By the time that Emma de Rainault's horse drew up to the city gates she was
thoroughly peeved. The ride had been long, hard and it had started raining
heavily after lunch. She was soaked to the skin; even her fur-lined clock
had failed to save her from the weather. Her delicate hands were blue
underneath their expensive kid leather gloves and her temper had frayed to
such a point that even her rugged guard of men-at-arms were now shooting
her looks of wary nervousness.
It wasn't just the weather that had put her in such a foul mood; it was the thought of having to live with her damned uncle for who knew how long! God's teeth, she muttered as they rode in through the gates of Nottingham castle, why here?
The castle was bustling with all the usual activity of a market day. People and livestock crowded around makeshift stalls and the air was thick with the cries of merchants and the smell of cooking food. Now that the day was coming towards to an end, the town was thinning out as peasants and their families returned home.
They dismounted at the foot of the stairs to the great hall, Emma grimaced at the ache of her legs as she climbed down from her horse. Although she rode exceedingly well, she had always secretly hated the activity, much preferring to walk. Horses were just large smelly brutes that seemed to wait for the perfect opportunity to dump you in a large puddle of mud when you least expected it.
Her attention was diverted from the discomfort in her neither regions by a call from the great hall that sent small, ragged grooms scurrying out of the near-by stables to tend to the horses. Emma gritted her teeth and stalked up the stairs and into the dark smoky cavern of the great hall leaving her bedraggled men to trail behind her in a grubby train.
Nottingham castle was nothing like the airy and well-lit hall that she had grown up in Ireland. Clean rushes had always graced the floor and the sweet smell of herbs had hung on the air, masking the sourer scents of men and dogs. Her mother had always seen that the place was clean and comfortable and even after her death her father had always ensured that the place had been welcoming. Emma's heart tightened at the thought of her father, the loss was still too close, too sharp for comfort.
As she strode purposely down the centre of the large hall she noticed that the place seemed as fresh as old kennels and the inhabitants little above squabbling curs. The room was lined with grubby tables and trestles, separated by space to walk up to the main table that sat on a raised dais at the end of the hall. At the tables men were lounged about, some still in chain mail, others in various states of undress with tankards grasped in their hands and tongues loosened with cheap ale. While a lesser woman may have quailed at the sight, Emma was made of sterner stuff and had never lacked in confidence even as a child. Her father had always told her that even a woman should be brave and act with honour, and she was in no mood to disagree now.
She lengthened her stride and made for the dais. She was gratified that once the surrounding company caught sight of her presence that almost all conversation ceased. The only two that continued conversing were the two men sitting at the main table, one young and blonde, the other smaller, dark with a distinct rodent quality to his face. That, she concluded must be Robert, his looks were like those of her father. Luckily, she had taken after her mother and had inherited her tall stature and fairer complexion.
The blonde noticed her approach and stared at her in what could only be described as frank admiration. Robert noticed his steward's inattention and turned towards her. His face registered at first vague curiosity and then hardened into resigned acceptance.
"This must be my niece" he drawled to Guy of Gisburne, his steward and general whipping boy. Emma was wet and dishevelled and Robert viewed her with faint disgust. Emma didn't miss his expression, but didn't let it cause her any undue concern. She was a rather practical girl and although not vain, she was self-aware enough to realise that she was far from ugly. Then again, from what she had heard rumoured about her uncle he wasn't particularly interested in the fairer sex as a whole.
"I am Emma de Rainault, daughter of your poor departed brother, Jocelyn, may God rest his soul" she said quietly, her eyes flitting from her uncle's companion to Robert. Guy looked questioning to Robert; he had been unaware that the de Rainault clan had sired another brother. He had been uneven less aware that the brother had produced such an attractive daughter.
"Yes.and now you are to live here for a time.how.wonderful" the sheriff replied, his expression showing that he was less than ecstatic at the prospect. Ever since he had received the letter informing him of her coming he had garnered a faint hope that she might have been attacked by pirates or brigands on the journey. Obviously God wasn't feeling generous on this occasion. Why he had to get stuck with little brat? It certainly wasn't because he had been close to his youngest brother. They had hardly keep in contact after he had been married off to the daughter of some peat farmer in Dublin. For a younger son it had been a good marriage, he grudgingly conceded, she had been rather wealthy, but still, Ireland and a love match to top it off? It was had been almost too embarrassing for the family to bear.
The things he had to put up with he thought, inwardly sighing. To make matters worse his steward looked like he had been struck dumb at the sight of the wench. He sighed again. The sooner he could marry her off to some petty noble the better.
Emma sensed his lack of enthusiasm for her arrival, and was almost relieved that he appeared to not like her as much as she had already determined that she wasn't going to like him. He looked a cruel man, nothing like her father who had been as sweet and gentle as the land and wife that he had taken for his own. While her mother had died five years ago and she missed her still, it had always been her father that she had been closest too. He had permitted her to run a little wild perhaps, but she had loved him with a fierce fury and now he was gone, she felt alone and adrift in the world. The one thing that she clung to was the spirit of independence that he had taught her and a deep-seated wariness of his brothers.
After she was perfunctorily dismissed, a servant escorted Emma to the upper level of the great hall to a room that had been set aside for her use. After meeting the man downstairs she was less than surprised to find the apartments draughty and decidedly damp. The only thing that looked slightly appealing during this whole experience was her uncle's companion, whom he had pointedly not introduced her to. He was obviously his steward, a man in a position below her notice. After all, her family may be reasonably loathsome, but she was the heiress to a considerable fortune through her mother.
As Emma settled herself into the damp sheets and huddled under the slightly foul smelling furs, her last thought was of rebellion. She may have no choice in where she was living for the moment, but if her uncle thought he could marry her off to the nearest pox-marked hunchback, he had another thing coming.
Chapter Two
Emma stared into the afternoon gloom, her vision fixed on the darkened outline of Sherwood Forest against the sky. She had been pacing the castle battlements for hours, trying to think, trying to organise the myriad of thoughts that swam through her tired brain. After only two months of living at Nottingham the axe had fallen. Robert, her uncle, had found her a husband.
She could tell something was up the moment the servant had brought his summons. There had been no love lost between them at their initial meeting and familiarity had breed contempt on both sides. She hated him because he was rude, cruel and arrogant and he disliked her because she refused to be a biddable simpering girl.
