by Mimi Riser
Chapter 7
Plain old Marian was in her element. Hiding in the dark. Crouched against the dividing wall, she tried not to think of the times she’d played the hiding game before. And lost. She couldn’t lose this time. The safety of two others depended on her. Three, if she counted Cymrica, but Cymrica seemed to be doing fine on her own. All the girl had to do was create a diversion to get the men out of the outer ward.
Cymrica had created a dandy, aided by the fact that thatched roofs caught fire so readily. She’d set the cookhouses ablaze. Perfect because it could so easily be a natural accident. No one would suspect sabotage.
Marian crouched farther into the wall’s shadow as the fire lit up the opposite side of the yard. She watched Cymrica scurry safely out the postern door to await the arrival of Allan and Elaine, then turned her gaze to the center gate.
One, two, three… Any second now…
Crash! Men tumbled through the opening like the Keystone Cops in mail. When all were out, and their attention on the blaze, she darted down the line of wall and through the gate.
The moon dipped low in the sky, the towering bailey wall blocking its light. Smoke hung heavy in the air, deepening the dark, but the wavering glow of torches set in the ground marked the spot where the captives were, the one huddled weeping near the scaffold, the other dangling in midair and coughing his lungs out. Fighting fear, she sprinted across the outer ward toward them. Elaine jerked upright, her eyes going wide. Marian’s eyes widened, too, as another figure clanked out of the smoke and into the torchlight.
They’d left a guard? Crap.
With a low growl he lunged, and Marian turned and fled. She heard the man’s heavy breath—felt the swish of air as he made and missed a grab—saw almost too late the bailey wall looming up in front of her—
Gasping, she dodged to the side.
The guard didn’t. He smashed face-first into the wall and landed backward on the ground like a toppled ton of bricks.
Ouch. She peered at him a moment to make sure he wouldn’t be rising anytime soon, then relieved him of sword and dagger and stumbled back to the scaffold.
“W-well done, my lady,” Allan choked out. He looked vastly amused for a man in the process of suffocating.
“Save your breath.” Using the blade of the sword Marian raked away the fire he hung over, scattering it to burn out in pieces against the hard-packed earth.
Elaine watched her, stunned. “I… You… I…”
“I know. I felt the same way the first time I saw you,” Marian said. “Speaking of which, I’m glad you’re not dead.” With the ground below Allan now clear, she cut the bindings off his hands and arms with the dagger, then climbed the scaffold and began sawing at the noose on his ankles.
“Allan, watch your head,” she warned—a little too late. He hit the ground with a thud and a grunt. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
She scrambled off her perch and rushed to his side. Elaine was already there, kneeling over him and kissing him, wetting his face with her tears and getting soot all over herself in the process.
Marian tapped her on the shoulder. “Um, excuse me, but we really don’t have time for that now. You two have to get out of here. Quickly.”
“How?” Elaine looked up, her expression tragic in the torchlight. “They’ll ne’er let me go.”
“If this works, they won’t even know you’re gone,” Marian muttered.
Allan struggled to his feet, swaying and coughing. “Give…give me that sword and I’ll take us out of here, or die trying.”
He would, too, Marian thought. Die, that was. The man obviously had a suicidal streak. So did she, probably, to be planning what she was.
She shook her head. “No, there’s another way. Elaine and I will trade gowns. Then I’ll run into the other yard, pretending I’m trying to escape. When they chase me, you two can slip out the postern gate. Cymrica’s outside with horses. She’ll take you to Hunterdon Manor. You’ll be safe there.”
Allan looked doubtful. “What about you?”
“I’ll stay here and make them think I’m Elaine.” I hope. “That way they won’t follow you. It’s her they want.”
“Everyone wants me.” Elaine stood wringing her hands. “’Tis that cursed dowry. Oh, why could I not have been born poor?”
“Trust me, sweet lady, ’tis no great blessing to be poor,” Allan told her.
Elaine stopped wringing her hands to grab his. “But I’ve no more wish to go the manor than stay here! What if Roland decides to finally marry me? What then will happen to us?”
Good question. Marian wondered if she should tell her that Roland had already married another—decided not to since she was a little uncertain on that point and there was no time to explain. Besides, it was Roland’s job to explain it. Why should she make things any easier for him?
“We’ll go on as we always have,” Allan said, his voice thick with emotion. “’Tis not as though the king would give you to me whate’er befalls. But mayhap Lord Roland will allow me to join his household. If I can only be near you, my lady, to guard you and serve you, I ask nothing more.”
He dropped to his knees before her, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
Marian wanted to smack them both. “If you don’t get going, you won’t be serving anyone ever again. Allan, check the other yard, see if they’re still busy with the fire. Elaine, give me your gown. Hurry, there’s no time to waste.”
