Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) (4 page)

As she stepped out onto the manor grounds, she felt her breath catch. How often had she peered from her window at night to see these lands stretched out beneath her? But never once had she been allowed to stand outside like this, alone in the dark, and feel their calm serenity all around her. Robin gazed about in wonder.

Silvery moonlight made the air shine as bright as a hundred rushlights, washing out the stars with its glow. Beyond the edge of the yard, past the stables and the barn, the acres of planted grain gleamed white in the night, their stalks billowing softly in the warm summer breeze. In the distance, Robin could make out the outline of cottages on the opposite side of the river—the homes of the peasants who tilled her father’s lands. Beyond those dwellings stood the dark trees of Sherwood Forest.

Robin turned around one last time. Against the shimmering air, her father’s house stood disapproving and black.

I do not need your approval
, her soul challenged back.
Not now, nor ever again.

With a sudden surge of energy, she began to trot towards the shed where she and the woodwards kept their spare equipment.

The shed was small—just a wooden shanty, its slats plastered with daub to keep out the rain. Robin had brought no candle, but she found that if she left the door open and untied her hood so that it fell back and no longer shadowed her face, the moon afforded more than enough light to let her see.

The woodwards kept the shanty in neat order—bows against one wall, quivers upon another, and shelves of arrow sheaves and arm bracers lined up against the third. Until now, Robin had always used blunts—headless arrows that would pierce a target butt or stun a rabbit, but not kill a man if accidentally miss-shot. She reached for a sheaf of them by habit, but as her hand closed around the arrows, she paused. She would be traveling far, through unknown forests and lands. She would need to protect herself against wolves and other dangers, and to hunt for food as well.

Robin put down the blunts and instead picked up a sheaf of clothyard arrows—giant killers that could bring down an armored man with ease. The quiver she placed them in was longer than her usual one, in order to accommodate the arrows’ extra length, and had a sheath attached to it for her bow. The bracer that would guard her left arm against whiplash from the bowstring, she shoved into the sack at her waist. As an afterthought, Robin seized a packet of spare strings from the top shelf and tucked them into her sack as well.

When she turned to the east wall to pluck her bow off its prop, however, Robin felt her determination falter.

Will had given her this bow for her fifteenth birthday. It was yew—an expensive gift for any man to give, let alone one who had barely attained his eighteenth year. The pied wood was just as silky smooth as when she had first received it, and was completely unadorned except at the grip, where the bowyer had carved her name. Robin forced herself to sheathe her bow and swing the quiver across her back, stifling the urge to sob. Will would never forgive her for failing to say farewell.

Casting a final look around the shack, Robin could see nothing she might have forgotten to pack and turned to leave.

A man was standing in the doorway, blocking her egress.

* * * * *

“What in the name of Saint Christopher are you doing?” he demanded fiercely, stepping inside.

“Will?” Robin gawked at him, taken completely by surprise. Her cousin glared at her grouchily, his arms crossed, but with a gleam of relief in his eyes that she found puzzling. “Will, whatever are you doing here?”

“I should think that was obvious. I followed you. The real question is, why are
you
here, and dressed like that?” His gaze seemed to take in her attire for the first time. “Wait a minute—are those
my
clothes?”

Robin blushed. “Um, yes.”

“You told me you had no idea what happened to them!”

“Actually, what I said was that I had not seen them recently, which was technically true since I had hidden them away three days before you asked—why on earth are you grinning like that?” Robin demanded as Will’s face split into a wide smile.

Will simply grinned broader. “I am just glad to have you back.” His grin faded. “Only, I do not have you back, do I? You are leaving.”

“Yes.” Robin turned away so that she would not have to face him. “I know what you will say, cousin, but you cannot dissuade me. Oh, you can force me to return with you, but I promise to just run away again. You will have to watch me every second of every day, even after I am married. You had better let me go.”

Will cleared his throat. “I have no intention of stopping you.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Oh.”

“Where will you go?” he asked instead.