Standing in Robert's chamber, the smug expression on his face had confirmed her worse suspicions. The Sheriff lounged cat-like on a chair, a goblet of wine held loosely in one hand, a rumpled letter in the other.
"I have some good news for you niece" he drawled "I have found you a husband"
Emma first felt shock and then had to suppress the overwhelming urge to scream incoherently at him. She forced down her rage and inquired in hard tones who her lucky bridegroom was to be.
"Sir Percy Worthington" Robert was obviously waiting for some kind of gratifying response, but Emma was speechless; The name meant nothing to her.
"He dined with us last week, short, balding..." the sheriff tapped the letter against the chair arm in irritation. Surely she must remember him? Percy had drooled at the sight of her and when Robert had suggested that there was a chance that a match could be made he had almost melted to the floor in delight. Of course, Robert mused, he wasn't quite the catch or social connection he had been hoping for, but he did owe him rather a lot of money and a few big favours.
Emma searched her memory. There had been many guests to dine over the last few weeks. Mostly cohorts of her uncle; sly, ambitious men with stained clothing and an odour of dissolution.
The saving grace of these social occasions was Emma's discovery that Sir Guy of Gisburne was actually a reasonable conversationalist. He had a habit of straying onto the topic of horses, but even so, he managed to fill her in on all the gossip and delight her with tales of his exploits. The blonde steward seemed glad to have someone other than her uncle and his cohorts to talk to and she was joyous to find out that he appeared to dislike Robert even more than she did.
In fact, over the last few weeks they had sought out each other's company frequently. At first, hesitantly, and then often when they both realised their friendship was mutual. Emma had known men like him before, friends and colleagues of her father who had taken time to talk to the impertinent little lady of the house. She had found that while they were often gruff and uncommunicative with their peers they found Emma to be someone that they could open up to, even though she was a well-bred female.
Guy was perhaps an unusual choice for a friend. He could be surly and often seemed possessed with anger against the world in general. With Emma, though, he seemed to make an effort to be civil and curb his temper and even amused when she didn't. One evening, not long after she had arrived, she had accidentally stubbed her toe on a stone step and had sworn in a decidedly unladylike manner while jumping up and down like a mad woman. Hearing the deep laughter of a man behind her, she had coloured deeply and turned to find Guy bent over in helpless laughter.
"I'm sorry, I've just never heard that expression before from a woman" he grinned down at her. . Emma had tried to assume a look of dismayed indignity, as befit her station, but had failed miserably and had laughed as well. From then on they had felt at home in each other's company. They had spent time alone together, sometimes out riding, other times in front of the fire with the light of the flames dancing in her hair. He had listened without interruption to her complaints against her uncle and the unfairness of life, while she had sat silently, piecing together the halting fragments of the past and present that occasionally seemed to haunt Guy.
Thinking back to that night jogged her memory, there had two men there that night, drinking and whispering with Robert. Percy must be the man that Guy referred to as "The Frog" because of his protuberant eyes and slimy appearance.
"You have got to be joking!" she cried.
Robert smirked. "I personally think you should be flattered by the proposal. His last wife died last year and he needs some one to look after his three children and provide for his." he paused to add emphasis "other needs".
Emma stared at him with cold fury.
"Never"
She spun around and stalked out of the room, almost running straight into the large chain-mailed chest of Guy.
She looked up into his face, and saw a look of confusion and concern in his green eyes. Emma felt her grip over her emotions begin to slip. Unheeded tears welled up and she choked out an apology and ran off down the hall, heading for the battlements that she had been pacing across ever since.
There must be some way out of this predicament, she thought. There was no way she was going to give up her youth, her body and her lands to that over- grown toad of a man. Emma racked her brains; maybe she could kill him? Perhaps she fake some horrible disease, madness even, to put him off? No, she cursed, it would never work; he might even find her more attractive. She pulled absent mindedly at the hem of her sleeve. God, it was hopeless. Appealing to Robert's better nature would never work. He didn't have one. Maybe Guy could help? She dismissed that thought immediately, they may be friends of a sort, but he had no power to alter her uncle's plans.
As darkness fell around her she heard sounds of activity far below her, the metallic ring of weapons and the snorting of horses. Sir Guy and about twenty of his men of arms were preparing to make a night time visit to Wickham, a small village in the shadow of Sherwood Forest. He had heard rumours that a local outlaw, Robin Hood, and his men were camped there while one of their friends was ill. Of course, these rumours in the past had always failed to be true and Guy and the Sheriff had been involved in cat and mouse hunt for the outlaw for years. Guy, though, seemed determined to catch the wolf's head and had detailed both his hatred for Robin and his plans for his demise to Emma during the long evenings.
Emma had never met a criminal before, or much to do with the peasant classes except occasionally when they had come to either pay tribute or seek justice from her father's court. The servants she had grown up with were from serf families, of course, but she had never gone to their homes or experienced their way of life. She viewed Saxons with faint suspicion, she supposed, and certainly had no reason to feel sympathy for those who flouted the King's law. After all, it was men like Robin Hood that made the forests unsafe for any person of her class to travel through. Many had been attacked and although Robin Hood had never killed any of his victims he had robbed them of all their wealth and scared them half to death.
"Of course!" she cried, startling a crow perched near by. It was obvious, the answer to her prayers was Robin Hood.
Chapter Three
What had seemed a brilliant plan last night was quickly appearing to have been a bad idea in the cold crisp morning. Staring in the the polished metal that served as a mirrot, she straightened her dark green gown and made a cursory attempt to tidy her long blonde hair. She had given up covering her hair, the headpieces that noble English women wore annoyed her and she had never worn them at home in Ireland. Emma knew that such immodesty probably shocked some of the other well-bred women present in the castle, but she also shrewd enough to realise that some of the unflattering comments muttered in her wake arose from jealousy.
Rising early, before either Robert or Guy had appeared, she had walked to the stables and ordered a horse be saddled. At home, a groom would have always accompanied her on a ride, for decency's sake. Here, though, her uncle seemed unconcerned with her honour and so when a groom had half- heartedly gotten to his feet to accompany her, she had dismissed him and no one had argued. For once she has cause to thank her uncle for his lack of regard for her. On this ride she wanted no company.
