“Alan’s right,” Marian said. “They might not even bother trying to find us. They might try to burn us out.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” she hissed. Yet a sick feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach.
“I think we both know they would. The question is, how can we stop them?”
“By giving them another target,” Chastity suggested.
Marian looked up sharply. “Another target? What?”
Chastity took a deep breath. “Don’t you think it’s time to resurrect the Hood?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Most of the newcomers, including Chastity, slept through a great deal of the next three days. Marian wished fervently that she’d been able to do so, as well. Instead, she became busy planning how to use the Hood to move their enemies away from Sherwood.
It would be tricky, but she was fairly certain she, Alan, and Friar Tuck had found a solution. Even so, she worried and prayed for Robin and his small band. As if that wasn’t enough, another concern occupied her in the early mornings—one she could not avoid.
* * *
Marian had her eyes squeezed together tightly as she leaned over the fallen tree. She had been vomiting for what seemed like forever, and she remained as still as possible, praying that it was finally over. She felt a paw tapping her ankle. Champion was worried about her.
He wasn’t the only one.
She could feel unease rippling through the forest around her as the creatures took notice of her state. She wished there was something she could do to reassure them, but at the moment it was all she could do to reassure herself.
Champion pawed at her more urgently. At once she realized there was someone in the woods. Even through the waves of illness she could feel it, even if she was helpless to do anything about it. She kept her head down and continued to pray. After a while she heard the rustling of leaves behind her.
She sensed no evil so she waited, believing that whoever disturbed her meant her no ill will.
“My lady?” a woman’s voice asked at last, hesitant and full of concern. It was Jansa, the cook. Slowly Marian opened her eyes and turned her head just enough that she could see the other woman. Jansa stood there, eyes wide, clutching some sort of dried leaves.
“My Esther told me you were sick,” she said. “This is the third morning in a row.”
“Yes,” Marian said, barely able to get the word out.
“I brought this to help—it’s mint,” Jansa said, bending down to hand her the crushed leaves. “You can smell them and eat one if you like.”
Marian took a couple of the leaves and pressed them to her nose. She breathed in the scent for several seconds before finally putting one in her mouth and chewing it. It seemed to work as slowly the urge to vomit began to dissipate. When it had gone altogether, Marian got to her feet.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling a surge of gratitude for the other woman. “How did you know?”
Jansa shrugged. “It helped me when I was with child, so I was sure it would help you.”
Marian blinked at her. “But I’m not with child.”
Jansa’s eyebrows shot up in a look of surprise. “I beg your pardon, milady, but I’m fairly certain you are. It’s been four weeks since you took Lord Robin to husband.”
Marian blushed at the memory. Her hand touched her stomach briefly. Could it be true? She had yearned for this in her heart, but the thought that it might actually be so was overwhelming.
“I beg your pardon, milady, but this is a joyful thing,” Jansa said earnestly.
Marian smiled. “Please, keep this between us until I know... until I am certain.”
Jansa nodded and relief surged through her. The last thing she needed was wild speculation about what this could mean to England. Her hand involuntarily touched the torc around her throat.
“I’m sure he’ll be back,” Jansa said reassuringly. “That man has more lives than a cat.”
“He does at that,” Marian agreed. “Thank you again for the mint.”
“It was no bother.”
Marian was also deeply grateful that Jansa had taken over the cooking duties. Mealtimes had become a lot cheerier for it. At the moment, though, the thought of food made her stomach clench, so there would be no breakfast for her. It was just as well. That left more for the others.
Jansa lingered. “Is there anything else I can do for you, milady?”
Marian shook her head. The truth was, though, she wasn’t willing to rejoin the others just yet. She wanted to make sure her stomach remained settled. She didn’t really want to be alone, though, either. She’d had too much time alone with her thoughts lately.
“Actually, come to think of it, there is something you can do for me,” she said.
“Milady?” Jansa asked.
“You can tell me when it is we’ll be celebrating your taking Thomas to husband?”
Jansa flushed red, which made Marian smile.
“My lady, I don’t know what—”
Marian raised her hand. “The whole camp knows that you’re sweet on each other.”
“I... truth be told, my lady, I don’t know who we’d ask for permission.”
Marian blinked in surprise and then a swell of pity rose in her. She had forgotten that even peasants needed permission to marry, often from their lord. She had been certain that Richard would have approved, so she hadn’t thought twice about marrying Robin. There would be no higher authority to authorize their union.
“I would be honored to give my blessing to your union.”
Jansa’s eyes went wide with excitement. “My lady, you would do that for us?”
“Of course,” Marian said. Truth be told it would be the happiest duty she had yet to perform. “Name the day.”
Jansa licked her lips. “I’ll have to speak with Thomas, but, if it’s alright with you, I’m thinking today is a fine day to get married.”
Marian actually laughed, understanding entirely.
“I agree, it is a fine day to get married.”
