Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood)

by R. M. ArceJaeger

  “We could give him the money—”

  “And say we got it where? No, Robin, your father would never accept it. Even if he had the money to pay off the Sheriff, he would not do so. Lord Locksley promised Darniel he could marry his daughter, and he counts that promise more important than his daughter’s happiness,” Will explained with acridity.

  “Then we will just have to take the matter out of his hands. Who is escorting Marian tomorrow? My father?”

  “No,” Will said, uncertain where her questions were leading. “Lord Locksley rode ahead to Nottingham to oversee the preparations for the after-party. Marian’s journey tomorrow will be guarded by the Sheriff’s men . . . . Why are you smiling?” he demanded as a wry grin began to spread over his cousin’s face.

  “My dear Will, I am afraid that I have developed this awful habit of taking things the Sheriff does not wish me to have. I usually stick with coin, but in this case I am willing to make an exception. The Sheriff can hardly force my father to pay restitution for a broken betrothal if it is his own men who lose the bride-to-be!”

  * * * * *

  Captain Arthur o’ Nottingham was hot and thirsty. To make matters worse, a wind had arisen which swept dust into his face and made it difficult to breathe. He shifted his grip on his reins so he could use one arm to protect his face, but it made little difference. In the end, he allowed his hand to fall back to his lap.

  If only they could go a little faster and put an end to this uncomfortable journey . . . but no, they were forced to travel at this plodding pace, lest they injure the Sheriff’s precious “cargo.” At least the inn was near. Surely the Sheriff would not begrudge his men a few cool drinks to soothe their parched throats.

  Arthur was just beginning to dream of the bracing comfort of a bottle of Malmsey when a figure in dazzling scarlet appeared, walking straight down the middle of the road. His head was bent toward something in his hand, and he seemed utterly unaware of the company’s approach.

  “Whoa. Whoa!” Arthur ordered, reining in his horse lest he trample the stranger. Behind him, he heard the carriage creak to a stop, and the grumbles of his men as they brought their ambling horses to a halt.

  “You there,” Arthur irascibly called. “Stand aside!”

  The scarlet popinjay looked up. He was holding a flower, the soldier observed in annoyance, and seemed to be completely surprised by their presence before him.

  “Oh, fair morning to you,” he called cheerily. “Pleasant day, is it not?”

  “Not for you if you do not move out of the way,” Arthur growled. “We are escorting a bride to her wedding and will brook no delay.”

  At this, the man positively beamed. “A wedding? How wonderful. Please feel free to continue on your merry way. Only,” he added, as Arthur raised his hand to order his company forward, “I am afraid that the bride-to-be shall have to stay.”

  Before Arthur could work out this perplexing statement, wild hoots and laughter sounded from the verge, and at least two-dozen Lincoln-clad men capered into the road.

  “Well done, Scarlet!” one of them cried, slapping the man in red on the back. “I have never seen a train waylaid so easily before. We will make an outlaw of you yet!”

  “This is an outrage,” Arthur blustered. “We are servicemen to the Sheriff himself! You cannot hope to get away with this.” He tried not to look disconcerted by the score of arrows pointing in his direction.

  “Of course we do not hope to,” Glenneth told him proudly. “We plan to.”

  “We have no coin for you to take!” a soldier behind Arthur spoke up suddenly, sounding desperate. “Nothing!”

  “We are here for something far more precious than your purse,” Will explained.

  Arthur’s eyes bulged with understanding, and he let out a string of expletives that made young Will Stutley’s eyes widen with awe.

  “You know, you really are quite wearying,” Robin informed the captain, stepping forward and speaking up for the first time. “You have five seconds to leave, or else we will put an arrow through you.” The man opened his mouth to argue. “Five . . .”

  “I am not leaving without my charge!” he yelled.

  “Four . . .”

  “You unprincipled knave, I will rend—”

  “Three . . .”

  Robin drew back her bow.

  It took until “Two” for Arthur to comprehend that she might actually mean her threat; with a last curse of outrage, he spurred his horse into a gallop and disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.

