Sherwood

by S. E. Roberts

  Parker was watching her, his eyes looking over her face and hair. “That sounds lovely. I wish we had such luxury.”

  Harlow nodded. “As do I.” She sighed and looked around the small nook. “I find this to be the best place for solitude.”

  “Maybe solitude isn't exactly the best thing sometimes.” Parker suggested, still looking charismatically at her. He had one eyebrow raised and a smile on his lips are he looked to her.

  She couldn't help but return the smile. “Indeed. Sometimes it isn't.”

  Silence didn't come between them for the rest of their conversation, and for the first time since she'd gotten there, she actually felt like someone kind of understood her.

  She stood up about two hours into their conversation and yawned. She raised her hands over her head and stretched. “I should be going to the sleeping quarters now.”

  Parker nodded, standing up as well. “As should I.” He turned to her. “It was quite nice speaking with you, Miss Harlow. I hope we can speak again soon.”

  Harlow nodded, taken aback by the genuine look he'd given her. “Goodnight, Commander Parker.”

  He smiled. “Goodnight, Miss Harlow.” He turned around and headed down the hallway, turning left around the corner.

  Harlow tried to shake off the strange feeling she had in her stomach, and headed down the hall, turning to the double doors on her right, and entering the sleeping commons.

  *~*~*

  Harlow felt her dress swing around her ankles as she walked the dark, dim corridors of the castle.

  She noticed that the curtains had been pulled shut in an attempt to forbid the light from coming into the mansion.

  Taking in a deep, reluctant sigh, she tore her eyes from the curtains and faced the stairwell in front of her. It spiraled down into the Kitchen, leaving her with thoughts of a long time past.

  How many times had her father walked these corridors during his service to the King? How many times had her mother visited him in this very Kitchen?

  Now, she was in the very place her father had tried so hard to take her from.

  She stepped onto the stairs, hearing the tap-tap of her shoes on the cold floor beneath her feet.

  She entered the kitchen that morning, ready to simply do whatever work they were to hand her.

  It had been six weeks since she'd entered the castle. Her eyes felt dark and tired. This wasn't the plan. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen.

  And the Outlaws hadn't come yet.

  She entered the Kitchen, the darkness plaguing her to her very core. She felt as if she was dying, the castle sucking the life out of her a little more with each passing day.

  She yearned so much to see the sun.

  She raised one hand to her head and rubbed her forehead. What had this place done to her? The reason she was here had gotten lost in the scuffle. Sometimes, she'd hear some of the Castle-Hands whispering to each other about the captured outlaw. Never had she heard them whisper where he was being held.

  By her third week in the castle, she'd started to lose hope of finding him in this maze of brick and secrecy.

  Three weeks after that point, she couldn't focus anymore. She felt like she was placed under a spell, where fatigue and darkness followed her everywhere she went.

  “Harlow,” The cook beamed delightfully as she entered the room. “How are you this morning?”

  The man bounced around the room, his sizable stomach jiggling with him as he moved from one plate to another. He dropped chicken onto one plate while lifting one hand unhygienic-like to his hair and brushing away the dandruff from his eyes.

  Harlow nodded, suppressing her disgust, “Good, Sir Lyle. How are you?”

  He nodded back to her, his hands rushing to move and fix up certain items. He seemed to never stop moving. “Good, aye. We're busy this evening, dear,” the older man said to her, a smile on his lips. “It's good to be preparing a feast again!” He beamed, kneading out dough. “It's been too long since The King has had a gathering.”

  Harlow nodded, trying not to show her disdain at the mention of King Wesley. It was small moments like these that made her want to keep fighting, but the daunting effect of the castle kept her down, as if pushing underwater and drowning her in the darkness.

  “What is it you need of me then?” Harlow asked, trying to place a small smile on her face.

  The cook looked around happily, an almost puzzled look crossing his features. Harlow wondered if her father had ever been this happy to prepare the king's feasts.

