She watched Jemma make her way down the short hill to the thicket of hazel near the gallows. That would be where, if everything went as it should, Jemma would provide the first surprise attack from damn near within the Sheriff’s forces. If their plan—cockeyed and quick as it was—worked, then it would be Jemma who would lead the charge.
Robin couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather follow into battle.
***
She arranged herself in the hazel bush with as much dignity as she could muster, which wasn’t a whole lot. All the other girls—except Ginny—had gone with Tuck into Nottingham in the middle hours of the night in an effort to find as many of the archers who had been sympathetic to their cause at the Sheriff’s contest as they could, and convince them Will was worth the trouble. Jemma didn’t know how many—if any—they had managed to find and recruit to their madcap plan. They were then supposed to stay within Nottingham’s walls, safely hidden in Tuck’s church until the crowds for the hanging began to gather, and move toward the gallows.
Jemma’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. Her eyes burned with tiredness and unshed tears. If they hadn’t been successful, it would be only the eight of them against whatever Sheriff’s forces there were.
And Gisborne’s, too. His soldiers are bound to be more well trained than the Sheriff’s men.
Eight against a veritable army.
Provided their tactic of surprise worked well enough for her to get to Will and get him free from his bonds and the hangman’s noose, they would still need to fight their way free and make for Robin. She would be stationed at the edge of the forest, supplying a healthy number of arrows in which to cover their safe retreat into Sherwood.
Her mind kept looping back the number of them should the girls and Tuck have failed to rouse anyone else. Eight.
Please, God. I won’t make false promises I don’t intend to try to keep—and I certainly can’t give up using my position as an outlaw of society to help those who would otherwise fall through the cracks—but if it’s within Your will, please send us a little help today. Will’s become part of our family, and though she won’t admit it—she’s nowhere near ready—Robin’s found it in her heart to love again. I ask You—I beg You—please don’t take him from her like this.
She made the sign of the Cross as the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon and filtered through the hazel branches around her. It felt almost like a benediction, and she drew what hope she could from the idea.
The gate opened, and the crowd began to trickle forth. Many were too far away and with their hoods pulled too low for Jemma to tell if they were potential friend or regular citizen, and she took a deep breath. Shortly after that followed a line of archers and footmen.
Will came next, his hands bound in front of him with a white cap upon his head. Jemma hadn’t been to any hangings herself, but she’d heard about them. The hangman would pull the cap down over the eyes of his prisoner before the rope was put around his neck.
She pushed a hazel branch slowly out of the way in an effort to see him better. The darkness along his jaw was either shadow or bruising. She couldn’t make out which it was in the early morning light. He walked under his own power, though, his gait strong and even. She had no doubt he could run, if need be.
If need be. She swallowed a giggle. Hopefully, there was a mighty need.
Jemma tore her eyes away from Will to look for the Sheriff and Gisborne. They were at the back of the crowd, near the gate, and surrounded by Gisborne’s foot soldiers. It was almost as though he were half-expecting Robin to make another attempt at his life. She couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.
You two stay right there. And don’t move.
She turned back to Will, watching him scoff in disgust at the gallows as he stood on the platform.
“Oy! Good Sheriff!” he called, looking back toward the gate. “You’ve yet to hang any of our band of outlaws, and I’ve no wish to be the first. Give me a sword, and I’ll fight as many of you as I can until I die.”
“You’ll die on that gallows,” the Sheriff returned. “And so will that bitch of yours, too, when I catch her.”
There was a murmur in the crowd. Will threw his head back and laughed.
“It’ll take more brains than you and he have put together to catch our Robin Hood!” He smiled cheekily. “And more bollocks, too.”
The Sheriff fumed, and there were some scattered chuckles. The hangman grabbed Will roughly by the arm to pull him closer to put the noose around his neck.
God help us, every one of us, Jemma thought as she burst from the hazel and shoved her way through the ring of stunned guards.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?” she asked, staff in one hand as she scrambled onto the platform. “How bloody rude of you.”
