The Forgotten Story

by Michelle E Lowe

“I know, my son. I slept in late. I was dreadfully tired. Did you see Mr. Landcross this morning?”

  “Nein. He isn’t here at the hotel.”

  Her heart felt like it was falling into her chest.

  “There is a man down in the lobby,” Kolt explained. “He claims he is an acquaintance of a Lord Locksley and has been sent to bring us to his home where Mr. Landcross is.”

  Frederica was flabbergasted. “Ist das wahr?”

  “Ja, Mutter. What should I tell him?”

  Her mood lifted like a helium balloon heading high into the clouds. “Tell him we shall be ready momentarily. Then inform Miss Norwich before you gather your belongings.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said before leaving.

  Frederica sighed with great relief. She would get her chance to make amends.

  * * *

  The beef stew did help Pierce regain enough physical strength to perhaps take on a tyke—but only if Pierce fought dirty. Mentally, he was unsteady and vexed. Robin had picked the lock of the manacles around his wrists and ankles, freeing him from the blasted things. He also gave him linen bandages for his wound. After cleaning away the blood, Pierce noticed that the puncture marks weren’t too noticeable, much like the bite scars on his neck.

  Pierce sat by the fire, wrapped in a blanket that did little to warm him from the cold within. The tea Robin provided helped slightly. Pierce merely sipped it from time to time, allowing it to grow cold before finishing it.

  He stared off into the fire until Robin reentered. He had changed out of his hooded garb and was now dressed in a smashing black coat with a silver floral design sewn into it, a dark green vest, and pinstriped trousers. His face was glowing and completely free of red rashes and blisters. He took a seat in the armchair across from Pierce.

  “How are we feeling?” he asked in a chipper tone.

  “Better, I reckon. And you?”

  “I feel grand. Better than I have in centuries.”

  “You’re welcome,” he grumbled.

  He turned his gaze to the portrait hanging over the mantel of Robin and Maid Marian sitting together in the forest. He was handing her flowers. Not an actual depiction of the two, naturally, for the image had been painted years after their time.

  “You miss her?” Pierce asked.

  “Eh?” Robin said before turning his eyes upward toward the painting. “Every single day. Marian has always been my love. Even as children growing up together, I adored her greatly. I never admitted my affection to her, though. Not until after I returned from the Crusades and fell into trouble with Gibson and the Sheriff of Nottingham, who turned me into an outlaw.” He looked to him. “What of your woman? Was it love at first sight?”

  “For me it was. Taisia thought I was an imbecile.”

  Robin laughed. “Did she now?”

  “Aye. She admitted it to me. Told me I acted like a bumbling dolt. I was just so damn nervous around her.”

  “Indeed. Love makes fools of us all. My hope in seeing Marian again is high. Your grandmother told me she waits for me in the In-Between.”

  “How do you know Grandmother Fey?”

  “She and I met when she was a young woman.”

  “Huh. Small world, eh? You mentioned the In-Between. That’s the place in between one life and the next, correct? Don’t you have to die to go there?”

  “You do.”

  “And aren’t you immortal?”

  “Unfortunately, I am, but nothing truly lives forever, Landcross, not even immortals.”

  Pierce took a sip of his fourth cup of tea. He shuddered at how bitterly cold it had gotten and set the cup down on the tray.

  “Why are you in Sherwood, Landcross?”

  Pierce leaned into the armchair and held the blanket tighter to him. He wished his heart would hurry and replenish his body with blood. “I came for money my brother hid up here.”

  “I see. So, what has brought you back to England?”

  “Well, you see . . . erm . . .” Unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t result in more questions, Pierce sighed. “Right, here’s what happened.”

  After Pierce explained the entire story once again, Robin’s response was the best he’d ever heard. “Your island sounds like heaven on earth.”

  Pierce grinned. After seven hundred years, Pierce was certain that ol’ Rob had seen a thing or two. Nothing that Pierce told him made him bat an eye.

  “Aye. That it is, Rob.”

