Disclaimer: I do not own Robin Hood, Robin, Marian, et al. I have earned nothing from this endeavor but the joy that comes from the writing and the possibility of a nice comment or two.
Some Honey of His Own, Part 1
Much loved Mondays. It was the day he and Allan made deliveries to Nettlestone. The day he made a delivery to Emma the cloth dyer and her little girl.
His pulse picked up speed as he approached the last cottage on the lane, although he did so at a rather sedate pace. He hadn't had much to look forward to for many years, but now... now he looked forward to Mondays.
A small face with large brown eyes popped into the window opening. When those eyes met his, the small mouth stretched into a big smile. The face disappeared from the window and a faint "Mama!" floated out to him.
Much smiled and stopped and waited.
A moment later, the door flew open and banged against the outside wall, and three-year-old Avalee came rushing down the path, arms open and reaching. "Much!"
Much set down the basket and held out his arms; the little girl jumped into them and wrapped her own around his neck and planted a wet kiss on his cheek.
Much closed his eyes as joy filled him and threatened to overflow his body in the form of tears. But that just wouldn't do. He swallowed and blinked rapidly several times. "Hello, Avalee, how are you today?" he asked, the emotion making his voice a bit rough.
"Hungry," she said popping her finger into her small rosebud mouth, her eyes meeting his.
The joy faded and worry filled him instead. "Hungry? Where is your mum?" Emma was an attentive mother and would never allow Avalee to be hungry for long.
"She's sweeping," Avalee said around her finger.
"Sweeping?" he echoed. Oh, well... she's probably getting ready to prepare the evening meal, then. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Avalee shook her head and pulled her finger from her mouth. "Not sweeping. Sleeping."
Sleeping? It was the end of the day, almost time for supper. And now that he took a good look at the tiny person in his arms, her gown was stained, her face and hands dirty, and her hair, normally a wispy golden halo of blonde curls, was matted to her head.
Fear rushed through him. He set Avalee down and picked up the basket. "Come along, Avalee, let's go check on your mum, and I will find you something to eat, all right?"
She skipped ahead of him, but dread slowed his steps.
He stopped at the threshold even though Avalee had disappeared inside. "Emma?" he called. "It is Much. I have your delivery..."
When there was no response, he entered and glanced about the small space. It wasn't much larger than the camp; maybe a couple dozen paces the long way and half as many across. Two of the three windows were closed tight and the air was mostly stale and laced with a familiar scent that he couldn't quite place.
The fire was out, thank goodness. But not a good sign at all. Then he spotted Emma on her pallet in the far corner and his heart skidded to a halt.
Oh, no... "Emma," he choked out, swallowing against the sudden dryness.
He flew across the room and dropped to his knees next to her, his gaze raking her from head to foot, although she was covered by a blanket from the waist down. High spots of color contrasted vividly with her pallor. Her dark brown hair was moist and tangled; damp tendrils stuck to her forehead. The top part of her gown looked wettish, as well, and clung to her body. She thrashed slightly and moaned. Much wrinkled his nose as the stench assailed him.
Oh, mercy— no. He slammed his eyes shut against the vision of wounded and dying men lying in the blood-soaked sand. Yes, he knew that smell... the smell of blood and rotting flesh. His stomach roiled and he swallowed back the bile.
But he was not in the Holy Land and Emma needed help. He shook his head to dislodge the haunting images and opened his eyes. He took a deep breath. With a gentle hand, he shook her shoulder. "Emma, Emma, can you hear me?"
She stilled and her eyes fluttered open, but barely remained so. Her brown gaze was glassy.
That was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. His heart beat faster now, in fear. "Emma, it is me," he said. "What has happened?"
"Much?" she mewled, unable to focus on him, fighting to keep her eyes open. "What're doing 'ere? Go 'way." She attempted to turn away from him, but hadn't the strength, and could only close her eyes again.
His mid-day meal turned to a hard lump in his gut. "It is Monday. I come every Monday... What is wrong with you?"
He thought she'd enjoyed his visits. They'd developed a relationship of sorts. He thought. She'd seemed especially pleased to see him these last several weeks, and she almost always had a special treat for him; sometimes berries, sometimes a meat pie. Even offered him a small goblet of ale a fortnight ago.
But maybe it was just the delivery she looked forward to and not really him, and she was just rewarding the delivery man. His heart sank like a rock into his gut and he huffed harshly against the urge to cry.
