Book One
Sherwood
The Sherwood Series
by S. E. Roberts
Photo by J. Sylvester
Cover Design & Edit by: S. E. Roberts
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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All characters appearing in this book are completely fictitious.
Any similarities to any real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Dedicated to J. Sylvester,
who has been nothing but supportive this entire time.
Also dedicated to Mom, Ms. Duggar, Mr. Deckard, and Ms. Young.
The many school hours have paid off, however slight the result is so far.
Chapter One
“Harrison,
I've tried to find ways around sending this letter. My heart aches as I write these words and at what I am about to ask of you. I know of your accomplishments and how important you are to your community. I understand that they need you.
But, so does Sherwood.
I would never ask you to do something I didn't find necessary.
That is why I request your presence in Sherwood Forest as we attempt to defend ourselves from King Wesley.
Of all people I've come to know, you are our greatest asset. You've seen him in person and you know his practices.
I'm not one to beg, but we indeed need your help.
Best Regards,
Robin Hood.”
Harlow held the recently written letter in her hands, her elbows propped up on the railing of her front porch, her body slightly arched forward over the wooden supports. She felt her stomach sink and her heart almost stop it's beating rythym. This couldn't be happening.
'Am I really doing this?' She asked herself, raising her hand to touch the the fabric of her cloak that hung limply about her shoulders. It was on securely, but she knew that she'd have to ditch the garment long before she made it to Sherwood. It was decorated and feminine, a present she'd recieved from someone she couldn't remember anymore.
She looked back down at the letter, her eyebrows knitted together in anger and her breathing almost labored with anxiety.
She shook her head, feeling her fingers start to tremble with anger as she read through the letter again. Sure, she'd known of her father's involvment with the Sherwood Outlaws, but he always cut the conversation short whenever it got to serious.
She ran her dainty, soft hand over crumpled parchment. This small, trampled on piece of paper was going to take her father away from her and propel him into another war.
A war that would be started by Robin Hood, for no apparent reason, other than to be a pain in the King's behind.
A war that Harlow was not going to let him go into.
She could tell by the way he'd laid out his things that he was planning on leaving in the morning, before she awoke. When she saw him taking out his old gear, she immediately prepared herself for the worst, but she'd resolved that there was no other option.
Either he would leave her and have her married off, or he would make her take the responsibility of a village that hated her very existence.
She'd resolved to take an unorthodox route, disguising herself as a man and helping with the Sherwood effort.
It wouldn't work for long, but it would buy her enough time to get her father out of the war.
Harlow knew that eventually her father would find her in Sherwood. It was just a matter of how long it would take him to figure it out.
She sighed, breathing in the cold, night air, thinking back to the letter she'd written, placing it gently on the kitchen table before exiting the house for what felt like the last time.
'Father,
I know I haven't been the brightest and best daughter in the world, but I can't do what you're asking of me. No one wants me in this village, but they need you.
There's no place for me here. I've gone off on my own to find a place for myself. I'll write you a letter when I've found it. Don't come for me. I'll be fine.
I love you,
Harlow.'
Harlow sighed, staring into the beautiful forest beyond the backside of her home. It was dark, beautiful, and absolutely frightening.
She felt her anxiety grow as she stood on the porch of her shabby home. It was far past her bed time, and it felt liberating to be up this late, nevermind wandering into Sherwood forest.
She pulled an old parchment out of her pocket, the paper yellowing gently with age. On it were illustrations and directions; exactly the location of Sherwood City, a place the treacherous king had only dreamed of knowing the location of.
'I'm sorry,' she thought, closing her eyes and feeling the quiet breeze on her skin before stepping down the dangerously creaking porch steps and wandering off toward the forest.
Harlow felt a pang of guilt sweep through her. Turning around, several yards away, she took one last, long look at her home before turning back around and taking painful, heartwrenching steps into the forest beyond.
The forest's darkness embraced her as she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.
She was no longer Harlow McBride.
She was now an Outlaw of Sherwood Forest.
Chapter Two
Enders watched as his mother looked lethargically at the crackling fire in their fireplace. Ever since he'd turned sixteen or so, she had been in an indisputably anxious mood. She had seemed more frustrated and saddened lately, and while she endlessly denied it, Enders knew it was the fact that he looked so much like his father that upset her, although he couldn't see how.
It had been so long since he'd been gone, Enders couldn't remember his father's face.
Anger burned within his heart when he saw the heartache that his very face induced in his mother. He wanted nothing more than for his mother to be happy, but she wasn't happy. Nor would she ever be happy.
