Heart of Sherwood Page 29

  The figure before him lowered the hood with his left hand while keeping his sword steady and balanced in front of him. "You still don't know who I am, do you?"

  Mystified, Godfrey titled his head and tried to recall where he might have seen this fellow before. "Bollocks! You are the outlaw Robin Hood," he snorted.

  "Am I now?" There was a certain lilt in that tenor voice. Had he heard it before? Mayhap, but where? "And if I am the outlaw Robin Hood," he mused as he applied a beat with his sword, a crusader sword? Godfrey noticed the distinctive cross on the hilt for the first time. "It is only because that is who you made me to become, when you callously stole my property out from under me as I grieved my father and brother's deaths."

  Godfrey parried Hood's strikes, but was too deep in contemplation to charge forward. He wrinkled his brow. "I have confiscated many properties from those who could not pay their taxes or who otherwise shirked their duties. Why should I remember you?"

  Hood toyed with him, belaboring the point. "How do you think I walked into the wardrobe and yet appeared right behind you? How did I find my way to that window? Do I not know every secret passage, every inch of the house I lived in all my life, the house my father built, the house from which you ejected me?"

  Color drained from his face as he stared wide-eyed in disbelief at the person before him.

  In that moment he froze, and Robyn pressed her advantage with several powerful blows which backed him up against the heavy oak wardrobe and a stone wall.

  "No, that can't be," he stammered, panic rising up from his belly into his chest. "That is impossible!"

  "Why?" She drove her blade against his pinning him as she closed in near enough for him to smell her, to feel her breath on his face. "Because you could never be bested by a woman?"

  At first there was a sharp pain, but it was immediately overshadowed by an immense pressure against his chest. The sensation was unbearable and he couldn't breathe. His wide eyes lowered to see the hilt of a dagger protruding from his rib cage. Just like Blanchard, was his first thought. Is this what he felt?

  Godfrey was overwhelmed by a terrible dread, a horror he could not escape. He had sent many a person to their grave without a care, but he had never stopped to consider what that end held for him. Am I to spend an eternity in hell, or will I simply cease to be? Truly, he had donated money to the church… when it suited him to do so. And he had been baptized… as an infant. He partook in Holy Communion… on the rare occasion he had attended mass. Was that enough? What would become of him now? He hadn't even produced children to live through. Never in his thirty-two years on this earth had he ever been more terrified!

  He lifted his eyes to Robyn's and tried to speak, but there was no air behind any words he may attempt to form. In her eyes he didn't see pleasure, only the steel of grim resolve. Now he was feeling cold, and the pain still burned in his chest, the pressure weighing like a massive stone. His heart seized and his frame shook without his ability to control it. He was sure he felt fingers of fire racing up his body from his feet to his thighs through his girth into his chest and over his head. Then the blade was withdrawn, his lifeblood gushed forth like water through a broken dam, and he dropped to the floor, never to draw breath in this earthly realm again.

  *~*~*

  Windsor Castle, November 23

  Queen Eleanor sat in an elegant cushioned chair by the hearth in her chamber pushing colored threads through cloth with a fine needle. She had never been the kind to sit about engaged in embroidery as a primary pastime; however, something about the repetitive, rhythmic motion calmed her nerves at present. Asides, she was adorning a surcoat for Richard to wear on their voyage home and that fed her hope.

  Anticipation flashed through her when she heard the rap at her door. "Pardon me, Your Highness," came George's hesitant voice.

  "The door is unlocked," she replied, reluctant to disturb her work should his inquiry prove to be nothing more than mundane castle business.

  The neatly dressed delicate man opened the door and peered in. "There are a friar and a nun here to see you. I told them to go away, that you could not be disturbed, but the nun is a most frustrating woman."

  Eleanor stopped sewing and gave him her full attention. "What do they want?"

  "She says that she is Maid Marian and that you are expecting her. She became infuriatingly insistent when I tried to put her off."

  Leaping up from her seat with excitement shining in her eyes, she proclaimed, "Show them into the hall at once! I shall join them straightaway."

  "As you wish, Your Highness." George shrugged and proceeded to comply.