In the moment of surprise that followed—a moment she and the others were dependent on—she drew her knife and cut his bonds.
“Left it a little late, didn’t you?” he asked, taking the proffered knife.
“You’re alive, aren’t you?” Jemma whacked one of the onrushing guards with her staff. “I’d say we’d made it in plenty of time.”
The Sheriff, affixed with another outlaw-induced fit of apoplexy, finally managed to lean forward on his horse and scream, “Kill them!”
Someone in the crowd yelled, “Now, lads!” and then it was chaos akin to what had happened on the parade ground at the end of the archery contest.
Will and Jemma fought their way down from the platform, and then began to make some headway through the crowd. The guard in front of them dropped, a knife in his back, and when Jemma looked to see who had thrown it, she thought she saw a glimpse of Maggie.
There were several more shouts, but above it all, the long, clear ring of a bugle rose.
Jemma, along with nearly everyone else, looked toward Sherwood Forest to see Robin standing at the edge, bow in one hand, and a bugle to her lips. Her tawny hair, left in a simple, single braid over one shoulder, shone like gold in the sunlight. She looked every inch the warrior maiden of legend, and Jemma thrust her staff in the air with an answering shout of her own:
“A Hood! A Hood to the rescue!”
***
Robin’s heart threatened to beat right out of her chest.
It seemed as though every eye in Nottingham was fixed on her, and she blew another long blast into the bugle again. The bugle had been an accidental, last-minute addition. Kitty had literally tripped over it in Tuck’s cottage, and they decided to use it as a way to know when to retreat to the safety of the forest.
Jemma’s shout was entirely unplanned, though Robin felt a stir of something larger than excitement in her belly to see that staff raised high in the air.
Figures peeled away from the crowd and ran for the forest, a combination of her own outlaws and the archers from Nottingham helping them.
She clipped the bugle to her belt, drew an arrow from her quiver, and nocked it. Gisborne and the Sheriff were a little too far out of her range, but the archers by the platform, aiming for her friends, weren’t. She dropped each one in succession with clean hits to the shoulder and upper chest. The man who had targeted Kitty? He received an arrow through the knee.
They had done what they’d set out to do. Now it was time to retreat.
Robin counted the bare heads as they ran past her into the forest. Much. Kitty. Some men from the archery contest. Maggie. Lia. Alan. Tuck would, of course, find his own way back into Nottingham proper, and then join them later, once everything had quieted.
More archers ran by her. A few stayed and drew arrows against the Sheriff’s men pursuing Jemma and Will. Robin kept an eye on both of them, and the host of the Sheriff’s men with bows—including Roland, who she’d beaten out to win the golden arrow.
Jemma put her head down and charged hard for the last remaining distance between her and Robin. Robin tracked her progress only a second too long. There was a shout of triumph from the Sheriff and his men.
Will p
itched forward, facedown in the grass with an arrow in the back of his leg and near his ribs.
“Grab him, lads!”
“Robin! Robin, no!”
She stepped out away from the safety of the forest, nocked, and anchored. Breathing out slowly, she looked for a target.
Roland took the arrow in the juncture between neck and shoulder.
“Robin, let’s go! Robin,” Jemma screamed.
The archers below had rallied around their fallen captain, and none looked likely to give chase to the outlaws as they escaped. Robin looped her bow over her shoulder and followed Jemma into the greenwood.
***
Robin’s mind wouldn’t let her turn for home until she’d checked all the usual paths into and out of Sherwood for any sign of Gisborne’s or the Sheriff’s men. She ignored Jemma’s multiple looks and pressed lips, and it was nearly midday by the time they arrived at the clearing with Tuck’s cottage. Most of the archers who’d helped them had already been escorted back to Nottingham by one of the girls, though a few remained.
“Thank you,” Robin said. “I’m not sure we could have done it without you and the others.”
