Sherwood

Book
One

Sherwood

The Sherwood
Series

by S. E.
Roberts

Photo by J. Sylvester

Cover Design & Edit by: S. E. Roberts

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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All characters appearing in this book
are completely fictitious.

Any similarities
to any real persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

Dedicated to J.
Sylvester,

who has been
nothing but supportive this entire time.

Also dedicated to
Mom, Ms. Duggar, Mr. Deckard, and Ms. Young.

The many school
hours have paid off, however slight the result is so
far.

Chapter
One

“
Harrison,

I've tried to
find ways around sending this letter. My heart aches as I write
these words and at what I am about to ask of you. I know of your
accomplishments and how important you are to your community. I
understand that they need you.

But, so does
Sherwood.

I would never
ask you to do something I didn't find necessary.

That is why I
request your presence in Sherwood Forest as we attempt to defend
ourselves from King Wesley.

Of all people
I've come to know, you are our greatest asset. You've seen him in
person and you know his practices.

I'm not one to
beg, but we indeed need your help.

Best
Regards,

Robin
Hood.”

Harlow held the
recently written letter in her hands, her elbows propped up on the
railing of her front porch, her body slightly arched forward over
the wooden supports. She felt her stomach sink and her heart almost
stop it's beating rythym. This couldn't be happening.

'Am I really
doing this?'
She asked herself,
raising her hand to touch the the fabric of her cloak that hung
limply about her shoulders. It was on securely, but she knew that
she'd have to ditch the garment long before she made it to
Sherwood. It was decorated and feminine, a present she'd recieved
from someone she couldn't remember anymore.

She looked back
down at the letter, her eyebrows knitted together in anger and her
breathing almost labored with anxiety.

She shook her
head, feeling her fingers start to tremble with anger as she read
through the letter again. Sure, she'd known of her father's
involvment with the Sherwood Outlaws, but he always cut the
conversation short whenever it got to serious.

She ran her
dainty, soft hand over crumpled parchment. This small, trampled on
piece of paper was going to take her father away from her and
propel him into another war.

A war that would
be started by Robin Hood, for no apparent reason, other than to be
a pain in the King's behind.

A war that Harlow
was not going to let him go into.

She could tell by
the way he'd laid out his things that he was planning on leaving in
the morning, before she awoke. When she saw him taking out his old
gear, she immediately prepared herself for the worst, but she'd
resolved that there was no other option.

Either he would
leave her and have her married off, or he would make her take the
responsibility of a village that hated her very
existence.

She'd resolved to
take an unorthodox route, disguising herself as a man and helping
with the Sherwood effort.

It wouldn't work
for long, but it would buy her enough time to get her father out of
the war.

Harlow knew that
eventually her father would find her in Sherwood. It was just a
matter of how long it would take him to figure it out.

She sighed,
breathing in the cold, night air, thinking back to the letter she'd
written, placing it gently on the kitchen table before exiting the
house for what felt like the last time.

'Father,

I know I haven't
been the brightest and best daughter in the world, but I can't do
what you're asking of me. No one wants me in this village, but they
need you.

There's no place
for me here. I've gone off on my own to find a place for myself.
I'll write you a letter when I've found it. Don't come for me. I'll
be fine.

I love
you,

Harlow.'

Harlow sighed,
staring into the beautiful forest beyond the backside of her home.
It was dark, beautiful, and absolutely frightening.

She felt her
anxiety grow as she stood on the porch of her shabby home. It was
far past her bed time, and it felt liberating to be up this late,
nevermind wandering into Sherwood forest.

She pulled an old
parchment out of her pocket, the paper yellowing gently with age.
On it were illustrations and directions; exactly the location of
Sherwood City, a place the treacherous king had only dreamed of
knowing the location of.

'I'm
sorry,'
she thought, closing her
eyes and feeling the quiet breeze on her skin before stepping down
the dangerously creaking porch steps and wandering off toward the
forest.

Harlow felt a
pang of guilt sweep through her. Turning around, several yards
away, she took one last, long look at her home before turning back
around and taking painful, heartwrenching steps into the forest
beyond.

The forest's
darkness embraced her as she pulled the hood of her cloak over her
head.

She was no longer
Harlow McBride.

She was now an
Outlaw of Sherwood Forest.

Chapter
Two

Enders watched as
his mother looked lethargically at the crackling fire in their
fireplace. Ever since he'd turned sixteen or so, she had been in an
indisputably anxious mood. She had seemed more frustrated and
saddened lately, and while she endlessly denied it, Enders knew it
was the fact that he looked so much like his father that upset her,
although he couldn't see how.