  “I do miss being able to enjoy the sunlight. To lie in the grass and look upon the clouds pressed against the blue sky. The majesty of a sunset.”

  Pierce slid his eyes over the scarlet-painted room to a handful of scenery portraits depicting sunsets. “I see.”

  Robin looked at the paintings. “Ah, yes. I commissioned those from a struggling artist I discovered here in Britain. He was introduced to you as Corwin Palmer.”

  “Palmer? Your servant?”

  Robin shook his head. “He’s not my servant. He is my very distant descendant. He addresses me by ‘my lord’ because he feels strange referring to an elder by their name.”

  Pierce snickered. “And an elder you are, mate.”

  Robin narrowed his eyes.

  Pierce smiled sardonically. “Is he aware that you’re Robin Hood?”

  “He knows me as Robin of Locksley, yes. He isn’t aware he is related to me, though. I have kept my name because the locals simply believe I’m some distant relative of Robin Hood, which is plausible, since the granddaughter of my son, Malcolm, lived in Nottingham during the sixteenth century, before the family moved away and died off. Palmer is the only relative of mine I know about nowadays.”

  “Huh, fancy that.”

  “Palmer has been a good companion. He keeps things in order around here, and I let him paint to his heart’s content.” Robin’s expression turned melancholy. “Someday, he plans to leave for Paris to live amongst other artists.”

  Pierce did feel bad for Robin. Growing up, Robin had always lived in the company of his mates. When he fought in the Crusades, and during his days as a fugitive living in Sherwood Forest, friends and followers had surrounded him. The bloke had never really been without company until that bloodsucking monk forced him to become a vampire. It was no surprise that Robin craved companion-ship, which was why he nearly made Pierce into an immortal.

  “Whatever happened to that Spanish feller?”

  “Ramirez Tajo? Died, I’m afraid.”

  “Uh, you didn’t . . . er, y’know?”

  “No, I didn’t drink his blood,” Robin answered, perturbed. “He fell back into his old habits, and one night, after a show in Hungary, he became so belligerently intoxicated that he dropped off a cliff and died on impact.”

  “Fuckin’ hell!” Pierce shrieked.

  “After that, I decided to end my tour. I gave my wagon to some Gypsies and returned home. I was tired of being a magician, anyway.”

  To lighten the mood, Pierce said, “The paintings are rather lovely.”

  “They are, aren’t they? I only wish I still owned at least one of the portraits of Marian that I’d had commissioned after my pardon from King Richard. You’re very fortunate to have photographs of your wife and brother before his passing.”

  “Read the books, did you?”

  “Of course! I assisted Miss Norwich by supplying her with some research she needed.”

  “Figures. Clover is here, too.”

  “Is she now? It will be a real treat to see her again. Oh, let me return this to you.”

  Robin reached around his armchair, just out of Pierce’s eyesight, and lifted the rucksack.

  “Oi, you brought it in. Cheers.”

  “And I also retrieved this—for the second time, I might add.” He reached under his coat and pulled out the Oak Leaf revolver. He admired it for a moment. “It’s handsomely crafted, which compensates for how out of date it is.”

  Pierce shrugged. “It works. That’s all that really matters to me.”
r />   Robin snorted. “It matters plenty if you’ve seen the kind of guns available nowadays.”

  “I’ve gotten an eyeful, mate, trust me.”

  As Robin handed the gun over, he pointed his chin to something behind Pierce. “I’m rather surprised you haven’t noticed.”

  “Noticed what?” Pierce took his gun and looked behind the chair. His jaw dropped. “Bloody hell.” He rose from the chair. “You found it?”

  “I did, indeed.”

  Pierce approached a shadowbox on the wall. Set inside, resting on little shelves built one over the other, were each of the thirty pieces of silver. Among the coins was one that stood out from the rest. It was blackened from being severely burnt, and there was a hole punched through it. In Birmingham, Pierce had lost the coin to a thief and then to a factory fire.

  Pierce unlatched the glass case and reached for the coin, but his hand was slapped away.

  “Ow!” he complained, seeing Robin standing beside him. “Damn, you’re quick.”

