Outlaw, page 18
part #1 of Robyn Hood Series
Chapter Thirty-One
Caught
“Oi, what are yous two doin’?”
Robyn and Marian pulled apart, frozen by fear and guilt. Neither of them moved. Neither of them dared breathe.
How had they been discovered? How could they even be seen hidden as they were inside the hollow of the oak?
“I said,” the guard continued, his voice deep and coarse, it definitely wasn’t Gil, “what are yous two doin’?”
Robyn turned, slowly... silently. The guard was almost directly below. His voice carried up and she didn’t understand how he could possibly have guessed where they were.
Carefully she reached up to peer through the gap in the tree. Marian pulled her back, silently tugging at her clothes. But Robyn had to look. She had to see the man who had discovered their whereabouts. She had to face the danger they were in.
“What does thou reckon we’re doin’?” came another voice, different again, higher-pitched and rasping. “We was gettin’ Gil’s ’orse back from that Robyn ’ood, wasn’t we?”
A third man grunted ascent. Robyn listened, not daring to move; her hands rested against the opening in the bark, she crouched below it, longing to peer through but frozen in indecision.
“And what’s Gil upta?”
“He’s waitin’ back down there.” It was the higher-pitched voice of young Bert from the castle.
“He’s waitin’ back down there?”
“Aye.”
“And you’s twos are gettin’ his orse?”
“Aye.”
“So who’s in charge o’ the carriage?”
“The carriage? ... Bloody ’ell!”
There was a sudden commotion as the three men spurred their horses into action, each accusing the other of dereliction of duty. As the pounding hooves faded into the distance Robyn fell back against the wood and slid to the floor of the hollow. Breathing hard, her heart racing.
Marian sat across from her, pale and wide-eyed. Neither of them spoke for a long while.
“You have to get away from here,” Marian whispered finally.
Robyn shook her head. “We ought to stay here until dark.”
“No, Robyn, I mean, you should go. Leave the country, it isn’t safe for you here.”
“You wish me to leave?”
What had happened between them? Had it been a mistake? Was Marian ashamed? Could Marian really want her gone?
“No! No, of course I don’t, but you can’t live like this, scared every moment, always running, never knowing if this is the hour in which you’re caught.”
“I should never have put you in danger like this–”
“It’s not me that I’m frightened for.”
Robyn looked away. She couldn’t stand to look at the pleading in Marian’s eyes. Would it be right for her to leave? If her mother was safe then she had nothing to stay for.
Except she did. Now more than ever she had something to stay for. Someone to stay for. But was she being a fool?
She shook her head. “I have to stay.”
“But why, Robyn? Merely to pillory the Sheriff?”
“No!” Robyn replied, hurt. Why couldn’t Marian see? Why was she refusing to acknowledge it?
“Don’t stay for me.” Marian reached forward and clutched her hand, begging her. “Please don’t stay for me, I couldn’t bear it.”
“You couldn’t bear it?” Robyn snatched her hand back. Could Marian be so disgusted by a kiss?
“I couldn’t bear it if you died simply because I wouldn’t let you go.” She sniffed, wiping her cheek with her hand as she looked away.
“Marian... I...” She was a fool, the greatest fool, she reached out and took Marian’s hand, then took her whole shaking body into an embrace.
Robyn didn’t want to let Marian go. But she couldn’t bear to let her down.
Not for the first time, Robyn Fitzwarren wondered what in the world she was going to do now.
THREE HORSES CHARGED to a halt no less than two feet away from Littlejohn’s hiding place.
He could hear Constance Fitzwarren breathing hard next to him; the children were still and he knew they were frozen in fear. A cry or a whimper, even a sneeze from one of the five could spell death for them all.
“Bloody ’ell, what a mess.”
Through the thick vegetation, Littlejohn watched the men dismount and search about as the banging continued on the doors of the carriage.
“Alright, alright.” Another thud as one of the guards hit the door. “We’re lookin’ fer t’key!”
