New Tales From Old Yarn

by Barbara Becc

  “I wonder, should we donate the dresses we wore today?” asked one of the Merry Maidens. “Disguises can only be used once, after all.”

  “What I want to know is when we can fit these pants to us,” another Maiden replied, flourishing a pair of brown breeches Marian recognized from the henchmen.

  The woman with the pile of the mending jabbed the needle through the fabric violently. “Well, if you helped, Agnes, it would get done faster.”

  “Problem is,” a fourth women piped up, “dresses are the only disguise that works these days.”

  The women around the next fire turned.

  “I heard the Sheriff officially banned women from wearing trousers. Can you believe that?”

  “Aye, it’s true,” said a plump woman wearing barmaid’s clothes, “’cept the the Sheriff’s men can’t tell a lady in trousers from a man, so they’ve taken to stopping every poor soul in breeches they see. Some of the pretty young fellas have taken to wearing dresses just to avoid harassment.”

  “Quite the turn of events,” the third woman agreed, not looking up from her mending.

  “Then we should give these to them, shouldn’t we?” the first woman said.

  “Thank the Heavens,” the barmaid said. “My boy Bartholomew’s been complainin’ he’s tired of his blue gown.”

  Shaking her head clear, Marian scanned the clearing for Robin Hood and found her kneeling before the girl she had followed to the camp. Robin drew out the sack of coins from the Games and dropped a handful into the girl’s pocket. Marian’s eyebrows rose, higher when Robin lifted the girl’s hand and kissed the back of it, leaving a faint silver mark. As the girl curtsied and turned back the way she came, more Merry Maidens knelt and kissed her hands, leaving them like two shimmering stars against her skirt.

  Marian watched women young and old filter in and out, some carrying gifts, others with not even a shawl around their shoulders. A few stayed, sitting by the fire with the Merry Maidens. Each left with a kiss and a pocketful of silver coins until the sack was empty.

  As she watched, a lump formed in her throat. It was so unlike the hollow silence of her father’s house. Gathering her cloak around her, she turned and picked her way back through the trees, finding the main path by the waxing moon. Marian listened to the crunch of her own footsteps, her brows drawing together. She had satisfied her curiosity, yet she felt more restless. The thought of returning to her bed in the loft above her father seemed as appealing as a night in the castle dungeon.

  “Perhaps I shall stay with the sheep,” Marian mumbled to herself.

  “Perhaps you shall sleep in the stocks,” a voice answered.

  Marian jumped back, colliding against a nearby poplar. She whipped her head around, looking for the source of the voice.

  “Do not hurt yourself, m’lady,” the voice continued as a black-clad body stepped out of the shadows.

  Marian’s stomach seized, certain the Sheriff could see what she had seen just by looking into her eyes. Still, she drew herself up to full height and met his gaze.

  “I have committed no crime in these woods.”

  “Sherwood Forest is forbidden, m’lady. ‘Tis a crime to set foot here.” She watched his lips stretch into a smirk. “But I don’t care about that. It’s a silly law, isn’t it?”

  “Sir, you wrote it.”

  The Sheriff ignored this, striding forward and ghosting a hand across her cheek. Crows cawed and flapped in the branches overhead. “This will of course be overlooked in exchange for your assistance.”

  The Sheriff’s breath smelled of ale and rot. Marian pressed her back further against the tree trunk, bark digging into her spine. “What could I possibly do for you?”

  His expression hardened. Slowly, his hand traveled from her cheek to cover her throat. “Tell me where Robin Hood is.”

  Marian’s eyes shot up to see the Sheriff’s turning bright and feverish.

  “I know you were there. At the camp. You saw it. Take me there.”

  “Why can’t you find it on your own?” Marian bit out. The Sheriff had hung people for less, but she couldn’t stop the words. Robin Hood’s name was like a spell cast over her.

  “It’s protected by magic,” the Sheriff hissed, his hand tightening around her throat. “It must be you. I order you—”

  “If you wanted an invitation so badly, you should’ve asked.”

