Robyn Hood: Fight For Freedom (21 page)

I was quiet as I leaned into
Will Scarlet, finding comfort in his declaration.

He
was quiet for a few moments until he gently stepped back, placing his fingers under my chin to tip my head upright. “So Robyn, my heart’s desire, do you accept my love? Do you return it?”

I thoughtfully studied Will’s face. He had to become a lord. He needed to. Will Scarlet was the
one
member of my band that would hold a reasonable amount of power now that we were pardoned. At the same time, though, I did love him. I loved him for what he did, for his vanity and gentleness, for his kindness, concern, and love. I loved Will Scarlet. What frightened me was that I loved him so much I was willing to become a lady to stay with him. The idea of being a noble was even more terrifying than Marian’s Outlaw Dream ever was.

I nodded, unable to speak at first. “I do, Will.”

Will Scarlet smiled as if I had just saved his life and given him his greatest wish in the span of one moment. His smile turned mischievous as he leaned in, touching his forehead against mine. “So you’ll take on my last name as my
wife
,
not
my cousin?”

I winced. “I was wondering if you picked up on that.”

“I did. I just about slugged that George fellow when he took you from me at the party. The fact that you called you Lady Gamwell is the only thing that saved him.”

“How big of you,” I laughed when Scarlet’s breath tickled my face.

“Indeed. And King Richard… I cannot say I’m sorry to see him go.”

“
Will
! He’s our King!”

“Yes and he kissed you first even though you’re going to be
my
wife. That is a rather high, not to mention unfair, tax,” Will Scarlet, his lips grazing my cheek.

“It’s one kiss, Will. What is a kiss compared to a lifetime?”
I sighed.

Will pulled back for a moment and bl
inked at me before softly smiling. “Yes, a lifetime,” he agreed before leaning in and kissing me.

At first I tried to squirm away, but Will would not let me go
. He kept kissing me until I leaned into him, the strength of my legs abandoning me against the romantic onslaught.

His kiss was
vastly
different from King Richard’s. It was longer, yes, but unlike the King, Will would not allow me to be shocked. It was passionate, consuming, and it oddly felt as though my heart were a target and Will had just hit the dead center with a well placed arrow.

It also made me senselessly stupid.

Will finally pulled back and I slumped against his shoulder, unable to form coherent words.

“Maybe it’s just as well it took
so long to kiss you,” Will said, his voice rough. “The wait for our wedding would have killed me.”

“Pfehwd,” I said into his throat.

“I agree,” Will said, hugging me closer before leaning down.

Before he could kiss me again Much burst out of the underbrush. “Alright that’s enough. No more kissing! You have to stay a horse length away from her until you’re officially married. I said no more kissing—Will Stutely seize Robyn!” he shouted.

I almost fell over in surprise, but Will Scarlet was holding most of my weight already.

Will Stutely circled us, clucking and lecturing me about kisses and
spiritual ruin as more Merry Men joined us.

Will Scarlet laughed and swung me through the air before he set off, carrying me through the forest. “Be useful for once and summon the good Friar Tuck, Much. Tell him he has a wedding to preside over!”

When King Richard left for the Angevin Empire he never again set foot on Britannica’s shores alive. He died five years after I met him, in a siege on the castle of Chalus.

After that Prince John was crowned King John.

He was, as predicted, a tyrant who laid a severe taxation on Britain. He had inherited difficulties to be sure—King Richard’s ongoing feud with France was a heavy burden—but he treated his own followers with ingratitude and was generally lazy and slothful. He angered the Catholic Church because of his marriages and divorce as well as the whole Archbishop of Canterbury episode. Not to mention that he alienated the lower British class with his taxes and forest laws.

That alienation
gave his barons the chance they needed to weaken the British crown forever. And as the people’s (secret) champion, I had to help them.

Chapter 10

One Last Ride

I leaned forward and squinted through the trees as my horse, Conniving, thundered along. “We’re catching up,” I shouted to Rodger. Rodger of Wendover. A monk and chronicler.

“‘We’re catching up,’ she said. I’ll have to write that down,” Rodger shouted back, gripping his leggy chestnut horse while eyeing the saddlebag thrown over the front of his saddle. That saddlebag held his inks and papers.

Yes. Rodger of Wendover. A monk and chronicler, and a major thorn in my side. Whose brilliant idea was it for me to dra
g a scholar with me while trying to change the course of the future?

“I told you already, you can’t write about
any
of this for that blasted
Historic Flowers
book!” I shouted back.

“I’m going to call it
Flores Historiarum
, Flowers of History! And I haven’t started it. Yet,” Rodger shouted, offended.

I rolled my eyes and adjusted my position before Conniving jumped a fallen tree that was in our path. “Why are you with me again?”

“Because Alan-A-Dale and I flipped a coin to see who could watch you root out King John and write about it. He lost,” Rodger said.

“That’s right, Marian would only lend you one swift horse,” I muttered into Conniving black mane.
The black horse snorted, as though answering me.

Conniving was a fast horse. He wasn’t as stocky as my previous hor
ses, Crafty, Cunning, and Cranky, but he was as swift as they came.

