Mark of the Black Arrow (30 page)

“Ha! Ordinary,” the bard replied. “How far do you think your church would have got if not for Peter, and after him Paul? Those were not ordinary men.” Alan shook his head. “You forget how much of your book you’ve taught me. Peter was gifted with incredible amounts of sheer, stubborn will that enabled him to achieve his goals. You are mule-headed, but you are no Peter. I’m sorry. And the apostle Paul was a miracle, a convert who had the perfect tools of persuasion and the physical fortitude to survive beatings and prison and
still
convince people to follow him to a new religion.”

Alan stepped close. “You had
hundreds
of Christians in the upper room, and yet you only ever hear about a handful. You only ever hear about the heroes.”

He stepped back and dropped his arms.

“If we don’t have a hero, this movement will die and we will all lose our heads.”

*  *  *

Marian rode away from the monastery, relieved that something would be done to address the suffering of the people. Yet they needed to do more than that. They needed to fashion a plan—a plot to displace John, once and for all. The usurper was the problem, the manifestation of the sickness that was lodged in the heart of England. Stealing a few shipments of coins and material goods wouldn’t be enough.

Lost in her thoughts as she skirted the edge of the woods, she didn’t notice the man standing just inside their shadow. Not until he strode out in front of her. Startled, she jerked the reins and her horse reared. When the animal’s hooves crashed back to earth she prepared to send him running.

Then she recognized Robin Longstride, staring up at her.

“I never meant to startle you,” he said.

“It was my fault,” she replied, recovering her composure, “for not being more mindful of my surroundings.”

“It has happened to me once or twice.”

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

“Hunting.”

Her eyes roved over him. The leather pants he wore fit well.
Very well.
His tunic was loose around his shoulders and gaping at the chest. A dirk the length of her forearm hung from his belt, and on his back he had both quiver and bow.

“So near dark? What game do you hunt?”

He stared at her. This close, his eyes looked near black, alive with a glittering intelligence that sparked at her subtle challenge. The long look pressed against her skin. With each moment that passed it grew, spreading under the clothes that hugged her so closely.

His gaze was intimate. So intimate that the need to move, to shift, to relieve the pressure of it swept over her. It was only her will—the fire in her belly from her mother’s blood—that held her still in her saddle.

A tiny smile tugged the corner of his full bottom lip and the pressure broke, trickling down her body to dissipate, though not disappear. His voice was so quiet when it came that it barely carried over the short space between them.

“You would ask that.” She didn’t know how to respond, and he looked up before she could. “Would you care to walk with me for a while?”

She knew she should get back to the castle, but, as she had told the others, it was unlikely that she would be missed. She nodded and accepted his help in dismounting. The touch of his hand on her arm sent a thrill through her. When she was on the ground he removed it, and instantly she missed it. He looped her horse’s reins over its head, and led him while they walked, side by side.

“How have you been?” she asked.

“Tired, but sleep is a terrible prey to hunt.” He chuckled and it warmed her. “So I am out in the forest, struggling to come to terms with all of the changes in my life.”

“The taxes?” she asked, as it was uppermost in her mind.

His features hardened. “They haven’t yet come to Longstride manor.”

She didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Please, Robin, don’t do anything rash.”

He took a deep breath. He wanted to tell her about the man buried on his land. He couldn’t. It would endanger her.

And she was a woman of kindness, not weakness, but a gentleness that soothed him. If she knew he had killed, much less how he’d done it…no.

He moved on. “That’s what my father would say.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he replied, and he relaxed a bit. “Truth is, I didn’t really appreciate him or his perspective until I had to plow a mile in his shoes.”

“Is it difficult to have him gone?”

“Even more than I would have imagined. I don’t know how he has the patience for it all.” He shook his head, a lock of dark hair falling across his eyes. “I’m not like him.”

“That’s not a crime, you know,” she said softly.

“
He
thought it was.” They walked along, not speaking for a moment. “I wish he was here now to tell me. I miss him, much as I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“He’ll come back to you,” she said, “and you are fortunate in that. I miss my parents every day, knowing that I’ll never see them again.”

