Maid of Sherwood (5 page)

Chapter Five:

“Does Betsy know you are here?” Marian greeted Will.

Will nodded ruefully. “I could not lie to her about it.”

Marian took her sword from him and buckled it around her waist. “I do not care for her,” she said bluntly.

“She is not for you to like or dislike,” Will stated. “
I
like her. And she does not normally behave that way. She does not understand our friendship, that is all.”

“How long have you been keeping her secret?” Marian asked.

“A few months,” Will said. “It is nothing serious.”

“She seemed terribly serious about you,” Marian disagreed.

“As I said before, I am
not
contemplating marriage until I know what happened to my mother. Can we just drop the subject?” His voice was strained. “I will explain tonight to her later.”

“As you like.” Marian gestured towards the path behind the smithy. “Are you ready?”

“As much as I can be,” Will returned. “Remember to stay out of sight. I do not want Little John knowing I did not come alone.”

Marian and Will skirted the inner forest. The darkened trees looked inviting, the branches green and heavy with moss, and Marian slipped off the path to blend, as best as she could in her Festival gown, among them. Tiny drops of sweat beaded her forehead and she brushed them away. She drew in a deep breath, letting the fresh woodland smells permeate her senses. Releasing the air slowly, she let her mind drift. Once Will met with Little John, she would be free to meet Robin, though she was not sure how he would find her.

“Yuh came.”

The voice was all the warning she had to flatten herself behind the closest tree trunk and peer out around it.

“I did,” Will told Little John. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

The huge man scratched at his beard. “Why, joinin’ us, of course.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” Will leaned casually against the same tree Marian hid behind and she ducked back to keep from being seen.

“The Merry Men,” Little John said. “Who else?”

“Are you Hood?”

Little John laughed. “C’n yuh just see me, as Hood?!”

Marian peeked back out. If Little John was not Hood…who was?

“Is he here?” Will persisted. “I will not join an outlaw band without speaking to its leader first.”

“Then we have a problem,” Little John said. “Hood does not show himself to anyone excep’ his Merry Men. He calls it self-…self preserv…preserv…”

“Preservation, Little John,” said the last voice Marian expected to hear. “It is called self preservation.” Robin stepped through the trees.

Marian gasped, and Robin’s eyes narrowed. “We have company,” he said. He pointed to where Marian was hiding. “There, behind that tree. Grab him.”

Arms pulled Marian away from the tree trunk and hauled her into the clearing.

Robin’s eyebrows crawled into his hairline. “Well, well, if it is not my sweet Maid Marian. Will Scarlett, I do believe this changes things. You and I will speak later. Marian, what are you doing here?”

Marian shook free of the arms holding her. “I came to meet you! I just did not know who you really were!”

“I am exactly who I told you I am. Robin.”

“Robin
Hood
,” Marian folded her arms across her chest. “And you never said a word.”

Robin shrugged. “You never asked.”

“You
knew
I wanted to join Hood’s band!”

“You never told me that,” Robin snapped back.

“It was implied!” Marian clenched her jaw.

It was Robin’s turn to cross his arms. “That,” he said emphatically, “will never happen.”

Marian uncrossed her arms and took two steps forward on the grass. “Why not?”

“You are a girl,” Robin said. “It is too dangerous.”

Squirrels scurried through the undergrowth as Marian drew in a breath and released it slowly. Will stepped backward, joining the slowly gathering circle of men around Robin and Marian.

“I can handle myself,” Marian finally retorted. “I have my sword.” Her hand fell to its pommel.

Robin laughed. “You expect to use that old thing? Have you even
looked
at it closely? It is a hand and a half too long and ancient. Why, the last arming sword I saw was over six hundred years old! Does it even hold its edge?”

The sword almost leapt of its own accord into Marian’s hand as she drew it from the sheath. “It holds its edge just fine,” she said. “And I know how to use it. Little John did not tell you?”

“Knowing how to hold a sword is different from using one, sweet maid.” Robin stretched out his hand. The tall blond man who had whisked Marian from her hiding place drew his own longsword and held it out. “If you can best me, I will
consider
allowing you to join us,” Robin promised, taking the blade from Trent.

“Agreed,” Marian said. She began circling to keep the shafts of sunlight from her eyes. Her foot tangled in the hem of her gown and before she could regain her footing, Robin’s sword plunged toward her. Her sword met his in a clash that sent waves of pain resonating up her arm. Her fingers loosened, but the blade stayed molded to her palm.