As she rode towards the outskirts of Sherwood Forest she felt a small tingle of anxiety. The forest was huge and sprawling, whole villages existed in it's midst as did a thriving sub-culture of run away serfs and poachers.
The dark interior of the forest was dappled with sunlight from gaps in the canopy where older trees had succumbed to age. The *** of light and dark played tricks with your eyes and Emma felt a creeping nervousness in her belly. Although in theory the Sheriff and various officials policed it, the forest was not a place for the faint-hearted and certainly not a woman alone.
For Emma, though, the possibility of being attacked and murdered, compared to being married to the poxy Percy, was worth the risk. Her main concern was that she may not run into the people she was seeking, but she was hoping that they may still be somewhere in the Wickham area.
She travelled for over an hour, passing through small villages that lay on the road, curious peasants stopped their morning chores to quietly stare as she rode past.
By the time the sun had risen to almost overhead she was beginning to lose hope. The forest had opened up a little, the trees were alive with the sound of birds and small animals foraged in the rich undergrowth.
She made an easy target but so far no one had taken the bait. Of course, just in case her plan went awry she had a back up plan. Hidden under the folds of her long burgundy cloak was a sharp and well oiled broad sword. Being brought up in Ireland in the company of mainly men had had it's advantages, the most useful to her at the moment being that her father's men had thought it amusing to help the little Emma to pursue her interest in learning to fight with a sword. She wasn't exactly an expert, but she had bettered fair opponents in the past. Although she was nowhere as strong as a man, she was a thoughtful and wary fighter and often gained the advantage because her opponents underestimated her abilities because of her sex.
She smiled in memory of the shocked face of her father's friend when she had unarmed him as a child of 14. Unfortunately, as she got older her father had begun to question the wisdom of having a daughter that could earn a wage as a man at arms and had tried to curb her wilful nature somewhat. Still, he had been a good father, very lenient and kind to her after the death of her mother.
Emma was torn from memories of her childhood by the crack of a branch to the left of the track. The footfall was too heavy to belong to an animal. She stiffened in her saddle; her left hand feeling it's way instinctively to the hilt of her blade.
Her head swung to the right as another noise gained her attention. Fury, the horse she had borrowed from Guy without his knowledge, suddenly reared up as two men bearing long bows appeared on the road in front of her. With difficulty she controlled her frightened mount and looked behind her for an escape route. That way, too, was blocked by a burly man in a shaggy bear skin rug and a small dark man dressed in black leather.
She turned and face the two men in front. One was tall, blonde and lean; good looking but rather grubby. His companion was shorter, more compact and looked decidedly less trust-worthy than his friend.
Emma smiled to herself. At last, she had found what she had been hunting.
Chapter Three
"I'm still not sure what you want" Robin offered her a ragged piece of bread. Emma declined. There was no telling where it had come from. She took another cautious drink of the mead that she had been convinced to drink. She had tried to decline but Will, as she had discovered the murderous looking one was called, and fixed her with such a glare that she had decided to take it.
"I'm offering you information in return for a small favour. That's all" Emma smiled sweetly at Marion, but the small woman stared back in a rather unfriendly manner. Ungrateful cow she thought. God's teeth, don't these people realise what I'm trying to do here! She was giving them a chance to spend some time without worrying about the Sheriff and Guy at their heels. Emma felt a small pang of guilt at the thought of Guy, but really there was no other way. Yes, she was betraying his friendship in a way, but the alternative was too horrible to bear. She would make it up to him somehow; a brief image of possibly how flitted through her mind and she blushed slightly.
"And you want us to, what was the word.dissuade this man from making it to Nottingham?" Will asked "and in return you'll tell us all the Sheriffs movements for the next month?" he sneered.
"Why should we trust you.a De Rainault?" he drew closer to where she was delicately perched on a log.
Emma quailed, not so much at his tone, but the stench coming off his squalid clothing. She wasn't that intimidated by him, he had a wrestlers build, but a knife in the stomach would soon slow him down. Trying not to breathe, Emma smiled tightly back.
"Because she hates her uncle as much as we do" said Marion quietly. She had spent most of the afternoon in the background watching the strange blonde girl as she told her story. Almost against her better judgement she felt sympathy for her. Marion knew the frustration and terror she had felt at the thought of being married to some stranger, given away like a prize puppy.
That didn't mean she trusted her though. There was something in Emma's eyes that made it clear she wasn't the spoiled nobleman's child that she pretended to be. Finding that she had been wearing a sword had made Little John snort with laughter, amused that this rather small woman could possibly wield such a weapon. Marion on the other hand was sure that Emma was completely capable of looking after herself. She didn't seem the type to make rash decisions and she must have planned this little adventure very carefully.
"I do hate him, but not enough to marry to get away from him, especially when that man is one of his friends" Emma choked back tears. She had too much riding on this to fail.
Robin sat quietly for a while. Will had tried to dissuade him from trusting her, but he could see no reason to doubt her. After all, they had a lot to gain from the plan and Emma was the one to lose if it failed. "We'll help you"
Chapter Four
Two weeks later, at dinner in the great hall a messenger arrived bearing news for her uncle. As he read the letter Robert turned paler by the second.
"God's blood!" he spluttered, grabbing a goblet of wine and swallowing it down. Half it's contents ran in rivulets down his greasy tunic.
Emma looked up from the meat she was delicately cutting into small pieces.
"What is it uncle?" she asked sweetly. "Nothing bad I hope?" She caught Guy grinning at her and smiled back.
Robert threw her a look of rabid dislike.
"It seems that your prospective bridegroom has changed his mind" he tossed the letter down. Although it was impossible, he had a niggling feeling that somehow Emma was responsible for this.
The letter didn't spell out what had changed his mind, just that certain events had occurred to make him reassess his position. It certainly explained why he hadn't shown up for dinner as planned last evening. Well, on the up side, maybe he could find someone richer this time for her, and still wipe off his debts to Percy.
Emma was lost in her own thoughts. Guy was busy talking to one of the guards who had come up to the table with news and he was unaware of her gaze. She had found herself unable to stop looking at him and she had developed this strange sense of knowing when he was in a room with her. God, this can't be happening she thought wretchedly, I can't be falling in love with him. Can I?
