Robin’s fists continued to flex, his eyes a hawk’s gaze on me. “He beat her.”
“Yes, he did. But he didn’t rape her. He didn’t violate her beyond fists and boots and belt. She’ll live. We’ll live if we don’t react stupidly. Soon they will realise she is missing and come into the forest to get her back, so we need to be ready because we have a dozen or more communities relying on us, on her. We need to think – not fight.”
“Will…”
I watched the rage begin to crumble and my stance softened to match his need. “I know, Robin. You feel impotent, lost, and full of justifiable anguish but the last thing Marion needs is to come out of that room and find her brother going to his certain death. She lost you once, she won’t suffer losing you again. We have to be clever about this.”
With deliberate slowness I took hold of his large hands, preventing them from turning into fists again. “I have let her down so many times,” he whispered.
“No, no you haven’t.”
“I left her at their mercy because I was too much of a coward to come back.” His blue eyes were full of self-pity, the shame of his time in the Holy Land once more haunting the present.
I took hold of his hand and led him outside of the cave, I didn’t need an audience for this conversation. We sat on the logs we’d placed around the entrance to the cave for ‘outside’ jobs like scraping hides and carding wool.
With his rough hand sandwiched between mine the words I needed came to me easily, “Robin, you left for the Crusade soon after your wife and child died. Your guilt over their deaths must have haunted you, driven a need for redemption, especially as you knew you didn’t really love her. You went to the Holy Land seeking forgiveness, as a penance for your inadequacy as a husband – I’m right aren’t I?” I sought confirmation for what were a series of assumptions.
“She knew something wasn’t right. I tried, Will, I wanted to make her happy but I never loved her. I needed something, anything, to take the guilt away. It was my fault she died. God’s punishment for my foolishness.” A large hot tear smashed over my hand. His words brought a sickness to my gut; was I also a piece of foolishness he needed punishment to atone for in this life?
I pushed the thoughts back. “When you reached the Levant you were hurt,” I traced the line of his scarred face while I spoke, “and Ghaalib saved your life. You fell deeply in love and you learned about a new world, a new religion, language, people – you had an extraordinary experience and it was torn from you with hate and violence. It broke you, Robin. You thought your father was here, strong and capable, protecting your lands and sister. You could not have known he’d give her to Philip Marc of all people.”
“I should have come back. I should have not cost her this. I wasted time listening to the words of fools.” He waved a weak hand at the cave’s entrance.
“Perhaps, but you didn’t know.”
“If I hadn’t met Ghaalib…”
“You would never have known love, Robin,” I said into the quiet.
“Loving a man,” he whispered the broken words, “is wrong, it is always punished.”
I stroked his face, terrified that I looked into the end of my world. “You cannot really believe that, Robin. You cannot really believe what I feel for you is wrong.”
He blinked. I’d made certain to stay mute on the subject of how I felt about him, this crossed over that line, even if obliquely. His mouth moved but no words happened.
I swallowed down my fear, everything I did I had to do to keep Robin safe. “You came home when you were ready. You have helped Tuck and me, there is nothing more you could do.”
“My shame chased me from the Middle East and now I live as an outlaw,” he ground out.
“Their stupidity followed you from the Middle East and you live as the saviour of Sherwood,” I countered. “What happened to Marion could have happened if you were Lord of Huntingdon or a peasant unable to hold a sword. Her husband did this to her and you did not marry her to him. You did not make her open her mouth and argue with her husband. You did not lift his hand and force him to strike her.”
Robin trembled. “I need some peace. I don’t know that this is worth the grief I am creating.” He rose, took a step on unsteady legs before bolting for the wood. I stood to go after him but a strong hand on my arm held me back.
I glanced up at John. “Let him go, Will. He isn’t going to Nottingham but his ghosts are four-square and large, let him outrun them for a bit.”
“How much did you hear?” I asked.
“Enough to understand our leader a bit more. He’s spoken to me at some length about his time in Palestine but I didn’t know he had another lover there.”
“They killed him, the Muslims, they stoned Ghaalib while Robin was forced to watch.”
John placed a heavy arm around my shoulders and hugged me to his thick side. “He’ll be back, Will. He loves you.”
“He loved Ghaalib, I’m not sure he loves me.” The self-pity in me rose with nauseating predictability.
“Never doubt how he feels about you, Will Scarlett, it’s plain to see for us who know you both. His lordship is a broken man and sometimes it takes a while for broken men to see past their flaws. As for what religious men do to those they deem unworthy of their God…” John Little shook his head. “I’ve seen things no living Christian, never mind Heathen, should have to bear witness to in the name of Faith. Come, let’s help Marion and the other women. We have their chores to do and our own.”
I followed John back into the cave and found Marion sat with Tuck on one side and Alviva on the other, a cup of wine and a small piece of hard cheese in her hand that she wanted to press onto Marion. Alan sat nearby, watching them with large eyes.
He looked up at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop him.”
I knelt beside the young cleric. “There is nothing you could have done against an armed knight or the sheriff. You did the right thing bringing her here, that’s what matters. You did not abandon her when many others would in the face of such rage.”