Fighting back involuntary tears, she looked up to see Robin’s hand extended towards her. She shoved her hair away from her face and winced as he pulled her to her feet.

“Had enough?”

Marian shook her head and pushed him back. “We have only begun, unless you fear being beaten by a girl.”

Trent and the others laughed good-naturedly. Cries of ‘Get ‘er, Robin!’ and ‘She is jus’ a girl,” filled the clearing.

Robin chuckled at her audacity. “No, maid Marian, I do not fear losing to you and your prized sword. I simply do not want to injure you… or your misplaced pride in your abilities.”

Marian knew she should not rise to the bait, but she did. “My pride is hardly misplaced,” she ground out. She thrust toward him without warning; he parried, knocking her sword away time and time again, until they were both dripping with sweat.

“Are you sure you would not prefer to just give up?” Robin grinned. “You look tired.” He swung his sword unexpectedly and Marian barely got her sword up in time. “I thought you said you were good,” he taunted.

“I am,” she panted. “You have not won.”

“Yet.” He thrust again and this time her sword met his with a resounding crash.

“Robin of Locksley, just what in the world do you think you are doing?”

A clear, crisp voice rang through the clearing. Marian, startled, dropped her guard for a split second. Robin’s longsword slid underneath to nick her upper arm.

“Damn it,” the words slipped out before she could restrain herself and the men erupted into raucous laughter and clapping.

Robin winked at her, wiping the sword on his sleeve before returning it to Trent.

“Whose voice was that?” Marian sheathed her blade.

“Mine.” The trees rustled and an old woman, white hair hanging down to her waist, stepped into the clearing. “Robin, what are you doing here?”

“I live here, you know that,” Robin said blandly.

“Do not test me, boy,” the old woman glared. “You are meddling in things best left alone.”

“But…who
are
you?” Marian asked again.

The old woman straightened. “I am Nottingham’s historian. I keep track of
everything
that happens; both here and at the castle.”

“She is an interfering old lady,” Robin, crossing the space between himself and the other woman, drew her into a quick embrace. “It is good to see you, Nyneve.”

“You hush,” the woman pretended to be upset, but Marian could see the twinkle in her eyes as she looked at Robin.

“What sorts of things is he meddling in?” Marian asked.

A pair of deep gray eyes pierced Marian. They made her feel like a bug she had once seen cut in half with a knife. The old woman glanced down at the sheathed sword, then back up to Marian’s face. “You are a curious girl. Robin, you and I have things to discuss. Girl, you need to return home. I know of your mother, and she would be most concerned if you stayed out much longer. The moon has long since topped the trees.”

How the old woman could tell, Marian did not know. They were deep enough in the woods that the sky was no longer visible.

“Why are you still here?” The other woman snapped and Marian did not wait to hear anymore. There was something about the old woman, like an irritable spider in the middle of a massive web, which made Marian not want to risk her possible wrath. She left Will there and ran.

Chapter Six:

The knock at her door roused Marian from dreams filled with Robin; dreams of him drawing her close and holding her in his arms; kissing her, confessing his love to her.

“Marian, you have overslept,” Mother’s scolding tone came through the door. “Our escort has arrived and is impatient to leave. A gown has already been laid out on your chair.”

Marian swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked around. The dress Mother had chosen was a concoction of light green cotton and lace. It was hideous, but very fashionable. She reluctantly picked it up and dropped the soft folds over her head, pulling the front laces shut and tying them.

“Marian,” This time it was Father’s voice she heard.

“Yes, Father, I am coming.” Marian smoothed her hair down with her hairbrush and drew it into a low knot on her neck. Glancing at her herself in the small mirror on her bedside table, she shrugged at her warped reflection. She was as presentable as she was going to be.

“Hmm,” was all Mother said when Marian walked out. “Maybe that color was not the best choice, but there is no changing it now. Go with your father. I have sent Anna into town for a few last minute things. I will wait here.”

Marian followed Father through the house and into the courtyard. The hard packed dirt stirred under the hooves of six horses, each bearing a rider dressed in identical black leather with blue trim.

“The sheriff did not want to take any chances with outlaws,” Father said. “His men are here to ensure we arrive safely.”

“The outlaws would not hurt us,” Marian said.

