by Kate Danley
There was a man slumped in the shadows of a corner.
Robin immediately clamped down his emotions as his spirits soared. He recognized the person hidden beneath the cowled hood. The corners of Will's mouth quirked almost imperceptibly, and he shifted his eyes towards the exit.
Robin turned, shuffled down the steps slowly, and entered the warren of the brewhouse's cool caverns. By dim lantern light, his newfound friends from the forest were rolling barrels and filling jugs for the clientele above.
Robin waited, almost unable to contain himself. His cousin was here. Will was still alive. Ten minutes later, that familiar mop of red hair came around the corner and Will scooped Robin up in bear-hug. They pounded each other fiercely on the back.
"You're alive. You stinking bastard. You're alive!" Will half laughed and half cried.
Robin pulled away, staring at his cousin's face as if he was trying to memorize it. "I thought I'd never see you again!"
Will punched him in the arm. "What idiot goes wandering into a church right across the street from the Sheriff of Nottingham? I voted to leave you in that prison a couple extra days just to teach you a lesson."
Robin laughed, but before he could respond, a moonfaced man, alight with hope, came running in.
"Where is he?" Much asked, almost exploding.
Will pointed at Robin. Much began jogging in place with excitement and covered his mouth trying not to whoop.
Robin flung his arms around Much and swung him around. "I would not have survived without you, my friend." He set him down. "That bread and water you risked everything to send saved my life."
Much waved his praise away, while simultaneously soaking it in. "Oh, it's nothing more than what you would have done for me." He gazed at Robin with adoration. "And you escaped. Of COURSE you escaped. You're Robin Hood!"
"Quiet! Quiet!" Will cautioned, motioning for Much to keep his voice down. "You'll give us away."
"I just can't believe you're alive," reiterated Much. "Will swore you were, said every day that you would come back. And then to find you here today! Everyone's looking for you and you're here. They're sitting out there, drinking their ales and they don't even realize you're right here. You're just... you're so..." Much became choked up with emotion.
"I am sure you keeping them in their cups with your strong ale is aiding my cause," said Robin with a wink. For so long he had dismissed Much, and he had been so wrong. He was so grateful for this man. "A little, old, wool-spinning bird told me that you are the proud owner of the brewhouse."
"That I am. I'm actually very glad for the help you sent." He motioned to the outlaws Robin had brought from Sherwood Forest. "I mean, aside from the fight for justice, it has been so busy."
"The Sheriff's men did not give you any trouble? Ask you where you got the funds?"
"I told everyone I had a sponsor," said Much, puffing at his own cleverness. "Whenever anyone asked me who, I told them I was sworn to secrecy. And then I poured them a couple extra drinks on the house."
"And you're content?"
"Oh, Robin. I would have been out there breaking my back at the mill. I realized that I always hated that mill. And this place," he gestured to the cavern, "I could do something here. I didn't have to be Much the miller's son. I could be Much, owner of the best brewhouse in Nottingham." He stood a little straighter. "And, I tell you, Robin, the things I hear. Everyone is talking about politics and gossip. I had to join a council and go to meetings with important merchants and deliver ale to all sorts of nobles and oh..." He stopped himself. "This has been very good for me. Thank you, Robin. It would not have happened without you. And I kept my ear to the ground the whole time, just like you needed me to, and whenever you're ready, I'll tell you everything going on in town."
"I can hardly wait," said Robin, truly happy for his friend. "I am keeping you from your thirsty clients, though. Can't have you going bankrupt!"
Much gave him a smart salute and then ran back into the cellars to direct Robin's men.
Robin and Will watched him go, but once he was out of earshot, Robin's tone turned somber. "They’re going to hang John. On the village green."
It was as if all the joy had been sucked out of the tunnel. "When?" asked Will.
"No word yet. I heard them talking at the tables upstairs. We'll need everyone to keep their ears open."
"If they hang Little John, there will be no way for anyone not to hear about it."
Robin leaned against the sandstone wall. Though lit by the flickering candlelight, he could not help but shudder, remembering the dark walls of the oubliette. "Do you think they are putting him to torture?" he asked.
Will did not respond. He did not have to. They both knew the Sheriff's methods.
"Much knows the hangman. I've spoken to him once or twice here in the tavern. I'll drop by his house tonight and ask if there's anything we can do," said Will. "Or at least hand over enough silver to bribe him to be as gentle as he can."
"John was injured," cautioned Robin.
"That might be his salvation," Will replied, trying to find some hope somewhere. "The Sheriff will need him alive in order to make an example of him. They'll heal him. And then hurt him. But they'll save the worst for the hanging."
Much came bounding out of the cellar, interrupting their conversation with his cheerful enthusiasm.
"So... is there anything I can do?" he asked, twisting his rag excitedly in his hand.
Robin inwardly resigned himself to have patience until Will could get answers from the hangman. There was nothing to be done to help John until later, but there was someone else who needed rescuing. "Maybe. There's a gentlewoman whom the Sheriff is holding hostage. Her name is Marian."
"Marian," repeated Much, committing it to memory.
"I believe she's in the castle. You've made some friends with the guards. Any way one of them might look the other way while I sneak inside?"
