Outlaw, page 9
part #1 of Robyn Hood Series
She had shot Theobald.
Robyn tried to speak, but finally the tears broke through and she was only able to mutter ‘No’ before she grabbed the blankets and turned from Marian, who didn’t have to work hard to realise the truth.
“Oh Robyn, are you hurt anywhere else? Let me look at you.”
She didn’t know why she resisted. She had come to Marian because she wanted to be safe and cared for. Yet in the bright light of the summer morning, when everything that had happened seemed so real and so foolish, she didn’t want to admit that the day before had ever happened. But her bruised cheek and ribs were painful reminders that it had.
“I was robbed,” she admitted finally, without turning around.
“Oh, Robyn, why did you go alone, why didn’t you take a man with you? How badly did they hurt you?”
“Not too badly.” Robyn winced at Marian’s prodding and turned to face her as if to prove her words true.
“How much did they take?”
Robyn groaned. It was too much, too much to even say.
“Robyn, how much?”
“Two hundred silver.”
“What! How?!” Marian stared at her wide-eyed. “Where did you even–why did you have–What were you thinking?”
“I won.” Robyn laughed at the absurdity of it, of how wonderful she had felt after beating Theobald in the tournament and how quickly and easily he had taken that victory back from her. “I won the tournament at Nottingham Fayre.”
“The archery?”
“The whole thing, the grand prize.” She laughed again but her chest ached, and she winced.
“Here, sit up, sit up.” Marian arranged the pillows behind her back and Robyn sat up, leaning against them. She hadn’t realised how bad her bruises were; there were dark marks on her arms, her backside hurt from hitting the ground, her arms ached from the tournament, and her feet were sore from the running. All she wanted was to sleep for the rest of forever and pretend that none of it had happened.
But it had happened. She closed her eyes, shaking her head in defeat. “I entered the tournament in disguise–”
“Oh, Robyn.”
“I won the purse of silver–”
“Oh, Robyn!”
“And was then robbed on the way home–”
“Oh, Robyn.”
“I know, I know, stop ‘oh Robyn’-ing me.”
“I’m sorry it’s just... well... oh, Robyn.” Marian reached out and stroked her shoulder as if she were a pining pup. Robyn wanted to throw her off and prove she didn’t need the sympathy but she couldn’t, she wanted Marian to comfort her. “Why did you have to go alone? Why didn’t you ask me to come with you at least?”
“Would you have come?” Robyn glanced at her knowingly. “Or would you have kept trying to talk me out of it?”
Marian sighed and looked down. “I would have talked you out of it. I mean,” Marian indicated Robyn and her wounds, “look.”
“I know, I know it was foolish, I know I should have taken someone with me, or just not gone at all, but it’s done now... and I’m not sure...”
“Not sure what?”
Robyn looked up at Marian’s rich blue eyes so filled with concern and had to look away. “I’m not sure I can go home.”
“Of course you can go home! Your mother will forgive you–or–or is the bandits? Did they follow you? Do you think they’ll come after you again? You must tell the Sheriff, we must report this at once–”
Marian went to rise from the bed and Robyn pawed at her, pulling her back. “No, no, you see, Marian, I...”
“What? What is it?”
“I...” Robyn looked to the ceiling as if hoping the script for her explanation was written on the wooden beams above, but there was no help to be found. She closed her eyes and awaited the wave of shock and concern that would follow her admission. “I shot one of them.”
“Oh, Rob–” Marian stopped herself before she said it, and instead reached out and took Robyn’s hand, then breathed deeply. “You shot a bandit in self-defence, everyone will understand. There is no one who can blame you.” Marian patted her hand. “You will be alright, the Sheriff will find the outlaws and bring them to justice.”
Robyn remembered the blood spurting from the wound as Theobald yanked the arrow from it and closed her eyes, feeling light-headed at the memory. Her courage failed her and she couldn’t bring herself to admit that the boy was the Sheriff’s kin. “I hope you’re right, Marian.”
ROBYN BORROWED ONE of Marian’s dresses and the two of them brushed the mud off her father’s clothes as best they could before hiding them under the bed along with Robyn’s bow.
But there was no delaying her return any further.
With only a little breakfast between them, the pair decided to ride out to Loxley before the rest of the Leaford estate arose. They would have to face Robyn’s mother. Constance would no doubt be overwrought after having her daughter disappear, not to mention the demand for payment that now sat on the Baron’s desk with no hope of being paid.
It was a warm August day but the brightness of the sunshine and the joy of the birdsong couldn’t make Robyn forget what she had done, and how much money her mother still had to find.
It was a solemn little procession that reached the crest of the hill overlooking Loxley, but even at this distance they could clearly make out several horses and men in the courtyard. They all bore the three crowns and the cross staff herald of the Sheriff of Nottingham.
Robyn and Marian glanced at each other and then took off at a gallop to find out what was wrong.
As they cantered through the gates it became clear that the men were not there on any peaceful purpose. Two men were ransacking the barn, and several shouts from inside told her that there were more men searching the house.