As Conniving jumped another tree a part of my heart
twanged in pain. Years ago, I had spent afternoons with Crafty like this, racing through Sherwood Forest at top speed. But so much had changed since then.

First of all Crafty was dead and buried years ago. Secondly,
as I’m sure you have predicted, I was now Countess Robyn Gamwell, the mother of three and wife of William Gamwell, Earl of Maxfield.

Since King Richard’s death sixteen years prior, I had regrouped
my Merry Men. Only now we weren’t outlaws in a forest, we were lords in King John’s court. We were stewards in the highest castles. We were ranking officers in the army. We wouldn’t often rob in Sherwood Forest anymore, but we were a bigger threat to King John, now more than ever.

It was the year 1215, and I was out to
kill King John’s power.

I meant to seize him and hold him until his barons pranced in and forced him to sign a document called “Articles of the Barons.”
The articles themselves were important, but the most significant part of them was clause 61. Clause 61 would establish a committee of 25 barons who could, at any time, overrule whatever King John proclaimed. They could even seize his possessions and castles if they liked.

Will
iam, you would know him as Will Scarlet, my husband, had explained the importance of this clause to me time and time again as I threw together a few possessions and set out to hunt down King John so he would sign it.

(
The dratted monarch had fled at the first sound of forcing him to sign it.)

“Make him seal
it, Robyn,” Will had said, gripping my hand before kissing it, his eyes dark with love in spite of the urgency at the moment. “It will give England a fighting chance again. He’s going to
ruin
us.”

I snapped ou
t of my memories when Conniving nearly rammed me into a tree branch.

“He wanted to come
with, you know,” Rodger called to me, wincing as he bounced on the chestnut’s back.

“Who?” I called.

“William. Your husband,” Rodger replied.

I
nodded and felt behind me to make sure my longbow was still properly secured. Riding without Will was like riding with a missing limb. His absence was a gaping hole in my heart. “He didn’t have much of a choice. He’s already under close analysis for being a member of Robin Hood’s band of Merry Men. And someone needed to stay behind and keep things in order,” I said, more to remind myself than to explain the situation to Rodger.

“He wasn’t happy your other men got to come,” Rodger laughed.

“Much got permission from his wife and his eldest is old enough to run the mill by himself. Gilbert is on leave from the army, and Little John’s wife practically kicked him off their small manor. I believe she said he would be sleeping with the pigs unless he got King John to sign those papers,” I laughed, feeling a little better. I was very fond of Little John’s wife, Lady Isabella. She was fiery, brash, and as sweet as a newborn filly.

Conniving
snorted, white foam dripping from his mouth. Both he and Rodger’s horse were sweaty. The only thing that kept me from worrying that we might not catch King John was that I knew the horse he had taken from the Royal Stables didn’t have the stamina necessary to outrun my Conniving.

“Keep it up boy,” I murmured to my mount.

I grinned when I saw a flash of red dart through the trees ahead.

“This is it. We’ve got him Rodger,” I shouted before unhooking my longbow. My rabbit skin quiver, which was filled with ar
rows fletched with my familiar grey, speckled feathers, was already in place on my back.

Seconds later Rodger and I burst into a meadow. That’s when I caught full sight of him: King John.

He was in front of us, only a stone’s throw away, riding his horse hard. The animal was slick with sweat and was fairing worse than Conniving or Rodger’s chestnut.

King John was just as bad as his horse.
  He wore a red cape, and for once he had the good sense not to nestle his crown on his head. However, his hair was plastered to his head, and he kept twisting around. No doubt he had heard Conniving’s thunderous hooves.

“Halt, King John!” I shouted, notching an arrow.

Over the years my archery ability had not weakened in the least, thanks to continual practice. (Being the wife of a pardoned outlaw, even if he was still nobility, gave me a lot of leeway in choosing my hobbies.)

The King squealed and kicked his horse.

I released the first arrow, which shot clean through his red cape.

“Good aim!” Rodger complimented, still jostling on his horse’s back.

King John did not stop, although he did emit a rather high pitched scream.

I released another shot
. This time the arrow grazed so closely to his head I’m sure I cut off a lock of his hair.

Still King John pressed forward.

I grumbled before shouting to Rodger, “Look out! I’m going to catch him,” I said before unclasping the few saddlebags I had packed. I pushed them off Conniving’s rump, getting rid of the excess weight.

“Come on
boy.
Run
!” I sang to my horse.

He responded beautifully.

Conniving stretched out and picked up speed as we galloped through the meadow.

When we pulled aside
the King’s horse Conniving slammed into the animal and I pushed King John straight off the side.

King John toppled to the ground as I tu
rned Conniving around and pulled him into a prancing trot.

King John rolled to his feet and started running for the edge of the forest. In a second I had an arrow notched and aimed. I released it, and it caught the corner of his cape, pinning it to the ground.

King John abandoned the cape, ripping it off his shoulders, and continued to run away, even when I pulled Conniving into a tight circle around him. He victoriously leaped at the tree line, but was forced to halt in his tracks when I nailed him to a tree with a well placed arrow that dug through his clothes.