There was much crashing and banging as the men searched. Littlejohn had half a mind to throw the key into the lane. Why had he been fool enough to keep it? They would come across him for sure.
A resounding smash made Constance gasp. Without thinking, Littlejohn’s hand went out to hold her still. The men had taken an axe to the lock. He prayed their own noise had prevented their ears detecting the Baroness, but Littlejohn’s blood thickened as he waited.
Two more smashes and a cheer, chains fell to the ground and the muffled shouts of the driver and his mate became distinct.
“What ’appened?”
“Spirits!”
“Don’t be daft.”
“No, Ralf, he’s right, t’were a beast of a man, came from nowhere–”
“T’weren’t no beast, you pair a’ clods. Where’s the Baroness?”
“Gone!”
“Taken!”
“The spirit!”
“Oh aye? He tooken the ’orses an all? Oh by God’s arse, we’re in deep shit now.”
Next to him, Littlejohn could feel Constance. Her body was tense. He prayed she could stand it, prayed she wouldn’t cry out or choke. Behind him, he felt the shuffle as one of the children moved. He closed his eyes. He felt sick.
“Let’s just get on, and get out of ’ere.”
“Get on? Get on? You daft beggar, get on where? We only got two friggen’ ’orses on the carriage, we got no prisoners, no Robyn ’ood, and gawd knows where’s Gil’s lost hisself.”
Footsteps scuffed the dirt just in front of the weeping ash. “I say we search about.” The guard drew his sword. “They can’t a’ gone far.”
Littlejohn opened his eyes just in time to see the sword blade plunge into the vegetation: he pushed Constance back as the tip swooshed through the leaves.
“They took two ’orses, dint they, lug ’ead? They ain’t gon be sittin about in bushes, is they?”
Littlejohn let out a silent sigh as the sword retreated.
“So whatta we do, then?”
“I still say we go upta York, thems was our orders.”
“Oh aye, and then what? You gonna put on a dress? Be t’Baroness and hope no one spots them whiskers?”
“Well, what does thou say, then, Ralf?”
There was a long silence, followed by a deep sigh. “We gotta go back, lads.” The man’s words were slow, more methodical than the others.
“And say what? There was two o’ that Robyn Hood and a what? A hairy fairy?”
A hard thud was followed by a wail as one of the men crashed to the ground writhing and moaning.
“What the blood o’ Christ were that for, Ralf?”
“Not one o’ ye has got a mark on thee.”
“And neither has thou.”
“I know that. And if any of ye is a friend o’ mine, then I beg thee... beat me shitless.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
A Debt Unpaid
“It was an ’ole gang of ’em, sire.”
“Aye sire, ’undreds of em!”
“Hundreds?” William twisted the leather riding crop in his hands as he marched up and down the row of six supposedly loyal men, each as bloodied and bruised as the last. He’d lost two horses, four prisoners, and he couldn’t even contemplate what else. His knuckles whitened as he twisted the crop.
All six men lied. From the driver’s mate to the Captain, Ralf. Each man swore on the same story: dozens, nay scores, and now hundreds of men, a veritable army at the command of the rogue outlaw. “And where,” William growled, “is this army now?”
The men glanced at each other.
“Gone, sire.” It was an unkempt man who spoke. Gil, lazy as the others but slightly more conniving. He had a bruise swelling across his cheek adding to the thuggish look of his broken front tooth.
“Gone?” William nodded, then leaned back against the rim of his desk as he looked them over one by one. Not a single man amongst them was able to hold his gaze. “A whole army. Hundreds of men. Soldiers?”
“Aye,” Gil nodded enthusiastically, “must a’ been soldiers, they was trained, wasn’t they, lads?” He glanced up and down the row at his comrades who mumbled and muttered and nodded in agreement.
