Heart of Sherwood Page 5

  "Absolutely," Marian vowed, "anything you need."

  Robyn took a step closer, into Marian's personal space, a space she had always been freely allowed to enter. "I want you to cut my hair, like a boy's. If I am to make this work, I must commit entirely to my new persona, Robin Hood. And I can't be wearing that bloody hood twenty-four hours a day." She drew her long, brown braid from her back over one shoulder where it dangled down to her waist. She couldn't help but gaze longingly at it. As much as she knew this was the right course—the only course—to take, she couldn't wholly shake the idea of it being further punishment. But she had to set those thoughts aside.

  Marian had no such lead in to Robyn's decision to purposefully cut her hair. Her eyes popped wide as she looked at Robyn. "Not your beautiful hair! Are you sure cutting your hair alone will be enough to convince people?"

  Her words did give Robyn pause, however. She lowered her head as she pondered. "I have thick brows, a strong chin, am tall and slender hipped, and they already think I'm a boy. Verily, people tend see what they expect to see."

  "I suppose you are right," Marian consented and reached one hand to stroke the long, acorn brown braid. Her hand traveled the length from just below Robyn's chin past her shoulder, knuckles brushing over her bound breasts. Robyn felt a sudden tingle, a tightness, a longing. Then Marian said, "If this is what truly you want, I will do it. Come, sit here at the dressing table."

  Dawn's radiance streamed through the window, casting the room in strong contrasts of light and shadow. Robyn took the seat while Marian withdrew a pair of shears from a drawer in the dressing table. "There's no going back from this," she warned. "It would take ten years for your hair to reach this length again."

  "I'll be lucky to live ten years," Robyn replied with a resigned sigh. "I'll never have my life back. Everything that I've ever known was swept away in an instant. The question now is how to proceed. This is the best scheme I could devise."

  Marian untied the leather cord at the base of Robyn's braid and wove her fingers through her hair loosening it. "And the second favor?"

  "I need to feed the poor, the homeless, the refugees, those that have come to us for help. I confess that I do not know how to accomplish that," Robyn admitted. "If I still had my lands and family resources, then it would be no problem; as it stands, I am as penniless as they are."

  With the braid loosed, Marian combed her fingers through Robyn's hair. For Robyn, it was an immensely pleasing sensation that drew away every bit of tension and apprehension leaving only calm serenity. Robyn relaxed her shoulders and leaned her head placidly into Marian's hands.

  For a moment it was as if there was no one else in the world–no war, no sheriff, no loss. Just Robyn and Marian and whatever was between them. In that instant, Robyn reasoned she could let it all go. If she and Marian ran away together and left everything behind, that would be fine by her. For just a twinkling, her world became everything she had hoped for.

  "I can give you some money to buy food for them," Marian offered as she continued to massage her fingers through Robyn's silky strands, "but it would only be a temporary remedy." And there was reality smashing the dream. Robyn had stopped running; she'd determined to take a stand and do right by her people.

  "Your charity is greatly appreciated, but I need your ideas," Robyn said, snapping back to the moment as Marian reached for the shears. "You always came up with the best schemes, the grandest pranks, and each one a greater success than the last."

  Memories brought a smile to Marian that touched her eyes. "Yes, but you were the one bold enough to carry them all out."

  "Only because I had faith that your plans would succeed and succeed they did."

  "Remember the time you poured ink in the town bully's ale? It turned his teeth black for a month!" Marian bubbled over with laughter.

  Robyn joined her lightness of spirit. "And the best part is he never learned who did it."

  "Well, you shall have my donation," Marian confirmed. "Come to think of it, I know quite a few nobles and merchants in these parts with deep pockets who could easily contribute to the cause. Why, they could feed your refugees for months and not even miss the coin."

  A look of dismay returned to Robyn's face. "Like I'll convince any of them to be charitable?"