Guy, on the other hand, had his own problems to worry about. Tip offs from his informants throughout the villages in and around Sherwood had failed to pay off. Just when it seemed that Robin and his motley crew were within his grasp, they managed to escape into the forest like shades at night. It was almost as if they had been forewarned, but for once Guy had been sure that he had discovered all those who would betray their pay masters.
He dismissed the guard and sat in silence downing his wine in solemn thought. Emma too, ceased to talk and listened to the drone of voices from lower in the hall, broken only by the occasional raucous laugh of one of the serving wenches. She watched as one of the serving girls poured ale into the proffered tankards of the men of arms lolling on the benches. The girl was busty, dressed in a scruffy dirty dress, with hair loosened by a day of hard work and neglect. Laughing heartily she was pulled onto an ample lap and kissed by one of the older guards. Emma felt a pang of envy. She looked so carefree, so at ease, able to take her pleasure where she would, unlike her. Stuck here on this dais, her future and her body were mere political pawns. Her heart was of no interest to anyone, or the wishes of her soul. Her glaze settled on Guy once again and then flitted away quickly when she realised he was staring at her too.
Emma busied herself with her food, fighting the faint blush that coloured her cheeks. She was too troubled to eat and just harried her food on her manchet. Her triumph at her small victory in keeping Percy away had subsided, replaced by dull realisation that the war was far from over. How many times could she keep her uncle and his nefarious friends at bay? How long until she was married off to someone even more repulsive?
Maybe in the end, it wouldn't really matter to whom she was married, if she couldn't have the man she really wanted. That unbidden thought shocked her out of her sulky reverie. Now she was just being stupid she chided herself. He was just a knight, a poor one at that and he probably wasn't even interested in her anyway. Everyone knew that men in his position had free access to the serving women of the castle and God knows, he didn't seem the chaste type. Maybe that was what appealed to her, his dichotomous nature, ruthless yet sometimes kind, licentious yet also a man of honour. Or perhaps, it was the way his wheat-blonde hair fell forward onto his smooth forehead when he laughed and how his eyes looked so green in the sunlight.
Deciding that her internal monologue was taking a turn for the worse, Emma stood and excused herself and stalked up to her chamber. If she ever needed time to be with her thoughts, this was it.
Chapter Five
The stables were dark and deserted at this time of the night, the staple hands had sloped off to talk in boasting tones to laughing kitchen girls. Even with the chill of the falling night the building was pleasantly warm, the air full of the smell of hay and horseflesh. Only the gentle snorts of the animals could be heard over the muffled sounds of laughter coming from the great hall. No one had seen her slip away, Emma hoped and she had not spotted anyone following her.
She was nervous, her stomach tight with fear and worry. These meetings were the safest way of passing on the information she gleaned off Guy, but still she was bitterly afraid of getting caught. After all, treason was no laughing matter and her rank wouldn't be that much protection.
It wasn't just herself that she was concerned about. The young girl she had come to meet was in more danger. She was daughter of one of the serfs from Wickham. Maude was small, not yet 10 years old, but she could slip in and out of the castle unseen and was as smart and cunning as any forest creature.
Pacing across the floor she heard Fury snicker and clamber ungracefully to his feet, almost as if he could sense her fear. Hearing a noise by the door, Emma ran fleet-footedly to the entrance.
"Maude, is that you?" she whispered, straining to see in the dark. Before she could cry out a gloved hand covered her mouth and she felt the cold sting of a blade against her throat. She was pressed up against the rough wooden wall of stables with no where to retreat.
The hand left her mouth; the blade enough of a deterrent to her trying to cry out and her assailant pushed her roughly into the deeper gloom of the stables. She gasped as she was pushed violently against the wall again, her back grazed by the roughly hewn timber. Her options were limited, should she try to make a run for it? No, who ever he was, he would probably have no problem with slitting her throat. He must have followed her out here. A desperate hope rose within her, maybe this had nothing to do with the meeting she was here for. That hope was short lived.
"How long have you been betraying me?" he hissed.
Guy. It was Guy. Emma let out an involuntary sob. The edge of the knife dug deeper into the soft flesh of her neck. She wished her could see his face, but in the gloom all she could make out was the shape of his head as he leaned into her.
"Answer me!" she heard whimpering like that of a lost child. With a shock she realised it had come from her.
"I..I never meant to betray you" she stammered hoarsely.
Guy let out a harsh laugh.
"Of course you didn't. You just accidentally told Robin and his friends where I would be, when I would strike.but you never meant to betray me" he mocked, his breathe hot on her cheek. She could feel tears running down her face, scalding, burning into her reddened cheeks.
"And to think, I thought you actually." he stopped himself and suddenly the knife was dropped from her throat. He moved away, his outline faintly visible in the dark.
Emma sank against the wall, unable to hold herself up any longer. She sobbed uncontrollably, unable to hold back the tide of despair and guilt that drowned all reason and hope in their path.
"I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, but it was the only way to stop him" she sobbed. The stables were so quiet she wasn't even sure that Guy was still there. Maybe he had already left and was summoning the guards.
"Who?" his voice was quiet. Emma gasped; he was still there, standing in the dark somewhere in front of her. He moved towards her and his face was illuminated in a chink of light that had tunnelled through the wooden planks.
"de Rainault" She had taken to calling him that, not Uncle, not even the Sheriff, but by his name, as if they were not related by blood. "It was part of the deal I struck with Robin.in return for him persuading Percy and any others to never come back, I gave him information." Emma was once again racked by sobbing; Guy stood motionless, torn by divergent emotions. Anger and blind fury at having been betrayed and a desire to hurt her, for having deceived him for so long. These feelings were not strangers to Guy, he had spent all his life angry with someone.and now he was in the position to make them pay. He dragged her roughly to her feet, and lifted his arm as if to strike. Yet, something stilled his hand, an unfamiliar sense of compassion.
Almost unaware of what he did, he carefully took her face in his hands, drawing her eyes in line with his.
He began to say something, then thought better of it. At this stage words could only make things more difficult. He leant in and with gentle tenderness kissed Emma, who with tears still streaming down her face was at first still with shock and then surprised herself and him with her responsiveness.
