Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) (24 page)

Marian pretended not to notice their discomfort and lavished the people around her with bright smiles, keeping up an enthusiastic stream of chatter with Robin as they waited their turn for their food. Once they had obtained full trenchers, she readily followed her sister over to the oak, and when Robin sank down upon the moss, Marian followed suit without any hesitation. For a moment, she just sat and looked around her, taking in the hearty scene with a feeling of contentment. Then picking up her roast, she prepared to take a demure bite, but paused, cognizant of the people watching her out of the corner of their eyes. Giving them an affable smile, she raised her meat toward them in a small toast, and then tore into it with such ferocity that it made several of the band laugh to witness. Robin sensed their discomfort beginning to ease.

“Whatever happened to the girl who was always so proper?” she asked her sister, bemused.

“She became an outlaw. When an outlaw, do as the other outlaws do,” Marian told her happily, indicating the other voracious eaters with her piece of roast.

“I am not sure I like this new outlaw,” Will Gamwell teased, stealing into the space at Robin’s right side so he could talk to them both at once. Little John, who had been walking toward his customary spot before this unwitting usurpation took place, froze in his tracks. No one noticed. “She is messy.”

Marian rolled her eyes in a very unladylike manner and caught sight of a disturbance by the bonfire. “Ooh, what is happening?” Marian asked with concern as several men began to wrestle. “Why are they fighting?”

“They are just having fun,” Robin reassured her. “Every night, the men compete in wrestling, cudgeling, or archery matches; it provides us with entertainment and gives the men a way to show off their skills and to let out their energies. Look, that one match over there just finished. See how the wrestlers are smiling?”

“Not really,” Marian admitted, craning her head for a better look.

Robin frowned at the obstruction. “Little John, could you please step aside? You are in the way.”

He obeyed without a word, taking his trencher to the far side of the fire.

“They are definitely showing off,” Will whispered to Robin, not altogether approving. The men were certainly being more flamboyant than usual, performing extravagant moves and maneuvers, followed by quick glances at the brunette maid to see if she was impressed.

Soon the other wrestling bouts ended as well, and Robin waited to see if another affable match would begin.

“Scarlet!” a loud voice boomed, commanding everyone’s attention. It was Little John, looking very formidable. He was standing in front of the fire with his legs spread apart in a challenging stance, twirling his new cudgel viciously fast through his hands. “Do you plan to recline at your ease all evening, or are you man enough to face me in a bout?”

“He
definitely
does not like me,” Will told his cousin as he rose to his feet.

Robin bit back a protest as Murray tossed Will a staff. Little John might be all patience in her lessons, but in a fight he showed no such restraint. If he were not careful, he would hurt Will. Why was he behaving like such a dolt?

Little John and Will Gamwell began to circle each other like riled dogs, sizing each other up for weakness. Without warning, Little John struck. A terrible crack rang through the forest as Will brought his staff up to block the blow.

“This is still just in fun, right?” Marian asked in an undertone, her expression worried. Robin did not answer.

This was no playful match, she knew that without a doubt. Both fighters were straining too hard, their lips curled back and their muscles stretched taut as they aimed to fell their opponent. The clearing echoed with the sound of their blows, and Robin felt Marian seize her hand for comfort, her eyes widening with anxiety and terror as the two men strove against each other.

In spite of Robin’s terrible fear that one of them would get hurt, she could not help admiring the fighters’ skill. She had never seen Will use a cudgel before, but clearly he was no stranger to the weapon. Little John, who usually finished off an opponent within minutes—if not seconds—of starting, seemed equally surprised by the strength and stamina of his scarlet foe. He gritted his teeth and renewed his attack.

Half an hour later, the two men were pouring sweat, each glaring fiercely at the other. The spectators watched them in awe—no bout had ever lasted this long before!

If only I did not care for these two challengers as much as I do! How I would love to cheer this duel on, as everyone else seems to be doing
, Robin agonized. Instead, she stood with her heart in her throat, her hand clutched in Marian’s, fearing the crippling blow that would strike down one of her two men.