Of course, it was not him. Of course, he had imagined something that was not there. He was a dreamer, after all. And he had started dreaming of... of...
He shook his head. Of course, he was stupid. Who would love a smelly outlaw like him?
"Avalee?" Emma asked weakly.
He looked at her. She was a beautiful woman with normally shiny dark hair and sparkling eyes and a full figure. She probably still loved her husband, who was not even dead a year yet; still grieved his passing. She wouldn't want the likes of a stinky unkempt man living on the wrong side of the law.
Well, it didn't matter. Even if she had no feelings for him, Avalee must have a mother. She had already lost her father to the sheriff's guards.
"A-avalee is fine but hungry," Much reassured her.
A frown wrinkled her brow. "My baby... I'm sorr... couldn't..." Her words were spoken in brief gasps of air.
"Do not worry. I will see to her, and then we'll see about you." Much nodded decisively.
Emma closed her eyes again and turned her head toward the wall, which was to say that it barely moved at all.
Much watched the lone tear that slipped down her cheek and into her hair. Something was very wrong. Aside from the obvious, of course. But this was not the time to figure it out.
Now— what to do, what to do? Food for Avalee first and then they must go after Djaq.
Or Matilda.
Or both.
Or maybe he should go for help first.
But how long had Avalee been without a bite to eat? He knew what it felt like to be hungry. And surely finding the tyke a scrap of food wouldn't take too long.
He jumped up and looked about for any kind of food. Well, there was the basket he'd just brought. He dumped its contents onto the table and scrabbled to find something, anything he could give the little girl to tide her over. Grabbing a hunk of bread, he thrust it at her. "Here. Eat this. We must go."
He grabbed her up and plopped her onto his shoulders.
"What about Mama?" Avalee asked from above Much as they hurried away from her home.
Much held onto her little legs, keeping her steady. "Your mum is sick. We are going to get help for her so that she can get better."
He glanced up and down Nettlestone's main thoroughfare, but did not see any sign of Allan. Much huffed. Allan was probably laid up somewhere. Blast it. Fine time for him to disappear.
Much made good time back to camp despite the added weight, slight as it was.
"Well, hello there," said Robin, smiling up at Avalee as Much hurried into camp. He looked at Much, brow arching over one eye. "Who's your lit—"
"Where's Djaq? I need Djaq." Much turned in a circle, scanning the camp and the immediate vicinity.
"Whoa, what's the matter?" Robin asked, his amusement faded immediately.
"It's Emma, Avalee's mother. She's sick with some sort of fever. She needs help quickly. Robin..." Much said in a low, urgent voice, leaning toward him. "...she's bleeding. A lot. I don't know what from. I didn't look, but we must get help."
"All right, Much," Robin said with a nod, now all seriousness. "Djaq isn't back from her drop-offs yet. I'll go fetch Matilda. Take Avalee back home and tend to Emma as best you can."
Much nodded. "It's the cottage at the far end with braided flowers on the lintel. 'Course, they are dead now, but..." It hadn't occurred to him until just then, but she must replace them regularly. How long had she been ill?
"We'll find it, Much, go on."
"Right." Much nodded and hurried off the way he'd just come.
~rh~
Much slid Avalee from her perch as he walked up the path to the door. He hoped Emma was still alive. She must be... She had to be. If only for Avalee's sake. He knocked and then opened the door.
"Emma, we are returned," he called, even though he didn't know if she'd actually hear him. But just in case she could, he didn't want to scare her. He went over and studied her. Her chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, and he released his breath. She lived. For now...
Robin said to tend to her, but how?
Fever...
Cool cloth on her forehead. Right.
Water and cloth, then. He glanced around but saw no water. Of course not. She'd been ill for who knows how long. He spied a pair of wooden buckets next to the door and called for Avalee.
"Come along, honey," he said. "Let's go get some fresh water. Mum needs a cool cloth and you could use a washing."
"A bath?" she asked, eyes lighting up.
Much faltered. A bath meant more than one bucket of water. And a large tub of some sort. But only nobles had bathing tubs. "I'm sorry, Avalee, no bath."
The little girl's face fell even as Much remembered that as a cloth dyer, Emma would have large tubs or pots to soak her cloths. "Wait... a bath you shall have. But first we have to tend to mum, then the bath, all right?"
Avalee smiled and clapped. "Yippee."