"Mom, What happened to Dad?" Enders had asked it once when he had gained the courage to speak about it. She stopped rocking in her chair for only a moment before continuing the forward-backward motion.
She simply looked at him, a sad smile plaguing her lips and darkened eyes replacing the ones that used to be so vibrant. "The world needed him more than I."
That was the end of the conversation.
That was always the end of the conversation.
That was until he found documents about his father lying in a storage bin several months back.
That was when Enders mother offered the whole story.
And that was the night that he began to get sick of watching his mother cry.
Enders knew she was trying to shield him, trying make him feel like he had a normal life, but that was what plagued him the most: He didn't have a normal life. He wouldn't ever have a normal life. He never knew his father's name until his mother finally offered it up, until he found the documents and the stories. But who could he tell? He'd be handed over to the military if anyone found out.
He watched as the night covered the forest, embracing it in its cold grasp for the next several hours.
He made a decision.
His mother wouldn't cry anymore.
He would find his father.
And he'd write his own legend while he did so.
Chapter Three
"Harlow, you can't save the whole world." Harrison McBride had told his daughter as she sat on a chair in the kitchen. She h
ad her scraped knee and cut-up palms raised and showed her father the blood. He raised his large hands to her small face in an attempt to clean the dry blood that stained her cheek. It was the fourth fight she'd gotten into that year.
“Thomas was picking on Lily.” Harlow informed, hissing as water ran over her cuts and scrapes. “I couldn't sit back and simply watch.”
Harrison shook his head, a small, proud smile on his lips.
Harlow recalled all the times her father had stepped between her and a danger, between her and other people.
And in an attempt to save him, she left him.
She already missed her father, but she couldn't handle him being dragged into another war. If this was the only way that she could save him, then she would do it, and she'd do it without regret.
The forest was denser at night, it seemed, and Harlow felt scared although she refused to show it. She pulled her hood down some more, keeping it well draped over her head.
Sherwood city was established on the basis of well-enough archers and infantrymen. They could be anywhere; and so could King Wesley's men as well.
The crunch of a leaf behind her made her jump, and the snap of a twig made her cringe. She sped up her pace, her bag almost silently thumping against her leg.
Snap! Another broken twig rang out through the forest.
Harlow panicked; she propelled herself forward, not caring if she was making a lot of noise, and unwilling to stop her legs. Her hood fell back, her hair flowing out behind her, almost inviting every willing, renegade tree branch to grab ahold of it.
And one of those renegade tree branches took the bait, grappling onto her hair and entangling itself within it.
Harlow was pulled against it with excruciating force. She only paused for a second, hearing the approaching sounds of snapping twigs and broken branches. Harlow clawed at her hair violently, trying her hardest to release the strands from the malevolent tree, panic starting to flow through her veins.
The sound of slower footsteps came closer to her, coming from behind her to in front of her. Harlow held onto the tree, trying to make herself smaller and invisible. She knew it wouldn't work, but she tried as a helpless whimper released itself from her lips.
"Are you okay?" A voice asked, a man walking into her eyesight, looking sadly but concerned at her. He had a gentle gaze, although she recognized the shock in his hazel eyes. His bronze hair swung in his eyes as he looked at her. He had a small, attractive stubble on his chin. His left hand pointed to her hair. "May I?" He raised an eyebrow, a concerned expression still on his face.
Harlow looked as calmly as she could at the man, mouth slightly agape. He was young, probably around her age, or maybe a year older than her. She wondered where he came from and if he would survive the harsh forest. She hoped he would make it past the Sherwood archers.
He nodded toward her hair after she didn't respond. He still looked concerned, which struck her as odd.
Harlow, almost in tears, nodded reluctantly and waited with averted eyes for him to free her hair from the tree.
The man stepped forward and started to untangle the brunette strands of hair in the branch, cutting hair wherever necessary to free her.
"My name is Enders." He said cutting the last of her hair that still clung to the tree.
Harlow raised a hand to her scalp, feeling for any cuts or blood that may be present because of the tree. "Harlow." She answered, still feeling her scalp with one hand and trying to keep her face covered with the other as she looked down at her feet.
Silence sat between them for a few seconds as Harlow felt her skin, making sure the tree hadn't done any serious damage.
"What are you doing in Sherwood Forest?" Enders asked, his eyebrows scrunched together in a flurry of curiosity and concern.
Harlow looked at him curiously for a moment before finding no obvious threat in him. "I was trying to find a trail to take a walk on." She lied, keeping her eyes down a little longer, before pulling her hood over her head and letting her eyes rest on his.
Enders was taken aback only momentarily, before he turned to a survey the area. "No offense, but a walk in Sherwood forest could get you killed." He smiled at her, although there was some concern still plaguing in his face.
