Outlaw, page 10
part #1 of Robyn Hood Series
Hunkering down inside the old tree, she felt like a rat under the floorboards as she waited for the voices to disappear.
She didn’t move.
For long, long minutes, Robyn waited.
At the sound of a horn and more excited shouting, she groaned. They must have discovered the stolen horse.
The men were not too far into the wood. They could easily double back to here, easily find her. They would know she could not have travelled too far.
Should she run?
Could she make it down to Loxley Manor on foot before they discovered her whereabouts?
What then?
Change into a dress and hope they overlooked the sudden appearance of a young woman on their next search?
Would there be a ‘next search’?
Had she done enough to secure the manor and ensure the Sheriff didn’t trouble Loxley again?
Would she jeopardise everything if she went home?
The thoughts swirled in Robyn’s tired mind as she listened.
They were not far. Just in another part of the wood. They could come back here at any moment. Find the old tree, see the crack in the upper trunk, realise there was a hollow inside.
Would they smoke her out?
Cut down the tree?
Climb up and haul her from her hiding place?
She didn’t dare move.
Hours went by and Robyn remained silent. Not daring to even adjust her limbs. Her muscles stiffened with fear; her brain was exhausted and alert for the slightest sign of danger.
Every so often she would hear the birds and the leaves rustling. It would calm her, reassure her she was alone; her muscles would begin to relax. Then there would be a yelp, or a shout, or the thunderous roar of a hunting horn and she would freeze up again, holding her breath and straining her ears to listen.
All day they searched.
All throughout the long, hot afternoon and long into the bright summer evening.
Robyn did not move.
It wasn’t until darkness began to fall and the coldness of night swept over the landscape that finally Robyn allowed herself to feel safe.
They wouldn’t find her in the dark, they couldn’t find her hidden here in the dark.
Huddled up with only her arms around herself for warmth, Robyn peered out of the gap in the old, oaken trunk. Through the leaves, she could see the stars starting to light up against the velvet blue of the night sky. She wanted to wonder at their beauty, to let her mind rise up into the heavens and sail far away from her troubles.
But she could not.
As the cold began to bite at her flesh, and the thirst clawed at her throat, Robyn couldn’t prevent tears rolling down her cheeks. She sighed, gulping in the clean night air.
“Well, then,” she whispered, as she wiped her cheek with her sleeve and sat amongst shadows of Sherwood Forest, “it seems that I am now an outlaw.”
Chapter Sixteen
A Thousand Acres
Roger Guimart, the Sheriff of Nottingham’s Chief Bailiff, stood sheepishly in the middle of the study. He held his scarlet Phrygian cap in his hands and the top of his bald head shone in the candlelight.
Maud paced like a wildcat. Her eyes were red and surrounded by deep, dark circles, her skin was deathly pale and, although she looked ill, she had refused all food offered to her.
William sat back in his chair, his fingers interlaced, and he spoke calmly. “Not a trace?”
“I must confess,” Roger muttered, and shook his head, “nay.”
Maud growled suddenly, making the poor man jump. “This is absurd!” she shouted, rounding on him, and to his credit, he kept his head low. The man knew not to make eye contact with a wild beast. “How many men did you have?”
“I...” The bailiff glanced nervously at the Sheriff who nodded and attempted a reassuring smile.
“Please, answer my wife’s questions as you would my own.”
“We had two dozen men, milady.” He attempted a bow but Maud was paying no heed, throwing her hands up in despair.
“Two dozen men,” she cried as if the number were a personal insult, “and horses as well?”
The Bailiff nodded. “Aye, ma’am.” He seemed confused.
“And you could not find one little wretch?” She turned to the man and William had to admit to being a little relieved that her fierce chest pointing was aimed at someone else for once. “Did she not shoot at you as well, did I hear that right? That she shot at your own head? That the Chief Bailiff of Nottinghamshire had his own safety endangered yet he could not catch even one little scut?”
“She?” Roger glanced at William again and Maud turned away, caught out by her own ranting. “Milady, forgive me, I were under the understanding we was searching for a young man?”
“Of course, Robyn Hood is a man, you fool!” Maud raged; she never liked to be tripped up on her own lies and she rounded on the man. “Do you honestly believe my Theobald, a hero, and a young knight, could have been cut down by a–a...” She seemed to search her mind for the worst insult she could muster. “...A maiden?”
“Nay, ma’am of course.” The man blustered and stepped backwards, bowing obsequiously, and William decided it was time to intervene.
He spoke softly, trying to find a careful balance between sounding reasonable and appearing to be patronising. “There are over a thousand acres of woodland in Sherwood, Maud.” She turned to him and her bloodshot eyes were sharp as blades. “It would take far more than a mere dozen men with only one day to comb through the acres of forest searching for one little miscreant.”
“Then what are we to do?”
He was shocked to hear pleading in her voice, the crack of despair as her shoulders dropped. She caught it in time but had to turn from the Bailiff lest he witness the glistening in her eyes. She waved him away. “You can go,” she said, her voice thick.
