow voice that made all his silver tongued lies sound like gospel, and Locksley would be a danger to any father's daughter, even without his peerless pedigree and vast estates.
Fitzhugh hoped, at least, that the man was losing his hair. He'd never seen him without a hat, and he hated the shade that peeked out beneath it, taking satisfaction in labelling it "mousey brown." His stomach tightened when he noticed how the hair broke into curls at the back of his strong young neck.
Fitzhugh had seen enough. Since God had delighted in showering His creature with such gifts, then it was up to James Fitzhugh, a self made man, a man who'd had to struggle for everything he'd ever achieved, to even the score.
Clearing his throat, he addressed Sheriff Wilfred loudly enough for all present to hear.
"My lord Sheriff, what penalty will you enforce for such blatant tardiness?"
"Penalty?" Lord Bonchurch sputtered. "Wha-wha-wha?"
The wide eyed, anxious man was calmly shushed by his companion, Locksley, who remained amused and nonchalant.
The sheriff, an uncharismatic, mild man, shook his head. "There is no penalty, Chancellor."
"What, none? At the very least, I suggest you demand an explanation! What kept you, Locksley? I've heard you make it a habit to be late. What message do you think that conveys?"
The young man's smugness made Fitzhugh seethe inside. "Sorry about that," he said, overflowing with charm. "No message, Master Chancellor. Time just got away, is all."
Much could not let that go, even though he far preferred remaining in the background among the nobility. "We stopped on the way, to help an old, ailing couple," he explained, truthfully.
"Commendable," the chancellor coldly responded. "Still playing Robin Hood, I see, helping the unfortunate. How selfless. Could it not have waited until after the Council?"
"Their hunger could not wait," Robin answered, his eyes hard over the smile still playing on his lips. "I hardly think, Master Chancellor, my Lord Bonchurch and I are so important, the business of the shire need wait on our presence. But," he continued cockily, "since you seem so concerned with time, I suggest we stop wasting it, and go on with whatever you find so very pressing."
Fitzhugh took a deep, hot breath, struggling to maintain his composure. "You will be punished, Locksley, for your tardiness, be assured. Now, as to my presence in the shire, let me be very clear. King John is displeased by the state of his coffers. Our late king, his brother Richard, the so called fabled Lionheart, cared little for this country, choosing instead to deplete its resources to fight wars on foreign soils. Because of his bloodthirstiness, we all suffer."
Fitzhugh paused, pleased with the effect his words had had on the Earl of Huntington. Indignant anger replaced the smug smile he'd worn so tauntingly. Rising from his place of honor beside Sheriff Wilfred, Fitzhugh continued, "As peers of the realm, you have all sworn fealty to our new, glorious king. It is up to you, my lords, to squeeze whatever you can from your serfs and vassels. Whatever it takes, the king expects you to fill his coffers again, and make England strong."
The deadly silence following his announcement was broken by Robin boldly objecting, "England's strength does not come from breaking the backs of Her poor, Master Fitzhugh. We've seen that, under Prince John's regency. Rather, it comes from building up Her people, Her peasants as well as Her peers." Addressing the other nobles, he passionately said, "It is our responsibility, our duty, gentlemen, to help our people, not squeeze out of them what they can't afford. Only then, will England's coffers be rich again."
The other nobles, used to Locksley's inspired rhetoric, shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Locksley had been King Richard's man, favored above all others by the late king. But he was also the new king's hated enemy. They knew, when John became king, it was only a matter of time before Locklsey's idealistic speeches would throw himself back into danger.
England's new chancellor was staring at Robin through narrowed eyes. "You dare to question the king's commands?"
"I haven't heard them yet."
"Perhaps you think your cousin, Prince Arthur, would make a more worthy ruler?"
Robin uttered a harsh, bitter laugh. "Now, Chancellor, why would you risk treason, saying that?"
"Because, my lord Huntington, you'd have a lot to gain, were your cousin on the throne instead of our worthy King John."
"I don't annoint kings," Robin answered, his cockiness restored. "God does."
James Fitzhugh had endured enough. His temper had never been so tested before. How dare this whelp, who'd seduced his wife, appear so smug before him?
"Council dismissed," he ordered, ending the meeting before his dignity deserted him.
He'd make Locksley pay. He'd set a snare for him, and make him suffer for bewitching his most prized possession, his pretty young wife. And, better still, he'd use Annora to do it.