Outlaw, page 16
part #1 of Robyn Hood Series
So, he waited, clutching his wooden stave as he sat in the shadows. His giant bulk was easy to conceal under furs and garlands of branches and leaves, but that didn’t mean he could rest easy. His eyes darted around the forest, and his ears strained for the sound of distant horses. Even a change in birdsong could let him know there was someone on their way.
More than once he cursed himself. He felt a fool to be on such a mission; he should have been out hunting his next meal, not aiding a giddy, little rich maid with her reckless plan to bring down more trouble onto their heads.
He sighed. Perhaps it was not too late to walk away? Perhaps he could still find a way to persuade Robyn to leave Sherwood? Live out her life in safety.
But he thought of his son and his heart sank. No one alive could have persuaded that boy not to charge headlong into danger to save his loved ones, and never had he seen a soul so alike his boy’s than in the eyes of that fiery young noblewoman. He wasn’t able to stand by Reynold’s side when he’d needed him, so he promised himself he wouldn’t leave Robyn’s.
Even though his empty stomach growled with indignation.
A distant rumbling of hooves and wheels made his ears prick up. It was slow. Heavy... there were several horses. This must be it. His stomach twisted and his aching muscles tensed. He glanced again at the felled tree that lay across the road... Would it be enough to halt their progress?
Littlejohn’s eyes darted around the forest, looking for signs that he wasn’t alone. But there was not an eye, not a limb, not a patch of foresters’ green that indicated the others were nearby. He knew they were concealed but he wasn’t comforted.
At the far north end of the road two mounted guards rounded the corner. He sized them up quickly: leather armour, thick hoods but no helmets, swords at their belts, a crossbow slung from the horses’ saddles, and both men’s chests emblazoned with the three crowns and cross staff of the Sheriff of Nottingham.
It was them.
Behind the riders, a heavy wooden carriage scraped its wheels along the dirt road, hauled by four horses comfortably trotting along, and Littlejohn doubted they could move much faster if it came to a chase. The driver was a hefty man but seemed armed only with his whip, and, although they were not an hour from Nottingham the driver’s mate was slumped over his crossed arms. Those two would not be so difficult to deal with.
However, his heart sank again when he noticed that trotting behind the carriage were a further two mounted guards. Already it seemed Robyn’s information was wrong. Had she hoped for too much? By God’s wounds! She was right on the day, wrong on the number of men.
But there was nothing he could do to halt their plan now. It was already too late.
As the carriage drew up further along the road, one of the lead guards noticed the felled tree.
“Halt!” he called, raising an arm. His eyes scanned the forest. Littlejohn held his breath and almost broke cover and dashed away as the guard seemed to peer directly towards his hiding place. But then the man seemed satisfied. He dismounted with a thud and walked over to inspect the obstacle.
“Oi, Harry!” he shouted to his listless companion. “Gimme ’and with this.”
With a grunt and a mutter the second guard dismounted and walked over to the tree.
It was a narrow birch trunk. Large enough to trouble a carriage but easy enough for the men to haul out of the road. They would clear it in moments.
Where was Robyn?
The two men argued about how to lift the tree, they were mere feet away from Littlejohn’s position. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead and across his cheek: he daren’t move to wipe it away. A moment longer and they would lose their only advantage.
A whistle and a thud.
The two men jumped in fright and turned to the carriage.
The driver was pale and his mate had woken up startled. Between their heads, still vibrating with the force of the hit, was a single arrow.
All eyes turned straight back to the road searching for the archer.
Atop a dark brown mare, her hood pulled up almost over her eyes, a dark scarf that concealed her face, the bow raised in triumph as her horse reared. It was the outlaw; Robyn Hood.
The men froze, dumbfounded.
When her horse’s hooves hit the ground and she darted off into the woods it took the guards only seconds to react. The two guards were atop their horses and darting off after her as the driver called out to them, reminding them they shouldn’t leave him.
“Two down,” Littlejohn muttered.