  “That goes for the rest of you, too,” Robin announced. With fearful glances at the outlaws and their many drawn bows, the remaining soldiers decided that the wisest course of action would be to abandon their charge and follow their leader out of sight. With eager kicks they spurred their horses down the road, one of them pausing briefly to allow the carriage driver to climb onto his horse.

  Will Gamwell had begun striding toward the carriage before the last of the soldiers had thundered away, but even so, Shane still got there first.

  “Come out, fair lady,” the twin called, opening the door with a gallant bow. “We mean you no harm.”

  A moment passed, then another. At last a delicate foot, accentuated by a creamy satin slipper, stepped out onto the rung. Robin heard several involuntary gasps as the young lady, clad in a rich blue gown and a slightly lighter kirtle, her brown hair unbound and streaming in the wind, stepped out of the carriage.

  “Why have you stopped us?” she demanded haughtily. To a stranger, her uplifted chin and the tight set of her mouth would have been mistaken for aloof pride, but Robin knew that her sister had no such hauteur—Marian was quite simply terrified and was trying not to show it. “What sort of man attacks a lady’s convoy?”

  “The sort of man,” Will said, stepping forward, “who would not see that lady marry someone she does not love.”

  “Will!” the girl gasped. He handed her the dandelion he had been holding, and Marian took it, fingers trembling. “I–I do not understand. Who are these men?”

  “Friends,” he said, shooting them a considering glance. “We have come to save you from having to marry the Sheriff.”

  “But–but my father—I cannot—I mean, I must—”

  He took her hands in his. “Your father will be fine. The Sheriff will not dare to fault him for this. You are free, Marian.”

  “Free? But I—oh, I must sit down,” Marian said, sinking onto the carriage step and holding a hand to her head as she tried to absorb the unexpected turn of events. Several men stepped forward in concern, and she shot them a nervous glance. “These men are . . . friends, you say?”

  “Friends, yes,” Will told her, taking her hands up again and speaking without thought. “They are Robin’s men.”

  Robin instinctively started at the sound of her name, causing Marian to glance toward her. “Robin?”

  “Robin Hood,” Will hastily amended, but he was too late. Marian’s mouth had dropped into an “O” of astonishment, and she was peering intently at her sister, who had hung back in the hopes of avoiding such recognition until they could be alone. “Robin!”

  Tearing her hands free from Will’s grasp, Marian darted over to her sister, flinging her arms around Robin’s neck; the dandelion she had held wafted to the ground.

  “Robin! I thought you were—but how did you—?”

  “Not here!” Robin told her desperately, placing a hand over Marian’s mouth to still her dangerous converse. At the depth of her sister’s voice, the questions burning in Marian’s eyes seemed to intensify, but she masterfully restrained them, obediently letting go of her sister with one last squeeze. Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw her men trade supposing smirks.

  “Is there anything of yours you would like us to bring?” Robin asked, trying to regain control of the situation. She peered into the carriage. “Where are your things?”

  “My things? At the manor . . . the Sheriff only wanted the wedding to be in Nottin
gham, you know—he wanted to flaunt his new connections—but we were going to live at the manor, it is so much nicer than his castle. All my things are there,” Marian babbled. Her eyes shone bright with disbelief. “Do you really mean I do not have to marry him?”

  * * * * *

  Marian’s reaction to Robin’s story was much the same as her cousin’s had been.

  “You are Robin Hood?” she exclaimed.

  “Hush! Keep your voice down!”

  They were in Robin’s hut and had been for over an hour now. Robin had known that her sister’s inquisitive nature could not endure silence for long, so she had escorted her there the instant they had reached camp. Sure enough, Marian’s questions had tumbled out in an excited welter that would have given away Robin’s identity several times over if they had remained out in public. Even now, an hour later, she was still bubbling with more.

  “Is it hard, pretending to be a boy?” Marian wondered, intrigued.