Without waiting for an answer, she pulled her own gown up and over her head, becoming lost for a moment in a tangle of fabric. She heard Elaine gasp, then a series of muffled thuds.
Oh no.
“How nice to see you again, my sweet. And to see so much of you.” The words were followed by a hated chuckle.
Damn. Marian let her gown drop back down to her feet.
“Oh, please do not stop on my account,” the sheriff said. “If you were going to disrobe, by all means, continue.” He held a teary-eyed Elaine by the wrist. Allan lay on the ground a few feet away, unconscious again.
Poor man. Marian stared as several soot-streaked guards replaced his bonds. Well, her luck was certainly holding. It was lousy as usual.
“I…I…” She thought fast. “I was not taking it off. I was putting it on.”
The sheriff’s brows lifted. “Ah, I see. And why would you be doing that, if I might ask?”
“’Tis obvious, is it not?” She tried hard to imitate Elaine, and even harder to not think about how poorly she did it. “We…we switched gowns, hoping to fool you. But you are not fooled. I can see you are not.” That last came out on a desperate squeak.
“You can see that, can you?” The sheriff’s brows lifted another notch. “Perhaps ’tis just a trick of the light.”
A comedian, he wasn’t.
“Of course I see it. A man of your intelligence, you must know I am Elaine and she is the imposter.” Even to her own ears she sounded ridiculous.
Elaine stared at her in horror.
Marian caught her eye, trying to will her to silence. “’Twas a worthy plan, good maid, and I thank you for it, but I have changed my mind. I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself for me. ’Twould be most dishonorable. I…I should ne’er survive the guilt.”
“Your survival is a debatable point in any case.” The sheriff grinned. “I’ve not yet decided what I shall do with you. All I know for certain is you are not Elaine.”
Blast the man, he could at least sound a little doubtful. If her legs hadn’t been shaking so badly Marian would have stamped her foot. “You can’t be sure of that, damn it!”
The sheriff chuckled and she wanted to stomp him. “Oh, but I am sure, my sweet. You’ve just proved it. The well-bred Lady Elaine would ne’er say damn.”
“I might if I were angry enough,” Elaine piped up.
Big, big help. Marian buried her face in her hands. This was hopeless.
A crash sounded—the dividing wall gate flying open.
He
r head snapped up and she saw Sir Guy’s bulk filling the entrance. He paused a moment, staring, then stalked forward, scowling and soaked to the skin. Some of the water they’d used to extinguish the fire must have landed on him, probably the first bath he’d had in years. He didn’t look happy about it. Behind him the rest of his soldiers poured into the ward, with a fat friar bringing up the rear, huffing and puffing to catch up.
Marian swallowed, painfully, as the entire company ground to a halt, none of them wanting to get too close, all of them gawking like she had two heads. Yeah, her appearance here must seem a mystery, like black magic. Wary mutterings rose up—“demon” and “witch.”
Sir Guy glared, anger battling fear in his expression. Elaine looked on, trembling, while Allan groaned on the ground as he regained consciousness. The friar pushed to the front of the crowd, holding aloft a crucifix in one hand, a staff in the other, and uttering prayers. Marian choked back hysterical laughter. Only the sheriff took it all in stride. He stood calmly in the center of the scene, chuckling and grinning like a cat surrounded by mice, very amused. He would be.
“I warned you she was a demon,” Sir Guy bit out.
The chuckle exploded into a full belly laugh. “Nonsense!”
“Who is she, then? How came she here?” Sir Guy looked like he was afraid he knew, that she must have appeared in a puff of hellish smoke.
“We were just about to discover that—if only to satisfy my curiosity,” the sheriff said. “Not that it matters now, since we have Elaine for you to wed. But I do like to know whom I’m about to execute.”
With Elaine in tow he stepped toward Marian.
She gasped as the friar threw himself in front of her.
“Nay!” the man boomed out. “She is one of Satan’s minions. Smell you not the evil? Touch her not, my lord, lest she shrivel your flesh and devour your soul! Only a man of God can deal with such creatures.”
He flung about to face her and the men behind her, his arms outstretched, brandishing staff and cross. “Stand you all back! Make way! I shall drive the witch from these walls and cast her back into the fires of Hell!”
“Been heavy at the wine have you, good friar?” The sheriff heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Leave off, Tuck. We called you here for a wedding, not witches. If yon wench is a demon, I’ll eat your staff.”
He pushed Elaine toward Sir Guy and grabbed the back of the friar’s robe, intending to do likewise with him.
A maniacal gleam lit Tuck’s eyes. Marian had already paled at the mention of his name. Friar Tuck? She went whiter when he shot her a wink. In one quick move he shoved her away and turned on the sheriff with upraised staff.
“Start chewing, my lord!”
