The Woman In the Tree

by Natasha D Lane

  Well, you did something right, Robin. Focus on that. One day at a time.

  Robin undid the straps on the back of her dress and began to slip it off. Quickly, she changed into her new clothes and stepped into the shoes. She climbed down the ladder that led from the room to the stables. Alistair was at the bottom waiting for her, and as she stepped down, he offered his hand.

  She squeezed his hand and peered up at him.

  “What’s on the agenda for the day? Don’t forget you promised to help me find Arthur.”

  “I know. I know,” he said walking out of the stables. “Seems there are certain things you didn’t forget.”

  “A promise is a promise, Alistair.”

  Alistair tapped the horseshoe on the stable doors. “The best place to get any information is from the innkeeper and the women at the ale houses,” he said. “But we’ll need to be discreet. Saying the wrong name can get you killed and Arthur isn’t common. I also have some deliveries I need to make.”

  Robin followed behind him, darting her eyes around the stable doors. “Where did your friend go?”

  “Who?”

  “The young woman you were here speaking with.”

  “Oh, Maddy. I asked her to excuse me when I saw you had woken. She stops by occasionally.”

  “Hmm. Where’s Fred?” she asked, walking beside him.

  “He’s in the back stables with a few other horses. All the deliveries are local for me today. No need to disturb him.”

  “Why do you keep him in the back?”

  “The landlord requested he be kept there, so no one who wants to rent a horse gets him confused with one of his own. He also likes his horses to have a certain look, fancy and all that. It was part of the deal when I started renting from him.”

  “I see. I bet Fred is better than any of those other horses.”

  Alistair chuckled. “You and I are in agreement there. Watch where you step by the way. Everyone doesn’t clean up after their horses.”

  “I can smell that,” she replied.

  “I’ll pick the packages up from here. Wait a minute.”

  He ran into a stone building filled with enough people, Robin thought it might burst.

  The local Chancery.

  The townspeople stared at Robin while she waited. She held her chin high and ignored their gawking. Apparently, a woman in trousers was still not a common sight.

  She set her eyes ahead and watched Alistair through the window. He seemed accustomed to the crowd as he maneuvered through it quickly. Within a few minutes, he was at her side once more, his satchel stuffed with packages.

  “More pickups than deliveries. Let’s be off,” he said and headed down the road.

  Robin looked around her. Satbury, even when Terryn was ruler, was the second largest town in the kingdom and it didn’t seem to have stopped growing. Not only were the roads full of people, but the structures were becoming larger, as well. Some of the town’s center had even been replaced with wooden buildings versus stone.

  Of course, she didn’t expect this to be the case with the serfs who lived on the outskirts of town.

  Alistair huffed beside her.

  Robin gave him a once-over and noticed how the bag dragged down with the newly added weight.

  “Let me help you carry a few.” She reached for the parcels but he stepped back.

  “It’s fine, Robin. I like the weight.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather give your shoulders a rest?”

  “My uncle’s a fisherman from the north. When I lived with him, he’d take me out to work, too. He’d always say a heavy catch means a good day’s work.”

  “Hmm. Do you know your shoulders seem to broaden when you talk about your uncle?”

  “You’re very observant.”

  “A lady has to be, especially in my situation.”

  “Well, I am not one to argue with a lady.” He smiled and knocked on the door of a tiny stone home. Said door was a plank of wood. They had only just left the town center.

  Robin rested her hands on her hips and tapped her fingers. She swung her shoes out and in across the earth, before starting to tap it, as well. Poverty was something she was unfamiliar with. Alistair, quite the opposite.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She briefly glanced at him. Then Robin sighed and crossed her arms.

  “There was something you told me…about your parents. I know they used to live here in Satbury. Still, there was something else you told me.”

  “I told you they died,” he said and handed a package to the elderly man who opened the house door. The man thanked him, and closed the door.

  Her mouth was dry. How could she have forgotten his parents died?

  You’re quite the guest, Robin. Well done.

  “I lived with my uncle for most of my life. When my parents passed, I returned here. Is it coming back a bit now?”

  “Some, yes.” Robin stumbled to the side, nearly stepping into a pile of smelly brown. She could see the corners of Alistair’s lips turn up even as she scrunched her face in disgust.

  She trusted Alistair. There was no doubt about that. She also had little choice if she were being honest. But the more they knew about one another, the better they’d be able to work together. It was the same theory Arthur had offered to her uncle Terryn. He had been trying to persuade the king to form a group of Camelot’s most skilled and trusted knights; men who would work for the kingdom outside of the traditional hierarchy. He had wanted them to be called the Knights of the Round Table. Robin had thought the name lacked luster.

  She pulled her mind back. “When did you leave to the north, then?”

  He dug out another package and placed it beside a home where no one had answered.

  “I was six.”

  “And when did you return?”

  A vein pulsed in his neck. “Just this year.”

  Robin stopped walking. She stared at his back as he moved past her. “Sixteen years? Have you told me this, as well? I’m forgetting everything.”

  Alistair’s strides came to a halt.

  “No, this is a new addition to our conversation. Though, I’d rather not discuss it.”

