Heart of Sherwood Read online

  The three exchanged tentative glances, none wishing to speak first. Being the highest in rank, Sir Giles ventured a word. "Chivalry and honor are of the greatest import to a civilized society." He hesitated glancing from the deputy to the Sheriff. "But there could be a place for trickery when it is absolutely necessary."

  The merchant spoke next "If I were to be caught with faulty scales, 'twould be the end of me; therefore, I venture to always be honest."

  The tax collector nodded and proceeded to add, "I have always found mercy to be the noblest of virtues, my Lord Sheriff. Our Lord Christ had mercy on us as we should have mercy on those among us who have endeavored to perform their duties faithfully."

  Supplicant eyes looked up at Nottingham who only hmmphed in reply.

  Edward lifted his chin, standing at attention, his gaze fixed on a spot in front of him. "Sheriff, I cannot repent keeping an oath, no matter to whom it was given. I am a man of my word. I will do my duty to help hunt down this outlaw and bring him to justice, but I cannot break my word for any man. If I have sinned against you, milord, that I deeply regret; but you cannot require me to sin against God."

  Giffard sighed considering his deputy with a twisted look of disgust. "I'm only saying if it were not for your bloody sense of honor, we would be rid of Hood by now. No one is asking you to sin against God, man," he hissed between his teeth. Then he turned his attention back to the meager assembly. "Now that we have established the import of keeping one's word, you have my oath that this scoundrel shall be apprehended and your property returned. I am working on a plan that will rid us of Robin Hood once and for all. But in the meantime, I will dispatch extra patrols in search of the bandits' lair. You men are dismissed."

  With heads bowed as much from fear as respect, the robbery victims pivoted and a guard escorted them out. The deputy was following them when Giffard grabbed his shoulder from behind. Edward turned sad eyes to him. "My lord?" His voice was soft and apologetic while apprehension churned within him.

  "Send patrols out on all three roads, in case they may pick up a trail. I like that you are honest; I mean, at least that way I know I can trust you as well. But damn it," he swore shaking his head. "Just this once, couldn't you have seen clear to bend your word?"

  Edward lowered his gaze and sighed. "You gave me no such order, milord, and to tell the truth, the thought of betraying a pledge never crossed my mind."

  Nottingham released his shoulder and offered him a curt nod. "Get those patrols out immediately."

  "Aye, milord."

  *~*~*

  Edward spoke with his patrol leaders, instructing them on the roads they were to search. "Take only those who are not afraid of the forest," he said. "We don't need more soldiers abandoning their posts to flee in fear of some imaginary ghosts. And if you find a viable trail, report back to me and we will follow it in force." The men nodded and left to assemble their troops.

  He was walking through a breezeway along a castle wall facing the lower ward on the way to his quarters to try to settle his stomach, contemplating the predicament in which he found himself, when an arrow whizzed very near his head, struck the stone behind him, and bounced to the paving stones. Instantly, the deputy snapped to alert, pulling his bow from his back. He scanned the courtyard and lifted his eyes to the walls surrounding the castle grounds.

  Edward expected to see Robin Hood, but he was nowhere. Then he looked down at the arrow seeing that it speared a note. Edward was not accomplished at reading and writing, but he could make out simple phrases. Upon examining the scrap of parchment, he concluded that someone was waiting for him at the castle's side gate.

  It could be a trap, he thought. But that would be exceedingly foolish given the location and number of guards swarming the grounds, and Hood was no fool. Curiosity tugged at Blanchard until he decided he must go see who was there. With his bow in his left hand and his right on the pommel of his sword, he marched across the hardened ground to the side gate.

  Inside the stone walls near that egress, the Sheriff's blacksmith was working at his forge and a vendor offered soup in a bread bowl to those passing by. People were coming and going as was common at that hour of the day, but there was no sign of the outlaw.

  Edward purposefully strode through the open gate and looked to his left, his right, and straight down the street. No Hood. Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention and a familiar feeling washed over him. Edward turned and saw a big black mare tied to the hitching rail that ran along the castle wall at the gate. For a moment he stood in stunned silence, not believing what he saw.

