Robyn and the Hoodettes (2 page)

That
would mean Robyn had stolen a crown horse.

She’d
hang for theft if they caught her.

OK,
she had to make sure she wasn’t caught. Which meant getting off the
horse right now. After all, it would be pretty hard to claim you
weren’t a horse thief if you were caught riding it at the
time.

Any
stranger would know by her roughly woven clothes and boots–OK, one
boot now–that she was a peasant; the magnificent animal she rode
could not possibly belong to her.

Therefore, if she and the horse parted ways, she could wait it
out amongst the birch trees and fallen leaves of the Shire Wood,
then sneak back to Loxley under cover of darkness. Nobody would be
any the wiser.

Unless
the thieving men . . . who might very well be legitimate tax
collectors . . . had seen her face and recognized her?

Wait!
Hadn’t they called her “lad” at some point?

Maybe
they’d be looking for a boy, not a girl?

That
could work!

Robyn
took her chance and slid off. She landed hard on her bottom and
winced with pain. The horse stopped and turned its head, its
nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air.

“
You’re free now, off you trot.”

The
horse lifted its top lip and kept sniffing. Then she pushed her
lips onto Robyn’s head and nibbled at her hair. From her position
sitting on the ground, Robyn could clearly see the horse was
lacking the necessary equine equipment to be called a
boy.

“
Get
off!” Robyn said, pulling away and smoothing her hair down. Ewwww,
horse spit! Her hair clumped into dark ribbons as she tried to
clean it. Meanwhile, the beast took a step sideways, but didn’t
walk off.

“
Fine
then, I’ll go.” Robyn rose and had a good look around. In the
distance, she heard the splash of a stream over rocks. Water! She
was gasping for a drink. The river would be at the bottom of the
hill. Walking hurt her one-unshod-foot as mud and sticks jabbed at
her sole, but she had tough skin and she could wash her foot in the
stream.

Memories of rabbit hunting with her father assailed her.
They’d drank where the rabbits drank, knowing the water would be
fresh and life-giving. As she neared the river, Robyn’s ears
pricked up. Hers were not the only footsteps in the
woods.

“
No
way!” she looked back to see the horse following her, like a
shadow. “Shoo, shoo!” She waved her arms.

The
horse whickered and lifted her head, but didn’t go.

“
This
day gets worse!” Robyn turned her back on the animal and made for
the stream. All the exertion had made her thirsty. Maybe the horse
was thirsty too? Of course! That must be why it was following her.
It had been pulling a carriage all day and had just carried her off
into the thickets at a fast clip.

The
stream flowed slowly when they reached the banks. Yes, it trickled
over rocks but otherwise looked brown and oozy, not at all
refreshing. Robyn (with the horse-shadow behind her) kept walking
until the water flowed swiftly over rocks. Two startled rabbits
darted off. Here the stream looked clear and bright.
Refreshing.

Robyn
crouched at the bank and began scooping the water into her mouth
with her palms, as her father had taught her. It soothed her throat
and filled her belly. The horse waded into the water and slurped
with contentment.

Taking
a moment, Robyn sat on the banks of the river in a pile of dried
fallen leaves. Checking her foot, it was dirty but the sticks and
stones of the Shire Wood hadn’t broken the skin. The horse would
find its way home. Didn’t they always? Or was that merely one of
Grannyma Miller’s old sayings? In any case, Robyn had to keep
moving. It was too dangerous to risk being found with the
animal.

“
Thank
you for the ride, Horse, but I have to be going. Alone.” She
followed the riverbank downstream, biding her time until
dusk.

Splash, splash, splash-splash.

There
were hooves in the water, following her.

“
Take
a hint, Horse.” Robyn waved her arms in the air, trying to shoo her
away again.

The
horse only stepped closer, nodded her head and then rubbed her
cheek against Robyn’s arm.

So
friendly. Robyn rubbed the horse’s nose with affection. “You are a
sweet thing, but you’re going to land me into trouble.”

“
I’ll
say.”

A big
hand landed hard on her shoulder, anchoring her to the
ground.

With a
gulp, Robyn turned to face her captor.

CHAPTER TWO

Robyn looked up into the face of a giant. Her knees
buckled, not with fear but relief.

“
Oh, it’s you! I thought it was the Sheriff’s man!” she
said, looking into the smiling eyes of her friend, Joan.

Joan stood higher up the bank than Robyn, but even if they’d
been on level ground the young woman would have towered over her.
Joan lived in Littleton, the next village downstream from Loxley.
It was a tiny dot of a place, hence the name.

“
I like your new horse,” Joan said in her booming
voice.

“
Not so loud! I don’t want to be found!”

“
Sorry!” Joan said in a whisper that frightened
squirrels.

Joan was a foundling, which was obvious to everyone who met
her parents. Joan’s hair had the colour of freshly baled hay, while
her parents’ heads were as orange as fire. Coupled with her
parents’ short stature, they’d never been able to pass off the
statuesque Joan as their own. Secretly Robyn wondered if Joan’s
first parents might be giants.

Despite Joan’s scary size, the horse gave a snort of approval
and snuggled in for a pat on the nose.

“
She’s not mine.” Robyn said. “I can’t be seen with
her.
We
can’t be seen with her.”

“
She sure acts like she’s yours.”

Robyn sighed. “I stole her. But I didn’t mean to!” She
added when Joan raised her brows. “We were out in the field doing
all the jobs the men usually do, but they’re not back yet,
obviously, and then a carriage turned up and all these men got out
and said we had to pay seventeen marks of wheat in taxes
and–”

“
Slow down.” Joan held her spade-like palms up. “The men in the
carriage. Did it have a coat of arms with a blue sash?”