“What goes on at front?” One of the rear guards trotted around the side of the stationary carriage, his crossbow at the ready.
“T’were a bandit,” the driver explained, “looked like Robyn ’ood.”
The guard sighed and shook his head as if running into bandits in the forest was a mere inconvenience. “Aye, well, when the lads bring him back we’ll slit his throat and split the reward. I ain’t got time for nonsense.” He waved lazily over to the felled branch. “And clear that mess up, would thou?”
“Aye, Gil.” The driver hopped down from the carriage followed by his reluctant mate, and Littlejohn’s knuckles tightened around his stave. It wasn’t enough of a distraction. He couldn’t take on the guards and the drivers on his own. Where was the other one?
Suddenly there was a cry from the rear of the carriage and the last two mounted guards took off with shouts and warnings.
Littlejohn peered out from his hiding place and could just about make out a distant, hooded figure in green galloping off into the woods. A swell of relief rose up within him as the two remaining guards hurtled off.
“Nice work,” Littlejohn whispered approvingly. He waited just a few moments longer for them to get far enough away.
The remaining men were unsettled. The driver was looking out after the departed guards, but the lazier of the two shrugged and walked over to the birch trunk still blocking the road.
“Come on, Alf, gimme hand, yer lazy bastard.”
“I’m a lazy bastard?” Reluctantly the driver turned his attention back to his mate and joined him in shifting the tree. “What laggard is thou, snoring afore noon–eyup, who’s this?”
The man dropped the trunk as Littlejohn, adorned in his mismatched furs, taller and broader than either of them, unfurled himself from the shrubbery and loomed forward with a snarling roar.
“Bloody ’ell!”
The driver screamed and Littlejohn did not even have to make a move against the man before he slumped to the ground in a heap. The other man fumbled awkwardly for his knife before falling backwards over a branch and onto the ground.
“Have mercy, spirit!” He held his hands up but Littlejohn shook his head.
He clobbered him hard across the temple and the man sprawled backwards over the ground, finally getting the sleep he had so longed for that morning, although Littlejohn knew that when he awoke his head would be pounding as if the Devil himself were a’knocking on his noggin.
“Apologies,” he muttered, though neither heard.
Littlejohn glanced around hurriedly. There were no others. But the armed guards could return at any moment and he dreaded the thought of what they might bring with them. But he had to shake that notion from his mind and move onto the next part of the plan.
He dashed to the back of the carriage. There were two small and heavy wooden doors: a large chain and heavy lock were slung between them.
He gave the lock a good bash with his stave and was shocked to hear a scream from within. He froze. Dammit. What was he to do?
“Fool.” Littlejohn cursed his witless brain then ran back to the fallen driver and his mate. He searched the first in a panic, and there, slung from his belt, was the iron prize. “Praise the Lord!” he whispered as he dashed back once again to the heavy lock. The key clicked and the chains fell away.
Bounding with excitement, he grinned and grabbed a door. Flinging it wide open Littlejohn laughed in delight and was ready to be hailed as a hero as he freed the desperate Baroness of Loxley and her youngest children.
But instead he was met with a scream, a thud, and then the world went black.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Escape
Robyn galloped through the woods.
Her borrowed horse flew over fallen branches, and together, rider and beast, they ducked and dived between the trees.
The bolt of a crossbow whistled past her head and she heard shouts from behind. A quick glance back informed her that one of the guards was hot on her tail.
“Damn,” she whispered. She hadn’t expected two guards to follow her, or for either man to keep up with her in these woods. This was her playground. She should have shaken them off in minutes. But now she was leading one of them straight to her hiding place.
She hoped Gil had been right, that the young lad Bert would simply panic if he caught her.
But what if his panic killed her?
Her chest tightened; perhaps this plan was not so clever after all. Pushing the horse to run even faster, Robyn took off the trail and headed south. They would have to go the long way around and she wasn’t certain the horse could keep up this speed for long.