  Eleanor put her needlepoint aside and tried to push down the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She is here! But does she bring the silver? She took a deep breath and struggled to maintain an ordinary pace as her legs wished her to run to meet them. They all arrived in the Great Hall concurrently. Marian fell into a deep curtsey and the Friar bowed as Eleanor strode briskly towards them.

  She grabbed the maiden's hands in hers and probed expectantly, "Do you have it?"

  Marian answered with a broad smile, "Yes, Your Grace; we have it all."

  Joy flooded her soul and certainly spilled out into the room, enough to drown anyone in their presence. "Oh, child, you make me giddy!" Throwing formality to the wind, Eleanor embraced Marian with the love of a grandmother. "Where is it now? Tell me all."

  "Friar Tuck," she said motioning to the rotund clean shaven man beside her, "has it stowed in his mead wagon. Those outside insisted we take it straight to the castle storehouses as that is where supplies ought to go."

  "George!" Her voice was loud and strong and her servant soon appeared. "See to it at once that guards are dispatched to the storehouses. No one is to touch that mead wagon until I arrive to inspect it in person. Is that clear?"

  Despite the baffled look on his face, he affirmed her command. "Yes, Your Highness. Right away," and he strode off to carry out the order.

  Marian recounted the adventure as the three of them walked across castle grounds to the storehouses to inspect the wagon and its valuable contents. The Queen then sent George on another errand to take a carriage to London and bring back the court treasurer, Bishop Richard Fitz-Neal. Then they would began making arrangements for the voyage.

  With the doors locked and only a handful of highly trusted aids about, Friar Tuck opened one of the barrels to reveal the treasure inside. Eleanor's face glowed as she brushed a hand over one of the sacks bulging with coins.

  "At last," she purred. "I will wish to thank Robin Hood personally once Richard is back safe and sound. I am forever in debt to you all." Her eyes passed from Marian to Tuck.

  "Your Highness, if you insist on making this journey yourself, please allow me the privilege of attending you," Marian offered.

  Eleanor turned soft eyes to her and placed a hand over the young maid's. "I would be pleased to have your company you know; there are others to wait on me. I need you to do something of much greater import. Seek out all the nobles in the north who are still loyal to the King and secure their oaths to join him on the battlefield should it become necessary. You are well known and well respected; when the King's goddaughter arrives at their door to demand their loyalty, they shall give it."

  "Yes, Your Highness," she agreed, bowing her head. "I will gather our supporters so that all will be ready when our beloved King once again steps his foot on English soil."

  Eleanor's eyes danced, and the glow continued to shine on an almost youthful appearance. "At last! My baby and your father–they are coming home!"

  *~*~*

  Sherwood Forest, one week later

  Charles, Christina and the other youngsters gathered around Alan A Dale.

  "Do the Cuckoo Song!" they begged. They sat under a crude open-sided tent near the fire that had been strung up to ward off some of the rain that fell soft on that cold December morning.

  Alan strummed a few bars on his mandolin then stopped and passed his gaz
e over all of them. "You have to sing your parts, like I taught you, remember? Or it won't be right."

  They nodded with eager expressions.

  "We know our parts," Charles declared with confidence. Christina sat cozily between him and Alan with joy beaming on her face.

  Robyn, who sat across from the spectacle, her back pressed up to Grandma Oak, was pleased to see her so happy and carefree. With no word yet from Marian or Tuck, Robyn could not afford that luxury.

  "Alright, here we go then," Alan said and repeated his opening chords. "Summer is a comin' in, loud sing cuckoo," and the children joined in the round by repeating the phrases after him.

  As the music layered phrase over phrase, something stirred in Robyn's belly. She snapped to high alert and pushed up to her feet. There was a noise in the distance amid the sound of gentle drops on wet leaves, and she caught sight of two figures a far off. The feeling swirling in her stomach leapt into her heart and she ran, holding nothing back, jumping downed branches and dodging trees until she scooped Marian up in her arms and whirled her around. Bursting with excitement, she set her lover on her feet and stepped back to gaze on her.