  "Maggie?" The courser raised her head cocking her ears toward him. She made a motion, raising her chin like a nod and whinnied, pawing one hoof at the ground. Unbridled joy surged through the brawny deputy, evidenced by the brightening of his face and eyes. He let go of his weapons and hurried to her, brushing a hand along her thick neck. "I, I don't believe it!" He glanced around again, searching but not seeing the honorable outlaw. She was well-groomed and well-fed, he concluded; then he raised a hoof to check it - clean and trimmed, exactly as he would have kept them.

  Edward's sense of relief was so great it brought tears to his eyes. He stroked her nose and cheek, noting that even his saddle and bridle had been returned along with his horse. Suddenly memories of the day Maggie was born flooded back into his mind as if the eight years were but yesterday. His lovely young wife Margaret had stayed out in the stables all night to ensure that the foal's birth was smooth. Edward had found them the next morn lying together in the hay near the dam's feet.

  "It's a precious black filly," she had beamed.

  Edward had scooped Margaret up for a kiss. She doted on that baby its whole first week as they tossed about names to call it. Beautiful, sweet Margaret, who had loved him despite the difference in their ages, who lived to please him, who he so much did not deserve! Soon afterward she was there in her bed, burning up with fever, asking if he would check on the foal for her. Typhoid. Why did it strike her and not me? The priest came to give her last rites, and Edward held her hand as she left this mortal plain.

  That is why he named the filly Maggie, and why she meant the world to him. He had not loved another woman since, had instead thrown himself into his work, increasing in rank and skill.

  Wonder overwhelmed him; the Sheriff's enemy, a common thief, had not only taken such good care of his beloved companion, but he had returned her to him! Why? And how bad could Robin Hood actually be?

  As he thought back over their past encounters, Edward realized that Hood hadn't killed anyone–merely made threats and stole from them. And he gave it all to the poor? But what was the deputy to do? Giffard intended to execute Hood for certs, and the odds were strong that eventually he would be caught. Perhaps he will move on from Nottingham and seek his fortune in a different shire, he hoped. But given what he knew of Hood that was unlikely. Who are you, Robin Hood, and what are you about?

  Those were questions to which Edward feared he would never learn the answers. "Come, Maggie, let's get you back to your stable where you belong. I hear a big bucket of oats calling your name!"

  No sooner than he had untied her and started for the gate, the deputy heard a commotion behind him. He turned to see a poor peasant in a worn, ripped cap, leading a fine bay gelding by a rope over its neck.

  "That's right," he answered to someone in the crowd cheerfully. "Just found 'im wanderin' the road on the edge of the wood. If ya hurry, ya might find one fo' you'self."

  In an instant it made perfect sense. Hood is getting rid of the horses he stole! He must think they are a liability, or may give away his hiding place.

  "Excuse me." Edward spoke in a strong, authoritative voice. The peasant looked up, and his expression fell. "Thank you for finding one of our lost steeds. A while ago some of the garrison's horses got loose, and you, my fine fellow, have returned one of them."

  Woe swept over the gaunt man's face like a shadow.

  "Do not fear," he a
dded pulling a few coins from his pouch. "There is a finder's reward for returning any of our missing coursers."

  Life sparked back into the peasant's eyes as he traded his rope for the deputy's coppers. "God bless you, good deputy!"

  "And if you find any others, there will be a reward for them as well," he added. Then a misty Edward Blanchard led both steeds through the castle gate.

  *~*~*

  Robyn smiled to herself before turning away to continue down the street with the modest ramble of a farmer. She didn't look a thing like her infamous alter ego wearing a tattered tan tunic over worn gray trousers wrapped in a mud-brown cloak and hood. Sheriff Giffard must be as mad as a hornet by now after the day's events, she reckoned.

  The plan had been simple: Will Scarlet and David of Doncaster were both slender youths and, when dressed in attire similar to Robyn's and carrying bows, gave the illusion that the notorious outlaw was in three places at once. They had divvied up the gang members between them and collected a satisfying booty to be distributed among the poor. The attacks also made for a perfect distraction from the central task at hand, mostly carried out by the refugees of the camp which was to loose the horses at various corners of Sherwood. Robyn had only returned the one.

