Marian's eyes rolled to the back of her head in pain infused delirium. The wooden chair creaked it's protest as she rocked back and forth, moaning with displeasure. The room was dark and windowless, she had sat in there, tied humiliatingly to a chair for two days now, cold and alone, not knowing if she was dead...or just in a hell of her own imaginings.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door opened, letting a faint stream of light in. She stopped moving and stared dumbly at the person standing in the doorway. The candle that he was holding shed dim light upon his features, and Marian screamed in horror as she recognized that it was the Sheriff.
He walked in the room, carrying a bag and a pad of paper under his arm. Marian yelled in a hoarse voice, "Thou art a bloody murderer!" And she tried to spit on him, but she could not will any saliva to her mouth. The Sheriff laughed ridiculingly, and brought a chair from a far corner of the small room and sat directly in front of her, setting the bag on the floor between his feet, and the pad of paper in his lap.
"Shut up, girl, I mean tha no harm," he said calmly.
"Like Hell!" she spat, leaning forward, almost toppling the chair. The Sheriff smiled sardonically, pushing her back, "Don't thou trust me?"
"I trust thee about as far as I can throw thee."
The Sheriff fell into a gale of laughter, "Thou art very witty, Mary Gisbourne."
Her eyes widened at the mention of her name, and the Sheriff smiled, "Ah, as I see that now I've got thy attention, let's get down to business." He opened the bag and retracted an inkpot and pen, flipped to a clean page on his pad, and readied himself to write.
"Now, tell me Mary, dost thou know of my son's whereabouts?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, waiting for her answer. She sat there, perplexed, mouth agape. He motioned for her to speak, and her eyes narrowed in a threatening glare, "Why would I tell thee?"
"I could motivate thee," he said, reaching into his bag a second time, bringing out a jar, and opened it, holding it under her nose, "What does it smell like to thee?"
Marian inhaled tentatively, comprehended what it was, but was too afraid to speak. The Sheriff smiled, "Tha must know where he is hiding."
"Who said he was hiding?"
"Mary," he said, quickly loosening the ropes that bound her to the arm of the chair to bring her hand further over the edge, then tightening the ropes before she could protest, "Thou art on dangerous ground."
"Thy threats mean nothing," she said, her jaw stuck out stubbornly. The Sheriff uncapped the jar and held it above her hand, tipping it so a yellow liquid poured out of it, oozing slowly over her hand.
"Last chance, my child," he said. Marian looked at him square in the eye, "How can thou give me a chance when thou hast never given thy own child one?"
He yelled in anger, and held the burning candle under her hand that dripped with oil. Her tortured shrieks mixed with his growls as the oil bubbled. Her skin screamed mercy, but she did not, for she knew that she was suffering for Robert.
She thought of his intriguing blue eyes, and the way his dark hair would always fall into them. She thought of the feel of his hand on hers, and the livid white scar on his cheek. Through the pain, all she could think about was him.
She loved him, she realized suddenly through the pain. And that's why she suffered. For her love.
For Robert.
He raked his fingers through his hair, and paced around the camp with growing anxiety. Robert would not eat a bite of the venison stew that Tuck had made, or sip any of Mother Marie's soothing herb tea. The other thieves watched nervously as their friend took in the news that Scarlet had just told.
Marian had been captured by the Sheriff.
"Rob," John reached his hand out to comfort him.
"No!" Robert growled, shrugging away from his touch. He was unable to shake the anger growing inside of him.
"Wha' are we goin' t' do, Rob?" John asked. Robert stood near the fire and Scarlet shivered, seeing dangerous golden sparks reflect from his eyes. The whole group waited in silent anticipation as they waited for his reply.
"We must..." his voice broke and he lifted his head to look at the band, "We must go to Nottingham and carry out a performance of dire heroics." A gasp exhaled from the gathering, but Robert was not quite done.
"It has been too many years since I first sought refuge beneath the strong boughs of these trees, since I was cast away from society. I have seen too much death, pain, and suffering to carry with me, and this burden is weighing heavily on all of our shoulders," he glanced around and noted their agreeing nods.
"Do we really have to stand for this? This injustice that has been served upon our plates, but has not succeeded in satisfying our hunger? Do we stand idly by as our friends and families perish around us? Should we take this chance and answer the call that has echoed many times through this forest?" Robert paced in front of the entranced people, a tone of purpose rising in his voice.