  "Seeing you fills me with joy too!" Marian beamed. "All is well. Queen Eleanor and her escort will be leaving shortly with ransom and hostages to secure the King's release. We did it!"

  Robyn tugged her into one more embrace, hugging her as though she would never again let go. There was so much she wanted to say, but no words could she manage through the lump in her throat. When she pulled back once more, she noticed the Friar standing beside them awkwardly observing a woodpecker drilling a hole in a rotting log.

  "Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, welcome home," Robyn finally mustered. "Come, dry yourselves by the fire. Alan is entertaining us with cheerful songs."

  "Is that onion soup I smell?" Tuck asked and charged forth.

  Robyn lingered with Marian who had her cloak's hood up against the cold drizzle. Not certain how Marian would take the news, she decided to go ahead and say it. "I killed the Sheriff." Breathless, she waited for the response, hoping it would not be too damning.

  But Marian just shrugged. "Somebody had to," she replied matter-of-factly.

  Stunned, Robyn gaped at her wide-eyed.

  "He was a vicious little man with visions of grandeur who, among other things, engaged in a plot against King Richard. As I see it, he got what he deserved." Then she took Robyn's arm to be escorted to camp. As they began to walk, she added, "But I'll wager you didn't simply murder him; it is not your style."

  "No," Robyn confirmed. "We fought and, though he was likely the better swordsman, I had several distinct advantages."

  "You revealed your identity to him," she guessed.

  "Indeed I did," Robyn declared emphatically. "I wanted him to know who had beaten him." Then taking on a softer tone, she asked, "Are you familiar with a hamlet near Sherwood called Millhaven?"

  "We often send our wheat there to be ground," she said and gave Robyn a curious glance.

  "Then I fear you shall need to find a new mill; Giffard destroyed the village and killed everyone in it. That was the last straw," she explained.

  Grief clouded Marian's face, and her grip tightened on Robyn's arm to steady herself; but it was fury that flashed behind her eyes. "Your action was just, my sweetling," she stated resolutely, and they were welcomed by a warm fire and a circle of smiling faces.

  *~*~*

  Later that night when the two of them were alone in Robyn's tent, she ventured to ask, "Will you go back to your home on the morrow?"

  Marian fussed with the straw pile and blankets attempting to arrange a more comfortable bed. "Yes, but I shan't be there long. Queen Eleanor has sent me on a mission."

  "Another one?" Robyn sighed and sat on a crate to pull off her boots.

  Marian glanced over at her. "You should have said you were in need of new stockings," she mentioned upon seeing toes and heel poking through the expanse of holes. "I am off to rally the northern nobles who are loyal to the King. She believes, rightly so methinks, that Prince John may yet attempt a rebellion."

  "Surely you will not be out alone!" Robyn exclaimed jumping to her feet.

  "No, silly goose!" Marian reached to take her hand and guide her down to the bed. "I shall take my little brother, Richard. It will be good for him to prepare for when he is Lord FitzWalter. Do not fear; we shall retain an armed escort. And, while Anna is not fit enough for the rigors of this journey, I'll bring her daughter, Juliana, as my handmaiden. Mother would never allow me to travel with a troop of men without a female attendant."

  Robyn thought about her own mother for the first time in a long while. I wonder what she would think of me now, pretending to be a boy, living in the woods with outlaws, killing the Sheriff… not the refined lady at court she must have dreamed I'd be.

  Marian apparently noticed the faraway look in Robyn's eyes. "What are you pondering?"

  Robyn lay beside her and pulled the blankets up. "When I was a little girl, I used to trifle with swords and go on hunts with Thomas, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine how my life would play out."

  "Regrets?"

  Robyn held Marian close and kissed her. "Other than being the sole survivor of my family, not a single one. And, by the by, happy birthday." She retrieved a leather-bound volume from a small box by the bed and handed it to Marian. "I picked it up off a merchant a couple of months ago and thought of you. Sorry, to give you stolen merchandise as a gift, but-"

  "Oh, Robyn!" she gushed with enthusiasm. "Chanson d'Antioche, the epic poem by Richard the Pilgrim, and it looks to be an original edition in French–I love it!" She beamed at Robyn with dreamy eyes. "And, I love you."