They bounded over a ditch, and took a jump over a fallen tree. But as she rounded onto a small deer track leading downhill, the horse needed to slow. Robyn chanced a glance backwards. There was no sign of the guard.
She could breathe again and grinned. She had been right to know she could outmanoeuvre anyone through this part of the forest.
Her horse trotted on a few yards as they picked their way downhill and into an open clearing. The sun streamed in through gaps in the forest canopy, and she giddied up the beast so the pair could dash carefree through the wild strawberry and dog rose that carpeted the glade.
Elated, Robyn hoped Marian was having the same luck.
The plan was simple: draw the guards away to let Littlejohn free her mother. All Marian had to do was shake off her pursuers and escape to their hiding place. Nothing could be easier. These Nottingham Guards were townsmen, they didn’t know these woods as well as two women who had spent their lives exploring them, these men barely even knew how to ride.
Robyn laughed to herself and let her horse slow a little; she didn’t want to wear him out and leave herself stranded. Instead they cantered through the summer glade as Robyn tried to decide on the best route to get herself back on track.
Suddenly her horse reared up with a pained neigh.
Robyn scrabbled to hold onto the reins and tried to calm him, but as she did, she glanced back to see a fresh bolt jutting out of his rump.
Startled for a moment, she was tossed from the saddle like a rag doll. She hit the ground with a hard thud that forced the wind from her lungs with a sharp cry. All she could do was look up helplessly from the undergrowth as her horse neighed once again and took off into the forest.
In seconds, a thousand thoughts swirled in her mind; the pain from the fall, the fear that her horse was injured, the knowledge that she could no longer reach the hiding place alone, and then, like a second bolt from a crossbow, the realisation that there was a guard in the glade.
Despite the pain, Robyn rolled onto her front and looked out across the clearing. He was there, riding slowly through the sunbeams. He placed a fresh bolt in the crossbow as he scanned the woods on either side. She couldn’t see his face but from his manner she could see he was nervous of being led into an ambush, but he steadily closed in on the spot where she had fallen.
Robyn kept low, her belly to the ground, but she had only a few grasses and flowers to hide within. The guard would be on her in a moment; he would see her clearly and he wouldn’t hesitate to put a second bolt in her back.
She didn’t know what to do.
Her plan had failed.
Even if she escaped the guard, there was no way to reach the hollow hidden high up in the oak tree without a horse. Robyn felt in that moment that Marian was sure to be caught also; the guards would return to the carriage long before they were meant to. Littlejohn would be captured; if they were lucky they would all travel to York Castle with her mother but more than likely they would be hanged as bandits by the side of the road and the last thing she would see would be her family looking on.
She had doomed herself, her family, and her friends. Damn, what a fool she was. But her anger couldn’t mask the fear that tightened her stomach.
“Come out, come out, little rat.” It was Gil. She recognised that voice and as he approached on horseback she could make out his unkempt beard and crooked mouth. He laughed as he scanned the area carefully.
His laugh crawled across her skin and filled her with disgust. If she was about to be found, she would not be found hiding on her belly.
Digging her hand into the dry earth, her heart beating a thousand times a second, Robyn held her nerve for just a moment longer. Then, as the horse and rider came close enough to spot her frame amongst the grasses, she leapt up.
Tossing a handful of dirt in their direction, she darted for the trees, slipped behind one, and stopped dead still. Breathing hard.
She heard Gil curse loudly as a bolt released and the horse whinnied. She felt sorry for the beast: it hadn’t been his eyes she was aiming for.
Should she keep running?
She knew she could never outrun the horse, yet she also knew that if she remained hidden behind a tree trunk a few paces out of reach then she was certain to be discovered. Would he recognise her from the day before? Would he be even fiercer as a result of their encounter?
Her body was frozen solid with her back pressed tightly against the trunk of a sycamore. She struggled to control her breathing; even with a scarf to cover her mouth, it sounded as though a gale were blowing from her chest. She listened, trying to tell if he was within reach.