Relieved that Will was not going to try to deter her, Robin told him gladly: “I think I will try for London, for the King’s court. Surely he will see a cousin. I am going to ask for a place in his household. Even the life of a lady-in-waiting would be preferable to a life as the Sheriff’s wife.”

“I see.” The shadows made Will’s face inscrutable. “London is a long way away.”

“Are you trying to frighten me from going?”

“Never.”

Robin harrumphed.

“I want you to take my horse,” Will announced abruptly. “They will not expect you to get far on foot. It will give you a good head start. I would give her to you completely, but she is too fine a mount for a commoner, and would attract attention. You had best leave her at the Blue Boar Inn—the innkeeper knows me and will recognize my horse; he will see that I get her back. You will have to go the rest of the way on foot.”

“Why are you helping me?” Robin asked him, bewildered. “I thought for sure you would try to stop me.”

“Have I ever been able to stop you before?” he demanded wryly.

Robin shook her head. It was too much. “Come with me,” she begged, seizing him in a sudden embrace. Will gripped her tightly, burying his beard in her hair. She never knew until much later how close he actually came to accepting.

“No,” he said at last, stepping out of her hold and speaking as if from a great distance. “They would never stop hunting us if we both ran away. Besides, I am on guard duty tonight—I can say that you were anxious about the wedding and went for a ride to calm your nerves. If I tell them you went out at dawn and headed north, it will give you more time to get away.”

Robin nodded, a tight feeling in her throat. Will reached out as if to stroke her cheek; instead, he took her hand and led her to the stables.

Robin saddled Will’s chestnut mare while her cousin readied the stirrups and the bridle. The horse, not accustomed to being handled in the middle of the night, whickered loudly and stomped in place. Will stroked its neck, murmuring reassurances in the mare’s restless ears. At last, she calmed down and allowed her master to finish putting on her tack.

“I guess this is farewell, then,” Robin said dully, finding herself unable to meet Will’s eyes; she looked at the hay-strewn ground instead.

“Robin . . .” he began softly, but when she still did not look at him, he sighed and unbuckled the sword at his waist. “Here,” he said, “I want you to take this, too.”

Robin drew back in amazement. “I cannot,” she whispered, pushing the scabbard back toward him. “I know how much it means to you.”

“You mean more. Take it,” he urged, when she opened her mouth to refuse again. “Please. I want you to be able to protect yourself as well as possible.”

Robin reluctantly closed her hands around the sheath. This was the sword that Lord Locksley had given to Will the day he became a man, with a man’s duties and rights. It was her cousin’s most prized possession. She offered one last protest.

“But I do not even know how to use it.”

“You know enough.”

Unbidden, a memory from six years ago bubbled to the forefront of her mind, of two children practicing swordplay with shoots of cedar, and all the trouble those innocent lessons had caused. Robin shook her head. That was a memory for another time.

“Thank you, Will. I promise to keep it safe,” she relented, buckling the sword onto her belt.

“I know you will.” He reached out and pulled Robin’s hood over her head, wrapping the liripipe around her throat just tight enough so that the hood would not fall down. For one moment, Robin saw indecision flicker deep within Will’s eyes—indecision, and something else. Then with a sigh, he drew her to him and kissed her on the forehead, and in one unbroken motion picked her up and deposited her in the saddle.

“Take care of yourself, Robin,” he whispered, stepping back into the shadows of the stall.

Not trusting herself to speak over the sudden lump in her throat, she merely nodded. Taking the reins in her hands, Robin kicked the horse into a gallop so that its hooves churned the grass and its strides filled the air with silver clouds of dust as she turned the mare onto the High Road to London. She did not look back, and so she did not observe Will watching her go, even after she had ridden beyond his sight.

* * * * *

Horse and rider raced across the dusky countryside, flying over the thin wooden bridge that spanned the river, past the cottages that speckled the manor land, and down the slim dirt road that was the only highway through Nottinghamshire. Once in the next county, that thoroughfare would connect with Fosse Way, and then eventually with Watling Street, after which it would be a straight ride to London.