  *~*~*

  The next morning found the forest blanked in white with a soft snow still wafting through the bare branches. After Marian's departure, Robyn spent a few hours lulling about the campfire acting as if there was nothing to do but wait until King Richard returned. She knew her people needed tending to, but surely Little John and Gilbert do that.

  There was an uneasiness in her spirit, and while the others were merry with anticipation of Christmas, the arrival of the King, and the rewards that would follow, she brooded. She also had sense enough to know that was bad for her. So she forced herself to get up and go see Friar Tuck.

  She found him clearing snow from the top of his tent so that it would not collapse. "Good morrow," she said.

  "Humph!" he barked. "Is it now?" He gave the tie rope a secure tug and turned toward her breathing heavy from his labor. "Asides being past noon, 'tis a might cold and damp for my tastes. I reason a nice, strong ale is in order."

  "Gramercy, but none for me. I am here to... I want you to hear my confession."

  "Oh." Tuck was a bit surprised as no one had called upon him for that priestly function in quite some time. "Well, now, come inside and take a seat then. Considering the circumstances, we shall make this an informal sacrament; nevertheless, God sees and hears all, so it will count."

  Robyn sat beside the Friar on a bench that he, being a bit of a carpenter, had made for himself. After making the sign of the cross, she said, "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, it has been…" She stopped to consider. "Eight or nine months since my last confession." She clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. "I harbor secrets."

  "I expect most people do," Tuck replied benignly.

  "Aye, but I am not exactly who I have led you to believe I am."

  Tuck smiled and patted her knee. "We know that," he said in a tranquil timbre. Robyn felt a flicker of panic and her heartbeat began to race, but Tuck continued straightforwardly. "Gilbert and I have spoken of it. You are far too skilled, too well educated and too easy with command to be a simple street urchin. But we care not what noble house you ran away or were expelled from, and we care not why. We are simply glad that you found your way to us."

  Robyn's nerves relaxed and, satisfied with his explanation, nodded her head. "Thank you, but
that is not the main sin that burdens me. I killed the Sheriff."

  Tuck's first reaction was of unmasked joy, which he quickly reined in knowing that it did not suit the occasion. "Congratu–uh, I mean, by what manner?" he asked trying to tamp down the exuberance that wanted to burst forth at the news. "Did you put an arrow in him as he slept?"

  Robyn's head popped up with a scowl. "Certainly not! I fought him."

  "With a sword?" Tuck's eyes widened and he could no longer hide the pride and delight that shone in them.

  "Yes, well, a dagger actually, but we crossed swords."

  "By God's teeth, Robin! You defeated Godfrey Giffard in a duel? That is amazing!"

  Exasperation in her voice, Robyn tried to return Tuck's attention to the sacrament of penance. "I am not bragging, but rather seeking absolution."

  Tuck shook his head with a smile. "See here, lad," he explained in a fatherly tone. "The church does not consider killing another in a fair fight to be a sin at all. Trial by combat has long been recognized as a way, in fact, to prove guilt or innocence, for surely God will grant victory to the one whose cause is just."

  "You don't understand." She balled her hands into fists of frustration. "It isn't that I killed him that is the sin; it is that I wanted to. I went there with intent."

  "If wanting the merciless bastard dead is a sin, then I'm in need of absolution as well." The Friar let his enthusiasm fade. "Have you never killed a man before?"

  Robyn's head fell forward again, and she gave it a gentle shake. "I don't know. I've injured men paid to fight in battle, and whether or not they later contracted a fever or succumbed to their wounds, I know not; but I did not see them die, nor did I have any desire to kill them. But it was different with the Sheriff." Her gaze was fixed on the ground as she took a deep breath and continued. "You know by now that Will Scarlet and Roger the farrier were slain at the castle. It was a risk they undertook and a fair fight; I did not blame the Sheriff except for his foul action of throwing Will's mum into the dungeon to force him into an impossible situation. But it didn't end there. In his wrath, he slaughtered an entire village, and murdered his own deputy as well!"