by Sara Ansted
Before long, she reached the tree line, turned sharply left along a faint trail, and jogged to her favorite campsite. Thirty minutes later she had climbed the huge oak, strung her makeshift hammock, and begun to rock gently with the night breeze.
"This is more like it," she whispered to no one. Before long, she drifted off under the stars.
Something stirred her awake. What was that? It might have been a twig breaking, or a rustle in the underbrush. Not dangerous, it seemed. Anyway, nothing could get to her up in the massive tree. But still, something was there.
She turned just enough to see the area around and below her. More noise echoed through the trees, growing in volume as it drew near. No one who was used to the forest would ever make that much noise. That ruled out any animals, and most hunters.
Eventually a flicker of light shone through the leaves. Steadily and noisily it grew closer until she could make out the silhouetted form of a man holding a torch. She couldn't get a clear look at him. If only the fire-light wasn't shining right into her face. But she could tell that he was obviously a man. A young one, and just barely average height, but definitely strong.
The young man stopped almost directly below her and leaned on the tree to catch his breath for a moment. What she could make out of his clothes gave no clues either. He wasn't dressed as a woodsman, which didn't surprise her at all.
The tunic was too nice to be a peasant's. It was even too nice for a craftsman. The stitching and the material were obviously expensive, but knights and lords didn't wear such bland colors. Or that style, whatever it was. Not fashionable, that's what.
Who on earth was this guy?
Temptation almost made her call out to him, but it went against reason. After all, he could be a criminal as easily as a baron in disguise. He looked behind several times during his rest, which confirmed her theory that he might indeed be an escaped criminal. Almost certainly, he had pursuers.
Before she could deduce anything else, he took off again at a slow jog, plowing recklessly through the underbrush. Within moments he was out of sight, though the sound of his passing echoed back long afterward.
Evey turned around in her hammock once again. The mystery delighted her curious mind and set her imagination alight. It took her nearly an hour to fall asleep again. Even then, her dreams created mysterious strangers and secret, adventurous quests.
When she woke the next morning, she wasn't sure that the episode was any more than another odd dream. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed likely that she had invented the whole thing. She'd just forget it. There was nothing curious.
Except the tree roots now had tracks in the moss. Tracks that could only have been made by a human with much bigger feet than her own.
CHAPTER FIVE
Evey spent the next two weeks sharpening her arrow points and repairing damaged fletching. Mostly. She hit one cart, but she only took two bags from it, and she really couldn't help it. Honest. The height of tax season was about to start, and so many people were in need.
But she had done quite well, overall, in resisting temptation. Just the one cart. And a waist pouch. That was it.
The rhythmic sound of her stone grating against the iron arrowheads was hypnotizing in the warm afternoon sun. Evey's mind wandered back to the young man in the forest. For some reason she couldn't stop thinking about him.
She had followed the tracks, and the clues all pointed to the escape and re-capture of a thief or a disobedient servant. That's all there was to it. Nothing extraordinary in any way. But there was something about it.
The sharpening stone struck her thumb, bringing her abruptly back to the present. The arrowhead had been sharpened to nearly half its usual size. Obviously she was far too distracted to do anything useful. For a while she lay back in her hammock, staring blankly through the branches.
Whatever bothered her would come clear later, when she wasn't thinking so hard about it. Evey stored her tools, jumped to the ground, and jogged easily through the forest.
The sprawling yew tree grew about ten miles from the castle. She could be home for supper, if she kept her pace up. It was time to meet her suitor anyway. Maybe even past it. She hadn't kept a very diligent account of the passing days.
The forest was quiet. That was normal, of course. People didn't just travel through the woods, like she did. They kept to the roads unless they were hunting. Even then, few went more than a mile or two from their home villages. Evey liked it that way. It felt like she owned the entire wood.
As usual, there were no guards at the castle gate. If they ever needed to use the place as a real defensive keep, they would all be in trouble. But then again, who would ever attack it? The only remotely interesting thing they owned was foreign tapestry that Emeric won in a lucky card game.
She crept through the gateway and headed immediately for the stables. A quick ride on Hobbes would clear her mind. She heard the voices only just in time to keep from walking straight into Sir Robert.
Hoping no one had seen her, she dashed to the side and hid behind the large open door. After several seconds it was clear that she hadn't been spotted. She relaxed a little before sidling close to the crack between the door and the wall.
"Now Robbie,"
"You know I don't like to be called that," a younger voice interrupted.
From what she could see, Sir Robert was in a pretty sour mood.
"Fine. Robert, then. Now, I know it's been unpleasant for you here this past week."
"You can say that again," the boy muttered.
Evey had to resist the impulse to charge in and slap the arrogant brat across the face. If he hated her home so much, it was fine by her if he never came back. Besides, it wasn't her fault that he showed up a week early.
"Be that as it may," the steward replied slowly, "she didn't arrive, and I need you home at present, to take care of that business we discussed. But you will return here on schedule. There will be no more of this gallivanting about."
"But father!"
"Do as I say, Robert."
"Yes, sir." The boy groaned.
