Maid of Sherwood (4 page)

“Marian, before you defy me, do me the favor of changing your gown. That old one has plenty of life left in it; put it into the hall basket to be donated.” Mother commented. “Anna can help you into one of the simpler ones we bought.”

Marian shrugged, too angry to respond. She strode toward the house, Anna hurrying along behind.

“She is too insufferable for words,” Marian’s violet linen gown bunched up under her as she leaned forward and rested her elbows on Father’s desk. “All she ever thinks about is our lineage and my possible marriage prospects.”

Father dipped his quill into his inkwell. “You broke the single restriction she placed on you, Marian.” The quill scratched across the surface of the parchment in front of him. “What reaction did you expect from her?”

“It is the one place I feel like I belong,” she protested. “I do not know why she refuses to understand that!”

Father stopped writing and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, she understands more than she lets you know,” he said. “You two are very alike, after all.”

“I doubt that,” Marian said. “And now she is starting to act…oddly. It almost seems like she is two different people.”

Father laughed. “Your mother is exactly who she has always been, Mari. No more, no less.” He reached over his shoulder with one hand and grabbed a parchment from one of the wooden shelves behind him; shelves that were stacked tall with bound papers of every size.

“She is obviously keeping secrets,” Marian tried again. “Why does that not bother you?”

Father spread the parchment in front of him, holding it flat in one hand as he took the quill from the inkwell with the other. “Any secrets your mother has are hers to keep. I trust her.”

“It was one mistake, Father,” Marian said. “Why will she not see that and trust me to not make it again?”

“Tell me, Marian, why are you so impatient to go back into Sherwood? Her restriction was until after the Festival, and that is only two days away.”

Marian bit her lip, considering her reply. “I met someone,” she finally admitted. “And I would like to see him again.”

“Ah.” Father laid the quill softly across the parchment, and leaned back again, lacing his long fingers behind his head. “And who is this mysterious ‘someone’, Mari?”

“His name is Robin,” she said. “He lives in the forest and is loyal to King Richard.”

“You know this because he has told you so?” Father raised one eyebrow.

Marian flushed. “Well…yes.”

“I have met your Robin,” Father admitted. He held up one hand to stop her from speaking. “He has helped keep me safe when I travel through Sherwood.”

“Then you know what he is like,” Marian chattered. “You can talk some sense into Mother!”

Father shook his head. “No. Your mother has her reasons for doing what she is doing. I will not interfere.”

“So that is all? Even though you know Robin, you will not do anything?”

“I do not have time for this, Marian. I need to get this music written before the Festival.” He began singing under his breath in a low velvet baritone.

Marian rose to her feet. Once Father started singing, the conversation was over and nothing she said would make any difference.

The singing broke off. “Wait a moment.” He pushed away from his desk and opened one of the drawers. “I was saving this for a special occasion,” he began, “but now seems as good a time as any.” He held a stack of papers in his hand. “I wrote these for you. One per year since the day of your birth.”

“What are they?” Marian asked.

“Ballads,” Father answered. “Your history put to music.”

Tears filled Marian’s eyes. “You turned my life into music?”

Father smiled gently. “I was only returning the favor.”

“I love you, Father.”

“I love you, too, Mari. Now off with you, so I can write.”

Marian clutched the sheave of papers in one hand as she closed the door behind her with the other. She would read Father’s ballads in her room. It was not a bad way to spend the remainder of her day.

Chapter Four:

Marian straightened the garland of flowers sliding down over one ear and shifted uncomfortably on the wooden platform. The morning smelled of cherry blossoms, which drowned out the more ordinary scent of horses, hay, and trampled dirt.

“Marian, Marian, watch me!”

 The boys from town and beyond held impromptu races, each one trying in vain to capture her attention. As May Queen, it was her duty to reward the winners of every competition. The sun had barely risen and already she could feel the sweat dripping down the back of her neck. The white gown she wore tangled around her legs as she shifted again.

“Stop fidgeting,” Mother said from her seat just below Marian. “You will tear the embroidery.”

Marian glanced down at her gown. The bell-like sleeves, hem and bodice were banded in little deep blue forget-me-nots and thin silver thread. The seamstress had done a beautiful job.

“It is time for the blessing. Marian, I know you never wanted to be the Queen, but you need to do your job.” Mother said. “No man likes a woman who refuses to behave properly.”

