by Sue Wilson
No doubt he would argue that he was nothing more than a bastard stable boy who happened upon his sheriffdom by his wits and a pocketful of spare change. No doubt, he would be wrong. The ruse with the silver belonged to the lowest highwayman; her daring rescue from the gaol more aptly suited a rogue knight. But in the end, Thea had seen nobility in the Sheriff's determined actions no one could deny-nobility that went past pretense to the soul, where the measure of a man was truly taken.
It struck her odd that what she missed most was not his unwavering strength or his carefully devised defiance, but something far simpler. What she longed for now was the assurance of his arms about her, the rhythm of his breath stirring the hair against her neck, and the intimate, inadvertent touches their bodies made in sleep.
She closed her eyes against a hot wash of tears, inhaling deeply the faint scent he had left behind, willing her strength to follow him if she could not. He would manage, she told herself. By winter's end, Richard would be free, and the king would send his traitorous brother off with his tail between his legs. And with the Sheriff's talent for turning events to his favor, Nottingham would likely convince the Lionheart to overlook his initial compliance with the conspiracy and reap a pleasant reward for his part in bringing the king home to England.
With a sigh, she left the crude bed they had shared and ventured outside. A few of the outlaws looked her way, approving smiles and nods accompanying respectful silence. She smiled back, cheeks flushing hot in the bitter chill of the winter wind.
"Ah, there ye be, lass, and a late rising to ye!" John Little's long strides took him to Thea's side, and he fell into slow step beside her, laying a woolen shawl over her shoulders.
"Too late, I fear," Thea said quietly.
"Aye, well, he wanted it that way. Wanted to leave ye sleeping in the warmth, not out here in the cold, stumbling over a leave-taking you'd both be loathe to make."
Thea glanced sidelong at the giant's face only to find him looking at her with peculiar understanding. "I doubt the Sheriff would be about confessing such nonsense to you, John, even deprived of sleep and the last whit of reason the man owns, which surely he forfeited with that hare-brained scheme of his."
"Aye, and it were a glorious scheme-"
"Foolhardy at best, damn the man! Damn you both! You should track him down, you should, and bring him back, for I've a good mind to hang him from the tallest oak in Sherwood, and you right beside him, John, for the risks you took."
"'Twas all the Sheriff's doing," John said charitably, "the notion of it, the planning of it, the maneuvering of it, 'twas all his idea, every bit of it."
"And you yourself, you'd have naught of such high-minded trickery, now would you, John?"
"Nay, on my life, but were it to save your pretty skin. And the throne of England," he added belatedly, "what the Sheriff did most nicely, for all that he's a snake in the grass and a Norman."
Thea managed a shaky laugh. "By my soul, John, were I not more sure of your loyalties, I'd swear there was a touch of admiration in your voice. You haven't become the Sheriff's champion, have you?"
"Well, he saved ye, didn't he? And brought you here to Sherwood and made an honest woman of ye, so Tuck won't be listening to your confession till the end of his days. And more, I suppose. Gone back to Nottingham, back to that devil Lackland still without his breakfast hanging and hungry for the distraction of your lovely neck in a noose. He could've stayed, you know. We'd have all taken him, every last man here, or hid him till he managed to get his hide to France or such. But he was set on making things right somehow. Making sure you was safe, lass, 'tis the best of what he did."
Thea scuffed the toe of her slipper through a pile of frost-limned leaves. "And the silver?"
"'Tis a fair portion of the ransom, if not the whole of it. Enough to make German Henry sit down and talk, maybe enough to win Richard's release with a promise of more to come. Maybe. We'll know soon."
John paused, and Thea felt the weight of his stare, reaching deep within her. "But then, lass, 'tis not the silver what's on your mind. 'Tis him, your Sheriff."