“Robin’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”
I dragged a small smile up from my toes. “No, he won’t kill you, or even be cross. This is no one’s fault but those who could have stopped the sheriff.” I rubbed his knee. “Right, everyone, we need to get two more beds sorted before nightfall and two more horses stabled. We have two more mouths to feed and I for one want to give Marion some peace before this day is done, so let’s get to work.”
Everyone but Tuck and Marion rose to help. I opted to do the most labour intensive tasks, moving rocks for my new home with Robin, hoping to keep my mind busy or too exhausted to worry about him vanishing on me. We’d already prepared the roof so I hoped I’d make the stone walls high enough for our small hut.
“Will… Will, it’s time to stop now,” John’s soft voice and large hands engulfed mine. “Stop before you split your fingers and cannot play.”
I paused, lifted my gaze and stared at the man. A barely there shape, engulfed by night, held me still. “I want to get this finished. We’ll need it when he gets back.”
“I don’t think Robin’s going to be coming back tonight, Will. Come inside and eat, the others need you. Marion’s not doing well, she needs a friend.” John removed the large rock from my hands and lifted it over my head to place on the wall I’d built. From waist height to over my head the walls stood tall enough for the roof at last. The central pole would help support the roof and the walls – Robin and I had collected the rocks from a scree slope nearby – and our fire pit sat deep beside it, already protected against burning the pole. We had a sleeping place and an eating place for four at a squeeze, but this was our home and he’d return to enjoy it, he’d return tomorrow.
I nodded and allowed John to guide me into the cave. The others were quiet, gathered around the larger fire pit and the smell of roasting meat rolled over me, a low grumble from my stomach telling me the long day needed to end. I washed up and settled down, wai
ting to be told I could eat with the others.
Marion sat, silent and gazing into the fire, Tuck next to her, a shadow of care and protection. Alan sat with Eva and Alviva, Gilbert and Agnus cooking a haunch of another boar we’d brought down several days before and a thick stew.
“We need a new plan,” I said into the reverential quiet.
“Not now, Will,” Tuck said.
I slumped into silence. I didn’t have the strength to point out this scheme of rebellion belonged to Marion and Tuck, though the temptation bit hard because my back was not warmed by Robin’s bulk.
We ate, the conversation picking up as we shared some beer out and I watched my brother wrap an arm around Marion. She leaned into him and whispered in his ear. He studied her carefully before a single nod had them rise from the fire and retreat to the platform we used for sleeping. Marion, in the darkness of the corner, stripped down to her linen shift and sat, then held out her hand for Tuck.
I could only guess at the level of terror in my brother and it made me smile. Marion would have him whether he wanted it or not and I silently cheered her on, he needed to understand the push and pull of mortal love.
When it came time for me to sleep I stared at the bed I shared with Robin, wrapped tight to his body, and felt his loss. A sharp knife of fear and worry for my future corded around my heart and sent tendrils of quivering uncertainty into my limbs. I sighed, stripped and lay under our blankets, only to stare at the darkness as the others settled. My body ached from the hard work of the day, from the emotional stress of Marion’s arrival, but my brain seethed with the brutal reality of the future.
We would be hunted not just for being outlaws but also because we had Marion with us, the sheriff wouldn’t allow the forest to remain a haven. He had a reason to hunt us before, we were damaging his business, but now we damaged his pride and they’d figure out where his wife lived, they’d have to and the moment they could locate our forest home they would destroy everything. How could I protect these people without Robin? How could I do anything without Robin?
22
A WEEK PASSED IN slow monotony, we finished building the small home and I moved in so Alan could sleep in the cave. Tuck walked around in a daze, staring at Marion in moon-mad love, who took over where her brother left off – at least with the organising – and smiled a great deal. The details of their passion remained far outside my area of expertise and I didn’t want to tarnish it the way he’d damaged mine. Of course it wouldn’t prevent me from retaliating if he dared to criticise me again, I wasn’t the one trying to be a saint, after all.
The days drifted and I tried to focus on the moments, not on the horrible sensation of loneliness crawling over my skin and down my throat all day and all night until I had to remove myself from company and scream into the leather bracers I wore so no one could hear.
I ached for Robin, I wept for him, I raged against him for leaving me, and I swore I’d make him pay for every miserable moment I spent alone.
The eighth morning after Robin’s abrupt departure I left the escarpment for some quiet time hunting. I wandered down into the valley, without my horse, and watched the snow fall again. My breath came in shivering puffs of white and my hands were cold, so cold I wondered if I’d manage to string my bow in time if I stumbled over some equally cold animal to eat. We’d had a few attempts by the foxes to attack our sheep over the last few weeks, now the weather made finding small prey too hard, but the wolves remained distant for which we were all thankful.
I huffed on my fingers as I broke the ice on a stream’s edge and knelt on the frozen mud to cup some of the water up to my chapped lips.
“Don’t move,” came a soft, accented voice in Norman.
I didn’t.