"Off you go, then."
The steward stepped away as he ushered his son into the carriage, allowing her a momentary glimpse of the boy. He might have been nineteen or twenty, but it was difficult to tell behind all that stringy black hair. He was tall and thin, with very long arms and over-large hands.
Sir Robert shut the carriage door and backed out of sight. Evey also backed away as the horses trotted through. Once they were well clear, Sir Robert walked briskly back to the castle. A few minutes later, she followed.
What an unpleasant boy. Needless to say, she was less than impressed with the younger Robert. He obviously thought himself too good for their humble accommodations.
"Evelyne!" Emeric's voice was strained. It seemed that he had been watching for her.
"I know, I know. Into a dress." She stepped toward him as she spoke, using the movement to hide her bow behind her as much as she could.
"Where have you been?"
"Where I've usually been. What did you think?" She tried to move past him but he stopped her.
"But for two weeks?"
"Is that really so odd?"
Her tone was sharper than she meant it to be. She hadn't even officially met the younger Robert yet, and already he made her testy.
Emeric lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "For two weeks? You do usually check in every few days."
Evey looked at her feet. "I guess. I didn't know you noticed."
"I'm still your uncle. And I do still care for you, even if you think I don't." He cleared his throat. "Sir Robert's son was here, you know. He waited nearly a week before he left, and Sir Robert is in a terrible mood about it."
"His son?" she asked, mustering all of her false innocence. "But you said-"
"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "We can talk later. You'd better get into a bath before the steward knows you're h
ere."
She nodded and pretended to follow him. Instead, she went to put her bow and quiver away. She'd take no chances that her uncle would confiscate it.
Under the circumstances, it seemed safer to enter her chambers through a less conventional means than the front hall. Sir Robert would certainly be aware of her arrival if she marched through the door in plain view. The window, then.
When she stepped out from behind the heavy curtains of her bedroom, a servant with a dress in hand leapt a good three feet backward.
"Goodness me, m'lady. You gave me a start." The woman fanned her face and took a deep breath. "Lord Emeric's already sent orders for a bath. It should be ready in a few minutes, m'lady."
She looked disapprovingly over Evey's attire, and smoothed a wrinkle in the dress.
"I told you, Marion, you don't have to call me 'lady'," Evey said, half exasperated, and half laughing.
"Yes, m'lady." The maid nodded her head in respect, and left the room.
Evey laughed again. She couldn't think of anyone less lady-like than she was. But even in such a run down place, and with such an odd mistress, the servants still insisted on using the title.
Once Marion had gone, Evey stripped off her dirt-covered clothes. Clad in a thin robe, she went to the bathing room where warm water steamed up from the tub. She climbed in, thoroughly enjoying the heat on her tired limbs. It wouldn't take her long to wash, but she moved as slowly as she could without allowing the water to get cold. Sir Robert had waited a week already. A few more minutes wouldn't hurt anyone.
Half an hour later, she entered the great hall. On the spot, she decided to stage a different kind of rebellion. Although Sir Robert chatted to her incessantly, Evey didn't utter a peep for an admirable amount of time. She ate with a frown plastered on her face, and glared at him whenever possible.
Finally, about halfway through the meal, she gave it up. For the about the hundredth time, she rolled her eyes at the steward's ability to remain completely obtuse.
"So, Evanly –"
"Evelyne," she corrected unabashedly.
"Yes. I don't suppose you mind telling us about your travels."
He bit into a chicken leg and splattered juiced on her left hand. She wrinkled her nose at it.
"Travels, sir?"
"Your uncle tells me that you've been visiting a friend in another village."
"Oh. Yes. I came from there just today."
She shot a surreptitious glance at her uncle. He gave a minute shrug.
"I heard no horse or cart. You walked all that way yourself?"
The steward looked right at her as he asked. As far as she could tell, it was the first time he had ever done that. He acted like he actually cared what happened to her, which didn't make her feel safe as much as very uncomfortable.
She raised an eyebrow. "And why shouldn't I have?"
Robert wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Even my son travels with a servant at all times. But a lady walking for miles, and on her own? Suppose you had been waylaid? In fact, I'd nearly come to the conclusion that you had been, considering your late arrival."
Evey laughed to herself. Any bandit trying to rob her would get a lot more than he bargained for. She had to put on the proper face for Sir Robert, though. In this case, a skeptical-but-nervous expression seemed about right.
"Waylaid? By whom? There are no bandits in the greenwood."
"Ah. But I'd wager I've heard a few more of the tavern stories than you have." He swirled his bread in the last of the gravy. "By Robin Hood, of course."
"Who?" She forgot to sound annoyed.
"Oh, surely you must know of him."
"I'm afraid not."
A notorious brigand in the area would spice things up a bit. Perhaps the man she had seen that night was not a criminal at all, but a villager trying to escape. Or maybe the rogue himself.
Evey found herself captivated as Sir Robert began the tale. He wasn't much of a story teller. He often left out important details, only to return to them out of context. But his skills barely mattered. Evey recognized it clearly. It was the very same story first told by Bill the soldier. Apparently the seven foot woodsman now had a name. She now had a name. 'Robin Hood'.