“P’raps they is deserters, sire, from the crusade?” It was another guard who spoke this time, a young man who followed Gil around the castle like a lost pup. He was reedy and sandy-haired, and his left eye had swelled so badly it barely opened. The others agreed enthusiastically with his statement, almost as if they believed it themselves.
“They’s come back to wreak ’avoc,” the driver suggested.
“I shall wreak havoc in a moment!” William boomed, slamming his crop upon the desk and startling the men into silence. “The best men in this land have all been taken by the King. And I have been left with you.” He stood, looming over their bowed and shrinking frames. “The dregs. Men who could not even find their own arse if they were already clutching it.”
The men looked down at their shuffling feet.
“I could have each of you strung up for treason. Did you know this?”
Eyes shot up, bloodshot, bruised, and wide.
“Sire–”
William raised a hand. “I won’t of course.” He sighed. “For who would take your places in my guard, hmmm?” He walked over to Gil. “A dog?” He turned to the sandy-haired boy. “Your grandmother? Though I have little doubt she would do a better job.”
“She’s dead, sire.” The boy had spoken out of turn and he knew it. He looked back down to the floor, near trembling in fright.
“And yet...” William hissed.
He sighed and turned away; suddenly his temples were throbbing and he was tired of this tirade. He could just have the men put in the stocks for a few hours. But he was already struggling with his new authority, and if the other men discovered what light punishment followed such abject failure, he would never get a grip on discipline again. But if he passed down the discipline they actually deserved for their crimes he would have even fewer men.
“What in hell has happened?” Maud burst through the doors, a picture of rage with skirts flowing back; a banshee of fury.
“You can go,” William quickly ordered the men. He couldn’t have his authority undermined even further by receiving a dressing-down from his wife in their presence.
“Don’t you dare!”
The men stopped dead, looking from William to his Maud, uncertain who the real Sheriff of Nottingham was.
“I wish to have a private conversation with my wife.” William held her gaze, hoping that for once she would acquiesce to his word. “But no mistake,” he added, “I shall deal with you all later.” He hoped his vague threat would be enough to tame Maud’s spirits, but he knew that there would be little he could do to ever put her mind at rest.
They both waited in silence until the men had all shuffled out of the door and closed it behind them. Maud opened her mouth but William pressed a finger to his lips and went to the door, checking the corridor was clear of eavesdroppers before he explained. “I have precious little power over this rabble as it is, without having my wife contradict my orders.”
“Power?” Maud spat. “You will never have power over these men if you do not show it.”
“Don’t talk in riddles, Maud, my head is pounding enough as it is.”
“Power is not some divine gift, William. You must act as though you have it and then you will.”
“Well, if it is so damned easy, Maud,” he snapped, “then why don’t you do it?” He leaned across his desk and grabbed the Sheriff’s seal, thrusting it into her arms.
She backed off, looking at it in disgust. “You know very well it is not a woman’s place.”
He turned back and threw the metal seal across the room; it hit the tapestry of a deer hunt and fell to the floor, rolling out of sight.
“That was foolish.”
“I am a fool.” William leaned on the desk, hands splayed, head down, regretting every decision he had ever made. “She was supposed to be alone. Lost in the woods. Running scared. How, in God’s name did she take on a carriage with six men?” He shook his head furiously. “I ought never to have underestimated her. I’m a damned fool. Yet how could I have known?” He sighed and his whole body crumpled forward. “I can’t do this.” He waited for the barrage of insults but it never came.
“That is why you have a wife.”
He laughed. But it was more in surprise than merriment. He shook his head and turned to her, sitting on the edge of the desk and folding his arms. Defeated. “So, what do we do now?”
“Well,” she took a deep sigh, “we cannot simply pretend this is a matter of discipline. Those men have stolen our money. Prince John’s money–”
“They stole nothing,” William interrupted. “We know well it was Robyn–”
“They should have caught the boy! And if those fools let him take everything, then they are as good as thieves themselves!”