"John-"
"I told ye once and you'd not pay me mind. I'll tell ye again. 'Tis plain, lass, you love the man. Nay, don't try and make it easy on my pride. I saw it for myself at the Yuletide feast. The way ye held to his arm, your fingers toying with the braid at his sleeve. The way your face were all lit up, pink, like dawn coming over night, your eyes shining like candles been fired behind them. And I saw it again last night, when Tuck married ye, your smile-for a moment there was no care in your life but to hold to this man, cleave to him, draw from his strength somehow, like a woman does from a man she loves. And him-"
John drew a deep breath, huffing it out with an audible sigh. "I tried not to look at him, but there he was with ye, lass, and I saw him look at ye as if there were naught but you and him in the world. Saw him lean close to ye and whisper sweetly. And I asked myself, was this the bastard Sheriff we knew, who was lacing his fingers with yours beneath his cloak when he thought no one was looking? Could the beast be that tender, that full of heart?
"You think I don't notice, that a big man like me can't see the small things like that. But I do. And I did. And what I see in ye is something I've not seen in all the years I've known you. You gained something of his power, lass, and he, something of your softness, and in my mind, there can be no explaining how that happens, that bartering of bits and pieces of people's souls, unless love is there, somehow making it all possible."
"I will not argue a word of it, John, save-"
"Save what, lass?"
"If something should happen-I've lost one husband-"
"Are ye worried about his hide, then?" John asked with a gently chiding chuckle. "The rascal we've all wanted to drown in the Trent? The same varmint you wanted hanging from Sherwood's oaks just moments ago? Aye, Thea, you're in love all right, and so unused to the feelings what come with it you're thinking like a half-wit. 'Tis the Sheriff of Nottingham we're talking of, lass. The same slippery eel of a man what our arrows couldn't find even when our aim was good. The same smooth-talking snake whose silver tongue spewed venom and half-truths one minute and charmed ye into his bed the next-"
John held up his hand, cutting off Thea's rebuttal before she could make it. "Don't be glaring at me, lass. Ye haven't half a right to knot your brows in my direction after I spent the eve bedding next to Will Scathlocke and his thundering snores, whilst you and your Sheriff-well, all I'm trying to say is, ye need not worry for his safety. He's wily and careful and too bleeding mean to be killed, and if that weren't enough, he has you, lass, and the thought of you loving him to carry him through. Although worry, if ye must." He smiled. "It's a refreshing sight to see ye beside yourself with a tender feeling or two."
"Oh, John, truly, I meant for none of this to happen. If I could have chosen-"
"But you did, Thea," John said with quiet firmness. "In your own way, you did. Maybe it was time for the mourning to be done. Or maybe it was something in the man what drew you to him. But still, lass, ye chose to be with him when no one else would. And you gave him the best any man could hope for. You believed in him. What man in his right mind could not love ye back for that?"
Thea glanced up at John, catching a faraway look of longing on his face.
"Aye, lass," he admitted with a small shrug, "I love ye still. Always will. No Sheriff can take that away from me. But what I wanted most, Thea, was to see ye drawing breath again, laughing, hurting, feeling. 'Tis him what did for ye what I could not. I should be thanking him, I suppose. Maybe in my own way, I am, for I haven't killed the son of a bitch yet, though the itch is still there some from habit."
He laughed easily, a low rumble that Thea felt through her own skin as he pulled her close to his side. "It's odd, when you come to think of it, how your Sheriff's Robin turned inside out. Like the opposite sides of the same coin, but made of the same stuff inside. He's a scrapper, your Sheriff, a fighter. Aye, I like the ma
n well enough." John nodded, affirming his feelings. "Ah, Thea, 'tis a strange world, not nearly as easy to figure as ye'd think."
Thea sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked arm in arm through the forest. "Sometimes there is no sense to it all, is there, John?"
John grinned and brushed the top of her head with a soft kiss. "And sometimes, lass, the only sense of it be found in your heart."
EPILOGUE
April's sun broke through the clouds and shone brightly over the greening landscape. Thea strolled from the castle herb garden, which was already brimming with a wealth of plants and new shoots. In the crook of her elbow, she carried a gathering basket full of new herbs as well as a few of the wildflowers that were starting to spring up along the garden wall.