  She glanced about her surroundings in the busy market square with a nostalgic tug at her heart. The streets and crowds and vendors appeared unchanged, but she was changed. No one noticed her at all, a fact dually comforting and disconcerting. She looked up at the artful stained glass windows of St. Peter's and felt compelled to cross herself as she passed. How long has it been since I attended mass? she wondered, but was consoled with the knowledge that Friar Tuck had seen to her spiritual needs as well as her sword training.

  As she raised her gaze to the street before her, a familiar figure caught her eye. She knew every curve of that luscious body, every line of the exquisite face - Marian! Robyn's heart leapt into her throat at the sight of the woman she loved and who, by a miracle of fate, loved her in return. She simply could not allow this opportunity to see and hold her, if only for a moment, pass unrealized.

  Robyn continued down the street toward where Marian stood examining scarves on a merchant's cart and then slipped inconspicuously into a side alley. When she had checked behind each building and found the corridor empty, she crept back up the narrow walkway near the busy street and cupping her hands to her mouth, made a bird call. She waited in expectation. When nothing happened, she repeated the sound. Soon a curious Marian peeked around the corner. Robyn lowered her hood, grinned, and scampered farther into the shadowed passageway and around another corner. Her anticipation grew as she heard Marian's footsteps follow.

  As Marian rounded the bend into the blind alley behind the row of buildings, Robyn grabbed her and pulled her into an alcove at a random establishment's back door. When Marian's eyes met hers, they melted from alarmed to enraptured in an instant.

  "Robyn!" she exclaimed in a low, breathy tone.

  Robyn caressed her cheek, reveling in the husky sound of her own name from Marian's lips. She could wait no longer. Drawn like a roaring tide to the seashore, her mouth came down over Marian's, searing with urgent passion. Marian wrapped her arms around Robyn's neck and opened herself to the kiss, enticing her lover to delve even deeper. Robyn plunged in thirstily, driven by a longing deep in her core.

  Presently, she drew back for breath and to gaze into Marian's eyes. "When I saw you here just now, I knew I had to hold you in my arms." She was glad Marian had remembered that old bird whistle signal from their childhood.

  Marian ran fingers through Robyn's hair, beamed up at her and asked, "And what brings you to Nottingham? Overjoyed as I am to see you, I wonder if it is safe."

  "I had business with the deputy."

  Marian's eyes widened, and she took a step back. "Robyn, you didn't-"

  A grin tugged at the corner of Robyn's mouth as her hands slid to Marian's waist. "No, I wasn't here to murder him, and why would you think such a thing of me?"

  Marian rapped the back of Robyn's head and gave her a stern frown. "I was not going to say that. I was only afraid you might try to confront him."

  "On his own grounds? Not bloody likely!" She leaned in and kissed Marian's forehead, stroking her back with one hand and tangling the fingers of her other in Marian's golden strands. "I was returning his horse. We had to be rid of the lot of them as they proved too difficult to conceal."

  Marian nodded and sank into a tight embrace, rubbing her cheek along Robyn's. "That was very generous of you."

  "Well, Blanchard seems to be an honorable enough fellow," Robyn observed as she closed her eyes and breathed in Marian's scent. "I think he is trapped by the Sheriff like everyone else."

  "That has been my observation as well."

  Robyn was thrilled as one of Marian's hands lowered to cup her hip.

  "I will be attending the Michaelmas Feast at the castle in a week and shall try to gain more information as to what the Sheriff and Gisborne are plotting. Mayhap the Prince will be in attendance, and I can also uncover what he has been about."

  Robyn opened her eyes and pinned Marian with them. "You be careful. I don't like you taking chances. What if they were to discover you are spying upon them?"

  "Me be careful? What of you taking on an entire troop with a handful of outlaws?" Marian's voice was edged with desperate concern.