It had been so
long since he'd been gone, Enders couldn't remember his father's
face.

Anger burned
within his heart when he saw the heartache that his very face
induced in his mother. He wanted nothing more than for his mother
to be happy, but she wasn't happy. Nor would she ever be
happy.

"Mom, What
happened to Dad?" Enders had asked it once when he had gained the
courage to speak about it. She stopped rocking in her chair for
only a moment before continuing the forward-backward
motion.

She simply looked
at him, a sad smile plaguing her lips and darkened eyes replacing
the ones that used to be so vibrant. "The world needed him more
than I."

That was the end
of the conversation.

That was
always
the end of the conversation.

That was until he
found documents about his father lying in a storage bin several
months back.

That was when
Enders mother offered the whole story.

And that was the
night that he began to get sick of watching his mother
cry.

Enders knew she
was trying to shield him, trying make him feel like he had a normal
life, but that was what plagued him the most: He didn't have a
normal life. He wouldn't ever have a normal life. He never knew his
father's name until his mother finally offered it up, until he
found the documents and the stories. But who could he tell? He'd be
handed over to the military if anyone found out.

He watched as the
night covered the forest, embracing it in its cold grasp for the
next several hours.

He made a
decision.

His mother
wouldn't cry anymore.

He would find his
father.

And he'd write
his own legend while he did so.

Chapter
Three

"Harlow, you
can't save the whole world." Harrison McBride had told his daughter
as she sat on a chair in the kitchen. She had her scraped knee and
cut-up palms raised and showed her father the blood. He raised his
large hands to her small face in an attempt to clean the dry blood
that stained her cheek. It was the fourth fight she'd gotten into
that year.

“
Thomas was
picking on Lily.” Harlow informed, hissing as water ran over her
cuts and scrapes. “I couldn't sit back and simply
watch.”

Harrison shook
his head, a small, proud smile on his lips.

Harlow recalled
all the times her father had stepped between her and a danger,
between her and other people.

And in an attempt
to save him, she left him.

She already
missed her father, but she couldn't handle him being dragged into
another war. If this was the only way that she could save him, then
she would do it, and she'd do it without regret.

The forest was
denser at night, it seemed, and Harlow felt scared although she
refused to show it. She pulled her hood down some more, keeping it
well draped over her head.

Sherwood city was
established on the basis of well-enough archers and infantrymen.
They could be anywhere; and so could King Wesley's men as
well.

The crunch of a
leaf behind her made her jump, and the snap of a twig made her
cringe. She sped up her pace, her bag almost silently thumping
against her leg.

Snap!
Another broken twig rang out through
the forest.

Harlow panicked;
she propelled herself forward, not caring if she was making a lot
of noise, and unwilling to stop her legs. Her hood fell back, her
hair flowing out behind her, almost inviting every willing,
renegade tree branch to grab ahold of it.

And one of those
renegade tree branches took the bait, grappling onto her hair and
entangling itself within it.

Harlow was pulled
against it with excruciating force. She only paused for a second,
hearing the approaching sounds of snapping twigs and broken
branches. Harlow clawed at her hair violently, trying her hardest
to release the strands from the malevolent tree, panic starting to
flow through her veins.

The sound of
slower footsteps came closer to her, coming from behind her to in
front of her. Harlow held onto the tree, trying to make herself
smaller and invisible. She knew it wouldn't work, but she tried as
a helpless whimper released itself from her lips.

"Are you okay?" A
voice asked, a man walking into her eyesight, looking sadly but
concerned at her. He had a gentle gaze, although she recognized the
shock in his hazel eyes. His bronze hair swung in his eyes as he
looked at her. He had a small, attractive stubble on his chin. His
left hand pointed to her hair. "May I?" He raised an eyebrow, a
concerned expression still on his face.

Harlow looked as
calmly as she could at the man, mouth slightly agape. He was young,
probably around her age, or maybe a year older than her. She
wondered where he came from and if he would survive the harsh
forest. She hoped he would make it past the Sherwood
archers.

He nodded toward
her hair after she didn't respond. He still looked concerned, which
struck her as odd.

Harlow, almost in
tears, nodded reluctantly and waited with averted eyes for him to
free her hair from the tree.

The man stepped
forward and started to untangle the brunette strands of hair in the
branch, cutting hair wherever necessary to free her.

"My name is
Enders." He said cutting the last of her hair that still clung to
the tree.