But first, the road had to go through Sherwood Forest.

Dark trees blurred past Robin, at times no more than a black palisade streaking by on either side, at times so close that she could feel their feathery touch on her cheeks where the road was especially narrow. Sherwood Forest was immense—several days slow walk on foot, slightly more than a day by horse. The inn Will had mentioned lay two-thirds of the way from Locksley to Nottingham Town. If she could reach the inn before dawn, she could leave the horse there and disappear into the forest with no one the wiser.

Robin cast a furtive look at the sky. It had to be near dawn now. Already the sky was starting to look slightly lighter—a faint mauve rather than a deep violet. Beneath her legs, Will’s chestnut mare heaved heavily, foam streaking along its cheeks and blowing up into Robin’s face. Robin felt bad for riding the horse so hard, but she had to reach the inn before people began to awaken.

“Come on, girl,” Robin whispered, patting the mare on her side. “Just a little bit farther. Then you can rest.”

Please, let it be just a little bit farther.

The sky was a pallid blue by the time she reached the Blue Boar Inn. She rode the horse right into the hostelry’s small yard; fatigued, it took nearly all her strength to dismount. Though she could see that the door to the inn was closed, she knew that like all inn doors, it would be unlocked. She had only to enter and call out for the host, and a hot cup of cider would be forthcoming, and most glorious of all, a bed.

Enough
. Assuming that the innkeeper did not think she had stolen Will’s horse and betray her to a soldiering guest, he would still remember her. He would be quick to realize that Lord Locksley’s missing daughter and the mare’s lissome rider were one and the same. Stay at the inn, and she might as well return home right now.

Shaking her head at her own wistful folly, Robin led the mare over to the water trough—the poor beast drank greedily, slurping at the water with desperate need. The mare was clearly spent, its sides heaving with every breath, its coat slick with sweat.

“Poor girl,” Robin murmured.

She removed the saddle from the horse’s back and let it drop to the ground, and then took the blanket the saddle had sat on and used it to wipe down the mare. Wet though the blanket was, she was tempted to take it with her, but it would be burdensome to carry and difficult to explain if she was seen with it, bearing as it did the Locksley crest. Better just to leave it here.

Leading the horse over to the hitching post, Robin tied her fast and set the saddle and blanket on the ground nearby. The mare was so worn out that she did not even try to nibble on the hay scattered by the post, but sank down onto the dirt with what might almost have been a sigh.

Guilt gnawed at Robin for just leaving her there, but she had done all that she could afford to do. Taking the horse into the stable would undoubtedly wake the stable boy, and that she could not chance. Besides, the innkeeper would be up very soon, and Will had said that he knew the horse; he would take care of her.

Now that she had seen to the mare, the adrenaline that had sustained Robin throughout her ride vanished, leaving in its place an exhaustion so complete that it made her sinews tremble with the effort of remaining upright. Only sheer determination propelled her across the road and into the boughs of the forest, carrying her through the thick underbrush until she was veiled from view.

Letting her bow and quiver slide from her back, Robin sank onto the ground. It took four tries before her tired fingers could grip her belt tightly enough to unbuckle it, freeing her from her sword and sack. With the last of her strength, Robin pulled her weapons within easy reach; she was asleep before her fingers had let them go.

CHAPTER 4

INTO THE FOREST

SOMETHING HARD was digging into Robin’s side.

“Stop it, Marian,” she growled, rolling over. Perversely, her sister just seemed to jab harder. “All right, all right, I am getting up—enough already!”

Robin opened her eyes to a world that was clearly not her bedchamber. Lush green branches danced lazily overhead, dazzling against the summer sun. The sharp smell of pinesap flooded her nose, and the sweet chirruping of birds chorused in her ears.

“Oh,” she whispered, recalling her flight the night before and the sad truth that she would likely never see Marian or Will again. “Right.”

For a moment, Robin just lay where she was, absorbing the unfamiliar forest. At last, she pushed herself to her feet, her fingers clutching at the roots and rocks that had formed her lackluster bed.