But there was no way one simple tall-tale had blossomed so out of control. Perhaps there really was a new threat in the area, and Bill had just mixed up his stories. Or maybe the stories from another region had spread.
The story was so strikingly accurate, though, and no matter how many angles she tried, it was simply unmistakable. This was her story. All of the rumors and gossip that had passed through over the years had finally caught up to her.
"My dear, I've frightened you," Robert said, noting her expression. "But rest assured, no harm will come to you so long as I am here."
She smiled, but in amusement rather than gratitude. If only he knew.
"Are you sure there is truth to this gossip?" she asked, still playing the fearful lady.
"Too true indeed, my lady. And that is why I caution you in walking from place to place unguarded."
"Surely you don't believe it. The story couldn't have started more than a week or two ago. And I have seen no thieves."
Robert gave her a devastated look. "I'm afraid that I have. Or rather, have seen his handy work. Seventeen bags of silver gone in two weeks time from my own tax carts, even while guarded by soldiers."
Obviously he had forgotten the ghost-robber discussion.
"Seventeen bags!" she gasped.
It was twelve, actually, and there was no seven foot archer involved. The real mystery was, who had taken those other five bags? Or had Sir Robert himself gotten too caught up in sensationalism, and ignored his customary obsession with detail?
"Yes, seventeen." Sir Robert leaned back importantly. "The king will be sorely disappointed."
This time Evey put on an interested-but-pretending-not-to-be face. "I'm not too sure I believe it. You know how stories like that are."
"I do. But my own men have seen him. And even so, I would feel much safer if you had an escort from now on."
"That really won't be necessary," she replied swiftly. She could not afford to be saddled with some kind of blockheaded guard.
"But if you're to be my future daughter, I insist." Then he got up and exited the room with a brief bow.
"What?" she demanded, though it sounded more like a squeak.
So that's it. She was officially promised to Little Robert. Of course she hadn't been given the chance to protest. Jerk.
She shot an accusing glare at Emeric, who just poked a few bits of food. There was awkward silence between them. Evey considered running away again. Maybe if she was gone long enough, both the ridiculous Robin story and Sir Junior Robert's interest would die out.
But she somehow knew that it wouldn't work. The steward had connections straight to the king, and he would hunt her down, as an outlaw if not as a daughter-in-law.
"You don't suppose he's right?" Emeric asked.
"About what?"
"Well, this Robin Hood fellow. After all, if there are brigands in the wood, I'd rather you didn't-"
"Don't be ridiculous Emeric. If there were robbers around here, I think I'd know about it."
Then she, too, hastily left the room.
CHAPTER SIX
For the rest of that night, and most of the next day, Evey avoided Emeric. He repeated over and over again that he "tried to get out of it, but wasn't in a position to refuse such a marriage offer."
Blah blah blah.
She tried going on a long walk around the village, both to get away from Emeric, and to semi-covertly check up on everyone in it.
The day was cool for that time of year. A nice sort of cool, that almost made Evey feel better about everything. The smell of the fields in the pleasant, humid weather was so familiar, she found it soothing and peaceful.
Off to the southwest, she spotted a group of people in one of the fallo
w fields. She knew exactly what they were up to. Sure enough, as she came closer, the whole group drew back. Seconds later, a cloud of arrows hissed forward and buried themselves in the ground. Well, if thirteen could be considered a 'cloud'.
The walk had definitely been a good idea. Her mood lifted by the second. Fond memories of her own archery practice flitted through her mind. Shadowing the boys in the fallow fields. Practicing in secret, just inside the tree-line.
She'd lost quite a few arrows that way, before she learned to get the aim right. It was only too bad that mandatory practice for the boys was all about warfare and group shots. None of the drill instructors ever taught anyone to solo shoot. She could have used a bit of help in those early days.
As she finished that thought, Evey neared the village center. It wasn't much of a center. Just a dingy chapel next to a packed down square of dirt, where people could stand around and listen to announcements.
Alaine crossed the square with little Gwin close behind. Not many people could pull a full-fledged smiled from Evey like Gwin could. She waved at the young girl, who immediately waved back. Alaine glanced up, then immediately ducked into a deep curtsy.
"M'lady."
"You don't have to..." Evey began, but the mother and child had already hurried away with averted eyes.
Her good feeling dissolved instantly.
Most people did a lot of bowing and "m'lady-ing" before they just hurried away. The innkeeper pretended not to notice her at all. Fendrick, who was normally the jolliest man she knew, eyed her with suspicion as she passed.
As Lady Evelyne, she scared everyone off as much as when she was 'Evey the wild orphan girl'. Aristocrats - even the poorest of them - were not generally trusted. When times were hard, it was always worse. And times were as hard as ever.
Blast it, that wasn't her fault. Other lords and barons squeezed the people dry. Not her. And never Emeric. It hurt that the people didn't realize that. If only the villagers knew how much she tried to help. They didn't understand what she did for them. Or what they meant to her.