"Evil thrives when good men do nothing. And I will not remain unheard a moment longer. I will not let the evilness that exists Nottingham prevail!"
A cheer rose from the group, before huddling closer to Robert to listen to his plan.
The sky was was cloudy and dark, threatening rain, and birds twittered nervously in the trees, warning others of the danger of getting wet. The air was crisp and clean, and as she took a deep breath, she felt the very first pang of dread in the deep recesses of her stomach. Christine turned to look behind her, just to make sure there was no one coming up the road. To her dismay, a great, black carriage was advancing quickly upon her. How could she have not heard it?
Out in the open, unprotected by pine nettles and wide fronds, frightened her to no end. She paused, holding her hand to her heart and felt it's rapid beat, breathing heavily. Panic struck her in full force as she darted quickly off of the road and dashed into the darkened forest that surrounded the ancient road. Once off the road, she crouched behind a thorny bush, waiting for the travelers to pass.
"What was that?" the driver of the carriage whispered to himself as he saw a figure run into the forest from the road. Slowing the horses, he halted the carriage, stepping down to inspect the mysterious happening. Though, as he was about to trek into the woods, a voice called out to him from the cabin of the vehicle.
"Matthew?" the voice called, "Why have we stopped?"
Matthew turned his head away from the woods and said, "Nothing, milord, we'll get going in a moment..."
Guy peered out the window at his driver, shaking his head, "Am I paying him to piss?"
"We really must be going, Matthew, 'tis urgent that I reach Nottingham by nightfall."
Soon, the carriage started moving again and he finally sat back in his seat, fumbling for the flint in his pocket to light his pipe. Once lit, he reveled in the circling smoke, sighing his pleasure. Soft pats on the roof and windows signaled that it had started to rain. Smiling, he glanced out the window, only to see the trees passing at an increasing speed. The smile fell and he called to his driver, "Matthew, slow down, I don't want to be killed."
The carriage did not slow down, but suddenly stopped. Unexpectedly, the door swung open, a hooded man standing there, his arm braced against the doorframe. Guy had flung his still-smoldering pipe onto the floor and sat shaking, against a corner of the cabin. The hooded figure said, "Get out."
"As a noble, I shall not. I order thee to let me go," Guy said, gathering courage as he spoke, feeling inside his jacket for the dagger that he kept there.
"If tha must refuse...I must make thee..."
He drew the knife and stabbed the air in front of him, as if to protect himself from the stranger. Leaping, he pushed the stranger from the door and jumped out into the rain, smiling evilly.
"Stupid trickster, thou art unarmed," he cackled, "Now prepare to die!"
A bright flash of lightning revealed a gathering of people, holding their swords at the ready, arrows cocked, and aimed at him. The man seemed to stand taller, making Guy drop his useless knife in fright, and he lowered his hood, his blue eyes piercing into Guy.
"Welcome to Sherwood, milord," Robert mocked, and watched as Guy Gisbourne fell into the mud in a faint.
Scarlet came from behind Robert, "Almost as unstable as Alan, eh?"
"E's ou' cold," John reported, kneeling by the unconscious man.
"He's also loaded," Much said, noting the full trunk and cabin. Thunder boomed loudly as the thieves pillaged through the luggage.
"Take only what we need, men," Robert reminded them as he watched Scarlet crouch over Guy and search through his pockets. His rough fingers grazed across a piece of paper, and he quickly withdrew it, opening it, and tilting the parchment towards the light.
"Bah, I don't know how to read," Scarlet scoffed, then turned to look at Robert, "Hey, thee can read." Robert took the note into his hands and his eyes raced across the page.
"If what this note says is true, this man is known as Guy of Gisbourne." The group felt a collective shudder shoot up their spines, for they have heard of the man. And these were not good things. They had heard of his cruelty he expressed onto his servants and the same courtesy onto his family. It did not sit well with John.
"Give me 'un goo' reason why we shouln' kill 'im righ' now?" he asked, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Robert ignored him, "This letter also says that his neice, Mary Gisbourne, has been captured by the Sheriff..."
"Two damsels in distress?" Scarlet raised an eyebrow.