Constance, looking pale and harried, was out in the courtyard arguing with a man who looked to be in charge. Unlike the other men who wore tabards displaying the Nottingham crest, this man wore a deep red, richly embroidered tunic with yellow, mock-gold thread in intricate vines running along the edgings. The Chief Bailiff of Nottingham. He was a stout man, imposing though not tall, and his Phrygian cap revealed a cleanly shaven head underneath. He barely glanced at the distressed Constance and instead remained impassive, only occasionally glancing at his inferiors.
The servants had been lined up and were being threatened and questioned by several of the guards. Even little Ned and old Hereward, whose white knuckles clutched Alfred’s leather strap, were not spared the wrath.
Robyn leapt off her horse as soon as she entered the courtyard and ran over to her mother and the Bailiff. “What’s happening?”
Marian ran up alongside her as she tried to get answers.
“These brutes are taking the house apart! They are frightening the children.” Constance turned to the man and seemed caught somewhere between ferocity and fear. “Do you hear me?!” she yelled at him, close to hysterical.
“It’s alright,” Robyn said. A calmness was coming over her now as she saw her mother so fraught, even though her stomach twisted in her belly. She tugged at the man’s sleeve to catch his attention. “What is it you want?”
“Do you know these people, young ma’am?”
“I...” She glanced at her mother, who shook her head almost imperceptibly. “We’re neighbours.”
“Well, we ’ave reason to believe your neighbour is ’arbouring a murderer.”
“Murderer?”
“Aye, he attacked and murdered the Sheriff’s nephew just yesterday.”
Robyn’s heart stopped beating. She felt Marian clutch her arm. “M–murdered?”
“Young man goes by the name of Robyn Hood.”
All her blood seemed to drain from her body at once. She glanced up and saw Constance stare straight towards her with a look that told Robyn her mother knew, even if she didn’t understand. Robyn couldn’t speak. She felt sick. She needed to sit down and felt her legs give way.
Theobald was dead. She had killed him. She had murdered him. She was a murderer.
Marian caught her, holding her up while she tried to catch her breath. She fought to get air into her lungs but it was as if nothing in her body functioned anymore and the air would never be clear enough to allow her to think.
“You young ladies know anything of this?”
“No.” Marian’s voice was firm, with a convincing touch of offence. She began guiding Robyn back to the horses. “We were simply passing by, good sir, but we must be on our way.”
The Bailiff narrowed his eyes at them, but turned back to Constance whose grimly determined face showed Robyn that her mother fully understood the price she would have to pay for her daughter’s freedom. Even if she didn’t understand why it had to be paid.
The journey back to Leaford was a blur. At one point, Robyn had been forced from her horse to vomit by a tree. She was hot, too hot in her clothes, and felt as though her insides didn’t fit within her body anymore. As if the sin of murder itself was sitting in her stomach and needed to be exorcised.
Marian was there, rubbing her back gently and helping her return to the horse, then leading her into the house, then swatting away the fussing servants, then finally sitting Robyn by the window.
“I’ll fetch some... wine,” she whispered to a blank-faced Robyn.
The hard thud of the wooden door drew Robyn’s attention.
She was alone.
Alone with the thoughts of the young man she had killed. She remembered his face and his pain. The imaginings of the boyish face writhing at the last moments of his untimely death swirled in her mind.
‘What am I to do?’
She had left her mother; she had run away and left her family to suffer the fate she should have taken upon herself. She wasn’t a child anymore. She shouldn’t be relying on her mother to take on the burden of her wrongs.
She should hand herself in. She needed to hand herself in. It was her duty, her father would expect nothing less of her.
She stood. She was still unsteady on her feet and nauseous.
No one would believe her.
The Sheriff’s Chief Bailiff had looked right at her; he had said that stupid name out loud to her face and had not realised that she was the one he was looking for. He was looking for a man. Of course he was looking for a man. She had paraded around the castle, collected her prize, made herself known as a woman, and still, they searched for a man who didn’t exist.
And she had been the one attacked. She had been defending herself from those vicious thugs. Had she not fought back it would have been her own body lying in some ditch, her own mother weeping for a lost child.
Of course, she wouldn’t hand herself in.
But she couldn’t simply walk away. If she walked free then her mother would suffer in her stead. She may hang.
Robyn was breathing fast. A panic was swelling within her chest; short breaths made it hard for her to concentrate, and she leaned on the bed, feeling the light-headedness return as her mind swirled in confusion.
Then she saw the clothes.
For a moment she wanted to crawl underneath the bed with them, hide in the darkest space possible and hope that she might disappear into the dust.
But then a thought struck. She leaned down and fished out the costume lurking in the darkness beneath.
Her father’s outfit in foresters’ green, along with the old hood and her own repaired bow. This was Robyn Hood. This was who they were looking for: Robyn Hood was a pile of dirty clothes hidden under the sweet Maid Marian’s bed.
Robyn clutched the outfit to her chest. She knew exactly what she needed to do.
When Marian returned a few minutes later with a tray of wine and fruit, all she found was an open window and a borrowed dress.
Chapter Fifteen
Outlaw
Galloping over tufts and pasture, Robyn’s heart was racing.