She made her way to the churchyard, stopping to chat with the soldier whose twins she had delivered the eve before, and promised to check in with the new mother and her babes before the afternoon passed. A little further along, one of the stable master's brood stopped her to show off a litter of pups, sleeping together in a furry pile of brown and white spots.
All around her, the world seemed to be awakening from its winter slumber and bringing forth fertile abundance of new life. She smiled wistfully, stopping at the gate of the churchyard, and let the breeze slip through her hair, buffeting her face with a caress full of the scent of newly turned earth.
The Sheriff knelt at the gravesite, plucking at the overgrown grass that had sprung up around the new marble headstone. As if sensing Thea's presence, he looked up, spotted her, and stood.
"Kendall is remiss in his tending of these plots again. I must have an urgent word with him," he called out.
"Everything is growing so quickly after the rains," she replied, coming through the gate to join him. "I noticed it in the herb garden as well. All winter, I've chafed at having not enough to do, and now that spring is here, there are not enough hours in the day."
"You need to start training someone, a suitable apprentice who can help you with your potions and such."
"Aye, I've thought about that."
Nottingham glanced at the headstone. "The stone mason did a fine job with this, did he not? I'd contemplated something more ornate, at first. Angels or some such, but this seems more fitting. Alyce was never fond of frivolous decoration."
"It's lovely. Solid and permanent. So she will always be remembered." Thea knelt and put the bouquet of wildflowers on the green sod below the Celtic cross.
"I should do something similar for Aelwynn, but I must confess, I've not quite the charitable spirit for it. Enough for now that she lies in holy ground. She was deserving of far less, as the priest insists on reminding me."
Thea laid her hand on Nottingham's back, fingertips gently stroking him beneath the silk of his tunic. "Did Gisborne ever say much about the night he found her?"
"No," the Sheriff replied. "I suspect he knows better than any of us why she took her own life. I can only gather that she could not continue to live with all she had done, the attempts on my life, the fire, deGisborne's death."
He shrugged as if to cast off the memories of that other time that seemed so long ago now.
"So what are you about this morn?" Thea turned a teasing glance to him. "More justice to dispense?"
The Sheriff smiled, and linking his arm through hers, steered her along the narrow path that led out of the churchyard. "In case you haven't noticed, the Lionheart made rubble of part of my castle in his attempt to wrest it from the barons. I am deep in debate with the masons about repairing the fortifications. The battlements are quite a disaster. And I keep waiting for the next hard rain to bring the roof of the hall down around our ears. All I hear from my advisors is how much expense will be involved, and that reptilian little scribe of mine does nothing but nod and concur, then plunge into some dreary accounting of my depleted treasury."
"Nottingham is the Crown's castle," Thea said. "The Crown should help maintain it."
"Richard is forgiving, sweet, but already bent on a new war in France. A double-edged sword, if you'd like: he's putting all his funds into armor and munitions, but he's far too busy planning his next adventure to be watching me. I suppose I should consider myself fortunate he was willing to overlook my previous transgressions and allow me to continue here again, once he'd secured the castle."
"It's largely due to you that he's home at all!"
"Hardly something I want to take credit for, Thea. The man's a warrior, a glory-seeker. He'll be gone the first chance he gets. I, on the other hand, would like to make something of this shire. I'd like to see Nottingham become something more than a mere military stronghold. I'd like to see it flourish, to give to the people something other than my legacy of oppression."
Thea smiled and squeezed his arm. "Well, the archery contest is an excellent idea. Your men will get to show off their skill, their ladies will have an excuse for new gowns-"
"And Robin of Locksley will beat them hands-down. It will be nothing more than an exercise in humiliation."
Thea laughed.
"Which reminds me," the Sheriff continued. "I've been holding something of his."
Thea glanced at him with a puzzled expression. "Of Robin's?"
"In a manner of speaking. I know what you'll say, of course, but I could not quite prevent myself. I mean, it was all there for the taking. All that treasure. The silver. The gold. After all, who would miss it?"
"You stole from King Richard's ransom money?" Thea could not quite prevent the astonishment from slipping into her voice.
"It was only a bit, Thea." His eyes darkened, guilt and merriment clashing equally in their depths.