Harlow nodded. "I understand that." She looked back toward the ground, pretending to be preoccupied with her hair so that he couldn't catch a good look at her face.
Enders looked around, but after a second rested his eyes on hers again. "There are men all over this forest, so be careful as you wander home." He warned, his brown eyes showing every emotion running through him.
Harlow nodded. "I will try." She kept her voice as low she could, trying to disguise herself in case she had another run in with him.
Enders backed away with a smile. "Be careful of those trees." He warned with a smile. “It was nice meeting you, Harlow.” He said, as he took steps backward into the darkness.
Harlow was unsure when exactly he'd turned and ran, but she heard his footsteps get further and further away, assuring her that he was gone. She sighed and turned to the opposite direction. She let herself deflate, feeling relieved that Enders wasn't a soldier or an evil man.
She took a ribbon off of her wrist and tied it to the tree at her right, using it as a marker. She used another ribbon to tie up her hair and make herself look a little more boyish. As a safety measure, she pulled out her work hat, pushing it down over her hair. She knew that it fit her rather well, being a brownish color that matched her hair.
She walked toward a small river she had passed on her way to the city, and bent down to drink some water and to soothe her dry throat. The sun would be coming up soon, and she would have to make it Sherwood City before her father would wake at sunrise.
She ditched the cloak she had, tattering it and hanging it on a tree, making it seem old and useless.
From this moment on, she knew she would be an Outlaw in Sherwood, a soldier and a warrior.
She stood up and walked back the way she came, passing the ribbon and then entering a new life.
*~*~*
It took a lot of energy and force to find the forest, hidden in a clearing. Its archer-trained guards almost shooting a calvary of arrows at her for trespassing on their land.
"State your business!" An angry shout rang out in the forest.
Harlow looked around awkwardly, trying to find the source of the voice. "My name is…" she paused, trying to think of a good cover name. "Henry Mcbride." She shouted out in the best manly voice she could muster. "I've come in place of my father, Harrison Mcbride."
Silence presided over the clearing for several long seconds before a loud voice boomed from another direction: "Lift the gate!"
Harlow, who was now apparently Henry Mcbride, stayed silent for several seconds waiting for an open gate.
A giant camouflage gate lifted open, showing a city built amongst trees, thriving on the food they've managed to grow themselves and in trees they've seen grow over the years. In front of her was a giant city with ladders leading up tall trees and all kinds of cabins littered around the campsite. On her right, she saw a series of cabins that led down to a lake with a small pier. On her left where giant ladders leading up old oak trees that have undoubtedly been growing for decades, maybe even centuries. Straight ahead, a ramp lead downwards to a congregation of people dressed in green and black, bows and arrows strung across their backs. She was most definitely in the right place.
Harlow looked around in amazement for a few seconds, before composing herself and taking several steps in the area. She heard the gate close behind her as she kept her pace slow and methodical. She tried to keep her eyes even, unsuprised, and a bit skeptical. One of the first things she noticed was the two hundred or so men who were standing around, talking, and laughing. The younger men, around her age, were horse-playing and drinking with eachother.
No one really took notice to her entrance. Although, she did hear her new name being called and recited several times
throughout the encampment.
She took a few seconds to look around, observing how the others were acting and trying to take mental notes on their behavior, although she was certain she could be herself and get away with her disguise. She noticed a line to the right of her, a man close to her right, directing people where to go.
“This way, McBride!” The man called out, his voice somewhat welcoming, although strict.
Harlow nodded at the man, making her way to the line and taking a good look at him. His hair was longer than the others, and he wasn't quite middle-aged yet. She wanted to offer a smile as she walked by, but decided it was best to simply add a curteous “thank you.”
Harlow stood in line, waiting patiently and nervously, for her name to be called. Her heart pounded against her chest as she hoped she wasn't doing anything wrong. She couldn't afford to set someone off about her real identity.
Harlow raised a hand to her hat, pushing it down a bit more, feeling some of the hair at the nape of her neck, assuring herself that it was tucked in.
She certainly felt lost and confused as she waited in line, the formation of people moving up ever so often.
As she waited in line, her mind meandered off, thinking about how clear that lake would be, or how clean the cabins were. Every so often, she would tug on her shirt, and then scold herself for doing such a girlish action.
“Henry McBride!” She almost didn't catch it when the man under a wooden overhang called it out. Her eyes widened in a suprised look, before turing quizzical, as her legs brought her closer to the kiosk.
“That's me.” She said, muttering lowly, trying to muster her best boyish voice possible.
Sherwood Page 1