  Both Marian and the Sheriff stilled. Glancing up, they watched Robin Hood swing deftly from the lowest branch and land before them. She grinned crookedly, her eyes catching the moon’s silver glow. Marian’s heart tremored like plucked harp strings.

  “Forgive me,” Robin said as the Sheriff stood fixed to the spot. “I assumed you wouldn’t be interested in all our lady talk. Do you desire to join our hair braiding circle?”

  As if by magic, a ray of moonlight hit the top of his bald head, lighting up the clearing. Marian snorted under her breath, and Robin caught her eye and winked.

  His body finally seeming to catch up, the Sheriff’s face purpled with rage. His hand slipped from Marian’s throat as he turned to face Robin. Marian took the opening and ducked out from between the tree and the Sheriff, tripping towards Robin’s side of the clearing.

  “You should head home, Sheriff,” Robin said, holding his gaze. “One hears stories of outlaws in these woods.”

  Not seeming to hear her, the Sheriff spat. “Lady talk. You are no lady, witch.”

  “Oh, was that meant to insult me? Well,” she said, pulling a sword from her scabbard, “I had better live up to expectations.”

  The Sheriff snarled and wrenched his own sword from his belt, charging forward. Whispering unknown words under her breath, Robin spun around, sending the edge of her blade colliding with his. Light sparked, but not merely a reflection. It seemed to come from within, as if she had dipped it a blacksmith’s hearth.

  “Oh no you don’t,” the Sheriff huffed and brought down his sword hard against hers. Robin held against it, and the Sheriff scraped his blade down like steel striking flint. The reaction was instant. His sword glowed white hot before bursting into brilliant red and gold flames.

  The Sheriff dropped his weapon with a yelp, clutching his hand. Without missing a beat, Robin brought the tip of her sword under his chin, tipping it up.

  “Goodnight, Sheriff.”

  The Sheriff tensed, glancing from the blade to Robin and off to where Marian stood watching behind her. Robin pressed the edge more firmly against his neck.

  Grumbling low in his throat, the Sheriff staggered backward. He looked down regretfully at his sword, flames still licking happily around it, before turning and stumbling through the trees.

  Once he had disappeared, Marian’s gaze fell to the burning blade. “How did you do that? Why isn’t the fire spreading?”

  Robin’s lips quirked, a mischievous spark lighting her eye. She nodded towards the sword. “Pick it up.”

  Marian paused, raising her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  Robin stared back challengingly.

  Eyeing her dubiously, Marian knelt down, her hand hovering over it. Finally, she reached through the flames to touch the hilt.

  “It is still cool,” she said, raising it aloft. “It was only an illusion of magic?”

  When there came no reply, Marian looked back to see Robin mirroring the awe she felt.

  “You trust me.”

  Marian startled, looking down at the magical flames encasing her hand. She knew it was foolish, but she supposed after the way she had spent the evening so far, it hardly mattered. Still, she felt a strange desire to argue.

  “Why were you following me anyway?” she countered.

  The question seemed to take Robin by surprise, and she looked almost abashed. Marian watched a lock of unruly hair fall into her eyes and itched to sweep it away.

  “Well, uh, you followed me first?”

  Heat flooded Marian’s cheeks. “I...I’m sorry. It was stupid of me.” She shook her head. “I’v
e done many stupid things tonight.”

  “Just one,” Robin said, the glint returning to her eye. “Lurking as a phantom in the shadows for hours instead of joining in the fun.”

  Marian nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “Shall I give you a kiss then?” Robin asked softly.

  Marian’s eyes widened. “It’s a little sudden, isn’t it?”

  After a beat of silence, Robin snorted. “A witch’s blessing. It will make your foes uninterested in you, so that you may return home safely.” She ducked her head, catching Marian’s eye. “I believe you saw these when you were spying earlier.”

  Marian made a small strangled sound in her throat and wondered if there was any quicksand nearby that she could fall into.

  “Right,” she nodded, holding out her hand, “of course.”

  Ignoring it, Robin stepped forward and held Marian’s cheeks, kissing her forehead lightly.

  “You have worse foes than most,” she explained.