Emma pulled away. "I'm sorry, I can't do this" she cried, pulling herself out of his grasp and hurrying to the doorway, where De Rainault, with Maude struggling in his arms was standing.
It wasn't just the weather that had put her in such a foul mood; it was the thought of having to live with her damned uncle for who knew how long! God's teeth, she muttered as they rode in through the gates of Nottingham castle, why here?
The castle was bustling with all the usual activity of a market day. People and livestock crowded around makeshift stalls and the air was thick with the cries of merchants and the smell of cooking food. Now that the day was coming towards to an end, the town was thinning out as peasants and their families returned home.
They dismounted at the foot of the stairs to the great hall, Emma grimaced at the ache of her legs as she climbed down from her horse. Although she rode exceedingly well, she had always secretly hated the activity, much preferring to walk. Horses were just large smelly brutes that seemed to wait for the perfect opportunity to dump you in a large puddle of mud when you least expected it.
Her attention was diverted from the discomfort in her neither regions by a call from the great hall that sent small, ragged grooms scurrying out of the near-by stables to tend to the horses. Emma gritted her teeth and stalked up the stairs and into the dark smoky cavern of the great hall leaving her bedraggled men to trail behind her in a grubby train.
Nottingham castle was nothing like the airy and well-lit hall that she had grown up in Ireland. Clean rushes had always graced the floor and the sweet smell of herbs had hung on the air, masking the sourer scents of men and dogs. Her mother had always seen that the place was clean and comfortable and even after her death her father had always ensured that the place had been welcoming. Emma's heart tightened at the thought of her father, the loss was still too close, too sharp for comfort.
As she strode purposely down the centre of the large hall she noticed that the place seemed as fresh as old kennels and the inhabitants little above squabbling curs. The room was lined with grubby tables and trestles, separated by space to walk up to the main table that sat on a raised dais at the end of the hall. At the tables men were lounged about, some still in chain mail, others in various states of undress with tankards grasped in their hands and tongues loosened with cheap ale. While a lesser woman may have quailed at the sight, Emma was made of sterner stuff and had never lacked in confidence even as a child. Her father had always told her that even a woman should be brave and act with honour, and she was in no mood to disagree now.
She lengthened her stride and made for the dais. She was gratified that once the surrounding company caught sight of her presence that almost all conversation ceased. The only two that continued conversing were the two men sitting at the main table, one young and blonde, the other smaller, dark with a distinct rodent quality to his face. That, she concluded must be Robert, his looks were like those of her father. Luckily, she had taken after her mother and had inherited her tall stature and fairer complexion.
The blonde noticed her approach and stared at her in what could only be described as frank admiration. Robert noticed his steward's inattention and turned towards her. His face registered at first vague curiosity and then hardened into resigned acceptance.
"This must be my niece" he drawled to Guy of Gisburne, his steward and general whipping boy. Emma was wet and dishevelled and Robert viewed her with faint disgust. Emma didn't miss his expression, but didn't let it cause her any undue concern. She was a rather practical girl and although not vain, she was self-aware enough to realise that she was far from ugly. Then again, from what she had heard rumoured about her uncle he wasn't particularly interested in the fairer sex as a whole.
"I am Emma de Rainault, daughter of your poor departed brother, Jocelyn, may God rest his soul" she said quietly, her eyes flitting from her uncle's companion to Robert. Guy looked questioning to Robert; he had been unaware that the de Rainault clan had sired another brother. He had been uneven less aware that the brother had produced such an attractive daughter.
"Yes.and now you are to live here for a time.how.wonderful" the sheriff replied, his expression showing that he was less than ecstatic at the prospect. Ever since he had received the letter informing him of her coming he had garnered a faint hope that she might have been attacked by pirates or brigands on the journey. Obviously God wasn't feeling generous on this occasion. Why he had to get stuck with little brat? It certainly wasn't because he had been close to his youngest brother. They had hardly keep in contact after he had been married off to the daughter of some peat farmer in Dublin. For a younger son it had been a good marriage, he grudgingly conceded, she had been rather wealthy, but still, Ireland and a love match to top it off? It was had been almost too embarrassing for the family to bear.
The things he had to put up with he thought, inwardly sighing. To make matters worse his steward looked like he had been struck dumb at the sight of the wench. He sighed again. The sooner he could marry her off to some petty noble the better.
Emma sensed his lack of enthusiasm for her arrival, and was almost relieved that he appeared to not like her as much as she had already determined that she wasn't going to like him. He looked a cruel man, nothing like her father who had been as sweet and gentle as the land and wife that he had taken for his own. While her mother had died five years ago and she missed her still, it had always been her father that she had been closest too. He had permitted her to run a little wild perhaps, but she had loved him with a fierce fury and now he was gone, she felt alone and adrift in the world. The one thing that she clung to was the spirit of independence that he had taught her and a deep-seated wariness of his brothers.
After she was perfunctorily dismissed, a servant escorted Emma to the upper level of the great hall to a room that had been set aside for her use. After meeting the man downstairs she was less than surprised to find the apartments draughty and decidedly damp. The only thing that looked slightly appealing during this whole experience was her uncle's companion, whom he had pointedly not introduced her to. He was obviously his steward, a man in a position below her notice. After all, her family may be reasonably loathsome, but she was the heiress to a considerable fortune through her mother.
As Emma settled herself into the damp sheets and huddled under the slightly foul smelling furs, her last thought was of rebellion. She may have no choice in where she was living for the moment, but if her uncle thought he could marry her off to the nearest pox-marked hunchback, he had another thing coming.
Chapter Two
Emma stared into the afternoon gloom, her vision fixed on the darkened outline of Sherwood Forest against the sky. She had been pacing the castle battlements for hours, trying to think, trying to organise the myriad of thoughts that swam through her tired brain. After only two months of living at Nottingham the axe had fallen. Robert, her uncle, had found her a husband.
She could tell something was up the moment the servant had brought his summons. There had been no love lost between them at their initial meeting and familiarity had breed contempt on both sides. She hated him because he was rude, cruel and arrogant and he disliked her because she refused to be a biddable simpering girl.