  Robin shrugged. “Not really. They tease me sometimes about not having a beard yet, and of course my muscles are not as big as theirs, but no one seems to think it might signify something. They just accept it as the way I am.”

  “Ah, well, people see only what they expect to see,” Marian said wisely.

  Robin stared at her sister. “I guess.”

  “So, you have lived here the entire time?” Marian turned in a circle to survey the sapling walls and the fern bed. For the first time, Robin became aware of how spartan her home must look to someone accustomed to the comforts of a manor. Then another thought struck her.

  “Do you even want to be here?” she asked her sister, aghast at her own thoughtlessness. “When Will told me whom you had to marry, I just assumed—but if you would rather go back . . . ?”

  “Are you in jest?” Marian cried, flinging herself onto the bed of ferns with reckless abandon. “A hovel would be better than being married to Phillip Darniel!”

  “I do not think this place is that bad,” Robin laughed, flopping down beside her sister. She sobered. “I am just glad that Darniel agreed to postpone the wedding as long as he did. I do not know what I would have done if he had already married you.”

  “Oh,” Marian said dismissively, giggling a little. “Well, he did not really have much choice. He had to wait until I was a woman, after all.”

  “You mean to tell me that the Sheriff could not marry you because you did not have your monthly yet?” Robin laughed again. “That must have annoyed him!”

  “Not as much as my abduction is going to annoy him!” Marian said gleefully. “I almost wish I could see his face when his soldiers arrive at the church without me!”

  * * * * *

  When Robin and Marian finally emerged from the hut, it was to a lavender sky and the first shimmering stars of twilight. Those men who had marked the pair’s reappearance nudged those who had not, and exchanged with each other half-hidden grins.

  Robin looked at her sister. Though Marian was now wearing the rough peasant dress Robin had used as a disguise, rather than her bridal silk gown, she still looked breathtakingly beautiful. Robin could not blame the men for noticing.

  “I am going to ask Edra if you can share her cabin,” she informed her sister, loud enough for them to hear. She would have liked for Marian to stay with her, but as her sister had reminded her, it was just as scandalous for a maiden to sleep in a “man’s” hut among outlaws as it was among the gentry. Of course, that caveat did not apply to family, but they had both agreed their relationship needed to be kept secret. Marian was obviously a lady, and announcing that she was Robin’s sister would raise awkward questions about Robin that she did not care to answer.

  Fortunately for them both, Edra was overjoyed to receive the request and instantly agreed that Marian could live with her. (“As long as she does not mind the smell,” the woman warned.) As the camp’s only herbalist and medicine savant, Edra kept a large botanical supply within her hut. The spinster had originally shared her lodging with her younger brother, but he had quickly moved out, claiming he could not endure the overbearing odors any longer. Since Edra’s skills were in constant demand, she had been allowed to keep the dwelling for herself, and her brother had been forced to build himself another.

  Robin led Marian over, but her sister hesitated in the doorway, her senses reeling from the pungent scent. At Robin’s look of consternation, however, Marian whispered to her, “Anything is better than Phillip Darniel,” and thanked Edra warmly for welcoming her into her home.

  With that settled, Robin and Marian hastened to join the line for supper, which was queuing through the clearing. Several of those who were waiting in line immediately deferred their places to the highborn girl, and a few gave her a tentative greeting of welcome, but most of the men seemed unsure how to comport themselves before a noble lady and awkwardly avoided her gaze.

  Marian pretended not to notice their discomfort and lavished the people around her with bright smiles, keeping up an enthusiastic stream of chatter with Robin as they waited their turn for their food. Once they had obtained full trenchers, she readily followed her sister over to the oak, and when Robin sank down upon the moss, Marian followed suit without any hesitation. For a moment, she just sat and looked around her, taking in the hearty scene with a feeling of contentment. Then picking up her roast, she prepared to take a demure bite, but paused, cognizant of the people watching her out of the corner of their eyes. Giving them an affable smile, she raised her meat toward them in a small toast, and then tore into it with such ferocity that it made several of the band laugh to witness. Robin sensed their discomfort beginning to ease.