William held up his hand: he was tired. Too tired for this. “You are right, they are fools. All the men I have are either too old, too young, or too sick to have gone on crusade. We have been left with less men than we need to manage this castle, let alone the shires of Nottingham and Derby.” He sighed and threw up his hands. “But it is what it is. If King Richard had not left then I should not be Sheriff. Perhaps I still should not be Sheriff.”
“You give up?” Maud grabbed an unlit candle from the desk and threw it at him as he ducked away.
“Maud?”
“You intend to roll over in the mud and have your belly sliced?” She grabbed a book and missed him only because he was quick enough to move from its path.
“Stop it. Maud!”
“You intend to remain a weak and pathetic worm, no good for anything?” She tossed his ink bottle and he scrambled to catch it before it spilled everywhere.
“For the love of God, Maud, cease this!”
“It is no wonder the King did not want you on crusade,” she snarled. “It is no wonder that he left you here to roll around in the pigswill of this county–”
“I will get her.” He thumped the ink bottle down on the desk. Maud’s mouth dropped open as he loomed over her with sudden confidence. “We will get her. We will string her up. Make no mistake, that little bitch will be tried for his murder. But,” he held a hand up in defence, “Maud, I have only the resources that I have.”
“I will not rest until that little bitch’s head is on a pike.”
He nodded, and sighed. “Then neither will anyone else in this castle.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Night Ferry
The still night air was cool after the hot summer day. The little ones were sleepy and hungry. Ellie’s head hung low, slumping forward as she drifted into sleep on her horse and occasionally sat up startled but insisting she was awake. The boys had long succumbed to sleep; Henry lay draped over the horse’s withers, his little hand stroking the mane while he slept and his brother cuddled up to his back.
When they finally drew to a halt, Constance carefully lifted the boys down, gently clucking and cooing to wake them from their heavy slumber, while Robyn tended to her sister.
“Are we off to bed?” Ellie asked lazily, rubbing her eyes and suppressing a yawn.
But Robyn shook her head. They all still had a long journey ahead of them.
She led her little sister quietly down the path to the River Trent, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the night ferry ready and waiting. The ferryman, basked in the light of his lantern, bid her a greeting, and Robyn turned to her sister.
Even after going over and over the words in her head, she still wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. So instead she simply embraced little Eleanor of Loxley, wrapped in the old furs Littlejohn had provided her with. “I need you to be brave,” Robyn whispered.
Ellie, tired-eyed and heavy-headed, simply nodded. She was the first to be helped onto the boat, then Robyn turned to see Marian carrying the tiny, sleeping Billy who was helped into Ellie’s waiting arms. Little Henry barely stirred as he was carried into the boat by his mother. She laid him down gently still wrapped in his furs and then turned with a hand out to Robyn.
“No, Mother.” Robyn shook her head.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I’ll go and see where Reynold has got to,” Marian whispered, before she ducked away to leave mother and daughter to talk.
“Robyn?”
Constance looked up at Robyn from the boat, and, although she couldn’t see Ellie far back in the dark, she knew her little sister would be straining her ears to listen to every single word spoken between them. Robyn reached out and took both of Constance’s hands in her own. “This boat will take you north. There is another waiting for you in the Humber, they will take you to Saint-Malo–”
“Saint-Malo? Robyn–”
“I know how much you love Brittany, and how long has it been seen you’ve seen the Duchess?” Robyn forced a smile but it broke her heart to see her mother look up at her so pained.
“But you aren’t coming.” It wasn’t a question. It was a firm acknowledgement and Constance nodded as she said it.
“No,” Robyn whispered. It was tempting to get into the boat; it was tempting to run away and hide. But when she thought of the Sheriff using his position to advance his own ends, and run the people of Nottingham dry, her chest swelled in rage. When she thought of her servants, loyal friends to her for years, but now missing due to her foolish actions, the guilt burned at her. Then, when she thought of Marian... of not seeing her for years or perhaps never again... a different feeling overtook her and numbed everything else within her. “I can’t leave.”