“I am not referring to Hood’s Merry Men, but bandits.”

“Do I have time to visit Will before we leave?” Marian asked.

Father shook his head. “No.”

“But I need to make sure he is…” she trailed off.

“He is fine,” Father said.

Marian sneezed. “How do you know?”

“He came by while you were still asleep. He asked me to make sure you knew he had gotten home safe.” Father’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something I should be worried about?”

Marian shook her head. “No.” She did not know how to explain what had happened with the strange old woman to Father, and definitely did not want him to know about Robin being Hood.

A man stepped forward from his waiting place beside one of two carriages. “You must be Alan a Dale and the Lady Marian. I am Roger de Lacy, the Sheriff of Nottingham. It is my pleasure to meet you.”

He did not look like the man who had ordered the death of Will’s father. He towered over Marian, muscular without being overweight, and with short, neatly trimmed brown hair and light brown eyes.

Taking her hand in his, he bowed over it, barely brushing its surface with his lips. “I have heard much about your—family. It is an interesting history.”

“It is ancient history,” Marian retorted. “It has no bearing on who we are now.”

“Nonetheless,” he murmured, almost to himself, “it is a royal lineage.” He released her hand. “Speaking of royalty, where is your lovely mother? I was informed she would be joining us.”

“She was unavoidably detained,” Father inserted smoothly. “I am sure she will be here soon.”

The sheriff drummed his fingers against the side of the closest carriage, while the men on the horses continued to mill around the courtyard. “I would prefer to leave as soon as possible.”

Father’s voice hardened. “I said she will be here, Sheriff.”

“Will it take long to reach the castle?” Marian asked in a vain attempt to change the subject.

“If we do not leave soon, we will not reach the inn before nightfall,” the tall man continued. “Travel through Sherwood can be—problematic—after dark.”

“Have you been having difficulty with bandits?” Marian asked. Even knowing how evil the sheriff was, her breath caught in his presence. His face was slender, the cheekbones angular under skin tanned brown from the sun. He was handsome. Not at all like Robin, with his mane of red-gold and brown hair. This man was polished. Refined.

He scowled his reply and glared at the offending forest. “Not bandits.
Outlaws
. If they did not have somewhere to hide, we could find and hang them all.”

Marian gasped. “Hang them?” She stared at him, and suddenly found his face repulsive instead of handsome. The lovely brown eyes were not soft, but hard as the rocks beneath her shoes, and his lips were thin with potential cruelty.

“They are dangerous to everyone.” He turned to Father. “Surely you have had your own problems here?”

“No, we have not,” Father said.

A door closed and Mother, Anna hurrying behind her, swayed across the courtyard. “Sheriff, it has been too long.” She held out one hand and the sheriff kissed it briefly before releasing it. “Anna, put the packages into the sheriff’s carriage. I am sure he will not mind.”

“Of course not,” the sheriff said. “Anything I can do to help, I will.”

“Very kind of you,” Mother said. “The footmen should be bringing our chests out shortly.”

The sheriff smiled at Mother, but it never quite reached his eyes. “It would be my very great honor to have the luxury of Marian’s company on the trip to Nottingham.”

Marian’s eyes widened. It was a wholly inappropriate request.

“Absolutely not,” Father snapped. “It is out of the question. Her integrity would be compromised beyond all recovery.” He put one restraining hand on Mother’s arm. “We could not allow it.”

“She is such a lovely girl,” the sheriff said blandly, “I thought I could entertain her with tales of the castle before she sees it for the first time. She could, of course, bring her servant.”

“Maid,” Mother corrected. “We do not have servants here.”

“Of course,” the sheriff agreed. “My apologies to you both.”

“Anna, help Marian into the carriage,” Mother instructed. “Sheriff, we will see you at the inn.”

The sheriff looked startled to be so quickly dismissed, but he bowed one last time. “Very well. Do you object to my leaving some men here, to ensure your safety until you leave?”

“Of course not,” Mother said. She ran her hands down her blue silk gown to smooth the fabric. “We would be most pleased to have you looking after our interests.”

Marian clambered into the carriage, Anna’s hand at her elbow.

“He is handsome, ain’t he?” Anna seated herself across from Marian. “The stories I have heard sure did not lie.”

Before Marian could answer, the carriage rocked slightly as the footmen outside tied down chests and boxes. 

