~ by Avellina Balestri
Author’s Note: This is an excerpt of a flashback that takes place in Longbows & Rosary Beads, a Robin Hood retelling series-in-progress.
~
The shadow of a figure in simple-cut huntsman’s garb cast itself along the shimmering emerald of the forest ferns. It moved swiftly between the trees, like the deer, quick-footed and agile. Yet in spite of the man’s attire, the spirit of the place seemed to know a woman’s soul had come to seek out the secrets of its depths.
When she came to a grove of oaks, she paused, pulled the hunting horn from her belt, and blew into it with all her might, letting the echo resound through the morning mist like a clarion call. As the last note died away, several seconds of silence past. Then from out of nowhere, an arrow split the air with a whizzing accuracy and stuck into a tree to her right. She jumped at the start, then whirled around.
“Is that how you face off a FitzWalter lass, shooting from the bushes at her, eh? How manly, Robin-of-the-hood!”
The archer poked his head out from the shrubbery, and his eyes were as mischievous as she remembered them. “…of the hood?”
“That’s what they’re calling you, after your glorious stunt at the festival, risking life and limb for a golden arrow and a maiden’s kiss.” She crossed her arms. “Use it, why don’t you? Christian name and outlaw name, side-by-side. Fits your paradoxical self to a tee.”
“As you wish,” he conceded, coming out from the brush and going over to her. He regarded her, almost shyly. “You look…good, Marian.”
“No, you don’t!” she shot back. “Don’t give me that ‘looking good’ nonsense, as if we don’t know each other from Adam! I’ll not stand for it!”
“Well, you have been gone for two years…and out to the city…I thought that you might…”
“Thought I might what?” she demanded.
“Change,” he filled in quietly.
“What, in two years time? A mere drop in the bucket.”
He smiled now, almost in relief. “Fine, I’ll try for introductions again.” He pretended to scowl. “You look ghastly, Marian…almost as if they managed to make a lady out of you or something out there, no matter how hard you try to hide it under your current scandalous garb…”
She kicked him lightly in the shins, and he made as if it were a much harder hit than it was, and they both found themselves wrestling like 10-year-olds in a nearby pile of leaves. She soon had him pinned down with his back to the ground, begging for mercy. “Alright, alright, I surrender!” he yelped, throwing up his hands dramatically, as she tossed a final handful of leaves in his direction.
“Are you sorry?” she demanded, crossing her arms.
“Surely…shall I don sackcloth and ashes to convince you?”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Oh, bother. Don’t go to such lengths.” She leaned over on top of him and started picking bits of leaf out of his golden-brown hair. “Still the Locksley curls, I see,” she noted his family trademark.
“And still the FitzWalter temper, I see!” he shot right back. “The Lionheart would have done himself a favor to conscript you into his ranks. Saladin and the whole Saracen host would shrink in terror at your approach, especially armor clad, swinging a battle-axe! The stuff of nightmares, I say!”
“Ha, ha,” she snorted. “It’s more fun to use it on know-it-all Saxons.”
“For shame, m’lady,” he feigned insult. “You should have been born in time for the Conquest! All that hot Norman blood just boiling inside you, without any proper direction…”
“Oh, I found my direction alright,” she decided, and glanced around her at the trees of Sherwood.
He smiled again, wistfully. “I had a feeling they’d call you back.”
“Ever talk to trees, my young lord?”
“But of course,” he replied, waving his hand broadly. “I am their prince, and they are the nobles of my hall, ever stalwart, ever true!”
“So am I the princess of your hall, then? Like your Saxon shield-maidens?”
“Like my mother,” he decided softly. “Now, she was formidable to behold. Could walk into a room and stare down the hardest man with the sharpest weapon, and make him depart in peace by a mere glance. My father called her his first and last line of defense.”
“Ah, so you need defending then?”
“Maybe…just a little…most likely from my yeomen, if one of my jokes falls flat…”
“Speaking of your merry band,” she sighed, shaking her head, “how is dear Cousin Will? I caught word he’d rushed out here after you when the first reward poster was printed.”
“Oh, he’s still crazy,” he sighed. “Still chasing petticoats. Still wearing that silly scarlet sash.”
“Oh, help,” she huffed. “Even in the forest?”
“I’m trying to break him of it, but he’s refusing to be broken, little fool! Proud as a Christmas cardinal, that one!”
“And how about Owain? I can’t imagine wild horses could have kept him back from joining your band. You were inseparable as boys.”