A shout went up—Will had barely managed to duck under a blow, and Little John’s staff had instead struck the fire, knocking forth a brand. Hot sparks peppered Will, and in that moment of distraction, Little John struck again. His blow caught Will upside the head, and he fell in a daze to the ground. Eyes gleaming with triumph, Little John readied his staff for the winning blow, his eyes shooting for the barest instant to where Robin was standing . . . and in that moment, Will flipped back onto his feet and rammed the end of his staff into Little John’s stomach.

The air went out of John with a
whoosh!
Will did not wait. He hooked his staff under Little John’s cudgel and wrenched it from his grasp; with a final swing, he smote John a blow upon the head so hard that it sounded as if someone had felled a tree, and Little John crumpled to the ground and did not move.

“Is he dead?” Marian asked, sounding close to tears.

Dead, dead, dead
. The chorus rang through Robin’s mind as she blindly forced her way through the crowd, trying to get to Little John. At last, she broke through the circle of onlookers and immediately skidded to a halt, not certain if she could endure any more shocks that day.

Will had laid down his cudgel and was helping a grimacing Little John to his feet. Both men were gingerly touching their crowns; their fingers came away bloody. Without warning, Will stretched out his hand, and after a second’s hesitation, Little John took it, their bloodstained palms sealing their peace.

“Well done, Scarlet,” Little John rumbled amidst the cheers. “Well done.”

Then, with their arms around each other’s shoulders like the best of friends, the two men staggered back to the Trysting Tree and to an anxious Marian, leaving an astounded Robin to watch them go.

CHAPTER 15

MANY SECRETS

“SO, WHAT IS going on between you and Little John?” Marian asked curiously, wiping a strand of wind-tossed hair out of her eyes. She was kneeling in an amber meadow, hunting through the blazing autumnal leaves for herbs and roots for Edra. Her arms and face were streaked with dirt, but Robin, who had offered to help her, was still mostly clean, and was staring into the shrouded sky for the fifth time that hour, her gathering forgotten.

Robin’s thoughts flew back to her with alarming haste. Marian had ceased in her collecting and was innocently weaving a rich green sprig of maidenhair fern through her hair; she watched Robin’s reaction to her question with avid interest.

“There is nothing going on,” Robin replied a shade too quickly, standing up and dumping the few scraggly plants she had gathered into Marian’s basket. “Nothing at all.”

“Ah, I see. And is that the same sort of nothing that was going on that time I caught you making doe-eyes at the miller’s son?” Marian teased.

“I have not been making doe-eyes at John!”

“Protest all you like, dear sister,” Marian replied, getting up and looping her basket over one arm while she dusted stray leaves from her skirt. “Even
he
noticed you staring at him last night.”

Robin blushed. She certainly had not
meant
to gape. She had just lost track of her thoughts until John, feeling her eyes on him, had turned to her and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Ever since the fight with Will, her friendship with Little John had grown even stronger—especially once Little John realized she had no desire to replace him with her cousin. But that closeness meant Robin was even more hard-pressed to control her feelings toward him, and last night she had let her defenses lapse.

“It was just a stare,” she protested dully. “Nothing more. And Little John accepted my excuse easily enough.”

“Because he thinks you are a man,” Marian filled in.

“Exactly.”

“If you told him the truth about yourself, he would not see you that way anymore.”

“I—” Robin snapped her mouth shut, afraid that if she said anything more, if she listened to that calm voice of encouragement, she would be tempted to do just that. And there were a thousand reasons why telling John the truth would be a terrible idea.

“Just think it over, all right?” Marian asked, wrapping an arm through one of Robin’s. “Love is a wonderful thing; we should not have to hide it.”

* * * * *

Back at the camp, Marian unloaded her basket of herbs in Edra’s hut while Robin waited outside.

“I hope no one is at the stream right now,” Marian exclaimed when she returned. “I cannot wait to wash this stink off me!”