“Good, you understand a civilised tongue. Stand with great care and drop your bow off your back before turning,” the voice said. The dulcet tones made me shiver far more than the cold of the weather. I did as asked.
“Now unbuckle your sword and knife.”
“You want me take down my braies so you can see my arse as well?” I muttered in English.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said in flawless but again, accented, English.
I undid my belt and dropped my sword and knife, no great loss, I had another secured against the base of my back under my cote.
“Turn around so I can see your face before I kill you,” the man said. The lack of emotion, not a heightened sense of victory, not pride at a job well done, no hate, no anger, just facts, disturbed me more than anything else. He might as well have asked for my shopping list.
I turned in small steps, so I could brace my feet on the frozen ground, ready for the fight.
The man before me stole my breath for a long moment. His eyes were the colour of dark shadows, his hair a silver born of some alchemy because he didn’t seem to be much older than me, smooth skin, more than winter pale, almost as if the cold of his soul seeped in to colour the flesh. His eyebrows were straight, narrow and black, no beard graced his face, but his ripe lips were slim and just as devoid of emotion as his eyes and voice. He was tall, almost Robin’s height and broad but not thick like Robin. An arrow of a man and just as deadly. He held a sword, a fine one, pointed at my chest. He balanced on his toes, ready for me to do something daft and no tremble belied his intent. This man wanted to kill me. Not because of anger but because of his job.
“Who are you so I can collect the bounty?” he asked.
“You going to take my head back to Nottingham?” I asked in return. My knees were weak, he might not be scared but I was, I was very scared, especially for my companions up the hill.
“I’ll take your entire body with me if I have to but I’d rather just take your head and your name so I can cross you off my list.”
I managed to raise a smile. “To be honest I’m not surprised you’re here. My luck’s been pretty shitty. The man I love, the only man I could ever love, has vanished and frankly I’m bloody tired.” I sat, let him make of my statement what he chose.
The man blinked. “What are you doing?”
“I told you, I’m tired. I’m sitting. If you’re going to kill me you can do it just as easily from this position.” I had no idea what game I thought I was playing but staring death in the face does funny things to the mind.
“Get up and prepare for death like a man,” he said, a look of irritation crossing his face.
“No, make me.”
He cocked his head as if trying to understand a strange creature he’d found in some foreign land. “You do not want to face your death like a man?” The ice cold in his eyes washed back a little, showing curiosity on the shoreline of his soul. I could work with that and they were very pretty eyes.
“I told you, I’m tired. The man I love –”
“Man?” he asked, understanding now filtering through.
I nodded. “Now you have another reason to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Then why are you killing me?”
“Because I’ve been paid to do it.”
“But you don’t know who I am.”
“Then tell me.” His exasperation amused me no end.
“No.”
“Why?” He frowned and the sword point dropped. From this distance I didn’t look like a threat.
“Because you want to kill me and I don’t really want to die despite my lacklustre love life so I don’t want to make it easy for you.”
He blinked, confusion colouring his expression for a moment. “You could just fight me.”
“I’d lose.”
“Inevitably but would you rather not die fighting? You might win.”
“No, I am a commoner with no need to feed my ego as I die. I’d rather not have to live through that pain in my last moments, so I’ll stay here, you can shove your big sword through me and we can move on.”
The man chuckled. A soft sound of leaves brushing together in a summer wind. “You must be the minstrel they speak of,
I’ve heard about you.”
I swallowed hard now, my fear for the others doubled, tarnished by the thought I couldn’t warn them this silver wild cat hunted them and knew far too much about us. He smiled, watching the emotions I couldn’t hide flit through my eyes and he nodded. “I know you, Will Scarlett. You and many of the others, though no one knows who the hooded man is, the man with the scar; if you give me a name, I can make this painless. Or I can drag you to Nottingham and have them carve it out of you.”
“You don’t do the carving?” I asked, my voice cracking because of the fear racing through every fibre of my being, tightening my muscles but loosening my bowels.
“No, I don’t do the carving.” He looked away from me for a moment but I caught the twisted sorrow in his expression at the words. Some men revelled in the darkness of killing, maiming, hurting, but I could sense something different in this man. A weight hovered on his shoulders, ready to crush him if he lost concentration.
A faint sound from the forest, a sound out of place, not the rustle of the bitter wind in the naked branches, not the snuffle or shuffle of an animal or bird, something far more deadly.
“Drop the sword, Gisborne,” Robin’s dark voice, laced with knives and gravel, broke through the world and shifted its course as I watched the silver haired man grow even paler, his attention sharp once more.
I heaved breath through my tight throat and rose in one smooth movement, my body a coil of tension. Robin walked out of the forest, his hood pulled up, bow taut before his strong body and his focus on the enemy.
“Lacklustre love life? That’s the thanks I get?” Robin asked, not even glancing at me.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream or cry. “What the fuck do you expect? You left me.”
“I needed some time. I’m sorry.” He walked towards me, placing himself between me and the enemy.
The man’s thin lips twitched. “The boy and his master at last. I know that voice. It’s good to see you again, Robert.”
Men of Sherwood (A Rogue's Tale Book 1) Page 18