“Yes, he’s with us now,” Robin confirmed, “Can’t keep a Welshman from doing as he pleases. It would be easier keeping a dragon tame.”
“And we know he was never tame,” she chuckled, “even in our childhood games, he was always the wild one.”
“Indeed, but…it’s a wild world we’re living in now. He might be able to teach us a thing or two about surviving it.”
“And what about Old Jacob?” Marian queried. “Is he well?”
“As fine a poacher as ever,” he assured. “Still in strapping health, too…”
“Thanks to you,” she added softly. “Oh, yes, I heard that part too. You kept him from being pilloried, even though…you knew how much it would cost you.”
Robin shrugged. “Jacob’s always been a good, honest man, just trying to help others survive.”
“An apt description for someone else I know…” She then brushed her thumb across his cheek affectionately. “Still shaving, even out here. You impress me. I was expecting you to have turned into a haggard wild man with whiskers down to the ground.”
“Ah, well,” he shrugged. “Why hide such facial splendor from the masses, what?”
She punched him in the shoulder. “Narcissist.”
“At least I’m not taking beauty baths for my complexion, like some London ladies do.”
“And you could use one, too,” she decided. “There is a pool out here under the falls, if I recall correctly, and I might just decide to make you a grand coming home present of some soap…nice, French, scented soap…”
“Oh, God almighty…I’m not going to be smelling like a girl, you hear?”
“Not like a girl!” she protested. “Like…a flower.”
“Well, thank you for clarifying.”
“A nice, Norman flower…”
“Alright, this is your last invitation out here!”
He started to try and get up, but she pinned him back against the ground. “You don’t mean that,” she said, suddenly in earnest.
He met her gaze with an equal measure of sincerity. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”
She smiled softly, then lay down alongside him, moving her head onto his chest. They just lay there like that for a long time beneath the canopy of the forest, until she heard his heart start racing under his shirt.
“Free with your affections, aren’t you?” he twitted, starting to push her off and sit up.
“Why, Robin of Locksley!” she exclaimed. “You’re blushing as red as an autumn apple! It’s adorable!”
“We’ve, eh, not had much female company around these parts…”
“And I set you aflame?”
“Why you naughty little daughter of Eve, I think you’re altogether enjoying this,” he pretended to scold her, but was obviously enjoying it too. “Come on, get me up already!”
She sighed and got to her feet, then stretched her hand down to help him up. They kept their hands entwined as they wandered through the woods, listening to the breeze whispering secrets through the last of the autumn leaves.
“Did you think of me, when you felt the wind walking like it is today, Robin?” she asked.
He nodded. “You’re one with it, Marian.”
“I spoke to it all the time, when they wouldn’t let me write you,” she told him. “I knew it loved to blow through the forest, and you were always there.”
“I figured that they would keep your time fully employed at court.” He turned to her. “So…what’s it like being the sheriff’s lady?”
He fast realized that was the wrong choice of words, as Marian vengefully yanked at his ear. “I am not his lady!”
“Och…alright, already…” he exhaled. “It’s just…they said you two were almost inseparable as a pair together in London…”
“And since when do you take rumors on their word?” she challenged. “Had you been out in London, you’d understand…the place crawls with insects in knightly attire.”
“And he was the lesser of assorted evils?”
“He kept an eye on me, yes,” she replied, evading direct eye contact with him. “And I’ll admit that…well, he was safer for me to be with. Whatever other vile things he’s capable of, he’s not the type to push a lady into a side room to debauch her. Besides my father wanted me to hold out for the best. The more time I spent with Cavendish, the further down on his list, the more unlikely it was for me to make a match. And the more likely…for me to get home.”
“I’m sorry for your father’s death,” Robin said quietly. “It must have been a shock for you.”
“Not half as much of a shock as when I learned what happened to your father,” she ground out, guilt tingeing her tone. “Being made to watch his hall burn was as good as killing him with the sword. I might have cause to mourn my father, but you have none. He did nothing to help yours in his hour of greatest need. And he sent me away…” She turned to make eye contact, her hands bunched into fists in suppressed anger. “When I found out…what happened…what they did to you, your father, and your home…I could have taken up a crossbow, and fired at the whole lot of them!”
“I thought upon doing something similar myself, in the heat of it,” he admitted. “Hereward the Wake did in his day. It’s in my blood. But then I’d just be giving the lords what they wanted all along. A Locksley murderer. And I suppose…after a while, I started to pity them. They’ve put blood on their hands they can never clean off, for all their lands and gear. They can’t get away with it, inside themselves. It will weigh heavy on them as time passes…even for your sheriff…”
“He’s not my anything!”