  Marian froze, feeling her skin tingle. She wondered if a silver lip print had been left behind. It wasn’t until Robin stepped back that Marian realized she was leaning into Robin’s hands. She had to catch herself from pitching forward.

  “I can escort you home, if you’d like,” Robin said, pulling out the shiny black stone from the May Games.

  “No,” Marian rushed, more forcefully than necessary. Taking a deep breath, she painted on a smile. “My thanks, but I think an enchanted horse is likely to arouse more suspicion at this time of night.”

  “You are too wise,” Robin hummed and dropped the stone back in her pocket. “Then I big you good night, milady.”

  “Goodnight.” Marian curtseyed and turned out of the clearing, proud of herself for keeping her voice firm and gait steady.

  “Other way,” Robin called behind her, making Marian jump. Turning, she saw Robin point in the opposite direction, a grin tugging at her lips.

  Clearing her throat, Marian nodded and walked back across the clearing. She praised and thanked everything she knew when the forest’s shade finally enveloped her. Still, she couldn’t shake the nagging image of Robin stepping lightly through the branches overhead, just out of sight.

  It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling.

  ~~~

  It was mid-morning when Marian returned at last to her father’s house. Her thoughts had been just as tangled as when she had left, if not more so, and she found her sheep made better company when she didn’t want to answer questions.

  This proved true the moment she slid the door latch closed behind her.

  “Why were ye in Sherwood Forest las’ night?” her father asked, his voice low and dry like burning paper. He sat hunched over their small table, quill in hand, scrolls spread out across its surface and a pipe laid atop them, small wisps of smoke escaping the bowl. Her father didn’t look up. “The Sheriff was here this mornin’.”

  “It’s alright,” Marian hurried. “He didn’t hurt me. He tried, but you’ll never believe who—”

  Her father held up a bony hand, and her words wilted on her tongue.

  “Walkin’ in those woods is a crime. Ye know that, girl.”

  Marian nodded. “Whatever the punishment, I’ll accept it.”

  “No need,” he said simply. “The Sheriff has offered t’ marry ye instead. Isn’t that a laugh?”

  Marian almost did laugh. “What did you tell him?”

  “Not much t’ say, really.” He scratched his quill across a piece of parchment. “No better offer’s gonna come for ye, unless the king ‘imself returns from the wars thirsty for sheep’s milk.”

  Marian stared. “Father, who would take care of you?”

  “Sheriff said he knows many a fine woman who’re handy on a farm.” At that, he set down his quill and picked up his pipe, inhaling and blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Me bed’s been cold too long.”

  Marian felt ice slide down her spine. Wordlessly, she opened the door behind her, ready to run back into the woods, only to collide into the Sheriff’s chest.

  “Have you had enough time to prepare, my pet?” His hand ghosted over her throat, across the marks his fingers had made the night before. “Tomorrow shall be the day we wed.”

  Fire coursed through her, turning the trail of ice to steam. She wrenched his arm from her neck. “Tomorrow will be the day you enter Heaven if you touch me again.”

  The Sheriff stilled before letting out a deep, throaty guffaw.

  “Oh, won’t this be fun.”

  At the snap of his fingers, two henchmen appeared in the doorway and grabbed her on both sides. The world blurred around her. She struggled to break free, kicking out, scratching at the arms around her, but too soon a carriage door opened before her, and a blunt blow hit the back of her head. Her vision blackened, and her body sagged.

  ~~~

  “It has been too long since the good people of Nottingham have had the joy of a royal wedding,” the Sheriff declared.

  Below the castle balcony, the crowd cheered their agreement.

  The Sheriff placed a hand over his heart. “With our king away at war, for the holiest of purposes, you have had to endure me as a crude imitation.”

  The crowd clapped politely.

  “However, while we cannot all have the honor of fighting on the battlefield, we must remember that there is still a war to be won here at home. A war against darkness, against superstition, and against the Serpent’s temptation.”

  The Sheriff paused, and a smattering of claps sounded.

  “Which is why I have at last selected a wife. A bud plucked from pastoral innocence, but who can only blossom under the right care.”