  "Well." Robyn recognized the tone of Marian's voice at once; it meant she had a devilishly clever plan in mind. Brightness gleamed in Marian's intelligent eyes and a grin tugged at the bow of her lips. The shears went about their cutting and a woman's crown of glory fell unceremoniously to the floor. "Your band of outlaws, some swords, and some bows may convince them to part with their purses."

  And then the spark passed from Marian to Robyn. "Are you suggesting that we rob the rich to feed the poor?" She couldn't quite help the grin on her face as she said the words.

  "It's not like they will miss any meals, and I'm sure you can make better use of their excess blunt than they could. But you had better hurry," she added seriously, snipping the last bits of Robyn's hair. "Prince John is traveling about, raising more taxes. Queen Eleanor has raised two-thirds of the ransom from her holdings on the continent, but without the remaining portion she cannot secure the King's release. So you will need to hit them before the tax man does."

  "And Sir Guy?" Robyn asked, narrowing her brow. She raised her chin bringing her eyes to catch Marian's.

  "Sir Guy has recently lost his wife and is in search for a replacement. He seems to believe that I will suffice, but I assure you I have no intentions of accepting a marriage proposal from him, or anyone for that matter, until my father returns home."

  Robyn let out a sigh of relief, joy beaming in her eyes and her soul at the certainty she was right, that there was nothing to this rumor about Sir Guy.

  Then Marian took her by the hand and led her to a large looking glass. She stood beside her, showing off the results of the haircut. Robyn was rightly impressed. "I even look like a boy to me!"

  Marian laid her head on Robyn's shoulder reaching one arm around her waist gazing at their reflections. As Robyn peered into the mirror, she thought of what a lovely couple they made and how, if things were different, they could be together. She realized she yearned for that more than ever in her life, even as she inwardly quivered. Then Marian continued.

  "But I must consider marriage. After all, I will turn twenty in December. Most maids of our age are already wed. People are already saying, 'Marian thinks she is too good for anyone, how vain she is, and no man meets her expectations'."

  "Bollocks," Robyn uttered darkly, and like a mist, her dream disappeared. "With the likes of Giffard and Gisborne to choose from, a nunnery sounds like a fine idea."

  "I doubt either of us would survive in a nunnery," she said as she continued to linger at Robyn's side staring at the two of them in the looking glass. "We both love our freedom too much for that. And what of you? You turned twenty-two in May."

  She remembered my birthday, Robyn thought and smiled a little despite herself. "I think I have just laid that question to rest," she replied as she scrutinized the face, hair and dress of a pageboy in the mirror.

  "I wish I had options," said Marian gravely and lowered her chin casting her eyes to the floor.

  Of course she has options, thought Robyn. She can do whatever she wants. Then, without letting her brain have time to register the words, she blurted out in a playful manner, "Well, you can always come live in the forest with me and the outlaws." She meant it to sound like a joke, but in her heart she longed for nothing more.

  "Oh, Robyn." Marian let out a disappointed sigh. Her hands dropped to her side, and she stepped away, glancing around her room as she spoke. It was completely light by then. "I have responsibilities. I have my family and my station to consider." Marian avoided eye contact as she spoke.

  Robyn turned from the looking glass, her head lowered in regret at her own lost family. In that instant, Marian turned to Robyn, stepped close, and reached a hand to caress her cheek. Gently, she gui
ded Robyn's chin so that their eyes met.

  "I am so sorry," she began with heartfelt tenderness. "I didn't think, I didn't mean…"

  "Do not fret," Robyn replied. "I know what you meant." She lifted a hand up to stroke Marian's where it rested on her cheek. "Anyway, I am getting used to being alone now. Naturally you have obligations to your family. They expect to arrange a fine marriage for you with a young man from a noble house."

  "No, Robyn," Marian corrected her. She interlaced her fingers with Robyn's, which were already becoming rough from manual labor. Then she peered through Robyn's eyes straight into her soul and stated with absolute authority, "You are not alone; you are never alone. You will always have me." Marian stretched up and kissed her cheek.

  A moment passed between them, and Robyn wondered if Marian felt what she felt–the energy, the passion. The room was so silent Robyn could hear the pulsing of both their hearts. But before another word could pass between them, there came a frantic knock pounding at the door.