“Your…chaperone, perhaps?” Robin offered.
She groaned, then turned her eyes down. “He was just out for himself anyway…”
“But he kept wandering hands off you, and didn’t try to touch you himself,” he noted. “That’s why you still keep his company. You trust him in some way. You’ve… bonded.”
“Not as far as his dirty alliances and backroom policies I haven’t, damn him!” she swore.
“But still…I’ve seen you with him, and I know…”
“Know what?” she snapped.
“He’s…part of you now. Part of your life, whether you wanted it or not. And you could not do him willful injury. No, not even with your blood boiling, Marian.”
“You know nothing of it! Do you think I could ever care for the one who caused you pain?” she demanded turning away from him, her own voice ringing with a confused sort of hurt.
He reached out, and turned her face back towards him to meet her gaze. “I never lost faith in you, no matter what Cavendish, or even my father, told me. They mocked me, and I wouldn’t listen. I believed you’d come back…even when I was afraid, I felt it, I knew it, deeper than any doubt could gnaw.”
“Then why are you asking me these questions?”
“I just think…you have a heart for suffering people, even for him.”
“And how is he suffering?” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “He’s gotten his way, hasn’t he?”
“We know he hasn’t always gotten his way,” Robin noted somberly. “There are memories that will haunt him unto death. No amount of power or prestige can change that. He sees destroying me as a way to undo so many things, but it will never work for him. But he’ll always try, always seeking some peace he cannot attain…”
“He’ll never get the chance to take you, Robin,” she stated, stern as a stone. “He’s a lonesome fool with me, often enough; I’ll know what he’s about. He’ll never catch you, while I have my seat next to him at banquet hall or May crowning.”
He squinted. “Such a task would compromise you, surely…”
“It would make me feel there was at least some real benefit in forgiving him for…what was done, after he begged it of me.” She turned her eyes down. “As you say, blood upon blood would do no man good, including him. So I’m doing you both some service, no?”
“So…what you’re offering is to be my partner in crime?”
“Partners, yes.” Letting her inner tomboy take over, she spit into her hand, and extended it to him. “But mind you, Young Locksley, I won’t be talked down to, even by a robber prince.”
“Aww, but surely some hearty soul must set out to tame the shrew!”
“Shrews bite, you know.”
“Uh-huh,” he sighed. “Just remember the old song, about the wife who wouldn’t do her chores, and got a good thrashing in an old mare’s skin?”
“And do you happen to remember what happened after that, clever one?”
“I’m sure you’ll remind me…”
“The mare’s soul and the woman’s soul became one, and hearing the wind calling for her over the moors, said to that scum of a man, ‘I won’t lay down my pride!’”
“No wonder you love your horses so dearly…”
“And she got up on her fine hooves, tossed her mane, and cried, ‘it’s enough for me, enough for me, to live at large with liberty!’”
“And that’s enough for you, my girl?” he beamed.
“Isn’t it enough for you, Master of the Greenwood? And would you really keep company with any woman who wanted less for herself than you did?”
“Hell, no!” he laughed, taking her hand and then pulling her into his arms with a genial roughness. “But sometimes it’s a pleasure to be bound by someone else, you know…”
“You, bound?” she queried teasingly.
“Incorrigibly. What about you?”
“Well, I didn’t come all the way out here to…to…feed the squirrels, did I?”
Again he burst into laughter. “You’ve always been out looking for trouble. But what would the world do without troublemakers like us?”
“Probably despair,” she noted, suddenly solemn. She turned back to him again. “But we won’t let that happen, will we?”
“Nah, we’re midlanders, tenacious folk to the core,” he stated. “We scare away gloom by laughing in its face – our secret weapon, even when we can’t see straight in front of us.” He paused, squeezed her hand. “Besides, it’s our pact, remember? We make trouble together, always have…”
“Oh, you mean when I was thirteen and cut my finger on a blackberry thorn bush, and you cut it on the same thorn, and we promised to get married?”
“All that I know, all that is home, all that is made of blood and bone, I bind to rise or fall for the love of thee…” he recited in a faraway voice.
“You still remember!”
“You thought I forgot?”
“Absence can make one’s memory grow dull…”
“And one’s heart grow sharp as a thorn’s point. It makes the meeting ever sweeter, like the berries from the bush.”
She looked up as a laverock sang. “The birds still sing in the trees. You said you’d wait for me as long as they did.”
“I did. And you?”
“Even if all the birds were gone now…I’d still be waiting for you, Robin.”