"Oh," said Much with surprise. "Well, that's not a problem."
Robin, Will, and the other men of the forest stopped everything they were doing and looked at Much.
He gulped, his voice coming out as a squeak. "The caves go up there. We deliver ale directly from our stores. The castle is one of my best clients. If you want to carry up some of the barrels, you'd be doing me a favor. It's one heck of a climb and I'd be glad not to face it for a week."
Robin took Much by the shoulders. "Much, once again, you have proven to be our savior. Saint Much of the Helpless Thieves!"
"Oh, go on you," said Much, beaming.
"Come now, Much," said Robin, throwing his arm around Much's shoulder. "Point us the way! Show us where this entrance is and how we may serve the Sheriff!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Marian paced like a caged wolf. At the end of the long room, she stopped, peered out the window, and turned to march her circular tread once again.
She wasn't sure if it helped or made her long for her freedom even more.
No opportunity to escape presented itself. The air was heavy and stale. The white plastered walls seemed to narrow around her. Even her garments felt too tight. She had not been allowed out except for meals. She knew as long as she behaved, things would change as the weeks and months went by. But for now, the restrictions were stifling.
She had sent her companion away before the woman's endless, worrying prattle drove her mad, but there was a gentle knock on the door and she knew her woman had returned. She had to keep from screaming with frustration.
She turned angrily, biting back the snapping command to "go away" that sat on her lips when the door opened.
But it was not her companion.
Though wearing her waiting lady's gown, it was a different companion altogether.
Her palm flew up to her mouth, but this time to stifle the cry of both relief and fear that rose in her throat. The door closed.
"Robin!" she whispered, terrified he would be discovered.
He slowly lowered the latch and turned to face
her. The room, which had seemed too small moments before, now seemed miles long.
She rushed to him, pausing half a step away. She wanted to fling herself into his arms. Instead, she touched his dress and wimple. "You stole my companion's clothes?" she chided with amusement.
Robin grabbed her and held her fingers to his lips. "You're alive." He searched her face, not letting go, looking for any sign that he should sweep her away from her prison instantly. "You are unharmed? You are well?"
She could not help herself. She pressed her hands against his heart. "I am! I am well! More now that you are here! How did you get here?"
"There is a tunnel that runs from the tavern to the cellars of Nottingham Castle. They use it to deliver the ale. Your good woman was invited for a drink and, let us just say, she is enjoying the merry companionship of one of my men. While she was not using her garments, I decided to put them to good use."
Marian felt the dress' sleeve on his strong, muscular arm. "It serves her right."
"Ah, she's a widow," Robin reminded her. "The rules are not the same for maids."
She brushed her knuckles across his close-shaven cheek. "You make a very lovely maid," Marian laughed. "I barely recognized you!" But then her spirit became clouded as the happiness of their reunion faded into the reality of their situation. "But what are you doing here? If you are caught..."
"I am here to free you," Robin stated. "But I must also free Little John. Do you know where he is kept?"
"I do not," Marian confessed. "But I shall find it out."
"Do not place yourself in harm's way. I shall find him. Keep yourself safe."
"You saved my uncle, you are here to save me, and the least I can do is place myself in a bit of danger to save you and John." Tears of gratitude and relief filled her eyes. She wiped them away, as if ashamed. "You must excuse me. I have tried so hard to be strong. And it is so much..."
Robin gathered her into his arms, allowing her to sob until her emotions slowed. At long last, and yet too soon, she pulled away. Her hair stuck to her cheek with its sweaty, salty tears. Robin laughed as he wiped her face, the calluses of his fingers rough upon her skin.
"Do you remember?" she asked. "Do you remember at the archery tournament?"
Robin nodded, her words bringing back the day he could not forget.
Shyly, she reached into a small purse at her waist and pulled out a dried leaf. "I gave you a crown of hawthorn to wear as a sign of my favor, which you cast aside." He tried to protest that he never meant to cast anything from her aside, but she stopped him. "I picked it up and took a piece of it in the hopes I might be able to return it to you once again. For, truly, I do wish for you to know how much I admire... how much I favor you."
She held the hawthorn out. Robin took in from her, but realized he wanted, no, he needed to give her something in return.
In his purse, he had the embroidered ribbon the spinster of Nottingham had given to him, the one she had told him to pass along to someone special. He had kept it safe all this time, he realized, for this moment.
He gently tied it around her wrist. "Would you keep it?" he asked. His voice trembled ever so slightly as he realized what he was about to ask. "For the admiration... the favor... is returned a thousandfold from me."
And when she nodded, both of them understanding the depth of the question and the eternity of the promise, they crossed that impossible distance between two people and found each other, sealing the vow with the tenderest touch of hope.
Pulling away, Marian rested her nose against his cheek. In the sacred quiet, she gave a gentle laugh. "I never thought my first kiss would be with an outlaw dressed in my woman's clothes."
"She shall not be back to reclaim them for some time," observed Robin. His voice rumbled deep.
"Then we must take advantage of the moments we have," Marian replied, entwining her arms around him, drawing him close. Her sweet breath whispered upon his lips. "For, with a man like you, one never knows what tomorrow may bring."