Standing in Robert's chamber, the smug expression on his face had confirmed her worse suspicions. The Sheriff lounged cat-like on a chair, a goblet of wine held loosely in one hand, a rumpled letter in the other.
"I have some good news for you niece" he drawled "I have found you a husband"
Emma first felt shock and then had to suppress the overwhelming urge to scream incoherently at him. She forced down her rage and inquired in hard tones who her lucky bridegroom was to be.
"Sir Percy Worthington" Robert was obviously waiting for some kind of gratifying response, but Emma was speechless; The name meant nothing to her.
"He dined with us last week, short, balding..." the sheriff tapped the letter against the chair arm in irritation. Surely she must remember him? Percy had drooled at the sight of her and when Robert had suggested that there was a chance that a match could be made he had almost melted to the floor in delight. Of course, Robert mused, he wasn't quite the catch or social connection he had been hoping for, but he did owe him rather a lot of money and a few big favours.
Emma searched her memory. There had been many guests to dine over the last few weeks. Mostly cohorts of her uncle; sly, ambitious men with stained clothing and an odour of dissolution.
The saving grace of these social occasions was Emma's discovery that Sir Guy of Gisburne was actually a reasonable conversationalist. He had a habit of straying onto the topic of horses, but even so, he managed to fill her in on all the gossip and delight her with tales of his exploits. The blonde steward seemed glad to have someone other than her uncle and his cohorts to talk to and she was joyous to find out that he appeared to dislike Robert even more than she did.
In fact, over the last few weeks they had sought out each other's company frequently. At first, hesitantly, and then often when they both realised their friendship was mutual. Emma had known men like him before, friends and colleagues of her father who had taken time to talk to the impertinent little lady of the house. She had found that while they were often gruff and uncommunicative with their peers they found Emma to be someone that they could open up to, even though she was a well-bred female.
Guy was perhaps an unusual choice for a friend. He could be surly and often seemed possessed with anger against the world in general. With Emma, though, he seemed to make an effort to be civil and curb his temper and even amused when she didn't. One evening, not long after she had arrived, she had accidentally stubbed her toe on a stone step and had sworn in a decidedly unladylike manner while jumping up and down like a mad woman. Hearing the deep laughter of a man behind her, she had coloured deeply and turned to find Guy bent over in helpless laughter.
"I'm sorry, I've just never heard that expression before from a woman" he grinned down at her. . Emma had tried to assume a look of dismayed indignity, as befit her station, but had failed miserably and had laughed as well. From then on they had felt at home in each other's company. They had spent time alone together, sometimes out riding, other times in front of the fire with the light of the flames dancing in her hair. He had listened without interruption to her complaints against her uncle and the unfairness of life, while she had sat silently, piecing together the halting fragments of the past and present that occasionally seemed to haunt Guy.
Thinking back to that night jogged her memory, there had two men there that night, drinking and whispering with Robert. Percy must be the man that Guy referred to as "The Frog" because of his protuberant eyes and slimy appearance.
"You have got to be joking!" she cried.
Robert smirked. "I personally think you should be flattered by the proposal. His last wife died last year and he needs some one to look after his three children and provide for his." he paused to add emphasis "other needs".
Emma stared at him with cold fury.
"Never"
She spun around and stalked out of the room, almost running straight into the large chain-mailed chest of Guy.
She looked up into his face, and saw a look of confusion and concern in his green eyes. Emma felt her grip over her emotions begin to slip. Unheeded tears welled up and she choked out an apology and ran off down the hall, heading for the battlements that she had been pacing across ever since.
There must be some way out of this predicament, she thought. There was no way she was going to give up her youth, her body and her lands to that over- grown toad of a man. Emma racked her brains; maybe she could kill him? Perhaps she fake some horrible disease, madness even, to put him off? No, she cursed, it would never work; he might even find her more attractive. She pulled absent mindedly at the hem of her sleeve. God, it was hopeless. Appealing to Robert's better nature would never work. He didn't have one. Maybe Guy could help? She dismissed that thought immediately, they may be friends of a sort, but he had no power to alter her uncle's plans.
As darkness fell around her she heard sounds of activity far below her, the metallic ring of weapons and the snorting of horses. Sir Guy and about twenty of his men of arms were preparing to make a night time visit to Wickham, a small village in the shadow of Sherwood Forest. He had heard rumours that a local outlaw, Robin Hood, and his men were camped there while one of their friends was ill. Of course, these rumours in the past had always failed to be true and Guy and the Sheriff had been involved in cat and mouse hunt for the outlaw for years. Guy, though, seemed determined to catch the wolf's head and had detailed both his hatred for Robin and his plans for his demise to Emma during the long evenings.
Emma had never met a criminal before, or much to do with the peasant classes except occasionally when they had come to either pay tribute or seek justice from her father's court. The servants she had grown up with were from serf families, of course, but she had never gone to their homes or experienced their way of life. She viewed Saxons with faint suspicion, she supposed, and certainly had no reason to feel sympathy for those who flouted the King's law. After all, it was men like Robin Hood that made the forests unsafe for any person of her class to travel through. Many had been attacked and although Robin Hood had never killed any of his victims he had robbed them of all their wealth and scared them half to death.
"Of course!" she cried, startling a crow perched near by. It was obvious, the answer to her prayers was Robin Hood.
Chapter Three
What had seemed a brilliant plan last night was quickly appearing to have been a bad idea in the cold crisp morning. Staring in the the polished metal that served as a mirrot, she straightened her dark green gown and made a cursory attempt to tidy her long blonde hair. She had given up covering her hair, the headpieces that noble English women wore annoyed her and she had never worn them at home in Ireland. Emma knew that such immodesty probably shocked some of the other well-bred women present in the castle, but she also shrewd enough to realise that some of the unflattering comments muttered in her wake arose from jealousy.
Rising early, before either Robert or Guy had appeared, she had walked to the stables and ordered a horse be saddled. At home, a groom would have always accompanied her on a ride, for decency's sake. Here, though, her uncle seemed unconcerned with her honour and so when a groom had half- heartedly gotten to his feet to accompany her, she had dismissed him and no one had argued. For once she has cause to thank her uncle for his lack of regard for her. On this ride she wanted no company.
As she rode towards the outskirts of Sherwood Forest she felt a small tingle of anxiety. The forest was huge and sprawling, whole villages existed in it's midst as did a thriving sub-culture of run away serfs and poachers.