“
Yes, and three golden stags on it.”

Robyn had taken an interest in heraldry, ever since her father
had marched off under the King’s red banner with its golden lions.
She’d been keeping an eye out for its return ever since.

“
Sounds like the same men who raided Littleton this morning.
Took all the chickens they could carry. Left us with the old
boilers. The place is so covered in feathers you’d think the sky
was falling. Sounds like they hit us up and then moved on to
you.”

“
They said they were acting on behalf of the Sheriff of
Nottingham. We’ve had tax collectors before, but they were never
that brutal.” Robyn said.

“
Maybe the crusade’s going badly,” Joan said. “Speaking of, any
word from your Dad?”

“
Not yet.” Nostalgia pierced Robyn as she remembered the fun
she and her father used to have. Her memories glossed over all the
times they’d argued or she’d been in trouble. “Not even a carrier
pigeon in six months. What about your cousin?”

At least Joan still had both her parents, elderly as they
might be.

“
Nothing from him either,” Joan said as she moved in to give
the horse a good pat on the neck.

Robyn and Joan both shut up about the people they missed the
most. They had a way of almost talking about the things and people
they cared for, before they found a way to change the
subject.

Joan looked longingly at the horse. “She sure is a beautiful
thing.”

“
I told her to shoo, but she’s harder to lose than a
shadow.”

“
Hello Shadow, I’m Joan, lovely to meet you.”

“
Don’t give her a name!” Robyn threw her hands out in
desperation. “I’m trying to get rid of her! Oh come on, stop with
the cuddles!”

“
But she’s beautiful. And she smells so nice.”

“
I know!” Robyn moved in for a smooch, inhaling the horse’s
scent. “But honestly, she’s far too pretty. If anyone saw us,
they’d know we’d stolen her.”

“
Then we have to make her look like she does belong,” Joan said
with a gleam in her eye. “Come on, let’s give her an
un-bath.”

With a giggle of conspiracy, they lead Shadow into the stream
and proceeded to splash water on her, then they mussed up her
gleaming coat and mane by brushing her the wrong way. It had to be
done. No peasant could possibly possess such a fine
horse.

“
Nagging her up. What a shame. Feels worse than when I spilt
mead all over mother’s tapestry,” Joan said.

“
What about the shoes?” Robyn asked as she smeared mud on
Shadow’s fetlock.

Joan winked. “We’ll take her to your handsome blacksmith
later, get them taken off. By the way, did you lose a boot or find
one?”

“
It . . . fell off,” Robyn said, her brain catching on
Joan’s description of her
handsome
smith. “I hope those ratbags have left something
for Marion to work with.”

“
He’s a clever man, that one,” Joan said. “He’ll work something
out.”

“
Do you fancy him or something?” Robyn said with a grin. “You
do, don’t you? You really fancy him!”

“
Not half as much as you do!” Joan shot back.

“
I do not!”

“
Liar!”

They threw water and mud at each other. A fair amount landed
on the horse, which helped make the three of them look miserably
poor and dirty. Both her feet were soaked, so her soles were
equally numb from the cold water.

All of which distracted Robyn from thinking too much about
Marion. He’d always been a kid in Robyn’s eyes, although he was
barely a season younger than her. On the other hand, he was
probably the oldest lad left in the village.

Did that automatically make him a man as Joan had called
him?

Robyn and Joan stood back to admire their mudwork. Shadow
looked like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet. But there was
no disguising the fact she was a superior horse with regal
standing, not some village nag.

“
We could always say we found her, that we’re trying to find
her owners,” Joan said.

Robyn nodded.

“
D’you think the tax collectors are gone yet?” Joan
asked.

“
One way to find out,” Robyn said. “Come on Shadow.”

The horse and the two girls made their way towards Loxley.
Darkness crept into the sky, so they keep close to the King’s Road
to avoid getting lost.

“
What’s that?” Joan said, grabbing Robyn’s arm.

She heard it too, noises made by
hooves and people. Possibly a
carriage or two judging from the creaky-wheely sounds.

Heading straight for them.

“
Hide!” Robyn said.

They made a dash for the shrubs growing beside the road. They
must have been young holly bushes, for they still had green leaves
but they were spiky and bit into her bare foot.

The Sheriff’s horses, pulling two carriages behind them like a
double trailer, came into view.

That’s when Robyn cursed the horse afresh.

The dense beast stood on the road, in full view.

Whisper-shouting, Robyn called out, “Get down
here!”

Oh that horse, she’s going to be the death of me.

Hiding in the shrubbery, Joan whispered “Stay here”, then she
grabbed a tree branch, pulled her hood over her head and hobbled
out to the road pretending to be years older.

“
There ye are ye great nag.” S
he did something to her voice to sound
like an oldie as well.

“
Ho there!” A man’s voice said.

“
Ho-ho to you,” Joan answered, sounding confident and
jolly.

Knees folded awkwardly under her chin, Robyn heard a series of
creaks from the timber as several men climbed down from the
carriages to get a better look at Joan. Any second now they would
take back their horse. Oh no! What if they accused Joan of stealing
Shadow? She had to do something to help her friend.

“
Get your stinking nag off the King’s Road!” A man
ordered.

Wait, what? Could these men not tell a prime horse from a
hack?

“
Go on, off with you!” Another voice said, cracking in the
middle. It sounded like a really young lad who was trying to sound
older, as if willing his voice to break.

Through the shrubbery, Robyn saw the shapes of five . . . no,
seven men . . . walking towards Joan to get her and the animal out
of their way.

“
She’s only got one other speed, and it’s slower,” Joan said,
adding that wheeze old people made so well.