“I mean, look at him,” Anna continued. “And they say he is close to the prince.”

“He is rumored to be Prince John’s closest friend,” Marian agreed. Thankfully, she was spared more of her maid’s chatter by her parents. Mother seated herself next to Marian, arranging her gown carefully. Father took the seat next to Anna, his long legs stretching out and his boots resting on the floor by Marian’s feet.

“Is he gone?” Marian asked.

“Not yet,” Father said. “He is giving his men some last minute instructions. We have a few more things that need to be loaded before we leave. Beatrix, did you tell the footmen to bring the brass banded oak chest?”

Mother nodded. “It was the first one they loaded on.”

“What is in the oak chest?” Marian’s curiosity was piqued.

Mother and Father shared a long look before Mother answered. “It carries a few important sundries I might require.”

It was apparent that was the only answer she was going to receive.

The thundering of hooves heralded the sheriff’s leaving at the same time the carriage rocked on its wheels again.

“
Now
we can leave,” Father said, thumping the roof of the coach. The carriage lurched forward as the horses found their rhythm, then settled into a steady rocking motion.

“It is a full day’s travel to the castle,” Mother said, answering Marian’s earlier question. “It would be too much to attempt in a single day, and we will need to eat, as well as let the horses rest. The inn the sheriff referred to is safe from outlaws. Even they respect the owner.”

“Who’s that?” Marian asked.

“King Richard,” Mother said. “He had the inn built after one of his horses went lame while he was hunting.”

Marian stared out the window. Once the carriage entered Sherwood Forest, all she saw were oak trees lining either side of the dirt road. While she loved the forest, she preferred walking the leaf strewn paths to riding on the main road. She sighed and closed her eyes. Her dreams had been full of elaborately gowned men and women, dancing in circles around her, laughing, while Robin and the strange lady from the forest sat in a spider’s web, watching. Needless to say, her sleep had not been restful. She dozed off.

The utter stillness of the carriage woke her a short time later.

 “Are we at the inn already?” Marian asked, rubbing her eyes. Anna sat with her eyes shut, mouth open as she snored lightly.

Father stuck his head out the window. “Why have we stopped?” There was a low murmur of voices. Father turned to Mother. “The sheriff’s men found a poacher’s trap not far from here. He has decided to take matters into his own hands.”

Mother grimaced. “Killing men in the prince’s name will
not
endear him to the king when he returns.”

“You know as well as I do that the sheriff’s not interested in the king’s opinion of him,” Father said.

“He is going to kill someone while we just wait here?” Marian blanched. “Should we not  do something?”

“What would you propose?” Mother’s voice was flat.

“If I had my sword,” Marian began.

“You would only get yourself killed.” Mother finished. She fanned her face with one hand. “You have no idea how cruel those poachers can be!”

“They are hungry, Mother. I hardly think that makes them brutal murderers.”

“You have never gone without,” Father interrupted.  “Men in adverse conditions will do anything to survive.”

“It is unnecessarily cruel,” Marian said. “There’s plenty of game in the forest for everyone.”

“It is because of the Poacher’s Law,” Father said. “Richard intended it to protect travelers. Prince John and the sheriff bent it for their own purpose.”

Mother raised one eyebrow at Father’s response. “Alan, I doubt Marian is interested in such details.”

There was a hard knock at the carriage door. Anna, startled awake, sat up. “Why did we stop?” Mother glared at her and she swallowed. “I mean… are we there, ma’am?”

“Open the door,” Mother directed.

Anna swung the door open and one of the sheriff’s riders stood there. “The sheriff wants you to go on to the inn. He said we are to escort you, and he will meet you there later.”

 Mother nodded. “Thank you for escorting us and keeping us safe.”

The rider nodded without further comment. At Mother’s nod, Anna leaned forward, reaching for the door handle. The sheriff’s man watched her for a moment before pushing the door shut himself. Almost as soon as it snicked closed, the carriage began moving once more.

“Do you really think he will kill that poacher?” Marian asked.

“If he can catch him,” Father said. “You know how large Sherwood is. Chances are good the poacher will escape his fate.”

“I hope so,” Marian said. She leaned toward the window and looked out. The trees were denser and the underbrush looked wilder, the deeper into the forest they traveled. Part of her watched the trees in vain, hoping to catch a glimpse of Robin, or even Little John. Someone who would make her feel safe on her journey to the castle.