“I’m careless to be complaining,” he said. “I didn’t mean to cause you distress.”

“You didn’t,” she said quickly. “There’s just… so much on my mind lately.”

Silence fell between them again. For a moment she wanted to take him into her confidence, tell him what she and the others were planning. She was sure he would approve. She stopped herself, though. It wasn’t her decision. She couldn’t risk it, no matter how much she wanted to.

A rustling in the brush just ahead of them interrupted her train of thought. Robin was instantly alert. He tossed her the reins and slung his bow off his shoulder. The horse shied away from the sudden movement, and she had to hang onto the reins to keep it from bolting. Robin stepped forward, a long arrow at half draw.

From the side of the road burst a small dark shape. It flew across the gap as if it had been flung, running and tumbling to the other side. The horse started again, yanking Marian a step backward.

From the same part of the brush a wolf leapt onto the road. It landed on three paws, one of its front legs a ragged stump. Dark fur bristled along the hump of its shoulder as it turned toward them and bared yellowed fangs. It growled, tongue lolling out of a muzzle shot through with gray. The horse reared at the sight of it, pulling the leather straps through her hands, burning them in a sharp line. She held on, but barely, her eyes not on the horse but on Robin.

He ran forward, taking four long strides to put him squarely between her and the predator. It hopped on its three legs, growling loudly. Robin pulled and loosed the arrow laid across his bow. It flew swift and straight, thudding into the ground under the wolf’s low-slung chest, striking so hard that the vibrating shaft smacked it across the muzzle.

The wolf snorted and jerked its head, hopping backward. It sneezed and looked up at Robin, who already had another arrow ready to fire.

“Go on and get,” Robin said. “Don’t make me kill you, old-timer.”

The wolf looked across the road where its prey had disappeared, and then back again.

Robin took another step.

The wolf dropped its tail and barked once, sharply. It turned and bolted in the direction from which it had come.

Marian dragged the horse over to Robin as he walked to the arrow sticking from the road, plucked it free, and dropped it into his quiver.

“You didn’t kill it.”

“It was a lone wolf, old and crippled and expelled from his pack. He was just trying to eat. That’s not worth dying over.” Something passed over his face—a sadness. “Not worth killing over.”

“What was it chasing?”

“I couldn’t see. Perhaps a rabbit?”

Soft, mewling cries, and then a growling whimper, came from beneath a blackberry bush.

Robin hopped off the edge of the road and waded through the underbrush a few steps. Locating the sound, he parted the branches of a bush, stopped, and stared for a long moment. Before she could ask what he saw he stood up with a baby fox in his hands. The tiny creature wriggled and whimpered and her heart went out to it.

“His mother would never have birthed her kits this close to the road,” Robin said. “He must have wandered off by himself, perhaps looking for her.”

“You think something has happened to her?”

“There’s no way to know, but he won’t survive on his own. He’s too young. Too small.”

“I’ll take him,” Marian said impulsively.

Robin looked at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. We’ve had enough orphans in these parts. I won’t see another.”

“Have you ever raised a wild creature?”

“Once, as a child. This one will be wanting milk and warmth.”

Robin handed her the tiny squirming ball of fur. She stroked him for a few seconds and held him close to her body for warmth. Within moments he had relaxed and fallen asleep.

“You’re a natural mother,” Robin said, his voice respectful.

“We shall see.”

Robin straightened and cleared his throat. “You should be getting back. It will be full dark soon.”

She nodded.

He held the fox and steadied her horse while she mounted. Once she was settled, he handed her the creature, which she carefully tucked into an inner pocket of her cloak. Then he gave her the reins.

“I might stop by the castle sometime,” he said, then he added with a subtle smile, “to check on the little fox, of course.”

“I’d welcome you any time,” she answered, feeling herself blush. “For the fox’s sake.”

“Be safe on the road.”

She nodded but made no motion to begin riding away. Again she felt the urge to tell him of her plans, but again she refrained. Robin had enough of his own worries trying to manage the manor in his father’s absence. She didn’t need to be adding to them.