  Perhaps too much, Robin? She pinched herself for not minding her own business.

  Robin walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I let my curiosity get the best of me. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. You wouldn’t have done it to me.”

  “It’s fine,” he replied. “Look, I’d rather not tell you exactly why my parents sent me away. I lived with my uncle until I returned this year to bury them. That’s all there is.”

  And with that said, he gently moved her hand from his shoulder and placed it at her side.

  Chapter Five

  R obin was certain the tavern maid had heard Alistair the first time. Still, the woman insisted on leaning close to him with her breasts all but falling into his face. Honestly, Robin wouldn’t have blamed Alistair for liking the woman.

  She was pretty, a beauty under the lantern’s light and built with much to offer the male gaze. But Alistair, being the gentleman he was, kept his eyes fixed on her face--his own was a little red--and repeated the name.

  “Arthur,” he said. “He’s a friend of mine that said he’d be passing through here some months ago. I haven’t heard from him. Does the name sound familiar?”

  She puckered her lips. “The name’s a bit outdated for anyone that’s come around here recently. What’s he look like?”

  “Very blue eyes,” Robin chimed in. “Like the ocean. And short hair last time we saw him. Blonde.”

  The tavern maid didn’t even glance in her direction. She did, however, start to nibble on her bottom lip in thought.

  “Blonde, blue eyes, named Arthur?”

  They nodded.

  “Doesn’t ring any bells. Then again, I do prefer brunettes.”

  She smirked at Alistair and lightly touched his hair. “I’ll let
you know if I hear anything though.” Her finger trailed down his cheek.

  Now Robin could feel her own face flush. When did women become so bold?

  With another smirk and a wink, the tavern maid left their table, knocking her hips from side to side as she did so.

  Alistair’s face was a bright red and his mouth had flattened into a hard line. Robin covered her own mouth to stop from laughing. A few giggles still found their escape though.

  Alistair cleared his throat. “Well, uh, seems like we’re having no luck here. Should we move on to the inn?”

  “But we haven’t talked to all the ladies yet, Alistair.” A smile played on her lips and her eyes crinkled at the corners.

  He refused to make eye contact. Instead, he pulled at his clothes, before standing to leave, keeping his eyes on the table.

  “Four are…uh, four are more than enough, I think. Perhaps, he’s going by another name. If he were in the area, he’d have to step into town at some point.” Alistair’s eyes were still fixed to the table.

  Robin laughed a bit but nodded. “That is a possibility. Or maybe he’s been taken in by another king.”

  “That’s true though the lower eastern king, Issin, is no more since Essen drove him out.”

  Robin could feel her eyes bulge. “What do you mean--”

  “Those damn refugees!” A large man slammed his mug so hard on the tavern counter, Robin jumped. Both she and Alistair turned their attention to the bar where he sat with several other large men of a similar build.

  “Because Issin couldn’t keep his kingdom intact, we have to suffer all the consequences.” He swayed in his chair.

  “Alistair, what is he--” Robin cut her question short. The vein pulsed in Alistair’s neck. His hands had turned into fists.

  “They take our jobs and still can’t manage to get by! Now, they’re out here begging. Moving around our kingdom begging. No self-respect.”

  Several other patrons grunted and raised their mugs.

  Alistair grabbed his bag from the table. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, not looking at Robin.

  Still, she nodded and moved behind Alistair to follow him outside.

  As they made their way to the exit, the drunkard who had been yelling turned in his chair and his gaze landed on Robin. She watched him from her peripherals and saw the spark that flashed in his eyes. Lesser men, particularly when drinking ale, always seemed to have that spark in their eyes.

  The man leaned forward and lunged his mug, spilling the ale over several other patrons.

  “Now, see here, men! This one here is a fine lady, middle-born, of course. Not like those dirty refugees.”

  Alistair’s hands encircled Robin’s wrist and pulled her closer to him as they pushed through the crowd to the door.

  The man’s eyes landed on Alistair but hardly. His gaze roamed over Robin and her skin crawled. She had no idea how he could find her attractive in her current attire. She leaned into Alistair.

  The man stood and started forcing his way through the crowd. “Not like those dirty easterners,” he slurred. “I’ll treat ya right. Like a proper lady.” A sloppy grin moved across his face.

  Hatred built in Robin’s chest and bile in her stomach. She wished she had brought her daggers.

  They reached the door. Alistair pushed it open and immediately began running, the moon their primary source of light. He kept a tight hold on Robin’s wrist as she ran behind him. Despite him leading her, Robin knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up. Her movements still felt awkward and wrong. Not to mention the shoes.

  Compared to when she first stepped from the tree, Robin felt much more herself. That didn’t mean her body agreed.

  As expected, she fell. The drunkard had made it to a corner and was looking down the road. Before he could turn his head right, Alistair scooped Robin up in his arms and ran into the nearest alley.

  Robin could smell the blood before he placed her behind the barrel. Flashes from her dream came back to her. Arrows protruding from her back, her own blood pooling around her. She counted to five before swallowing down the vomit, letting the acid burn her throat.

  Now is not the moment for weakness. Breathe.