Jansa curtsied then hurried off, so excited that she forgot to formally take her leave. Cautiously Marian stood up. Her stomach definitely felt settled, so it was time to return to camp before she scared Friar Tuck, who’d been marking her comings and goings with a watchful eye.
She found him keeping counsel with Alan-a-Dale, an expected sight these days. In a little while Alan would start his morning lesson with Haylan. Strange how even living in a makeshift camp in the middle of the forest, they could start to fall into predictable routines.
Haylan’s older brother Audric had become friends with Bartholomew. It was an unlikely duo, but they were united in their need to exact revenge on those who had hurt them. The two were deep in discussion over something, and she had the sudden feeling that it would be good to learn exactly what they were busy planning. It might be necessary to redirect their efforts, instead of standing back and letting nature take its course.
She moved to join the bard and the friar and they both welcomed her with fleeting smiles. Involuntarily she touched her stomach, wondering if either of them suspected what Jansa had sussed out. She forced herself to smile and drop her hand to her side.
“There’s a tax shipment that the Hood can grab,” Friar Tuck said. “Since the Sheriff still believes him dead there will be few guards.”
Marian nodded. “Enough that the three of us can handle it?”
The two men exchanged glances.
“Enough that Alan and I can handle it,” Tuck said.
“We started this together, and we’re continuing it together,” Marian said firmly. “Besides, neither of you is nearly as good with a bow as I am. We need to keep up using one if we want people to believe this is the same Hood.”
Both men looked as if they were on the point of arguing with her, but she held up a hand.
“If we cannot successfully pull this off, then it’s only a matter of days at most before they come for us. We need to put every effort into making this
a spectacular robbery, and into leading them to think the Hood has found a new hideout... far away from here.”
Alan nodded and glanced at Friar Tuck, who sighed.
“We think we’ve found a place,” he said. “We think we can convince them the Hood is hiding out in a series of caves. If we do this right, they could spend weeks searching and never find a thing.”
“Why would the Sheriff believe for even a second that the Hood had abandoned the safety of Sherwood?” Marian asked.
“It would be a longshot, for certain. We would have to leave at least one soldier alive and with the strong impression that the Hood no longer found safety in the forest, perhaps because of the arrival of Henry’s army. We could even mention the fey or the ghosts, playing up on the fears the soldiers already have about them. We need to try something to pull their attention away from this place.”
“Okay, we’ll try,” Marian said. “So, this tax shipment, when do we take it?”
“Tonight while they camp on the road. It’s coming from a distance and they’ll have to camp tonight, several miles from the castle. It won’t be in the forest, though.”
“All the better, since we need them to disassociate the Hood from the forest, at least as long as there are human soldiers on their side. We should go early, figure out the best way to attack before they arrive.”
“We’ve already prepared for that, my lady. We leave in an hour.”
“Good. I’ll be ready.”
* * *
Sometimes Robin had good ideas and sometimes he had terrible ideas. What had seemed like a good idea earlier now seemed terrible. They had taken a couple of days to scout and to acquire some things they would need for his plan to work.
He had managed to locate the soldiers who had left England with King Richard. They were still alive and indeed being held in some sort of animal pens a stone’s throw from the castle. Since his father would be recognized, it would fall to him and Old Soldier to free them. If they did it right, then they could unlock the pens before the guards could call an alert. Then hopefully the sheer numbers of English crusaders would overwhelm them.
The barbarian king’s army was smaller than Richard’s and surprise would this time be on their side. Hopefully that would be enough so long as Wulfhere did not have time to cast any dark spells like he had the night he captured them all. If he did, numbers or no, then the likelihood of success would be incredibly slim.
The hardest part would be getting Richard out of the dungeons, and then out of the castle. That job was left to Much. It had been decided that Sir Lawrence would remain close to the road to act as lookout in case unexpected reinforcements arrived. The knight offered no resistance.
Old Soldier parted company with them for a while, intent on finding food to feed the army once it was freed. In the last two days of travel, Robin tried to teach Much everything he could so that the miller’s son would pass as his manservant. The boy was nothing if not an eager learner. He listened, asked good questions, and got most things right the first time. Then they managed to acquire some clothing that—to the layman’s eyes—would make Robin look a proper lord and Much a proper servant. Robin had no doubt that Will would have scoffed at what he was now wearing, but they hoped a barbarian like Wulfhere wouldn’t know the difference.
On two of the grandest horses they could steal they traveled along the open road. Robin rode with his spine straight, putting as much swagger and arrogance as he could into his bearing. Before they parted his father remarked that he didn’t know if he was proud or disgusted by the final result. Robin knew how he felt.
Approaching the castle just after noon, they rode at a steady trot. The greatest failing in Much’s disguise was that he could not sit his horse well. Robin was just grateful that the young man wasn’t falling off. He reminded himself that there were plenty of servants who only traveled with their master by coach and would have looked just as ridiculous astride.
The sentries at the front of the castle watched them come up the road and remained in place—which was good. When they reached the gate Robin pulled his horse to a halt. With a little more difficulty Much managed to do the same. Robin rolled his eyes as though disgusted by the display.