  “No touching. These coins shall forever remain a set.”

  “I was only looking, you tosspot,” Pierce moaned, feeling lightheaded from being on his feet. He went to the arm-chair and took a seat. “I ain’t planning on being here for long, anyhow. I’m headin’ to Reading this afternoon.”

  “When?”

  “My train leaves at two. When my party gets here, we’ll head out.”

  “It’s one-forty,” Robin stated, pointing to a clock on the mantel. “Think you can make it?”

  “Bugger!” Pierce grumbled. “Time bloody well goes by when you’re threatened by a maniac.”

  “Yes. Speaking of him, judging by what I saw in the cabin, he appears to be much more than just an enemy wanting you dead.”

  Pierce bowed his head and nodded. The fire in the hearth was finally melting through the frost inside him.

  “Care to elaborate?” Robin pressed.

  This was the darkest part of his past—a part he never wanted to discuss with anyone. He had avoided it with Clover, yet he had little strength to resist Robin.

  “Mine and Volker’s history started when he was hunting for me in Hamburg. He was a general in the German Army, then. When he failed to bring me in, his commanders relieved him of his duties.”

  “And he blames you for his discharge?”

  “The sod already had a reputation for violence and brutality that made even the Germans squeamish. Not catching me was pretty much the nail in his coffin. But that isn’t the only thing he hates me for. In trying to regain his status, he went after me on his own. Along the way, he became a common criminal.” Pierce ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I could use a real drink for this next part, Rob.”

  “Brandy?”

  He nodded.

  Robin went to a bar on the other side of the room and brought over a brandy glass and bottle.

  The liquor warmed him much faster than the tea. “Years later, in Plymouth, I had aimed to nick an artifact from a retired archaeologist. Apparently, Volker was there with the same intention. His partner spotted me poking about and Volker came for me. He took me hostage. Instead of hauling me back to Hamburg, he wanted me to help him steal some solid gold chest.”

  “Why you? What about his partner?”

  Pierce shook his head. “The wanker was named Saith Cardoe. He had been posing as a butler for some time before I arrived. When he located the chest, Volker had other plans for him besides sharing the profits.”

  Pierce fell silent for a long moment.

  “What happened?” Robin asked.

  Pierce took another drink of liquid courage as those gruesome images resurfaced. “Volker bashed his bloody head in with a hammer right in front me. What he did next . . . fuck, I’ve never told anyone this.”

  “Go on, Landcross.”

  His shakiness worsened. “Volker dismembered the body. I was chained to a cast-iron stove nearby. I had nowhere else to go. Christ, when I turned away, I could hear the cutting. When he finished, he forced me to help carry the parts to the ocean and toss them in. They were still warm, Rob.” He poured himself another glass. “I just knew he’d do me in once my task as his thief was done.”

  “What did you do?”

  “The only thing I could think of. I got us arrested. The house was guarded with footmen. We broke in and Volker stabbed the poor old homeowners to death. As soon as I could, I deliberately alerted the guards to our presence. I tell you, I’d never been happier to be taken into custody in all my days. I was acquitted of murder, but because of my other crimes, I was put on a ship bound for hell.”

  “And that’s when you were saved by the Sea Warriors?”

  “Aye. Chief Sea Wind allowed me and a mate of mine to come with him, but David died of infection from being flogged.”

  “And the other prisoners?”

  “All of them remained onboard the HMS Discovery. Murderers, rapists, I had no quarrel about leaving them behind.” He sighed. “I should have killed Volker, then. The bastard made it back to Europe and joined up with Tarquin Norwich’s merry band, the British Guardians.”

  “And now he’s here for you.”

  “Aye,” he admitted fretfully.

  “Do you believe the witch you spoke about has something to do with his being here?”

  “I have no doubt about it. She needs me dead for some reason, and she has sent this madman from my past to do the deed instead of getting her own hands dirty.”

  “You seem to be in serious danger, Landcross. When evening comes, you need to take the train out of here.”

  “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

  “And I will be joining you.”

  “Pardon?”