  “I'll actually have to ask you to bring one of the prisoners their food, if you will. Usually I ask Marlene, but she's fallen sick, as you know.”

  “Yes, indeed. Where is this prisoner's quarters?” Harlow asked, stepping forward, a cart of small leftovers sitting on separate plates, in the corner of the kitchen.

  “This one is being held in the basement area. Simply head down the stairs and speak with the guard on duty in that area.” The cook told her, looking back and forth between her and the dough he was kneading in his hands.

  “Alright,” Harlow agreed, taking one of the plates from the cart. She'd looked at some of the other plates, noticing that the serving sizes were small and barely enough to get by. She tried to pick the plate with the most food and the biggest bread rolls. “I will be back shortly.”

  “Thank you, Harlow.” The cook called after her, going on his own merry way with the food.

  She nodded and offered a quiet “Mhm,” although, she was certain he couldn't hear.

  The corridors were dark and grimy. They were always dark and grimy. It made Harlow's skin crawl, and it seemed that the closer she came to the basement area, the more uncomfortable the environment became.

  The mold on the walls seemed to move and pulsate as she took her first step down the staircase.

  She was shocked at how dark this area had been kept considering the pure sunlight illuminating the Earth outside.

  The corridor was only illuminated by torches and fire that clung to the walls and seemed to climb with each step she took.

  She reached the bottom of the spiraling corridor and stepped onto the pale concrete ground. As she turned her eyes up, she noticed that the corners of the broad room were dark, and for several seconds all was quiet while Harlow's eyes scanned the darkness.

  On her right side sat a table, scrolls sprawled out across the surface and a man, hidden by the darkness sat slumped over the scrolls, writing fervently.

  Harlow took a step forward, putting distance between herself and the brown stained walls behind her.

  “Excuse me,” Harlow said, looking at the man, a plate held gently in her hands.

  The man looked up from the table, somewhat shocked by her presence. “Oh hello!” He said, pushing aside the scrolls and standing up from his chair on the other side of the table. “How can I assist you, my lady?”

  Harlow smiled at the man's kindness. “I have food for one of the prisoners held here.”

  The man raised an eyebrow, nodded and looked down at the papers on his table. He raised one hand and rubbed his scruffy beard “The woman has already been fed, so this must be for the outlaw.”

  Harlow's heart skipped a beat before accelerating to an unprecedented speed. Everything seemed to come alive at the word. “The outlaw?”

  “Yes. His food has not come yet.” The man said, looking back to Harlow with a smile. “I'll take the food to him if you'd like.”

  Harlow shook her head. “No,” Her response seemed to quick, causing the man to recoil gently. “I mean,” She paused, looking down sadly, trying to keep up with her lies. “The outlaws killed my father. I'd like to ask him why they chose to take him from me.”

  The man across from her let his eyebrows fall in understanding. “Oh,” he said gently, “I see. I'm sorry for you loss, my lady.”

  Harlow nodded and turned her head to the left, still facing the ground. “I simply want to know why he did it.”

  The man nodded and turned
his head to the door. He twisted his face in concern and hesitation. His internal struggle plagued him, but in the end he sighed. “I'll let you go to his cell, but you cannot go inside of it. You may speak with him through the barred door. Understand?”

  Harlow's eyes lit up gently, but she held back the expression. “Yes, kind sir.”

  The man nodded and walked toward the door leading to the prisoner cells. Harlow followed the man across the chamber and toward the door. She saw between the bars of the window on the door, a corridor leading down a dark pathway, illuminated by torches every few feet, and cell doors lining the left and right sides.

  This was no way to live, and now for the first time, Harlow's rescue effort was progressing. She knew where he was being held. She knew how to get him out of this horrendous place.

  “His cell is the third on this side,” the man said, pointing to Harlow's left side. “Don't get to close to him.”

  Harlow nodded, taking a last glance at the man before he opened the door and let her in. The man gently closed the door behind her, which gave her a slightly morbid, lonesome feeling.