Marian stumbled backward, staring in disbelief as all hell broke loose—literally. From out of nowhere, it seemed, the yard was suddenly alive with…she didn’t know what. Weird things covered in leaves and skins, bizarre hybrid creatures with antlers and animal heads. They ran out of the shadows on two legs, slid down ropes dropped from the battlements like spiders descending a web.
Cries of “wood-devils—’tis the wood-devils!” split the air.
Sir Guy’s men scattered in all directions, shrieking their heads off.
“Hold, hold, you idiots! Stand and fight!” the sheriff bellowed over the din. But he had his own hands full fending off the friar, who charged him like a man possessed.
Marian turned to see two of the devils helping Allan to his feet, cutting his bonds. Elaine flew into his arms as several more of the creatures surrounded them in a protective circle.
“Call for Tuck!” one of them shouted in a remarkably human voice. “We’ll join these lovebirds before any can naysay them!”
“Aye, Tuck! Friar Tuck!” more voices sounded, with laughter ringing between the words. “He was summoned for a wedding—we’ll give him one! Here, Tuck! To us, man!”
Allan and Elaine clung to each other and kissed.
Watching the scene, Marian’s eyes stung, both from emotion and the smoky air.
The stables in the yard broke open and panicked horses galloped out, joining the rout. One of the beasts bumped the sheriff as he blocked a blow from Friar Tuck’s staff with his sword. The sword went flying, its owner lurched back, and Tuck finished the job with a stout crack to his head. The sheriff’s knees buckled and he collapsed in a heap on the ground.
Marian gaped, dumbfounded, as the friar made the sign of the cross over him, then darted off toward Allan and Elaine, swinging his staff at anything in mail.
More heads cracked.
She dodged to the side to avoid being flattened in the crush, stumbled and landed on her knees beside the sheriff. Something crashed into her from behind and she pitched forward onto his chest. Gasping, she pulled back and rolled away, but not before feeling the rise and fall of his breath. As she scrambled to her feet again, a shadow fell over her—Sir Guy, his eyes blazing, the stink of alcohol mixing with his sweat. Marian had seen drunken fury before, knew she was looking at it now.
She froze.
His gaze slanted from her to the sheriff. “Is he dead?”
“No.” The word came out a dry croak. She swallowed and tried again. “Just…unconscious.”
Slowly, carefully, she backed away, one tiny step at a time.
“A pity. ’Twould serve me better if ’twere otherwise. There’d be nay debt if the one I owed were nay more.” Sir Guy crouched by the sheriff and felt the pulse at his neck. His lips twisted into a snarl. “Curse your hard head, Nottingham. You wanted payment, did you? Mayhap I should pay you now and have done with it, ay?”
He groped at his belt and unsheathed a dagger.
Marian halted in mid-step as the glint of the blade held her mesmerized. Sir Guy hauled up the sheriff by his hair, knelt behind him, and slit his throat from ear to ear. Her stomach turned over as the blood spurted out over everything.
God…
“There you go, Nottingham, payment in full. And we’ll blame the wood-devils for your death, shall we?” With a grim smile Sir Guy dropped the body to earth and stood up, the dagger, sticky red and dripping, still clutched in his hand. He peered about, saw Marian, and his smile hardened into murder. Again.
“Witch! I’ll not have you witnessing against me.” Growling like a bear, he lunged for her.
She spun about and ran, zigzagging through the chaos. The bailey wall rose up sooner than expected—no chance to avoid it this time. She could only swivel at the last second, slamming into it with her back. The impact rattled her teeth and knocked the wind out of her. Battling for breath she flattened herself against the cold stones, hanging onto consciousness by a thread, a butterfly pinned to the mounting board.
Sir Guy appeared before her out of the smoke. In a dizzy blur she watched his hand raise, saw him throw the dagger, waited for it to pierce her heart.
Heard a metallic ping and a dull thud instead.
Huh? Drop-jawed, she traced the sounds downward, and blinked. There on the ground lay the dagger, beside it the arrow that shot the blade straight out of the air.
No. This isn’t real.
She lifted her head, looked. Her heart stopped. She was dreaming, she must be. For she saw him. A tall figure, his face hidden in the folds of a deep hood. As she stared, he lowered his bow and moved forward.
Marian’s legs crumpled out from under her. Darkness closed in and she slid down the wall into mindless oblivion…
End of Chapter 7
To find out what happens next, please check out Sherwood, The Complete Novel (ISBN 9781310469602), available now at all major online bookstores. Thanks for reading!
*
About the author:
https://www.mimiriser.com
Mimi Riser is a longtime author of both fiction and nonfiction, including several series and spanning a variety of genres (with flavors ranging from sweet to spicy hot). Her books celebrate the upbeat, the offbeat, and “beating the odds.” She began life in the urban northeast, but now
resides in the rural southwest with her best friend and husband Rob.