  Robyn caressed Marian's shoulders. "You know I couldn't let Nottingham kill those people. All is well." She smiled and gently brushed her lips over her lover's. "Then I shall come visit you the night after the feast to see what you have discovered… or purely to enjoy your company."

  "I will be very much looking forward to that!" Marian repeated the light kiss Robyn had just given her. Then she cocked her head displaying a perturbed expression.

  "What?" Robyn asked innocently.

  "It isn't fair, you know," Marian remarked. "You pop in to see me whenever tis convenient, or you make me wait weeks between visits, but I can't come to see you. I don't even know where to find you."

  "My sweetling, it is much safer for you if you do not know where to find me," Robyn explained while keeping her body tight to Marian's. She could feel the ebb and flow of Marian's breathing against her own chest and brought her breath into rhythm with it.

  "And what about that which is safer for you? Suppose I discover that the Sheriff is off to commit some heinous act, or that he has captured one of your friends, or his spies have discovered your hide out and he is on his way forthwith. How then can I use this information to warn you, or get a message to you, if I don't even know where the blazes you are?"

  Robyn paused to consider Marian's point. "But I can't just bring you to the camp; what will everyone think?"

  Marian smiled mischievously. "They will think that we are lovers, which is, by the way, quite true." Her blue eyes danced at Robyn, working their magic to try to soften her resolve.

  "But Marian, your reputation," Robyn said. "Consorting with outlaws? What if word were to get out?"

  Marian raised her chin. "You let me worry about my own reputation."

  Robyn sighed in dismay. She now felt pinned between two rational points of view. "I will give it consideration, and that is the best I can promise at the moment. Marian…" She voiced the name with the sweet reverence of a prayer. "I do so love you; if anything were to happen-"

  Marian placed a finger to Robyn's lips. "And you think I do not feel the same? We are both in this, Robyn. There is no turning back for either of us."

  At once Robyn was consumed by the heat of Marian's kiss on her lips, endowed with the same searing fervor as before. She felt the moistening between her thighs as a reflexive response while burning need tugged her into a whirlpool of elation. Her heart pounded in her chest as she cradled Marian tightly to herself.

  When at last they broke the kiss, Marian found her voice first. "You should go now; every moment you delay increases the chance of your being discovered." Her tone was lush and ragged
, her eyes bearing the stormy intensity of sensual passion.

  Robyn nodded in somber realization. "And every moment I tarry makes it all the more difficult for me to let you go. The night after the feast," she repeated. "I will be at your window."

  She closed her mouth over Marian's once again in a last stolen drink to see her through the coming week. When she drew away, Robyn trotted down the obscure alleyway without looking back, afraid that if she did, she would be compelled to return to that warm embrace, as steel to a magnet. With great resolve, she pulled up her hood and disappeared into the city.

  Chapter Twelve

  Windsor Castle, September 22, 1193

  Eleanor sat at the head of the heavy oak table in Windsor's great hall wearing an elegant white and gold silk gown draped by a red mantle.

  After greeting her assembled ministers, she spoke to the sergeant at arms. He quickly snapped to attention. "I want the hall cleared and you to stand guard at the door. We are not to be disturbed."

  "Yes, Your Highness, at once." He clicked his heels together motioning to the servers.

  Eleanor watched the guard and servants leave, waited for doors to close, and then turned her consideration to the assessors. "My lords, let us begin with a report of all ransom taxes gathered thus far. George, take dictation of everything said."

  George, the secretary for this meeting, was seated on Eleanor's left. He nodded, spreading out parchment in front of him, and dipped his quill into an ink well.

  "Bishop Fitz Neal?"

  "The entire collected funds have been tucked away safely at St. Paul's in London, under lock and key and heavy guard," he told the gathering. Richard Fitz Neal of London served as the nation's treasurer and was clean shaven, with a neat gray tonsure, black bishop's robes, and baggy, azure eyes, deep set in a grandfatherly face. It was not unusual for members of the high clergy to hold political appointments. Fitz Neal had been chosen for his post based on both his skill with numbers and his honest character. "Both the Queen's and the Archbishop's seals are on the chests, and I have confidence of their security."