  She looked back, waiting for him to turn around and go back to his table, which he did after taking one more concerned look toward her.

  Harlow slowly and quietly walked forward, one slow step at a time, her heart pounding so hard it made the plate in her hands tremble.

  The cells were dark and quiet. A renegade cough and a rogue laugh would sound out in the echoic halls, but otherwise the dark seemed impervious to any sound.

  The tap-tap of Harlow's shoes on the solid floor resonated through the building and into her chest. She kept a safe distance from the walls, knowing that beyond the darkness lay mold and dew on the brick foundation.

  She came across the first and second cells without any problems, not daring to look inside the cells for fear of what she may see.

  Her heart thumped harder with every passing second.

  Enders image came into her mind. She remembered his smile and his laugh. She remembered how he'd saved her life. Not once, She thought, a shaky smile plaguing her lips, Twice.

  She stepped a bit closer to the cell, but still not within viewing distance. She felt the heat from a torch lighting up the wall next to her. With a shaking hand, she reached out and took the torch in her hand.

  She took in a sharp breath and, torch and food in hand, stepped in front of the cell's bars.

  She didn't know what Enders would say. She didn't know if he'd be angry or happy to see her. Frankly, she didn't care. All she wanted was to see his face again. She wanted to get him out of this castle and set him free.

  She stared into the darkness of the cell for a moment, unable to see anything. She cleared her throat gently.

  “Your food, Outlaw.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  As soon as the words left her mouth, there was a moment of complete silence, before a quiet scuffling could be heard. In the small amount of light, Harlow could see the small movements and shades of gray that resided in the cell.

  Slowly, a figure started to come closer in the warm lighting. First she saw his feet, but soon after his torso had made itself apparent to her.

  Harlow let her jaw drop an inch or so. This wasn't as she had expected. Enders clothing hung off his body as he stepped forward, stumbling slightly. He'd easily lost twenty pounds within the last month and a half. He'd kept most of his muscle, she noticed when his arms came into her view. Otherwise, he was thin and looked sickly.

  He was underfed.

  'He's dying.'

  Harlow watched with her jaw slack as Enders face stepped into the light.

  His cheekbones were much more apparent than she'd last remembered. The bags under his eyes were heavy, and it'd been so long since he'd seen the light that he held up a hand to shield his eyes from the torch light.

  The two didn't say anything for a few moments. Enders let his jaw fall as well, but his eyes looked more dazed and confused than anything else. He eyed the food in her hands hungrily.

  Without a word she slipped the tray to him as fast as she could, through a small opening at the bottom of the cell door.

  He immediately dropped to the floor and piled the food into his mouth when it was within reach.

  Harlow in turn, dropped to the floor, her body trembling at the sight of him. She sat as he ate his food for minutes, Enders focusing on the food and Harlow focusing on Enders.

  Silently, he glanced up at her, an old expression there; an expression in his eyes that she'd last seen weeks ago when he'd been irritated with her behavior. “Why?”

  Harlow lifted her eyes to his own, covering her mouth with one hand. “Why what?” Her voice was shaky and her hand was doing no justice in concealing her terror.

  Enders kept his eyes on her, trying to look as menacing as he could.

  The very sight of his cheekbones through his skin made her cringe. She looked away sadly.

  “I did this for you.” It wasn't a bitter statement, but it certainly answered his question.

  Enders dropped his eyes, and even though she thought he'd yell at her, he seemed more relieved than anything else.

  Harlow shrugged. She wanted to reach out and touch him. “I couldn't let you die here.”

  Enders nodded and continued to eat his food in the silence that filled the air.

  Harlow looked at the torch in her hands and stared at the doorway. The scribe on the other side hadn't said anything to her yet, but she knew he would become suspicious soon. “I must go.”

  Just before she moved, she felt the warmth on his hand on hers.