“Anyone with a conscience and a good heart would have done the same,” one man said with a shrug. “Can’t stand that bloody idiot of a Sheriff.”
“It’s not right to hang a man for anything less than murder,” another added. “Not when the Sheriff himself is stealin’ from us with those taxes.”
“You’ve done us a great service,” Jemma said, leaning wearily on her staff.
“Aye, but it’s only a fraction of the service you ladies have done for us.”
Robin ran a hand down her face and tried not to think about the last time she’d slept, or when she might find some rest again. Instead, she strummed her fingers along her bowstring where it pressed against her chest, and asked, “Where’s Will?”
“In the cottage,” the first archer answered. “One of our lads and your tinker is in there with him. Says they’ll come out when they’re finished, and to wait out here.”
Easier said than done. She shifted her weight from foot to foot as she looked about the yard. Ginny and Graham sat with Kitty, Much, and Maggie. From the wide-eyed looks on the children’s faces, the girls were telling them about their daring rescue. Hopefully in a way so as not to either frighten them or make them think Robin and company were invincible.
Death was a hard lesson to learn, and while Ginny seemed to have done well with it since that night at the manor, Robin didn’t want the world to take any more of Graham’s innocence than it already had.
“This is where you lot live?”
“We’ve got some smaller cottages in another clearing,” Jemma explained. “We don’t all stay together in this one.”
“We’re just not quite sure of our carpentry skills yet,” Robin added.
“John here dabbles in it,” the second archer said. “He can take a look, if you’d like?”
Jemma brightened. “That would be wonderful. We haven’t really touched it since the roof partially collapsed.”
John winced. “Let’s go see what we can do, then.”
They started for the other set of clearings, chatting amiably. Robin took her bow off her shoulder and unstrung it with a sigh.
“My daughter Sara is quite fond of all of you.”
She looked incredulously at the man standing next to her. “Your daughter is—what?”
“She’s quite fond of all of you. She thought it was brilliant that you went to the archery contest and beat all the boys.”
Robin’s face burned. “Uh… thank you.”
“Girls need to know they’re worth more than their potential husband. My wife and I have tried to see to that. Having you lot around is a big help for that.” He held his hand out. “I’m Ned.”
“Robin,” she said with a slight smile, clasping his forearm. “But you knew that already.”
The door to Tuck’s cottage opened. Lia and another of Ned’s archers stepped out. There were spots of blood on Lia’s clothes. Whether it was Will’s or from the melee earlier, Robin couldn’t tell.
“Well, Sammy?” Ned asked.
“He’s holding, for now.” He looked at his hands, and evidently decided against wiping them on his jacket. “The one in his side wasn’t too deep, but the one in his leg… He’ll get his mobility back, I’m sure, once he beats the fever.”
“He’s got a fever? Already?” Robin gripped her bow with both hands.
“A small one,” Lia said. “It shouldn’t be a problem if I can find the right leaves to make a good poultice.”
“He’s healthy, too,” Sammy added. “That helps. Keep him and the wound clean, and he should be well on the mend in a few days.”
“Aye.” Robin swallowed thickly.
“Tuck and… Much? I think? They know where to find us if you need us to come back out here,” Ned said.
“Where’s Johnny-boy?”
“Looking at our attempts at cottages with Jemma.” Robin jerked her thumb in that general direction.
“Oh.” Sammy looked around, and then asked, mildly bewildered, “This is where you lot live?”
“Sherwood Forest is our safe haven,” Robin said proudly. “Our hiding place. Our home.”
“It took us in when there was nowhere else for us to go and be safe.” Jemma, newly returned with Johnny in tow, shrugged.
“It is what it is, and we are what we are. What better place for outlaws to live than the wild?” Lia’s expression gentled as Graham wandered over.
Robin stifled a yawn. It had been a long night followed by an even longer morning, and her body wanted nothing more than to lie down. Her mind had grown sluggish, and she knew from Jemma’s long blinks that the other girl felt the same.