“I am Lord Locksley, here on behalf of the Sheriff, ruler of England. I bear important messages for your king,” he said.
The two sentries looked at each other.
“Today, if you please,” Robin said. “We have traveled far on these godforsaken roads, and I am in need of a proper meal and a bath,” he continued, putting to his voice an imperious edge of impatience that would have made the real Locksley proud.
The sentries looked at each other again.
“Do either of you speak English?” Robin demanded, letting his frustration show. When neither man spoke he dismounted. Walking up to the closest sentry, he slapped the man as hard as he could. “Take me to your king,” he said, clipping each word.
Hastily the other sentry drew his sword. Robin turned and gave him a disdainful glare. The man clearly weighed his options, turned, and shouted inside. The gate began to rise.
“That’s more like it,” Robin said as he remounted his steed. When the gate had risen high enough he urged his horse forward. Its shoulder slammed into the one sentry, sending him spinning away. Robin didn’t even look. Much rode beside him. As they passed under the giant steel teeth he fought the urge to look up.
They rode into the courtyard and he heard the gate lower back into place behind them. A groomsman ran up. Refusing to let any concern show on his face, he threw his reins to the man and dismounted. Much managed to do the same, slipping and floundering a bit, but not actually falling off—a small miracle. He scurried to keep up with Robin’s long stride as they moved toward the imposing doors that would lead into the castle proper.
They swung open and without hesitation Robin strode through.
The doors slammed shut again behind him. He stood for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom. Though there were torches burning everywhere, they did little to push back shadows that seemed to writhe and slither over each other as though alive.
He steeled himself. He had seen such and worse in the castle occupied by John and the Sheriff. Locksley wouldn’t have cared about such things—at least, not the version of Locksley that Robin was playing. Instead he looked around, trying to get his bearings, mapping what he could see so that when the time came they could make their escape quickly.
He steadfastly refused to give into the fear that was clawing at the back of his mind, or listen to the whispers that echoed in the dark around them. Because if he did then he’d have to acknowledge the truth of their situation. They were in the belly of the beast, and they were almost certainly never going to find their way out.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Despite the cold late-evening bite of the winter wind, Alan was sweating profusely. He hadn’t worn the cloak of the Hood in weeks, and in his heart he’d hoped never to have to wear it again. He, Tuck, and the lady Marian waited for the tax shipment. It was just the three of them—a bard, a friar, and a woman, against armed guards.
He keenly felt the absence of both Will and Robin.
Each of them had taken position in a tree to better keep out of sight and harm’s way until they were ready to spring their trap. It had been far easier for Friar Tuck to climb this time than it had that first tree, so long ago. He wished he could put it down to the monk gaining muscle and agility. Truly, though, his friend was losing weight.
Friar Tuck had always been possessed of a mighty girth, about which Alan himself had teased him mercilessly in the past. Seeing it dwindle, though, filled him with sorrow. It was evidence of the harsh conditions, the deprivation that had been thrust upon them all. It was as though Friar Tuck’s waistline symbolized the state of England, and judging from its current state, the country was wasting away.
His thoughts shifted to the lady Marian, and Alan frowned deeply. He suspected that she was with child. That alon
e should have been enough for her to stay behind. Yet they were living in desperate times and he feared things were only going to grow worse.
He just hoped the three of them survived this fight.
There were supposed to be six guards traveling with the shipment, so they were outnumbered two to one. Still, they could be grateful. Before the Hood had “died,” the numbers would have been much greater.
He couldn’t help but feel as if they had failed. The uprising of the people had yet to materialize. Of those who were fit enough to resist, most were too terrified to join them in the fight against the Sheriff and his demons. With Henry and his soldiers added to the mix, whatever hope they’d had of winning seemed to have disappeared.
Alan and the cardinal had crafted such great schemes. This was their folly. It had already destroyed the cardinal and all but destroyed him.
His fingers involuntarily reached for his harp, as they often did in times of distress. When they didn’t connect with it he felt a momentary flare of panic, until he remembered leaving it behind in the camp. He couldn’t risk losing it tonight—it had been given to him by his mentor when he was a boy. In some ways its absence pained him more than the loss of his tongue.
At least this separation was only temporary.
The sky began to darken as the sun sunk lower on the horizon. Clouds began filling the sky, a warning that they were likely to be without a moon to guide them. At least it couldn’t help their enemies either.
Straining his ears, he listened for the sound of an approaching caravan. They had it on good authority that the tax collectors would be stopping here for the night, one of the more frequently used rest points on the road. He was half surprised no one had put an inn there yet, as it would make an extremely convenient location for travelers.
From where he was positioned he could see neither Tuck nor Marian. Alan wondered if their concern was growing along with his. Dark thoughts crowded his mind and he tensed, glancing all around as far as he could. Anxiety bubbled within him, and it felt like spiders were beginning to crawl all over his skin. He prayed there was nothing wrong—that he was just experiencing his own paranoia, which had been heightened since his capture.
Sovereign's War Page 15