  She looked at him, taking in a deep, trembling breath.

  “Please,” He whispered. “Come back.”

  Harlow nodded. “I'll bring you more food.”

  Harlow stood and composed herself slightly before putting the torch back on it's holder and striding out of the corridor, and through the door. She walked up to the scribe. “Thank you for letting me see this outlaw. He gave me only few answers. If you don't mind, may I ask him more about my father tomorrow?”

  The scribe looked uneasy for a moment. He sighed. “Only if you're quick about it.”

  Harlow nodded. “Right. Thank you, kind scribe.” The man smiled at the compliment.

  Harlow smiled back gently, tiredly glancing down before striding out of the chamber and up the staircase.

  'How could they do this?' Her thoughts rang out in her head, causing a full panic in her chest. Anger started to build in her and spread throughout her limbs. 'He's dying.' She thought, sadness and frustration about to explode from her.

  As she walked back to the kitchen, she strengthened her resolve to save him, to get him out, and take him back to Sherwood.

  *~*~*

  Harlow walked through the castle, frustration still echoing in her heart throughout the day as she ran errands and delivered supplies.

  She held a sheet in her hands, making folds and creases as she glared into space.

  “Harlow!” She heard her name ring out in the corridors.

  She turned her head to the right, where the voice came from. Parker walked toward her, leaving his fellow soldiers and coming closer to her.

  Harlow forced a smile onto her face. “Hello Parker,” She said, glancing up to his face for only a moment before looking back down to the clothing in her hands.

  Parker wore his usual friendly, enthusiastic smile. His charismatic eyes landed on hers, and for a moment she felt her head clear, but Enders' face came back almost immediately. "How are you this evening?"

  Harlow had to fight to keep a smile on her face. "Fine. How are you, Parker?"

  Parker nodded, the smile he wore still plaguing his lips for several moments. "Very well. We're back from that scouting mission I told you about. It went well.”

  Harlow smiled at him for a moment, taking all the laundry in her arms and heading down the hall, Parker following next to her. "I'm glad you're back safely." She said quietly, not in the mood much to spe
ak.

  He looked up to her and smiled gently. "Aye. Myself as well.” He sighed, following her as she stopped and opened a pantry, placing several sheets and linens on the shelves. “I've been given permission to leave military duty. King Wesley has seen my work and offered to let me free of the royal army."

  Harlow raised an eyebrow, trying to push Enders to the back of her mind temporarily. She needed to keep up her act and focus on Parker for the moment. Harlow turned her head to Parker, stunned almost. "What? How? I've never heard of someone being relieved of military duty like this."

  Parker tilted his head gently and turned his eyes downward for a moment. “I told him my intentions to have my own family and raise my own children. He's given me permission to become a civilian and have all those things I so desire.”

  Before Harlow could fix her own thoughts, she was struck frozen by him. His hair swung gently at his eyes as he towered over her. She realized he was a little too close for her comfort, but even if her feet would move, she had no where else to go.

  He looked at her with smooth, almost anxious eyes. "You deserve more than this castle for your life. You deserve a family and children."

  Harlow felt her heart stop for a moment. She knew what he was doing, and she didn't like it one bit.

  "You deserve what every other woman can have, and more. I can give you everything you've ever wanted. I want to give you everything you've ever wanted." He paused, staring at her for a moment.

  Harlow had let her jaw drop and her eyes go wide. She stared at him with complete shock and slight horror.

  "I'd like to arrange our marriage." Parker said, a smile displaying itself proudly on his lips. He was confident and enthusiastic, his smile never faltering and his confidence never fading.

  Harlow knew he was attractive, and he was husband material. He was a commander of the royal army, and he had barely any faults. He was calm, cool, collected, happy, well-mannered, fit, and caring. Harlow had so many thoughts rushing through her mind, she couldn't sort the good from the bad. She knew if it hadn't been for Enders, she may have even genuinely agreed, and it was that very thought that scared her the most.