  “Whatever happened to the girl who was always so proper?” she asked her sister, bemused.

  “She became an outlaw. When an outlaw, do as the other outlaws do,” Marian told her happily, indicating the other voracious eaters with her piece of roast.

  “I am not sure I like this new outlaw,” Will Gamwell teased, stealing into the space at Robin’s right side so he could talk to them both at once. Little John, who had been walking toward his customary spot before this unwitting usurpation took place, froze in his tracks. No one noticed. “She is messy.”

  Marian rolled her eyes in a very unladylike manner and caught sight of a disturbance by the bonfire. “Ooh, what is happening?” Marian asked with concern as several men began to wrestle. “Why are they fighting?”

  “They are just having fun,” Robin reassured her. “Every night, the men compete in wrestling, cudgeling, or archery matches; it provides us with entertainment and gives the men a way to show off their skills and to let out their energies. Look, that one match over there just finished. See how the wrestlers are smiling?”

  “Not really,” Marian admitted, craning her head for a better look.

  Robin frowned at the obstruction. “Little John, could you please step aside? You are in the way.”

  He obeyed without a word, taking his trencher to the far side of the fire.

  “They are definitely showing off,” Will whispered to Robin, not altogether approving. The men were certainly being more flamboyant than usual, performing extravagant moves and maneuvers, followed by quick glances at the brunette maid to see if she was impressed.

  Soon the other wrestling bouts ended as well, and Robin waited to see if another affable match would begin.

  “Scarlet!” a loud voice boomed, commanding everyone’s attention. It was Little John, looking very formidable. He was standing in front of the fire with his legs spread apart in a challenging stance, twirling his new cudgel viciously fast through his hands. “Do you plan to recline at your ease all evening, or are you man enough to face me in a bout?”

  “He definitely does not like me,” Will told his cousin as he rose to his feet.

  Robin bit back a protest as Murray tossed Will a staff. Little John might be all patience in her lessons, but in a fight he showed no such restraint. If he were not careful, he would hurt Will. Why was he behaving like such a dolt? />
  Little John and Will Gamwell began to circle each other like riled dogs, sizing each other up for weakness. Without warning, Little John struck. A terrible crack rang through the forest as Will brought his staff up to block the blow.

  “This is still just in fun, right?” Marian asked in an undertone, her expression worried. Robin did not answer.

  This was no playful match, she knew that without a doubt. Both fighters were straining too hard, their lips curled back and their muscles stretched taut as they aimed to fell their opponent. The clearing echoed with the sound of their blows, and Robin felt Marian seize her hand for comfort, her eyes widening with anxiety and terror as the two men strove against each other.

  In spite of Robin’s terrible fear that one of them would get hurt, she could not help admiring the fighters’ skill. She had never seen Will use a cudgel before, but clearly he was no stranger to the weapon. Little John, who usually finished off an opponent within minutes—if not seconds—of starting, seemed equally surprised by the strength and stamina of his scarlet foe. He gritted his teeth and renewed his attack.

  Half an hour later, the two men were pouring sweat, each glaring fiercely at the other. The spectators watched them in awe—no bout had ever lasted this long before!

  If only I did not care for these two challengers as much as I do! How I would love to cheer this duel on, as everyone else seems to be doing, Robin agonized. Instead, she stood with her heart in her throat, her hand clutched in Marian’s, fearing the crippling blow that would strike down one of her two men.

  A shout went up—Will had barely managed to duck under a blow, and Little John’s staff had instead struck the fire, knocking forth a brand. Hot sparks peppered Will, and in that moment of distraction, Little John struck again. His blow caught Will upside the head, and he fell in a daze to the ground. Eyes gleaming with triumph, Little John readied his staff for the winning blow, his eyes shooting for the barest instant to where Robin was standing . . . and in that moment, Will flipped back onto his feet and rammed the end of his staff into Little John’s stomach.