  Reaching out to his side, the Sheriff pulled Marian to stand before him. She was wrapped in embroidered silks that covered her bound wrists, her cloth-gagged mouth hidden behind a gauzy veil. His hands gripped her upper arms like a vice.

  “I present to you my bride-to-be, Maid Marian, Queen of the May Games, and I hope soon, queen of all your hearts.”

  While the crowd cheered once again, Marian shook to and fro, trying to wrench her arms from his hold. Finally, she felt one hand release, followed swiftly by the tip of a dagger blade pressing against her spine. She stilled. The Sheriff addressed the crowd.

  “You see, our dear Marian is in danger, pursued by the outlaw witch who hides like a coward in the woods, hungry to corrupt our virtuous, law-abiding ladies and draw them into her cult of darkness.”

  “Only on Saturdays if the weather is pleasant,” a voice called from the back of the crowd.

  Marian’s heart leapt in her chest. The voice was unmistakable, not only to her but seemingly to the Sheriff too. His hand gripped her arm painfully tight, but she barely felt it.

  “I think we’d better have a talk, Sheriff. But first things first.”

  As if gentle fingers tugged at the hem, the veil slid from Marian’s face, and she watched it flick across the gasping crowd to Robin’s outstretched hand.

  “Oh dear,” she said, “what a way to treat your betrothed.”

  The crowd turned back to Marian, a murmur rippling through at the sight of the gag tied around her mouth. Marian looked back to Robin and saw real anger in her eyes for the first time, dark as a thunderstorm as she stared at the Sheriff.

  “A trick of magic, obviously,” he spat.

  At his words, the clouds in Robin’s vision cleared. She clicked her tongue. “I didn’t come here to argue, Sheriff.”

  “Then why show your face?”

  The corner of Robin’s lips quirked. “To offer you a rematch.”

  Between them, the crowd buzzed in confusion, and a muscle in the Sheriff’s jaw twitched. “Why, pray tell, would you do this?”

  “I play for Marian’s freedom.”

  The Sheriff’s nails dug into Marian’s arm. “And if you lose?”

  “My life.”

  Marian’s eyes shot up. She barely heard the crowd rising to a clamor below her. Robin eyes locked with the S
heriff’s, while his neck worked as if struggling to swallow her words.

  Finally, he turned to the henchmen at his side. “Set out the targets.”

  Marian might have felt relief when the Sheriff left her side. She might have rubbed her arm where bruises were already blooming beneath the skin. As it was, all she could do was watch the crowd parting to allow Robin through to where four henchmen were dragging two target boards. Another carried their bows and arrows, white flags for the Sherriff, black for Robin, just like last time.

  Before Robin could reach them, the Sheriff plucked out two of her arrows. “I will only release her if you best me in three straight shots.”

  Around them, the crowd fluttered indignantly, but instead of arguing, Robin grinned. “I was planning on it.”

  A vein in the Sheriff’s forehead throbbed. Marian bit the cloth gag around her mouth to stop a stream of giggles.

  “White moves first,” Robin said, gesturing for the Sheriff to take his shot.

  “No,” he said, drawing an arrow from his quiver. “Together.”

  Marian held her breath as Robin nodded, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Sheriff. In perfect sync, they pulled their bowstrings back and released. The Sheriff’s arrow struck the second circle, and Robin’s struck the center.

  Behind them, excited whispers rippled through the crowd. The Sheriff gripped the handle of his bow until his knuckles turned white.

  “Again,” he barked, yanking back his string.

  Robin followed, and they released a second time. With a thwack, Robin’s arrow landed snugly next to her first, while the Sheriff’s veered off to the left, just hitting the inside edge of the target.

  “Prepare yourself for our departure, milady,” Robin called as she nocked her final arrow. Sparing a look over her shoulder, she glanced up at Marian and winked. Marian’s heart thrummed. She wanted to stay in the safety of that gaze forever.

  She stayed just a second too long.

  Catching movement, Marian’s eyes flicked to the Sheriff. As if in a dream, she watched him turn towards her, bowstring pulled tight, arrow pointed at her chest. She sucked in a breath, and a blur of color swam before her. Robin lunged towards him, sending him staggering back.