Roger glanced at William who nodded, and the man appeared delighted to find himself so inexplicably set free. He scuttled to the door and bowed once more as he backed through it. William waited until it was fully closed before rounding the desk.
Maud stood stiffly. Her muscles were rigid as she fought away any trace of emotion. He placed his hands on her shoulders and when she refused to look at him, he knew she was about to break. He pulled her into him and held her, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing her tight as he felt her tremble and then shake.
It was just a moment of weakness. Barely a minute long. He said nothing. He merely waited for her body to be still once again. She took a deep breath and coughed as if clearing a frog from her throat and he pulled away quickly lest she feel constrained for even a second. As she sniffed and looked about, he handed her a kerchief from his pocket. She took it and wiped her cheeks without thanks.
“We’ll make damned sure he has no safe house to scuttle away to.” William thought it best to continue as if nothing had occurred, no emotion had been displayed, no silent act of love and care had taken place between them. “First,” he continued, resting against the edge of his desk, “we shall announce a reward and let his vile little friends turn him in, and then we’ll take Loxley Manor–”
“Loxley?” Maud’s head snapped up.
William breathed deeply and shook his head. If Maud wanted the murderer caught, she had to at least accept who the murderer was. But now was not the time to instigate another argument. “That child, maiden or lad was fool enough to demonstrate an alliance with the Fitzwarrens. Lady Constance of Loxley has yet to pay her contribution to our Prince’s fund and we must collect the shortfall somehow.”
Maud nodded. She was still quiet and deathly pale. She had yet to sleep. The funeral had yet to be prepared, and the death notice had only just been sent out. If she had been a mother to Theobald she could not have been in more pain. But she seemed to take some comfort in the fact that William did at least have a plan, and Constance Fitzwarren was at its centre.
William reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, but it was a step too far. She shrugged him off and stalked towards the door.
“You have work to do,” she said and left.
Chapter Seventeen
Little Rabbit
Cold, hunger, and exhaustion will do things to a person. They will drive them to commit foolish acts they would not have even considered mere hours earlier.
Robyn of Loxley had made a promise.
She had sworn an oath to herself that she would stay hidden all night. She would then wait all through the heat of the next day, hidden in the hollow of the old oak tree. She would stay there, until well into the night beyond, before she would even consider coming down from the tree.
But the darkness had now completely enveloped the forest. Robyn sat shivering in the hollow, her teeth chattering, her throat dry, her bladder painfully full, and her belly groaning from a day with nothing more than a bite of bread for breakfast. She remembered fondly the meat pie she’d had at the fayre the day before... why hadn’t she taken food with her? Why had she not grabbed something before she left? She had been a fool.
She would leave the hollow. Just for a moment.
Just to relieve herself.
Then she would clamber back inside and go to sleep. She couldn’t sleep with a full bladder. The thirst she could manage, the hunger would fade, but the fullness of the bladder would only get worse.
Once the idea was settled in her mind she made quick work of clawing her way through the gap in the tree and out onto the branch.
It was then that she saw a nightfire.
A distant point of light, blinking through the trees deep in the wood.
She watched it for a moment. She didn’t intend to leave the tree. But for every argument her tired mind could conjure to stay put, her rebellious mind would provide an equally compelling one for leaving her hiding place and investigating.
It could be the guards, settling down to camp. She should stay hidden.
It could be poachers, willing to share food and water with a fellow outlaw. She should go and find out.
If they were poachers, they would likely kill her. She should stay.
Poachers wouldn’t kill, they were merely hunters, albeit illegal ones. She should go.
Eventually, Robyn promised herself that she would sneak through the woods, silent as the dark. Just as she had learned on the King’s hunts. She would draw close to the fire, she would see if it was the guards, make a note of how many had made camp for the night just so she would know what she was up against. That was all.
She wouldn’t steal. She wouldn’t take anything from them. Certainly not food or water... unless of course, the opportunity arose.
Clumsily, with muscles tired and tight after her fret-filled day, Robyn lowered her body to the ground with a thud, and then readied herself for the night-time prowl.
The nightfire was just a pinprick of light in the distance. There was no clear path to lead her way and the thick undergrowth was knee-deep. Every few dozen paces she would stop and catch her breath, surprised by how exhausted she was. She had endured a fast before, on saints’ days. She had also known long days of exhausting hunting with her friends and local nobles, yet this hunger and fatigue combined to make her feel as though a deathly sickness had taken hold...
As Robyn made her way through the forest she tried so hard to keep silent, but her cold muscles and the blinding dark led to the snapping of twigs and the ripping off her clothes. A knock to her forehead as she walked straight into the branch of a tree caused her to stop and take stock.
The nightfire was not too far now, but she had no clue what she would find when she arrived. She had been safer in the tree. What had she been thinking?
Now, if she hunkered down where she was then she was sure to be discovered in the morning. That’s if she didn’t freeze to death. No, she reminded herself, no one froze to death on an August night. It would be uncomfortable, but she would live. She should stay where she was. Just curl up and sleep.
But there was a scent in the air and her stomach growled.
Whoever had that fire was cooking.