“If there is anything I can do to help you,” she said instead, “please just ask.”

He smiled up at her, a full, dazzling smile that took her breath away. He didn’t say a word, just let go of her horse and took a step back into the forest. He gave her a little salute, and she urged her horse forward.

Don’t spoil the moment. Don’t look back. Don’t.

She turned and looked back. He was gone, disappeared into the forest from whence he’d come.

*  *  *

Chastity was waiting for her when she arrived at her room.

“You were gone a long time,” the girl said. There was no disapproval in her voice—just curiosity.

Marian trusted Chastity with her life, but she didn’t want to pull her in too deep. She couldn’t risk putting her friend in danger. If she kept this plan from her, though, it would be the first time in years that she hadn’t shared a confidence. So she reached inside her cloak and pulled out the baby fox, which looked up groggily.

“Look what I have found.”

“Oh, he’s adorable,” Chastity cooed. “Will you keep him?”

“Yes. I need to get him some milk.”

“I will go fetch you some supper and bring your milk,” Chastity said. “Then we can talk all about it.”

“All about what?” Marian’s breath caught in her chest.

“About how you met Robin in the woods,” Chastity said with a smirk.

Marian allowed herself a smile. “I do believe you are a mind reader.”

“No, but I am a face reader, and yours is an open book.”

Oh
, Marian thought,
that may not be the best thing.

*  *  *

By the time Chastity returned with the food and some milk for their new arrival, Marian had changed clothes. The baby fox sat on the bed watching everything with wide eyes. She thought she might have to soak a rag with milk, in order for him to suckle, but when Chastity set down a saucer he attacked, pouncing on the meal and able to drink it himself.

“So, shall we call your new pet Robin?” Chastity teased.

Marian rolled her eyes. “I can hardly do that. How would it look?”

“Well, then, what shall he be named? Lord Fox?”

“Too simple. Lord of the Greenwood?”

“Och, princess, that’s quite a mouthful when he needs chastised.”

“Perhaps.” Marian tapped her chin with her finger. “I think for now I will call him Champion.”

The fox looked up as if responding to his name, and she smiled. Heaven knew the kingdom needed a champion right now.

“Champion, Lord of the Greenwood,” Chastity said, softly stroking the russet fur. “Long may he protect us all.”

T
he dirt under his feet was so hard-packed that no dust came off it as he walked, putting one foot in front of the other. A bead of sweat hung on the end of his nose, shaking with each breath. He watched it as a way to pass the miles from the mill to his appointed delivery spot, losing himself in the mesmerizing shimmer, counting to himself how many steps the drop would hold and when it fell, as they all invariably did, how many steps until another formed.

“Ho, boy! No need to go further. We can take that up for you.”

Much turned at the booming voice, looking over the edge of the road and out into the field. Two men moved toward him, having left a team of horses behind. One man was older than his father, lean as a leather strap and looking twice as tough.

The other was a giant.

Much smiled as they drew near and lowered the crossbeam that held bags of meal and flour. Old Soldier put a hand on his arm, iron fingers squeezing the muscle. Pain shot through him, but he stood straight and didn’t flinch.

“I swear, we could unhitch that team, put you in their place, and not miss a step,” the grizzled old man teased.

Heat colored his cheeks. He pointed at the giant.

“He’s the one you should strap into the harness. Little John can out-pull two horses easy. I saw him do it at the Beltane festival last year.”

Little John threw his head back and laughed. “You were there?”

Old Soldier spat on the ground. “Everyone was there and you know it, you big lummox.”

Little John raised his arms and flexed. Biceps the size of melons bulged against the short sleeves of his light tunic.

“Not everyone has heard of the Mighty John.”

“Your head is bigger than your muscles.”

Much basked in the warmth of their companionship, listening as the two men joked with each other in easy camaraderie. Deep in his heart he longed for a friendship like that, someone who wouldn’t anger at a humorous insult, and would be there in times of need.