“How can you stand the reek?” Robin asked, wrinkling her nose at the cabin. A mere whiff of the interior was enough to give Robin a headache; she could not imagine having to live there.

“Oh, you get accustomed to it after a while. But my skin is covered in the smell right now, and I want to be able to sit among people tonight.”

With a small wave, Marian headed for the stream, climbing down the granite rocks to the shallow pool that the men had dammed off for bathing.

Robin was about to turn away when a light giggle caught her attention. She turned back just in time to see two small figures disappear into the bushes that topped the rise.

“Are your heads so
thick
,” she demanded imperiously, snatching hold of their collars and dragging them out of the brush, “that you think they can withstand a walloping? Or perhaps your parents will do the honors for me, when I tell them that I had to outlaw their already outlawed sons for spying on a woman bathing!”

“We meant no harm, honest!” one of the young boys cried, twisting in her grasp. His friend nodded furiously in agreement.

“Well, I
do
mean harm if I ever catch you peeping again. Now, git!” Robin commanded, flinging them back in the direction of the camp.

Still they lingered. “Please, Robin? Just this once?” they begged.

“No! Marian is off limits. Now you have two seconds to disappear, before I take a cudgel to your backsides!”

They scampered, exchanging nudges of smug surmise and stifling snickers as they went.

Robin kept guard at the top of the rise until Marian returned, smelling strongly of lye and attempting to weave the sagging fern frond back through her sodden locks.

“Even in an outlaw camp, the boys cannot seem to keep their eyes off you,” she teased, helping Marian over the last few rocks.

“Boys? What boys?”

“Just a couple young lads.” Was it Robin’s imagination, or did Marian look faintly disappointed? “Remind me sometime to show you where
I
bathe—I will not always be around to chase off your admirers.”

“Am I such an inconvenience to you?” Marian asked wistfully.

Robin turned to face her, shocked. “No! I am pleased that you are here. Truly I am.”

“It is just, you are so busy—so many people rely on you here. You have made a whole life for yourself, and I do not really feel like I am a part of it. I try and help Edra . . . but I do not think that anyone really wants me here.”

“
I
want you here,” Robin insisted, seizing her sister’s hands. “You belong here as much as anyone.”

“And I suppose you think that is comforting?” Marian challenged, a teasing gleam in her eye. Robin laughed, glad to let drop the subject of not belonging.

* * * * *

As autumn began to merge into winter, several more bedraggled families found their way into Sherwood Forest, each bearing a tale of eviction at the hand of the Sheriff’s new captain—a man so vicious he made even the most heartless of mercenaries pale by comparison. With nowhere to go and still reeling from the brutality of their treatment, they had sought refuge with the only protector they knew: Robin Hood.

Robin had no choice; basic human decency demanded that she take them in. As winter progressed, the sight of a weary stranger staggering into her camp, guided by a man in green, became an all-too-common occurrence, one that never failed to send a surge of frustration coursing through Robin. No matter how she tried to disperse the monies her band obtained, it seemed there was always someone who fell victim to a poor harvest and the Sheriff’s unrelenting taxes.

“Just imagine how many
more
families would be camped around our fires if not for the money you leave them. You cannot save everybody,” Little John told Robin one day.

“But look at them!” she cried, indicating a recent addition to the camp whose family make-up included an infant and two unsteady toddlers. “They do not
belong
in the greenwood. They belong in their own house—not crammed into a little hut in a wintering forest, with naught but the clothes on their backs to call their own. It is not
right!
”

“Since when has our Sheriff ever concerned himself with what is right? Look, Robin,” Little John said, “why do you think they come here? It is because you are the only one who seems to care what right
is
.”

“Stealing is not right,” she argued inimically. “It is a crime.”

“Stealing a person’s home because they cannot pay an unjust tax is a crime—
not
returning that tax to the people it was taken from. You taught us that. Have you forgotten?”

“No,” Robin admitted. She knew that Little John was right, but for once his words did not comfort her.