“Rest,” Ned said, gesturing in the direction of Kitty, Much, and Maggie, who were curled up in a patch of sunlight and napping like cats. “Looks like you need it.”
“I should look in on Will,” she murmured.
“You should at least sit down before you fall where you stand.”
She let Jemma lead her to where the others were, and her legs dropped her unceremoniously onto her rear. It took only a moment for her to divest herself of her quiver and pull her hood up. She toppled sideways, squirming around until she had her head on Jemma’s belly, and still she fought the pull of sleep. Someone had to keep an eye on everyone.
“Rest, Robin. The lads and I will keep watch.” Ned’s voice filtered through her exhaustion.
“Oy, it’s like looking after my sisters…”
She didn’t hear anything other than Jemma’s gentle breaths after that, and even then, that faded out as sleep overtook her.
Will wasn’t well on the mend in a few days.
His fever worsened the first full night. Tuck woke Robin shortly before the dawn to tell her. Quietly as she could, so as not to wake Ginny or Graham, she checked the bandages on his leg. The wound was red and irritated, though not overly so, and she cleaned it carefully before wrapping it in new swaddling.
Tuck set a bucket of cool water next to her, and she dipped a cloth in it. She gently wiped the sweat and dirt from his slack features, and then laid another soaked cloth on the back of his neck. It was something she remembered her mother doing for her those few times she was sick as a child, and she hoped it gave him some measure of comfort.
Jemma found her sitting cross-legged outside Tuck’s cottage a few hours after the sun had properly risen. She held the locket open in one palm, staring at the strand of Marcus’s hair still held within it.
“He’s worsening, Jem,” she said quietly. “The wound seems clean, but he’s burning up from the inside.”
Jemma reached down and carefully closed the locket, folding Robin’s fingers over it. “Give him a little longer. Trust him.”
“I’m trying.” Robin looked up, her eyes wide and wet.
Jemma pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Robin tucked the locket back down t
he front of her shirt again.
***
Will wouldn’t rouse completely. Any attempts to get him to eat a little or drink some water were met with uncoordinated flailing and absurd mumbling. Robin sat next to him and continued to wipe his face, neck, and upper chest with water-soaked cloths. Occasionally, his fever-bright eyes would open and fix unerringly on her face, though he never said anything. His lips would twitch, but before long, his eyes would slide away from her, closing once more in exhaustion.
Robin swallowed thickly, and continued in her task.
***
They moved him from Tuck’s cottage to the most structurally stable of the others when he screamed himself awake, thrashing against enemies only he could see. She sat with him, able to restrain him in his weakened state, and continued to attempt to cool him.
The wound in his side had healed nicely. She almost wished she hadn’t checked the one on his leg when the sweet, putrid stench of infection hit her nose. The only way she knew to help would be to open it once more and drain it.
Robin looked briefly at the ceiling, and when she glanced at Will again, she found his eyes open and staring through her.
He breathed slowly. She bit her lip, tried to smile, and ran her fingers through his sweaty hair.
Will drifted back asleep as she smoothed her thumb across his forehead.
***
Robin used the full weight of her torso to hold his down, her arms around his head. He bucked and thrashed against her and Jemma, who held his midsection. Tuck had an iron grip on Will’s bad leg, holding it steady for Lia, whose hands showed no sign of tremor as she cut the wound open again. Clear pus and blood seeped out.
Will choked on his screams, and the ones he did manage deafened Robin’s right ear. He worked an arm free, and gripped a handful of her jacket at her back with bruising strength.
She whispered, I’m sorry, over and over in her mind until he finally succumbed to unconsciousness and went limp. She rested her forehead against his and refused to cry.
***
She and Jemma were able to carry him to the stream. The waters ran cool and crisp. Robin stripped to her small clothes. Will had been naked for days in an effort to reduce his fever, and they removed the blanket he’d been wrapped in.
Lady of Sherwood Page 17