Much picked up both buckets in one hand and held out the other to Avalee. She tucked her dainty hand into his meaty one and looked up at him. Her eyes were the color of the shiny brown chestnuts found at the very southern end of the forest and looked at him with such trust. He fought to keep his smile in place. What did he know about taking care of a child? A girl child, at that. He swallowed against the anxiety welling within him.
A short time later, Much had wiped Emma's face and neck and arms, and she seemed a little more comfortable. It was difficult to be too close to her— the odor was stronger, and it brought back terrible memories. Memories of those he'd killed in self- defense and of Robin after he'd been attacked. Memories he'd just as soon banish than relive. He pushed them away.
He started a fire so he could heat the water for Avalee's bath and then cook supper. Maybe a nice stew with a thick broth. That would help nourish Emma back to health. He'd snuck a rabbit that he'd caught yesterday into the basket.
He dropped to a crouch next to Avalee. "Stay away from the fire, do you understand?" he asked, looking into her solemn brown eyes.
She nodded. "Mama says it is hot."
"Yes, that's right. If you touch it, it will hurt you."
"Ouchie," she said.
Much looked at her and chuckled. "Right. We don't want any ouchies."
After several more trips to the well, he finally had enough water for a bath and his stew. He dragged one of Emma's tubs into the room and filled it first with a bucket of cold water, then hot, and then cold until there was enough warm water for the small body.
"Your bath is ready, Avalee," he called.
She ran over to the tub and began tugging her gown over her head.
"Wh-what are you doing?" he asked, eyes widening. Oh, my...
"Taking a bath."
"B-b-but shouldn't you leave that on?"
"Mama always makes me take it off."
Much knelt beside her. "Avalee, I am not your mama or your papa, and I understand why your mum would want you to remove your gown when you bathe, but for today, I need you to leave it on."
"But why?" She looked at him with impossibly big eyes, and he thought he just might fall into them.
"Well, because... because..." Think, Much, think. "...it is dirty and it needs to be washed, too. And since your mum is sick, it might be nice if we washed it so she doesn't have to worry about it."
Avalee shrugged and let go of her gown and then climbed into the tub.
Much sighed in relief.
Keeping an eye on Avalee, he dug through the basket he'd brought and pulled out what he'd need for his stew. He'd skinned the rabbit earlier, in between trips to the well, and it was already simmering over the fire and filling the small cottage with its tantalizing scent and masking the other. He dropped the carrot slices, turnip chunks, and onion rings into the pot.
"Oh, dear," said Avalee after a time.
Much glanced over at her. "What's the matter?"
"I forgot the soap," she said.
"Oh. Well, tell me where it is and I will get it for you."
Avalee stood and pointed to the shelf above the table shoved in the corner. "In the crock."
Much grabbed the crock and looked inside. "Ah. It smells lovely. A lovely soap for a lovely girl."
Avalee giggled. "It is lavender," she said. "Mama makes it special."
He smiled at her. "Well, of course she does. A special soap for a special girl."
This time Avalee laughed and Much's heart soared at the sound. What a precious little girl. Sudden longing pierced his heart. A child loved without condition, without judgment. How would it be to have that kind of love all for his very own?
"You are silly, Much."
Much laughed. Yes, yes he was. Silly to think he was worthy of a great love. A love of his own. Of Emma's love or even Avalee's. He pushed away those thoughts, too. "Yes, sometimes I am. Now... do you like having your hair washed?"
She nodded. "But we do it last."
Much nodded, too. "Very well. Is it time, yet?"
"Uh huh." She plopped onto her bottom and, after taking an exaggerated gulp of air and holding her breath, she sank below the water.
"Avalee!" His heart stopped and he tried to grab for her, but she popped up again, dripping wet, her hair now plastered to her head. He exhaled in relief. "Oh, goodness, you scared me," he exclaimed.
"I had to make my hair wet for the soap."
"Of course you did…"
Drops of water glistened on her long dark lashes. She was a beautiful child, sweet and precious, and a sadness for her father washed over him. That he would never see his little girl again. Never watch her play or hear her laugh. Never comfort her when she cried over an ouchie.
Until recently, Much had never dreamed of having a family of his own. He'd thought maybe Emma liked him. Just a little, just enough to give him hope, but now he wasn't so certain.
But if Robin and Matilda did not hurry then Emma might also die, leaving little Avalee without her mother and dousing any spark of hope he might have left.
Where were they?
To be continued…