Lady Marian

Chapter 32

On a glorious winter night, the sky wore dark velvety hues of blue and black. The stars, ever shifting in their circuits, glistened like faraway torch lights. The expanse of snow before us seemed to be made from the same cloth as the moon, shimmering with a silvery white glow to guide us home from Christmas Eve mass. In the crowded Locksley church, Robin and I had blended in as well as paupers. If any serf knew better, he kept his eyes trained on the priest's sallow skin. As I linked an arm through Robin's and searched the sky for the archer Orion, I began to feel a little of the weight of the last weeks lifting off my bone-tired shoulders.

It was Christmas, after all, and Robin and I were together. Living in a cave, still striving against the sheriff, but together.

We took the hike back to the lair in silence, the only noise the soft crunch of snow under our rabbit skin boots and the midnight wind weaving between bare branches. Robin held me close to him as he helped me ease down the riverbank, up the ladder, and into the cozy warmth of our cave. I blinked in astonishment as I entered.

In our absence, the Merry Men, under Sarah's direction, no doubt, had decorated the cave with fresh bows of pine. Their scent in the small space was overwhelming. A jug of warm ale bubbled next to the fire. Over the glowing coals, a fat bird was bubbling as it roasted. The tapestry dividing the rooms was pulled back. In mine and Robin's "chamber"—as Much referred to it—sat a little pinewood cradle, ready to be rocked.

"A happy Christmas, to yee," Little John bellowed, pouring out the ale and clapping Robin on the shoulder.

I inspected the fine craftsmanship of the cradle, running my hands down its smooth seams. My hands, hardened by months in the forest but a lady's hand still, caught no splinters. Inside was a small quilt. I recognized Susan Scarlettt's careful stitches.

"We wanted to give you a present," Much announced. "A cradle seemed best suited at this time."

"It will not be used for a few more months." I smiled. "It is beautiful, thank you. I did not think you knew. Your wife has been telling secrets, I warrant."

Sarah blushed and began carving the bird as if it was Prince John himself.

I leaned against the wall of the cave, rubbing my small belly and swaying the cradle back and forth. The contentment inside of me swelled with a warmth that contrasted to the snow and ice around us. Listening as Tuck and Little John started to sing, watching a broad grin pass over Robin's face as he looked my way, my eyes grew heavy and I fell asleep, my head resting on Susan Scarlettt's baby quilt.

* * *

The winter was not without hardships. What vegetables were left from the spring had been eaten before they rotted. The merchants' carts came infrequently to Nottingham now, although they braved the Forest Road more often than naught, preferring a road sheltered by the trees but guarded by outlaws to one where the wheels caught in deep snow and winter winds blasted the driver's face. Much trapped small animals. Sarah turned them into stews that were more thin gravy than meat and vegetables. Robin hunted stags. The savage howling of the wolves at night kept me awake. We began to fear the stalking of wolves in addition to an ambush.

The hardest of the winter passed with scarcely a sighting of one of Sir Guy's men. I longed for the spring in anticipation that we would fight once again as the flowers bloomed below us. We would take arms against the sheriff, and this time, I would not let an opportunity pass me by.

Wrong. In the spring I would be too cumbersome to fight. By the time the apple blossoms faded, I would be rocking a child in the cradle the men had put together from the limbs of trees from the forest that sustained us, sheltered us. Someone else would have to deliver the death blow.