Lady Marian

Chapter 5

"Get out of here, Marian. Run into the forest," Robin hissed.

"Not without you." I stood rooted to the spot. For the first time, I noticed the sword dangling at Robin's side, emblazoned with a cross on the pommel.

"I will not run without a fight."

"Fighting is not what I wanted you to return for," I said.

The dull thump of hoof beats in the lane were unmistakable. The clank of armour against swords and bucklers joined in with the din. Across the yard, the bright orange glare of torchlight appeared in the casements of the manor house, flitting from window from window.

Robin ran his brawny hands through his already disheveled brown locks. "It is no use; they will see you running away. Up Marian, up into the hayloft—not a sound. And do not—do not come out Marian, for anything."

Without pausing to stop to kiss me, he pushed me up the old worn ladder into the hayloft. Not caring whether the timbers were charred or not, I scurried away into the furthest corner of the loft, burrowing into the dank hay like some sort of terrified creature. I crossed myself and bit through my lip as the hoof beats came to a dizzying halt in the stable yard.

"Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, you are hereby under arrest," the sheriff himself announced.

"On what charges?"

"For aiding in the escape of the convicted felon William Scarlett."

"You must not expect me to come quietly, bringing so many men with you."

"You do not deny the charges?"

"I do not deny anything."

The sound of a steel blade escaping its sheath sliced through the air.

"You will cooperate and come with us, Lord Huntingdon, and your charge may not be so severe."

I had never heard that tone in Sir Guy's voice before, the slow and steady measured speech of a man on the hunt, not for game or for sport, but on the hunt for any other man that may be a stumbling block, an obstacle, on his mission to bind Fortune down and capture greater power.

"If you would behead a common boy as if he were Lord Chancellor, what you have in store for me I do not wish to know."

The second sounding of steel burst forth. I sucked in my breath.

"You forget, Robert, I too am trained in the art of war." The soft sound of circling footsteps worked their way to my ears.

"Not in my war," was Robin's quick reply. The unmistakable strike of steel on steel followed his statement.

A few soldiers cheered. Some implement of farming crashed. I squeezed my eyes closed shut, praying to our Holy Mother for swift rescue. Oaths and jeers, metallic echoes and splintering timbers, sounded off like lightning below me.

A pause. I opened one eye, straining through the cracks in the floor of the hayloft to see Robin and Sir Guy, squaring off against each other like two fierce cats ready to seize their prey. The sheriff gestured with his wrist. A few soldiers ran forward, screaming as if arresting one man was their own Crusade. Robin's sword seemed to dance through the air, the blade glancing off chainmail as the first soldier tumbled to the floor.

"My fight is not with you," Robin warned. "Do not make it so."

The soldiers charged forward, maces and swords posed to do their worst work. I held my breath as I temporarily lost sight of them. Suddenly, the soldiers emerged back into view. In the next instant, a dagger flew through the air into the chest of an approaching soldier. The misericord anchored itself between the chinks in his mail, standing to attention as the soldier dropped to his knees.

Robin rushed forward. He lashed out, thrusting a quick stroke to the shoulder of a burly guard, retrieving his dagger from the dead man's chest. Robin hammered the pommel of his sword against the soldier's helmet, unleashing a reverberation of steel on steel throughout the barn. Circling a new foe, Robin twirled the dagger in his left hand, taunting the soldier.

The back door of the stable slammed shut, with the ominous sound of a bolt sliding into place. I bit deeper into my lip to avoid the urge to scream.

"Torch it. Let him die like his father," Sir Guy said.

With a shout, Robin launched himself towards the soldiers, steel flashing against mail, his body ever shifting against the blades and lances that sought to bring him to a bloody halt. With one final shriek, he brought the heel of his boot in contact with the sheriff's stomach, sending Sir Guy flying into the frame of the doorway.

I scrambled to the loft window in time to watch Pan burst out of the paddock in response to Robin's low whistle. The white ghost of a horse loped alongside Robin. He gripped his mane, lifting himself onto the warhorse's back. Robin and Pan galloped off into the dense growth of the forest, with able-bodied soldiers and the sheriff scrambling to mount their horses and give chase.

I know not how long I waited. My heartbeat rose and fell in a dizzying dance with each new set of footfalls that entered the stable. Robin's steward came to turn out the soldiers that could walk. A servant arrived to drag off the ones that could not. One by one the voices in the stable yard drifted off.

I was a fool for leaving my bed. I was a fool for thinking the sheriff would leave Robin alone. I would be caught. If Father was merciful, I would have my own cell in a nunnery in Lombardy. If Father was cruel, and he was usually cruel, some baron's servant would retrieve me within a fortnight. And Robin—oh, Robin. Tears glided down my face. It would be better for him if he were still in the Holy Land. He should keep riding until he reached Scotland. Anywhere but England.

Thin fingers of dawn were coaxing away the night when at last I emerged from the stable. Bits of sour hay clung to my hair and dress like a bad dream. I found Shadowcrest in the paddock, complacently munching on sumptuous Huntingdon grass. As if she were a battle proven stallion and not a lady's walking horse, I urged her through meadows and hills, back the way we had come, never slowing our pace until she lay panting in the Arlingford paddock and I against the back of my chamber door, chest heaving, listening for any signs of stirring in the manor halls.

I had not been found out—yet.

Remembering the Saint Sebastian medallion, not even my chamber seemed safe anymore. I slid over to my dressing table and worked the sapphire ring off my finger. With fumbling hands, I found an old pouch pushed to the back of a drawer. Mother had used it to carry dried lavender from her native Aquitaine beneath her dress. I dropped the precious ring inside the pouch and arranged it under my gown.

Trembling, I sat on the edge of the bed I had not slept in, watching out the window for I know not what. In the early morning daylight, the soft green buds appearing on the trees of the great Sherwood Forest shivered in the breeze. Somewhere in there was my Robin, shrouded by deep undergrowth and aligned with outlaws. I prayed the woods hid him well.