  Chapter Four

  "Maid Marian, come quick!" sounded a high-pitched, frantic voice.

  Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Marian made a shooing motion with her hand and placed a finger to her lips as Robyn backed herself against the wall behind the ingress.

  Marian opened the oak door just a crack and peeked out at a squat middle-aged woman with a round face, bug-eyes, and a button nose wearing a servant's apron and cap who nervously rocked from one foot to the other, a handkerchief gripped between two clenched hands. "Whatever is the matter, Anna?"

  "I knew you to be an early riser Mistress, so I came to your door first," she explained with a look of acute distress.

  "Yes, well, what is it?"

  "An emergency! The deputy is here with some soldiers to collect young Charles. They say he is to hang!" At that point she burst into tears, blubbering into the handkerchief she had wound so tightly in her hands, and Marian knew gleaning further information from the servant was futile.

  "Go tell them I will be there straight away to sort things out," Marian instructed. "I just have to dress."

  She then shut the door, latched it, and glanced at Robyn with concern.

  "Honestly," she muttered while rummaging through her wardrobe for the first day dress she could find. She slipped it on over her nightshift without bothering with the under garments. "If the Sheriff wants to play these games, can't he at least wait until a decent hour of the morning to begin?"

  "How can I help?" Robyn asked in a hushed voice. They both knew Robyn couldn't be found in Marian's rooms.

  "I'll handle this," Marian replied as she pulled up her stockings and slipped feet into her shoes. "When they think they can come onto our estate and snatch one of our mere boys to hang without our knowledge or consent, they have gone too far. What is the point of being noble if you do not have rights?"

  With a stern, impassive frown, Marian fastened a cord around her waist that held her coin pouch and a ring of keys. Normally the keeping of the keys fell to her mother, Lady FitzWalter as chatelaine, but with raising the younger children and worrying about her husband's safe return she had delegated that authority to Marian, saying it would help prepare her to be lady of her own manor someday.

  "Stay in here and hide," she quietly commanded, pinning Robyn with her gaze. "If the deputy was to find out you were here, 'twould be more than Charles' neck on the line."

  Robyn gave a silent nod and Marian scurried out the door where she met her mother and fourteen-year-old brother, Richard, who had been named after the King. Lady FitzWalter had tossed a surcoat on over her nightshift, her hair still tucked in its sleeping cap. Her eyes were dark and sunken, her lined face mirroring inward distress.

  "They can't just come and take away one of our people, now can they?" she asked incredulously.

  "It depends, Mother, on what they say he did and what proof or witnesses they have," Marian replied.

  Richard, trying to display an air of authority, spoke up. "Charles is only twelve years old, a mere child; what could he have done that warrants this outrage? Asides, the Sheriff has no right. He goes too far!" With that, he raised his chin attempting to stand as tall as Marian and crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.

  "Richard, stay here and look after Mother while I see what these men want and get rid of them."

  His face, half man and half child, drew into a pout. "You cannot relegate me to the house."

  "Oh, let your brother go out with you; he will lend credence to your words," their mother said. "But Richard, Marian should do the talking. She is more experienced at this kind of thing."

  He nodded, satisfied at getting to save face, and jumped in front to lead the way.

  *~*~*

  Inside Marian's bedchamber, Robyn slid to the floor where she wrapped her arms around her knees and lay her forehead on them, buried in thought. How can I sit here while that vile Sheriff's men want to cart off a little boy to hang, for no good reason I am sure? But if I go and they discover my identity, then I will hang. Oh Lord, who am I? she agonized.

  Confused, frustrated, and lost, Robyn sat pondering her life and her future. Then, as if carried on a breeze, a still, calm voice spoke to her. It wasn't an audible sound, but more of a stirring from somewhere within her own soul. "Who do you want to be?"