The dark interior of the forest was dappled with sunlight from gaps in the canopy where older trees had succumbed to age. The *** of light and dark played tricks with your eyes and Emma felt a creeping nervousness in her belly. Although in theory the Sheriff and various officials policed it, the forest was not a place for the faint-hearted and certainly not a woman alone.
For Emma, though, the possibility of being attacked and murdered, compared to being married to the poxy Percy, was worth the risk. Her main concern was that she may not run into the people she was seeking, but she was hoping that they may still be somewhere in the Wickham area.
She travelled for over an hour, passing through small villages that lay on the road, curious peasants stopped their morning chores to quietly stare as she rode past.
By the time the sun had risen to almost overhead she was beginning to lose hope. The forest had opened up a little, the trees were alive with the sound of birds and small animals foraged in the rich undergrowth.
She made an easy target but so far no one had taken the bait. Of course, just in case her plan went awry she had a back up plan. Hidden under the folds of her long burgundy cloak was a sharp and well oiled broad sword. Being brought up in Ireland in the company of mainly men had had it's advantages, the most useful to her at the moment being that her father's men had thought it amusing to help the little Emma to pursue her interest in learning to fight with a sword. She wasn't exactly an expert, but she had bettered fair opponents in the past. Although she was nowhere as strong as a man, she was a thoughtful and wary fighter and often gained the advantage because her opponents underestimated her abilities because of her sex.
She smiled in memory of the shocked face of her father's friend when she had unarmed him as a child of 14. Unfortunately, as she got older her father had begun to question the wisdom of having a daughter that could earn a wage as a man at arms and had tried to curb her wilful nature somewhat. Still, he had been a good father, very lenient and kind to her after the death of her mother.
Emma was torn from memories of her childhood by the crack of a branch to the left of the track. The footfall was too heavy to belong to an animal. She stiffened in her saddle; her left hand feeling it's way instinctively to the hilt of her blade.
Her head swung to the right as another noise gained her attention. Fury, the horse she had borrowed from Guy without his knowledge, suddenly reared up as two men bearing long bows appeared on the road in front of her. With difficulty she controlled her frightened mount and looked behind her for an escape route. That way, too, was blocked by a burly man in a shaggy bear skin rug and a small dark man dressed in black leather.
She turned and face the two men in front. One was tall, blonde and lean; good looking but rather grubby. His companion was shorter, more compact and looked decidedly less trust-worthy than his friend.
Emma smiled to herself. At last, she had found what she had been hunting.
Chapter Three
"I'm still not sure what you want" Robin offered her a ragged piece of bread. Emma declined. There was no telling where it had come from. She took another cautious drink of the mead that she had been convinced to drink. She had tried to decline but Will, as she had discovered the murderous looking one was called, and fixed her with such a glare that she had decided to take it.
"I'm offering you information in return for a small favour. That's all" Emma smiled sweetly at Marion, but the small woman stared back in a rather unfriendly manner. Ungrateful cow she thought. God's teeth, don't these people realise what I'm trying to do here! She was giving them a chance to spend some time without worrying about the Sheriff and Guy at their heels. Emma felt a small pang of guilt at the thought of Guy, but really there was no other way. Yes, she was betraying his friendship in a way, but the alternative was too horrible to bear. She would make it up to him somehow; a brief image of possibly how flitted through her mind and she blushed slightly.
"And you want us to, what was the word.dissuade this man from making it to Nottingham?" Will asked "and in return you'll tell us all the Sheriffs movements for the next month?" he sneered.
"Why should we trust you.a De Rainault?" he drew closer to where she was delicately perched on a log.
Emma quailed, not so much at his tone, but the stench coming off his squalid clothing. She wasn't that intimidated by him, he had a wrestlers build, but a knife in the stomach would soon slow him down. Trying not to breathe, Emma smiled tightly back.
"Because she hates her uncle as much as we do" said Marion quietly. She had spent most of the afternoon in the background watching the strange blonde girl as she told her story. Almost against her better judgement she felt sympathy for her. Marion knew the frustration and terror she had felt at the thought of being married to some stranger, given away like a prize puppy.
That didn't mean she trusted her though. There was something in Emma's eyes that made it clear she wasn't the spoiled nobleman's child that she pretended to be. Finding that she had been wearing a sword had made Little John snort with laughter, amused that this rather small woman could possibly wield such a weapon. Marion on the other hand was sure that Emma was completely capable of looking after herself. She didn't seem the type to make rash decisions and she must have planned this little adventure very carefully.
"I do hate him, but not enough to marry to get away from him, especially when that man is one of his friends" Emma choked back tears. She had too much riding on this to fail.
Robin sat quietly for a while. Will had tried to dissuade him from trusting her, but he could see no reason to doubt her. After all, they had a lot to gain from the plan and Emma was the one to lose if it failed. "We'll help you"
Chapter Four
Two weeks later, at dinner in the great hall a messenger arrived bearing news for her uncle. As he read the letter Robert turned paler by the second.
"God's blood!" he spluttered, grabbing a goblet of wine and swallowing it down. Half it's contents ran in rivulets down his greasy tunic.
Emma looked up from the meat she was delicately cutting into small pieces.
"What is it uncle?" she asked sweetly. "Nothing bad I hope?" She caught Guy grinning at her and smiled back.
Robert threw her a look of rabid dislike.
"It seems that your prospective bridegroom has changed his mind" he tossed the letter down. Although it was impossible, he had a niggling feeling that somehow Emma was responsible for this.
The letter didn't spell out what had changed his mind, just that certain events had occurred to make him reassess his position. It certainly explained why he hadn't shown up for dinner as planned last evening. Well, on the up side, maybe he could find someone richer this time for her, and still wipe off his debts to Percy.
Emma was lost in her own thoughts. Guy was busy talking to one of the guards who had come up to the table with news and he was unaware of her gaze. She had found herself unable to stop looking at him and she had developed this strange sense of knowing when he was in a room with her. God, this can't be happening she thought wretchedly, I can't be falling in love with him. Can I?