“I’ve got thee cornered, rat.” Gil’s low drawl chilled her bones. “Ain’t nobody comin’ to aid thee.” He was creeping closer. She heard the crossbow being drawn back, and the gentle sound of hooves against the earth; the horse was mere feet away.
Edging around to the far side of the trunk, praying that he would neither hear nor see her movement, Robyn’s toe bashed against a fallen branch.
She bit her tongue to hold back her curses but suddenly she felt it was as if providence herself had come to Robyn’s aid.
“Don’t ye worry, rat, I shan’t slit thy throat,” he giggled, “for then I’d haffta carry thy corpse.”
Robyn could hear the gentle nickering of the horse; it was only on the far side of the trunk. He would find her, any moment now he would find her, and if she moved he would only find her sooner. Reaching out with her stubbed toe, she hooked it under the fallen branch. But the branch was caught in the undergrowth.
“Oh, there thou are, rat.”
She didn’t wait. Plucking the branch from the ground and tearing it from the grasses, she spun with it just as Littlejohn had taught her, striking upward and hitting Gil firmly under the chin. His crossbow fired and hit the tree an inch from her head.
Taking advantage of his shock, Robyn reached up, grabbed hold of his belt, and pulled him hard from the saddle. With a cry he hit the earth, landing awkwardly at the foot of the sycamore. He scrabbled for his sword, but Robyn was ready and had her rudimentary stave pressed against his throat.
“Please sire.” He raised his shaking hands. “I be just a lowly soldier,” he begged. His face had turned ashen and Robyn’s tight muscles loosened. “I beg thee, laddie, let me loose and I shall say no more about it.”
She knew he lied. But the memory of the boy, the young poacher swinging from the gallows, and Theo, killed by her bow, hung over her mind like a dark shadow. She wasn’t a murderer. She couldn’t kill this man simply for wanting higher wages and the bonus of a bounty for an outlaw’s head.
She pulled back.
But the instant she let him go, Gil reached, not for his sword but his horn. In a flash Robyn smashed it from his lips but not before a single, distinct note had been played upon it.
He laughed and she wanted to smash his face once again but with growing horror she realised that more guards would now be heading her way. She didn’t have time for vengeance.
Robyn turned, grabbing the horse’s reins and launching herself onto the beast. Her enemy could come from any direction but she had no choice. It was time to run.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rescue
“And who, exactly, are you?” A thin woman with a long face and dark brown eyes stared down at Littlejohn.
He blinked. A sharp pain seared through his skull and for a moment he wasn’t certain if there were two noblewomen staring down at him or just one. He rubbed his stunned head and pulled himself slowly up from the ground. “‘’Pologies, yer ladyship,” he muttered. Although considering she had just put a boot to his face he wasn’t so sure he was the one who should have been apologising.
“Back in the carriage, Ellie!” The woman scolded a miniature version of Robyn who was peering around the door. Both woman and child seemed tired and fraught, and Littlejohn quickly realised he was doing nothing to allay their fears or move them to safety.
“We must hasten, Lady Baroness.” He felt his chest tighten slightly at the fierce stare she awarded him. “It’s thy young ’un, Robyn, sent me to aid thee.”
“Robyn!” The Baroness’s countenance altered completely. She leaned out of the carriage, searching about. “Where is she?”
“Busy distracting t’guards, ma’am.” He reached up to offer her a helping hand out of the carriage. “But we’ve only a little time afore they are back ’ere and cartin’ thee and thine off t’ York.”
“This is a rescue?” If anything, she appeared even more surprised.
“Aye, Baroness.” Littlejohn nodded sheepishly, realising he was far from a Knight in shining armour. “That were the intention.”
“Oh, well in that case, I apologise.” Deftly, she leapt from the carriage, ignoring Littlejohn’s proffered hand, then turned to lift down her children one by one as he stood by, awkwardly tapping his stave and unsure how to assist. “I’m very grateful to you, kind sir.” She continued with a groan as she lifted the last child from the carriage and eased him onto the ground.