  The front door opened and moments later, Corwin Palmer entered. “My lord, I have brought Mr. Landcross’s people.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The Train

  “Robin!” Clover said excitedly, rushing toward him with arms wide open.

  “Miss Norwich,” Robin greeted, embracing her. “It is always a pleasure to see you.” When they parted, he asked, “How are your niece and nephew?”

  “Growing larger by the day. Jeneal will surely be walking soon.”

  “Already? My, my, how quickly the days have gone by.”

  Pierce was surprised by that. “You’ve met Archie’s children?”

  “Of course, I have. They were at the house when I visited Miss Norwich last spring.”

  Pierce was taken aback by Archie’s leniency. However, Archie had met Robin before, and he knew he would never kill the innocent or the good-hearted.

  Perhaps Pierce had been too overprotective of his own children. After the kind of life he had led, and after witnessing firsthand so many horrors, Pierce had accumulated a fair amount of paranoia, turning him into what Taisia referred to as a “nervous Nellie.” He decided that if he did make it home, he would allow Joaquin to climb trees as high as he wanted to.

  “Robin,” Clover said, “I’d like to introduce you to Mrs.—”

  Before she finished speaking, Robin slid toward Frederica. His movements were as smooth and graceful as the vocals of an opera singer.

  He gleefully took her by the hand. “Frederica Katz, here, in my home. What an honor.”

  He bowed deeply and kissed her hand. “I must say your portrayal of Goneril in King Lear was as memorable as it was charismatic.”

  Frederica’s face beamed so brightly she could have killed the vampire on the spot. “Danke, guter Herr.”

  “Du bist willkommen, Mylady. Ich freue mich auf Ihren Besuch in Antigone in dieser Woche,” Robin responded.

  Pierce was unaware Robin spoke German. Then again, if Pierce had been able to learn French, German, Russian, and bits of other languages in his short thirty-four years, Robin could very well be a polyglot himself.

  “I have heard you are to play Medea this week in London,” Robin said to Frederica. “I have been holding onto my ticket for months.”

  “Have you?” Fr
ederica said. “Well, then, I shall put on the show of a lifetime.”

  Clover approached Pierce expressing concern. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

  “Aye, lass,” he reassured her, taking off the blanket and standing from his chair to show he was fine. “Everything is hunky-dory. We have a new plan. We’re leaving on the last train departing this evening. Robin will be joining us.”

  “He is? Why?”

  Pierce didn’t particularly care to venture into his gritty experience with Volker. He decided it was best to spare her the worry about the murderous psychopath who was in the area hunting for him.

  “Erm, you heard Rob. He’d planned to see the play in London.”

  She studied him queerly as if suspecting he was hiding something.

  “Lord Locksley,” Frederica said. “May I introduce you to my son, Kolt?”

  Upon hearing his name, Clover snapped her head around. Pierce recognized the sparkle in those big doe-eyes of hers. She fancied the young man, even if she hadn’t realized it yet.

  He couldn’t help but smirk at her.

  “What?” she demanded.

  He threw up his hands. “Nothing, love.”

  Robin and Corwin made a wonderful supper, and everyone sat in the scarlet room, chatting. Apparently, Clover had informed Frederica and Kolt of Robin's identity, and they were so fascinated by him that they could not stop asking him questions.

  Needing some time to himself, Pierce excused himself and went outside to the back patio to breathe in the crisp autumn air. He only hoped it would be a peaceful moment, without any more visions that seemed to occur whenever he was alone.

  A chilly breeze passed over him. He heard the cooing of the mourning doves calling for each other in the fall forest. Gazing out into the famous woodland, he understood why Robin never left. Not only did the area hold an ancient, tranquil beauty that had remained unchanged for thousands of years, but it was also Robin’s home. The forest had harbored him from the law just as it now harbored him from the sunlight. Sherwood Forest kept him safe, and safety was home.

  “Pierce?” came Frederica’s voice from behind him.

  He glanced over as she walked up alongside him. “’Ello, love. I’m just admiring the woods.”