CHAPTER THIRTY
The meal done and strained politeness dispensed, Marian rose to return to her room. Her waiting woman scurried over to the door.
It had been an especially uncomfortable evening.
Rather than taking dinner in the great hall, the Sheriff had insisted on a private meal. A rectangular table with chairs for three had been placed before a roaring fire. The Sheriff of Nottingham was at the head, Marian seated at the other, and between them both sat Sir Guy of Gisborne. His oily leering made every bite stick in her throat. Though his features were much like her Robin, there was no mistaking the differences between the two men.
"Stay awhile!" commanded the Sheriff of Nottingham, calling her back. "You barely ate a thing. Enjoy another glass of wine with us!" He snapped his fingers, not bothering to look at the servant. "Go down to the cellar and get some of the good stuff. We have this honored guest with us tonight!"
As the servant backed away, the Sheriff motioned more insistently that Marian should retake her seat. "You always seem in such a rush to return to your room. It must be quite comfortable there in your bed." His voice lingered on the final word.
Marian did not rise to the bait. Instead, she smiled with cool control. "Your hospitality has been too generous and I often find myself exhausted."
"You are not lonely?"
"My dear friend keeps me in good company," she replied, holding her hand out to her lady-in-waiting.
The Sheriff looked at Guy as if he could not believe how dense the girl was. "A young woman such as yourself could do well at court. Just a word from me and you could be dancing with the king. Far better, you could be introduced at court on the arm of a knight or nobleman, such as... oh say... my friend here, Sir Guy of Gisborne."
Sir Guy inclined his head to Maid Marian. "I once shot an arrow at the May Games and the prize was your favor. It would be my honor to claim that favor now."
"You came in second."
"Perhaps we can think of this as a second opportunity to see the prize Sir Guy is to you, Maid Marian," said the Sheriff.
The gritted smile on her face disappeared entirely. "My uncle is in his declining years and I would not wish to be far from him."
"Hmmm..." said the Sheriff. "Would it not be a great deal more benefit to him to not have to worry about you? Have his niece joined in an advantageous match? One that brought wealth and honor to a disgraced family?"
"That is my king's decision and my uncle's decision," Marian replied with a mock show of duty. "Not mine."
"I shall have to talk with him," said the Sheriff. He nodded again to Guy. "One must think strategically, especially after a person such as your uncle was caught hiding a known outlaw like John Little."
Marian's heart began pounding in her chest. She raised her chin. "And what is to become of the prisoner?"
The Sheriff smiled, pleased that he was finally able to get a little interest out of her. He leaned over to his friend. "We should tell her, don't you think? Or should the surprise be my wedding gift?"
"It would be best for her to know the dire nature of her uncle's sins," said Sir Guy. "She seems an intelligent sort and it might be best for her to understand what I am offering."
The Sheriff leaned in Marian's direction, draping himself over the arm of his chair. He lowered his voice and spoke in a conspiring tone. "John Little is currently held in the county gaol, enjoying our hospitality. Examples must be made of those who kill my guards when aiding a prisoner's escape. John Little shall hang in two days’ time," he said. "Hung, emasculated, drawn and quartered, done all for the people's entertainment on the town green. A shame you and your uncle worked so hard to save a life that will prove to be so painfully short."
Marian paled as the blood drained from her face and froze in her veins. "You must forgive me. I am feeling ill." She turned to walk towards her room, but the Sheriff called out and stopped her feet.
"So we are clear, if your uncle gives your hand to Sir Guy, no harm shall befa
ll Sir Richard or your family. We will assume the aid he granted John Little was nothing more than the doddering, kindhearted whim of a senile patriarch who did not know who was in his house. But if for some reason he denies our request, we will assume it is because he sympathizes with this murderer and thief, and he will be dealt with accordingly." The Sheriff raised his glass. "Where did that boy get to with the wine? I feel the need to raise a glass to the impending nuptials."
Marian looked as the page emerged from behind the tapestries, wishing it was the face of a savior and friend.
But she was alone.
"I have no choice in this matter," she stated, just to make sure she understood the situation correctly.
"Of course you do!" said the Sheriff. "A bride must give consent for a marriage to be binding. But do be aware of the consequences... the very real and serious consequences... if you decline Sir Guy's generous offer to elevate you."
She wet her lips, her mind turning into a tempest. In shock, she found her voice had left her and she could only curtsey. "I shall write to my uncle and inform him of your offer," she replied eventually. The cost of saying those words felt like a noose around her own neck.
"Better yet," the Sheriff stopping her and turning to his friend, "you should go and share the news of this happy engagement with her uncle in person, Sir Guy."
Guy smiled and lifted his glass to her. "I shall look forward to formalizing our wedding banns," he stated.
Marian turned and fled the room, the men's laughter floating across the flagstone and chasing her down the hall. Her gentlewoman tried to keep up, but Marian motioned for her to stay away. She needed to be alone. She could not breathe.
Her uncle would be killed if she did not marry Sir Guy.
Little John was to die. He was to die horribly.
Tears blurred her vision.
She ran towards the circular staircase. A forbidden thought told her to run to the top of the battlements and fling herself from their heights.