Marian hid a smile, thinking of Robin. He seemed to like her just the way she was. “I know what my duties are,” she said. “I will perform them to the best of my ability.”

Mother smiled. “That is my girl.” She walked away.

Stretching out her right hand, palm toward the ground, Marian spoke the traditional words. “I give you God’s blessing and pray a bounty over your fields and hearths.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than the crowd scattered, each to their chosen contests. The footraces held little interest for her, and the official sword fighting contests wouldn’t take place until later in the day. She turned her attention instead to the archery contest, where young men raised bows to cheeks and waited to let the arrows fly toward the bales of hay stacked three and four high in a nearby field. Robin had not promised her he would come; he had not promised her anything, but she could not stop the hope that rose in her breast. Marian searched the rows of archers without success. Most of the men had their hoods pulled up against the early morning chill. She sighed and dropped the white handkerchief she held, signaling the official beginning of the festival.

The twanging of bows carried up to where she sat; swords rang, and cheers resounded. As the footraces began Marian yawned and sat back down. Almost immediately loud clapping drew her attention back to where the archers stood. A lone archer, his hood drawn up, drew back his arm, fit arrow to string, and released it in one swift movement, then repeated the process almost faster than her eyes could follow. The arrows blurred in flight, burying themselves in the center of the farthest hay bale. The other contestants clapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder. The archer simply nodded as he collected his own arrows and returned them to his quiver before approaching Marian.

“I am here to collect my reward for winning the tournament,” the mocking voice caught at her heartstrings.

Marian licked her lips nervously as she stared into familiar gray eyes. The fluttering begun in her heart migrated to her stomach, threatening to give birth to full-grown butterflies. She searched desperately for something to say. “Why are you here?”

Robin raised one red-brown eyebrow. “To collect my reward…it was advertised as a kiss from the May Queen herself.” He leaned toward her. “Are you going to deny me my well deserved reward, Maid Marian?”

“Robin, there are other contests with greater rewards than this one,” she murmured.

His breath was a tiny puff of air against her lips. “I cannot imagine a greater prize than the one I am about to collect.” His lips lightly brushed against hers, and she felt the butterflies in her stomach take flight. “You have not been to Sherwood in a few days,” he continued.

“You—you noticed?” Marian stuttered. His lips were still inches from her own and each word he spoke sent shivers up her spine.

“Of course,” he said. “I keep track of everything that happens in my woods.”

“You mean King Richard’s woods,” Marian corrected.

Robin laughed. “Are you always so literal?”

“The woods do not belong to you,” she said.

“Well, technically, they do not belong to the king, either,” Robin said. “The woods were there long before Richard came to the throne.”

“Do not tell me they belong to the fairies,” Marian said, remembering Will’s insistence about winged creatures deep in the forest.

Robin grinned. “Who told you about the fairies?”

Marian barely stopped herself from shrugging. “Will Scarlett,” she said.

“Will should stop listening to rumors. When can you come back to Sherwood, Marian? I would love to learn more about how you became such a
literal
, sword wielding girl.” He winked.

“I am unsure,” she hated to say the words. “Our family has been summoned to Nottingham Castle. We leave within the week.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I am…we are… descendants of the throne,” she said. “It is ancient history, but Mother insists we have to go to prove our loyalty.”

“Your loyalty to Prince John?” His voice was flat.

Marian shook her head. “No, our loyalty to the throne.”

“Prince John will not see it that way,” he said. He leaned forward. “Is this the only contest with the reward I collected, or are there more, waiting for the same sweetness I just tasted?”

Marian blushed, a deep red that infused her cream colored skin. “N—no, this is—was the only one.”

He laughed. “If you can get away when this Festival is over, come into the forest.” When she started to shake her head, he continued. “You are not leaving for the castle tonight. Are you willing to spare me a few paltry hours?”

“I have to be home before the sun sets,” she said a bit nervously.

“I will make sure you are home before anyone finds out you have gone,” he grinned. He reached out and took her hand in his. “’Til later, my sweet Marian.” Pressing the lightest of kisses against the palm of her hand, he stepped backward, turned and vanished into crowds surrounding the archery circle.

“Who was that?” Mother asked curiously, climbing up to where Marian sat with a meat pie in her hand. “I brought you something to eat.”

“Thank you.” Marian accepted the pie from Mother and bit into it eagerly. The seasoned beef and potatoes tasted heavenly.

“So are you going to answer my question?” Mother seated herself next to Marian.

“He was just the archer who won the contest,” Marian said.