  Alistair was resting on the balls of his feet, peering from behind the barrel. Robin looked at him, copied his stance and pressed her shoulder into his.

  “Maybe he’ll only be a drunken fool?” she whispered. The words didn’t even sound comforting to her.

  “I don’t take threats lightly,” Alistair said. “Especially when coming from men like that.”

  “Giant foul-mouthed ogres?”

  “Correct. Now, listen, if he finds us, you run back to the stables. I’ll distract him for a while and then, sneak away.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you?”

  “No, but I think you should,” he replied, still peering out into the road.

  A fluttery anger grew in Robin’s chest and she took a long inhale to calm it.

  “Woman or not, I’m not running. You’re my friend, Alistair.”

  “You are so stubborn. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Yes. Arthur did many times.

  She dug her fingers into the ground and set her jaw. “There’s one of him and two of us. If he finds us, we can defeat him.”

  Alistair reached into his satchel and pulled out the rusty knife. “Since I don’t have a choice in the matter, I suppose so. I’ll move in first and kick him in the knees, then punch him in the throat. We need to get him down to our level. He’s drunk. He probably won’t feel much meaning we have to hit hard. When I get him down, step behind him and wait for him to fall.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” she asked.

  “Use the back of the knife to knock him out. Here, back against the neck.” He pulled his hair aside and rubbed the area.

  Robin nodded. Alistair went to say more but there was a loud belch. They both fell into silence and turned their eyes to the road.

  He stumbled in front of the alleyway. First forward, then, backward and finally from side to side. He belched again and looked to where they hid. With shaky steps, the drunkard made his way.

  “Oink, oink, little piggies. Are ya here?”

  Only a few yards now. Robin prepared to pounce.

  The drunkard paused. He looked around the alley and as his eyes landed on their barrel, he smiled.

  “I got--”

  Alistair moved. Robin noted how well he did so. Left foot first, still using the balls of his feet to spin and face the man. Then, quickly stepping forward and kicking the man’s knees.

  As he had predicted, the man fell. Alistair turned his elbow out and hit it into the man’s throat. Saliva sprayed from his mouth and he clasped his throat as he coughed.

  Robin stepped out and to the side, moved behind the drunkard and waited. He started to fall forward. Alistair looked at her and nodded, before moving to the side of the alley as well.

  She began to make her way to the road when there was a thump and a hiss. Robin spun around. The man had Alistair by the ankle and had slammed him against the wall.

  “I’ll get ya,” he wheezed and began to stand.

  “Run!” Alistair screamed.

  Robin ignored him, ran back and slammed her knee into their attacker’s face. Blood flowed from him and he released Alistair. She pulled her companion to his feet and they begin to make their way.

  There was a whistling sound like someone was cutting air and then, Alistair fell to the side.

  “What’s wrong?” Robin tried to pull him up. His body was becoming slack.

  He grabbed at his thigh and grunted as he pulled out a knife. The tip was dripping green.

  “Poison,” he huffed. His eyes started to cloud over.

  “No, Alistair!” She grabbed him by his shoulders and shook until his eyes refocused.

  “Leave me,” he said.

  “I-I can’t.”

  A shadow cast over her. Robin’s blood ran c
old. She didn’t look up, didn’t want to see his disgusting face or smell his ale-coated breath.

  Alistair’s eyes reeled from the side to side in his skull. And then, they were still.

  “Alistair,” she whispered. “Alistair.”

  He did not respond.

  She watched Alistair, or what was left of him. Still, unmoving, unresponsive, unable to speak or comfort her like the others she had lost. Her uncle, Arthur…

  His red hands gripped her shoulders. His fingers pressed into her collar bone.

  “I’m going to have fun with you. Just be quiet.” The drunkard’s words sloshed around in his mouth.

  Are you? Are you going to have fun?

  He tossed her to the ground and bent over her. A large rough hand cupped one of her breasts and the other felt between her legs.

  “Are you?” she asked, staring up into the sky, gazing past the giant above her to the stars. “Are you going to have fun with me?”

  “Lot--”

  Robin moved her hips forward so his hand slipped away. Then, she wrapped her legs around him and though the feeling of his manhood pressed against her thigh made her sick with revulsion, she continued to press closer. She entwined her arms around his neck.

  He smiled. “Good girl.”

  Robin said nothing. What she did instead was lift her body and pushed her face to his. When he was close enough, she opened her mouth, clutched his nose in her teeth and bit down until she felt his blood in her throat.

  The drunkard howled and tried to shake Robin off, but she had him captured like a fly in a spider’s web.

  The nose was easy. It was soft and right in front of her. In a few moments, she was tossing her head back and spitting out the lumpy piece of flesh in the alley. He continued to cry out, to scream, his hands no longer grabbed for her breasts. Now they pushed at her shoulders. But Robin was not done yet. She was going to have fun with him.

  So much fun.

  She inclined her head to the side some and dug into his cheek. Fresh blood pooled into her mouth again.

  The man grabbed a hold of her hair and tried to pull her away. But with every tug, he tore away a bit more flesh. A quick move to the left and part of his cheek was gone.

  He wailed and wailed and wailed.