She knew what she was about to do was pure madness but she could see no other way.
There was no possible way she could convince the Sheriff’s men to leave her mother alone, and no other possible way she could convince them to follow the trail of the ‘man’ they were hunting for.
Robyn and her stolen horse reached the crest of the hill that bordered the lands of Robyn and Marian’s fathers. Her heart halted as she surveyed the manor before her. The men could have already gone, they could have already led her family and servants away to the dungeons of Nottingham Castle to await... whatever dreadful fate would be placed upon those who were suspected of concealing a murderer.
A murderer. The word caught her off guard and she swayed, feeling light-headed again. She had to focus.
She was in luck.
The guards were still there.
Her breath returned to her and she allowed herself a moment to breathe as she watched the scene below.
The horses and men bearing the Nottingham crest were scattered around the manor ground. She could see wooden trunks and chairs had been pulled out into the courtyard. For what reason, she could not fathom. Did they suspect she was hidden within the chair, did they have to pull it out into the light of day to be sure?
She suspected, with a dark twist of her stomach, that they were merely ransacking the house. Destroying property in the hope that Constance would eventually break rather than continue to watch her home dismantled in front of her.
But the very fact that the men were still there reassured Robyn that her mother had stayed strong.
Robyn took a deep breath and nodded to herself. There was no point watching the scene unfold below her: she had come here to stop it.
She readjusted the scarf over her mouth and pulled her bow from her back. She wouldn’t have long to take her shot, and she knew it would have to be precise.
Spurring the horse forward, Robyn held the reins with one hand for as long as she could, then, standing up in the stirrups, she let go completely and pulled an arrow from her quiver. It wasn’t easy to nock an arrow while cantering down a hilly pasture on horseback, but as the horse hit the hard dirt of the road Robyn drew back her bowstring, aiming high up into the air, then released.
With a familiar whistling, the arrow soared high up and over the gatehouse, landing with a distant thud in the middle of the courtyard.
She grabbed the reins two-handed and calmed the horse. Turning in the road, she looked back to be sure of the reactions of the Sheriff’s men.
It took them barely a second to act.
The men gathered around then looked from the arrow to the road.
They saw exactly what they were looking for: a hooded figure in green, rearing up on a stolen horse and taunting them by waving the bow in their direction.
She had their attention.
There was a shout from the leader in red and the men made a scrabble for their horses.
That was Robyn’s cue to leave.
She reared the horse once again and turned to head back up into the pasture. She would ride across the fields towards the only place where she knew she would be able to hide: Sherwood Forest.
Her horse darted up the hill and took the low, wooden fence at a leap. She glanced behind to see the squadron of guards charging out of the gates of Loxley Manor. This was her playground. Robyn knew these fields and woods better than anyone else, and she knew exactly where to go to get away from them.
But her horse was slowing, tired of the chase. When she glanced behind her, she realised she didn’t have quite the head start she wanted.
“Sorry, horse,” she whispered. She needed to push the beast to its limit in order to beat the guards to the edge of the forest.
Everything depended on getting there before them. If she didn’t then her plan would be for naught.
When Robyn glanced behind her, she saw some of the guards falling back. They were clearly unused to a steep ascent on their mounts. There was still a chance she could make it.
She pushed further upward and, as she made her way to the crest of the hill, she saw it.
The old oak.
There was no way she could allow the guards to witness what she was about to do.
Pushing the horse the final few feet, Robyn knew she had only one chance to get this right. There would be no time to slow down or try twice.
Just barely out of sight of her pursuers she had only seconds to make her move.
It was a move she had made a thousand times before but never on a horse going at full speed.
There were shouts, but she couldn’t look back. Her whole self was focused on the oak tree in front of her.
Seconds away, its thick, low-lying branch just within reach.
Robyn pulled her feet out of the stirrups and brought them up, raising herself to crouch on the horse’s back.
Balancing with all her strength as the creature beneath her galloped onward, Robyn knew that one wrong move could mean not only capture, but also death.
The oak was right in front of her.
She held steady, waiting for just the right second.
Three... two... one...
She leapt.
The thick branch hit her chest with force and knocked the wind from her. The horse, still in full stride, careened into the woods, leaving her legs dangling precariously.
Desperately, Robyn hauled her body up. Her feet flailed for what seemed like hours as she tried to get a good grip on the bark. Her right boot got a hold and she heaved her body onto the tree, scrabbling to safety.
The guards surged into sight and Robyn shrank down. Clinging tightly with her belly to the branch, she crawled backwards like a spider retreating to a hole, then she slipped down into the old hollow. All the while, she prayed to any saint that could hear that the men would continue to follow the horse and would not take a moment to glance upward.
Her breath pounded as she listened to their shouts, horns, and the thunderous galloping of hooves disappear into the thick forest of Sherwood.
Robyn squeezed her eyes shut, and sank deeper down into the hollow, crouching into a ball and making herself as small as possible. She willed her breath to slow, and her heart to cease its pounding, fearing that even the sound of her wheezing would ensure her discovery.