Guy, on the other hand, had his own problems to worry about. Tip offs from his informants throughout the villages in and around Sherwood had failed to pay off. Just when it seemed that Robin and his motley crew were within his grasp, they managed to escape into the forest like shades at night. It was almost as if they had been forewarned, but for once Guy had been sure that he had discovered all those who would betray their pay masters.
He dismissed the guard and sat in silence downing his wine in solemn thought. Emma too, ceased to talk and listened to the drone of voices from lower in the hall, broken only by the occasional raucous laugh of one of the serving wenches. She watched as one of the serving girls poured ale into the proffered tankards of the men of arms lolling on the benches. The girl was busty, dressed in a scruffy dirty dress, with hair loosened by a day of hard work and neglect. Laughing heartily she was pulled onto an ample lap and kissed by one of the older guards. Emma felt a pang of envy. She looked so carefree, so at ease, able to take her pleasure where she would, unlike her. Stuck here on this dais, her future and her body were mere political pawns. Her heart was of no interest to anyone, or the wishes of her soul. Her glaze settled on Guy once again and then flitted away quickly when she realised he was staring at her too.
Emma busied herself with her food, fighting the faint blush that coloured her cheeks. She was too troubled to eat and just harried her food on her manchet. Her triumph at her small victory in keeping Percy away had subsided, replaced by dull realisation that the war was far from over. How many times could she keep her uncle and his nefarious friends at bay? How long until she was married off to someone even more repulsive?
Maybe in the end, it wouldn't really matter to whom she was married, if she couldn't have the man she really wanted. That unbidden thought shocked her out of her sulky reverie. Now she was just being stupid she chided herself. He was just a knight, a poor one at that and he probably wasn't even interested in her anyway. Everyone knew that men in his position had free access to the serving women of the castle and God knows, he didn't seem the chaste type. Maybe that was what appealed to her, his dichotomous nature, ruthless yet sometimes kind, licentious yet also a man of honour. Or perhaps, it was the way his wheat-blonde hair fell forward onto his smooth forehead when he laughed and how his eyes looked so green in the sunlight.
Deciding that her internal monologue was taking a turn for the worse, Emma stood and excused herself and stalked up to her chamber. If she ever needed time to be with her thoughts, this was it.
Chapter Five
The stables were dark and deserted at this time of the night, the staple hands had sloped off to talk in boasting tones to laughing kitchen girls. Even with the chill of the falling night the building was pleasantly warm, the air full of the smell of hay and horseflesh. Only the gentle snorts of the animals could be heard over the muffled sounds of laughter coming from the great hall. No one had seen her slip away, Emma hoped and she had not spotted anyone following her.
She was nervous, her stomach tight with fear and worry. These meetings were the safest way of passing on the information she gleaned off Guy, but still she was bitterly afraid of getting caught. After all, treason was no laughing matter and her rank wouldn't be that much protection.
It wasn't just herself that she was concerned about. The young girl she had come to meet was in more danger. She was daughter of one of the serfs from Wickham. Maude was small, not yet 10 years old, but she could slip in and out of the castle unseen and was as smart and cunning as any forest creature.
Pacing across the floor she heard Fury snicker and clamber ungracefully to his feet, almost as if he could sense her fear. Hearing a noise by the door, Emma ran fleet-footedly to the entrance.
"Maude, is that you?" she whispered, straining to see in the dark. Before she could cry out a gloved hand covered her mouth and she felt the cold sting of a blade against her throat. She was pressed up against the rough wooden wall of stables with no where to retreat.
The hand left her mouth; the blade enough of a deterrent to her trying to cry out and her assailant pushed her roughly into the deeper gloom of the stables. She gasped as she was pushed violently against the wall again, her back grazed by the roughly hewn timber. Her options were limited, should she try to make a run for it? No, who ever he was, he would probably have no problem with slitting her throat. He must have followed her out here. A desperate hope rose within her, maybe this had nothing to do with the meeting she was here for. That hope was short lived.
"How long have you been betraying me?" he hissed.
Guy. It was Guy. Emma let out an involuntary sob. The edge of the knife dug deeper into the soft flesh of her neck. She wished her could see his face, but in the gloom all she could make out was the shape of his head as he leaned into her.
"Answer me!" she heard whimpering like that of a lost child. With a shock she realised it had come from her.
"I..I never meant to betray you" she stammered hoarsely.
Guy let out a harsh laugh.
"Of course you didn't. You just accidentally told Robin and his friends where I would be, when I would strike.but you never meant to betray me" he mocked, his breathe hot on her cheek. She could feel tears running down her face, scalding, burning into her reddened cheeks.
"And to think, I thought you actually." he stopped himself and suddenly the knife was dropped from her throat. He moved away, his outline faintly visible in the dark.
Emma sank against the wall, unable to hold herself up any longer. She sobbed uncontrollably, unable to hold back the tide of despair and guilt that drowned all reason and hope in their path.
"I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, but it was the only way to stop him" she sobbed. The stables were so quiet she wasn't even sure that Guy was still there. Maybe he had already left and was summoning the guards.
"Who?" his voice was quiet. Emma gasped; he was still there, standing in the dark somewhere in front of her. He moved towards her and his face was illuminated in a chink of light that had tunnelled through the wooden planks.
"de Rainault" She had taken to calling him that, not Uncle, not even the Sheriff, but by his name, as if they were not related by blood. "It was part of the deal I struck with Robin.in return for him persuading Percy and any others to never come back, I gave him information." Emma was once again racked by sobbing; Guy stood motionless, torn by divergent emotions. Anger and blind fury at having been betrayed and a desire to hurt her, for having deceived him for so long. These feelings were not strangers to Guy, he had spent all his life angry with someone.and now he was in the position to make them pay. He dragged her roughly to her feet, and lifted his arm as if to strike. Yet, something stilled his hand, an unfamiliar sense of compassion.
Almost unaware of what he did, he carefully took her face in his hands, drawing her eyes in line with his.
He began to say something, then thought better of it. At this stage words could only make things more difficult. He leant in and with gentle tenderness kissed Emma, who with tears still streaming down her face was at first still with shock and then surprised herself and him with her responsiveness.
Emma pulled away. "I'm sorry, I can't do this" she cried, pulling herself out of his grasp and hurrying to the doorway, where De Rainault, with Maude struggling in his arms was standing.