"And you say you've mended your ways. Honestly, Sheriff, are your very bones made of nothing but deceit and mischief?"
"See, I knew you would say that."
"Then why did you take it? That money did not belong to you!"
"Yes, but-" Nottingham faltered, then began again in a sterner voice. "Your friends in Sherwood have stolen on more occasions than I care to remember, and yet you never once chastised them for their larcenous behavior. I take a mere nugget-"
"A nugget? You took a nugget of gold? Do you know how much that was worth?"
"Yes-"
"You'll return it this instant!"
"I'll not be corrected like some errant child, wife! Sweet saints! Did you leave your gentle nature back in Sherwood, woman, or is it just something about my castle that turns you into a harping shrew?"
"I am not a harping-"
The sound of someone clearing her throat silenced them both in mid-argument. Mildthryth waddled over to them, wagging her head, clucking her tongue, and spewing forth such a scolding of Saxon verbiage that Thea immediately turned to Nottingham.
"Now you've done it. It's either listen to her lectures on marital harmony or wait until she locks us in the solar together until we work out our differences, and I can't say I prefer one over the other."
"I certainly prefer being locked away with you-"
"You would. Then you can ply me with sweet words and your ever-efficient kisses and worm your way out of putting that gold back where it belongs."
"But it belongs with you!" Nottingham insisted.
"It does not belong-what? What on earth are you talking about?"
"She's being mule-headed, Millie." Nottingham cast an imploring eye toward the maidservant. "Just as I predicted."
Mildthryth cuffed him gently upside the head. "You ignorant whelp! Mishandling things again, are you?" She raised her hands to the heavens as if entreating help from the saints. "I can't seem to teach you a thing. Stop talking the thing to death and give it to her!"
"Give what-?"
The Sheriff reached inside his tunic, then extended his hand to Thea. When he uncurled his fingers, a gold ring lay in the palm of his hand.
"We didn't have one when we were wed," he said. "Somehow it seemed appropriate."
Thea stared from the ring to the Sheriff's face. "You ma
de me a wedding ring from stolen coin."
Nottingham coughed, futilely trying to cover his guilt. "Yes."
Thea shook her head, speechless, but when he picked up the ring, she nonetheless held out her hand and let him slide it over her finger.
"I am wearing King Richard's ransom," she said, still staring down at the wide circular band.
"Well, if you feel that strongly about it, you can always give it back," Nottingham suggested with pretended indifference, his bearded lips turned down at the corners.
She snatched her hand away from him, balled her fingers into a fist, and looked up at him. "Perhaps I was too hasty."
"M-m-m."
"It's a sweet gesture."
"Yes?"
"And it sparkles so beautifully."
"As I thought."
"No one would miss it."
"As I said."
"You're always doing such unexpectedly noble things, Sheriff. I don't quite know what to make of you." She glanced down at the ring, then up at her husband. Nottingham wore a bemused expression, and amusement danced behind his dark slate eyes. "Very well," she acquiesced, smiling up at him. "It shall be our secret."
~The End~
About the author of Greenwood
Some years ago, a child appeared in a small town in southeastern North Carolina. The child, a female, was placed there either by aliens or fairies-the true culprits have yet to reveal themselves-and so the child grew up always imagining and envisioning other worlds, ones that were perhaps closer to her true home. She led an enchanted childhood with other like-minded souls who populated her neighborhood, girls who read and wrote stories, who played make-believe and put on plays for profits that were quickly given over to the ice cream man. She grew up with a love of history and art, and acquired a university education, despite attempts to double-major in candle making and protest marches.
Still, it wasn't until she had two children that she began to write in earnest. Articles in newsletters gave way to short fiction that found homes in science fiction/fantasy fanzines. This pleased her no end, as it gave her a good excuse to travel to conventions and play dress-up. One day her son dragged her under protest to see a movie about Robin Hood, which made her realize she was not only part alien (or part fae), but also most certainly displaced in time and truly belonged in the Middle Ages. She began writing...and writing...and writing. See what a book-fed imagination, a love of costuming, and a history degree can do?