“It seemed to be more than that. You were speaking to him for some time.”

“He was curious how I became the May Queen. That is all.” Lying to Mother was becoming easier each time she did it. She took another bite of the pie. “Do you need my help with anything after the Festival?”

“No, and I know you are itching to go into the woods. Just do not stay too late, and be sure to take your sword.”

It was Marian’s turn to raise a blond eyebrow. “You are letting me go?”

“We shall be in Nottingham shortly. I know how much Sherwood Forest means to you. You should take the opportunity to walk them before we leave.”

Marian’s eyes sparkled briefly before she frowned. “But the Festival does not end until nearly sundown. That will not give me much time.”

“Take Will with you. I saw him speaking to Betsy over by the pie cart.”

 “I will go speak to him now,” Marian said. There would be more prizes to hand out, though none of them was a kiss from her. That was always reserved for the best archer, though she was not sure why.

“Be careful of your gown, Marian!” Mother admonished.

One hand held her skirts off the ground as Marian hurried in Will’s direction.

“Marian, nice of you to join us,” Betsy, the young woman standing next to Will, spoke first. “Are your duties as the Queen done, then?”

Marian shook her head. “No, I still have a few more,” she said. “Festival has barely begun.”

Will cocked an eyebrow at her. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I needed to speak to you,” she said. She cast a glance at Betsy, who stared back. “But it can wait.”

“That is all right. Will, I shall see you tomorrow?” Betsy smirked at Marian, who did not react.

“Yes, of course,” Will said. “As planned. I will come by after breakfast.” He waited until she left before turning toward Marian. “What happened?”

“That is her, isn’t it?” Marian asked. “The one you are interested in.”

Will shook his head, but the denial came too quickly.

“She
is
.”

“Never mind her. Tell me what happened,” he demanded again.

Marian lowered her voice. “I saw him.”

Her friend frowned. “Who?”

“Him,” Marian said. “
Him
. The one I told you about; Robin. He was here. He won the archery contest.” She flushed again, thinking of Robin’s lips on hers. “Were you not watching?”

“All I saw was an archer with his hood pulled up,” Will said. “What did he want?”

“He wants me to meet him in Sherwood. Tonight.”

“You have not changed your mind about coming to the meeting with Little John?” Will asked.

Marian shook her head. “But you know what is strange about the whole thing? Mother is encouraging it.”

“I am not following you,” Will frowned. “You mean your mother is allowing you to meet a stranger in the woods?”

“No, of course not. She does not know anything about that. She is letting me into Sherwood past sunset. Provided you are with me. So if she mentions it to you, tell her you agreed.”

Will shrugged. “It is nothing more than the truth. More or less.”

“I will not have time to change,” Marian spoke, almost to herself. “And mother told me to bring my sword. Will you go and bring it back for me? It is on the hook on the backside of my door.”

“I will get it,” Will promised. “I will meet you by the—” he glanced around, “the blacksmith.”

Marian agreed and they parted ways once more.

The remainder of the Festival bored Marian and she found herself daydreaming of Robin; of the way his hair would fall through her fingers in a cascade of color. His eyes would stare deeply into hers as he leaned forward to kiss her. A tiny smile played about her lips.

“Marian du Luc, do you hear a word I am saying?”

Marian’s eyes snapped open to see Mother staring at her.

“I…no,” she admitted ruefully. Behind Mother stood a burly man, sweat staining his shirt and sword sheathed at his side.

“This is the winner of the sword tournament,” Mother continued. “He is awaiting his reward from his Queen.” She glared and Marian flinched. “I
told
him you were deeply impressed by his feat,” she hissed under her breath. “Act the part.”

“My Lord,” Marian said, holding out her hand to the man. “You are brave beyond all words.” Mother handed a small bag to Marian, and she, in turn, gave it to her ‘knight’. “Take this reward as a small token of my eternal thanks.”

“Thank y’, M’Queen.” The man said, releasing Marian’s hand to take the small bag of coins from her. “Y’re most kind.”

Marian expected Mother to lecture her once the man turned away. Instead, she was surprised when Mother simply said, “The Festival is over. You have daydreamed most of it away. You are welcome to leave at any time.”

Marian blinked, looking around her more closely. Most of the people had long since gone home and only the usual townsmen were left.

She walked off the platform and through the remainder of the Festival. The smithy was just outside the town limits and its back was mere feet from her favorite path into Sherwood.