Lady Marian

Chapter 21

Silence broke our path to the trysting tree and silence trailed behind us. At times Robin began to whistle, stopping himself mid-note to listen for the approach of hounds or men. The larks trilled above us to fill in the gaps in Robin's tune. I picked the last of the wildflowers growing along the path, soft pink foxglove and the final fading bluebells. Sometimes Robin would turn and smile at me, his green eyes relaxing against the turning foliage of the forest. At length the far-reaching top of the mighty oak came into view. Robin stopped in his tracks.

"We are almost there. You are alright, waiting here?"

I nodded, looking down at my faded flowers and torn gown. I attempted to smooth the wrinkles in my torn dress. There was no need to pinch my cheeks as they burned with embarrassment over my attire.

Robin did not seem to notice. "Little John will come for you," he said as he disappeared into a mass of trees and bushes.

I sat on a stump, beginning to undo the plaits I had struggled with only a short time before. My dark brown hair fell in waves down my back, reaching to my waist. I tucked my soiled gown around me, the same creamy blue silk with the yellow trim I had worn on the day of Robin's arrival, the same I had worn to rescue Lucy. It was ill suited for a lady of the forest.

My back straightened as footsteps approached me. The massive shadow of Little John's bulk loomed over me.

"Are you ready, Lady Marian?" he asked.

"Are you to give me away?"

Little John offered me his arm, as thick as one of the branches off the huge oak itself. "If you will allow me the honour. The forest is not the abbey, but it will be an honest ceremony."

I clutched my bouquet of wildflowers as I took Little John's proffered arm. He towered over me, parting bushes and brambles with his staff as we strolled towards the great oak tree. I paused to steady myself, terrified that despite the absence of the dogs' baying, my father had found us. The sheriff would string up Robin and his Merry Men from the gnarled limbs of the tree, dragging me off to be married to my cousin in London—a grand cathedral wedding with an archbishop presiding and a jeweled coronet placed over my veil.

Little John paused, annoyance playing on the tip of his tongue. "Are you quite alright? It is too late to change your mind now; I can tell you that much. The prince will not be taking you now."

"I have not changed my mind." I drew my shoulders back. "I only wanted to make sure we had not been followed."

The giant replied with a grunt, shrugged his shoulders, and tightened his grip on my arm.

We emerged from the bush into the clearing surrounding the tree. The last of the wildflower petals carpeted the forest flower in an aisle towards the tree, softening the crisp leaves underfoot. Soft hues of pink, yellow, and white flowers mingled with the amber and red leaves carpeting the forest floor. Hanging from the outstretched branches of the immense oak tree were strips of ribbons, waving their colours to and fro in the light breeze.

"We robbed a milliner from York of his finery a fortnight ago," Little John said. I smiled.

Under the great oak stood Father Tuck, his precious psalter in his hand. Flanking the tree, Will and Much, their faces scrubbed clean and their mismatched swords glinting in the sunlight on their belts, took their places like sentinels. And there, beside our priest, was my Robin. The red robes of earldom were missing, but to me he was glorious still in his Lincoln green tunic, his quiver and bow exchanged for a sword in an embossed sheath at his side.