Blind with the ravenous hunger of a noble who’d never wanted for anything but fancy trinkets, Robyn stumbled forward. She tripped over roots and was slapped by low-hanging foliage, but on she pressed, drawing ever closer to the promise of light, warmth, and food.
Finally, Robyn reached the trees at the edge of a clearing. The blaze roared happily just a few feet away.
There were no guards, no pack of poachers sharpening knives.
It was just one lone figure. His hulking great back was to her and he was a mere silhouette in the firelight.
Around the clearing were animal skins pegged out on wooden frames; there was a small lean-to made of furs and branches that covered a bedroll. There was a large, wooden block with an axe ready for chopping wood, and two pheasants were strung up from an overhanging branch.
It was almost a little home. Nothing more than a campsite for a lone forester.
Robyn dithered.
She had investigated the fire. That was all she had promised herself she would do. Yet the aroma of roasting meat drew her in. Was it a hog perhaps, or one of the King’s deer?
Her mouth watered. She was reminded of her thirst. Her stomach was hollow and empty. Should she make herself known?
But she didn’t know this stranger. Would he turn her in? Chase her away? Murder her for her boots?
She had placed herself in danger merely by leaving her hiding place. She should never have ventured forth. She should go back. She should scuttle into the woods and find herself a place to hide out the night. She would sleep. Then hide through the day while the guards hunted her.
Robyn made a move to back away but her body was rooted to the spot. She stared at the warm fire, watching the mouth-watering meat slowly roast on the spit... but oh the smell!
“Is alright, rabbit,” the shadowy figure boomed and Robyn’s stomach froze. “I’d a killed thee afore now if I meant ’arm.” The figure didn’t turn, and she wondered for a moment if perhaps he was talking to another, someone else, someone he knew in the shadows yonder. She didn’t move, but the figure laughed. “Come on, lass. Sit by t’flames. ’Tis a waste o’ good firewood else.”
Robyn wanted to dart away. Run back to her hiding place in the tree even if it meant getting lost in the dark.
But it was as if another possessed her body and she had no power to resist. Slowly she crept from her hiding place in the trees and moved towards the fire. As she drew close she could feel the heat already soothing her stiff and aching muscles. Her body was heavy and weak. She managed to lower herself on the ground a few feet to the right of the man, out of arm’s reach. Just in case.
The heat felt good on her bones and she was thankful for it. Lifting her hands to feel the prickle of warmth against her palms, Robyn looked up to thank her saviour. But a chill of horror and recognition swept through her, silencing her tongue.
It was the wodwos. The Green Man.
He threw a leg of meat that landed on the ground in front of her. It was a rabbit haunch. Cooked to perfection.
Her hand reached out to snatch it and she hesitated for only the briefest of moments before her hunger overcame her doubts and she grabbed it. Rabbit had never been a favourite of hers, but now she tore into the warm, succulent meat and at that moment it tasted as good as a King’s banquet.
“T’were thee thems lot were out lookin’ for. Weren’t it?”
Robyn nodded as she picked off the last morsels from the bone then threw it into the fire. It crackled and sparked as it greedily consumed the remains.
The Green Man sighed heavily. “And ’as thou spent many a night in these here woods afore?”
Robyn wiped her greasy hands on her breeches and shook her head, wondering if it was too much to request another. But her throat would not allow her to speak.
The man shook his head and tutted. “Right, well. Thou can stay aside t’fire tonight, lassie. But thems’ll be back ’ere come morn.”
He tossed her a leather bottle of water and she drank gratefully, happy to be so close to the warm fire with the worst of the hunger and thirst sated.
She looked up at his dark and rugged, whisker-filled face: the firelight danced across his features and made his black eyes sparkle in the night. He didn’t seem half as frightening without his wodwos costume.
Robyn nodded in thanks but decided she would stay awake all night. There was no way she would fall asleep in his company. Just in case.
Chapter Eighteen
The Road to York
Robyn was woken by the sound of dirt being thrown on the fire. She sat up in alarm and scrabbled around trying to remember where she was.
“Now then, lassie. Take thy bow and be off with thee.” A giant of a man stood over her in the cool morning air. She squinted at him, and her head felt foggy and full of sleep. “Mayhap a lass such as thou can make it up t’York and find thyself honest work.” He turned away and began collecting the last of his things.
Robyn looked around. The burnt ground of the nightfire was swallowed by fresh dirt and his little lean-to had been dismantled. It was as if neither of them had ever been there.
She hadn’t thought her plan through further than luring the Sheriff’s guards to the woods. She hadn’t thought much beyond the night. She knew she had to hide, and perhaps running away to York was the best way to stay hidden forever...
Leave Nottinghamshire. Leave Loxley. Leave her family. Leave Marian.
Then what?
What would she do once she had got away? What would she do for the rest of her life?
She would have to live as a boy for a while. That much was certain. She couldn’t risk being seen as a maiden alone wandering through the woods. She wondered if she would ever be able to pass as a man, or would she have to wear a scarf over her face her whole life? Perhaps she could pretend to be mute to disguise her voice or a leper...