  Who do I want to be? She pondered the thought. I've just committed to being Robin Hood; so then the real question becomes, who is Robin Hood? She'd raised her head placing her chin on her pulled up knees and contemplated. Not merely a thief or an outlaw… no. Robin Hood is brave and chivalrous, a crusader for justice who fights for the poor and down-trodden. He brings hope to the hopeless. Robin Hood is more than a person–he's an idea; the idea that we can be more than we are, that we can be better than we ever imagined, that we can rise out of our circumstances and accomplish something great. That is who I want to be.

  Again she perceived that inner voice speak with conviction to her soul. "So, what's stopping you?"

  *~*~*

  Marian and Richard were met at the front door by a modest troop of serfs and servants who had gathered on the lawn. One, a distressed woman of thirty years with long, dark hair pulled back and covered with a green kerchief, was Charles' mother. Anna was huddled up beside her with a comforting arm wrapped around her waist and an angry scowl directed at the armed intruders.

  FitzWalter Manor was a comfortable, if not grand, two story mansion constructed of cob and timber with stone chimneys and trim, and a shale shingled roof. From the front lawn, one could see the straw thatched roofs of the small serf village outside the manor's fence. Loaded stables and a cheerful garden were nestled in back of the house, with grain fields and pastures extending out from the dwellings in wide wedges. Beyond that looped the vast forest transected by only a few roads. One was the road from Nottingham with its spur that led to the estate.

  Standing inside the open front gate, which had been closed for the night, were Deputy Edward Blanchard, two soldiers, and a squire holding the reins to four coursers. The deputy was an imposing figure of impressive stature and mature years. A frosted brown beard enveloped his square jaw and obscured his full cheeks while what hair was left on his nearly bald head was cropped short. He wore a black doublet over a white tunic with full sleeves and his onyx boots held a glossy shine. A sword hung at his waist and a bow and quiver were slung over his back. A soldier in chain mail wearing a steel helm with heavy nose guard stood on either side of him, each with his own strong blade. In two gloved hands, the soldier to the deputy's right gripped a gangly boy with wheat colored curls and a terrified face littered with freckles.

  As she regarded the interlopers, Marian's blood ran hot, and righteous rage flashed in her eyes. But she understood it was not wise to act in a rash manner where the Sheriff's men were concerned.

  After laying a hand on Richard's shoulder and fixing him with a glare of warning, she raised a pleasant, smiling face and strolled over toward the men as if they were invited guests. "Good
morrow, Deputy Blanchard," she greeted. "So early for you to call on us."

  "Good morrow, Maid Marian," he responded with a polite bow.

  She continued walking until she was almost near enough to touch them before planting both feet in the grass. "I see you have apprehended one of my serfs' boys. I am sure we can resolve this matter forthwith. What damage has he done? I shall pay for it," she said coolly while reaching for her coin purse.

  "No, Milady," Blanchard corrected with a stony, impassive expression, and continued in a detached tone. "There is a warrant for his arrest."

  This announcement took Marian by surprise, but she suppressed her emotions. She had to appear aloof and nonchalant. The deputy withdrew a rolled parchment from his doublet and handed it to her. Marian hurriedly read it. "Poaching?" she gasped in astonishment. "This child? Pray tell, what creature has he allegedly killed?"

  "He was seen hauling a dead boar through the forest," Blanchard explained.

  Marian let out a laugh. "Am I supposed to believe this scrawny little urchin was carrying a beast that obviously weighed much more than he does? Did your witness see him kill the boar?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Then how do you know he didn't just happen upon a dead animal and decide to take it home for dinner–provided he could physically do so?" she asked incredulously.

  "But Milady, he should never have entered the forest," rebutted the deputy. "That is king's land, and it is prohibited."

  "Now, now, you know children; they wander off," Marian continued in her most charming tone. Her gaze passed over the skinny child on its way back to the warrant. "I don't see a trial date," she said and returned it to Deputy Blanchard. He rolled it up without a glance and tucked it inside his vest. "I am certs there will not be enough evidence to convict him of poaching. Mayhap there is a lesser crime of trespassing in the forest he can be accused of."