"Must be," Robert said, scratching his stubble-covered chin.
"So why don' we kill 'im?" John asked.
"Because he might be of some use to us..."
The food left in the pot smelled wonderfully good. Christine was practically drooling from her perch in the tree high above the thieves' camp. She could just quietly climb down from the tree and to the pot, and...
No. The risk was too great. She had to wait for all of them to fall fully asleep, and then she could eat their leftovers without the chance of getting caught. But, the stew smelled mighty tempting...
After she had rushed off of the road, she saw the driver come to the edge of the forest, very near to where she was hiding. The sky had darkened surprisingly sooner than expected, but it was not dark enough for her to witness someone slink from the protection of the forest shadowed darkness and cuff the driver over the head. She had watched curiously as the man then hopped into the driver's seat and spur the horses into a gallop.
Though she was not as young as she used to be, her strong legs moved as she willed them, swiftly following after the racing black carriage as it rumbled down the road. Then, chasing after it as it turned onto a muddy back road, hiding behind a fallen oak as soon as the carriage stopped. Leaning forward she only caught bits and pieces of the conversation.
"...get out..."
"...let me go..."
"...refuse...thee..."
"...prepare to die..."
"...out cold..."
"...loaded..."
"...only what we need..."
To Christine's knowledge, and keen eyesight, she guessed that there was about seven thieves that had stolen the vehicle. It had started to rain, so she pulled the hood of her cloak down over her eyes, though it didn't give much refuge from the droplets. And that's when she heard it. The name left the hooded one's lips, like venom from a serpent's wrath. The name that was dreadful...horrid...evil...
"...Guy of Gisbourne..."
Her whole being went cold, and an uncontrollable shaking overcame her hands. Biting her lips and stilling them between her knees, she stretched her neck as far as it could go to hear more of what was being said through the noisy thunder and rain.
"...Mary Gisbourne...captured...Sheriff..."
Christine's hand flew to her mouth and she felt hot tears well up in her eyes, threatening to spill. It was true. The Sheriff had Marian, and had informed Guy of his intentions. Anger replaced fear as she watched the thieves unharness the horses and pull the carriage deeper into the woods. She looked on as the large intimidating man heaved Guy over his shoulders and trample after his friends.
She followed them.
And here she was, stuck in a tree, waiting, her mouth watering at the food below.
"Hell," she whispered to herself and jumped down nimbly, creeping stealthily towards the encampment, stalking towards the pot of unused food. Reaching it, she fell to her knees in ravenous hunger, whipping off her leather mask to ready herself to eat. She used her hands to spoon the thick, warm stew into her awaiting eager mouth, and soon it was gone. Licking her fingers, she sat back on her haunches, suddenly smelling something in the air that wasn't there before.
The hooded man stood behind her, arrow drawn dangerously to his ear, sinister thoughts in his mind. Christine stood slowly, her back still to him, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
"Who art thou?" he demanded. She turned cautiously, holding her hands before her, showing that she had meant no harm. Raising her head timidly, she said, "I-I-I was hungry..."
Robert almost loosed the arrow when he saw her features. He had seen the same straight nose, long brown hair, and gracefully arching eyebrows before...but on some one else. His eyes squinted in vacant recognition, he lowered the bow and stepped closer to her to examine her face better in the light.
On closer inspection, the features had changed, though not by much. Soft wrinkles showed around her eyes and mouth, grey hairs streaked through her brown hair, and her eyes were the color of the sky on a cloudy day. But he had been sure...
No...that was silly.
"...I-I-I'm sorry..."
"No," he said quietly, placing his hand on her shoulder, "Tha reminds me of some one I know..."
Christine was puzzled at this, and looked up into his face. It all came rushing back to her, like a giant wave upon the sandy shore. His face, it brought back memories of a dream she once had. And telling Marian to watch out for...two figures...
She reached out a hesitant hand and nudged his hood away from his face and let it fall to his shoulders. She touched the lengthy scar that marred his cheek. Yes. There was no doubt that this was the young man that had been in her vision of times past. A low whisper escaped her lips, and it was so faint that Robert almost didn't catch it, "Tha must know Marian."
It sounded more like a statement than a question.
Robert nodded his head sullenly, "I do know her, but she has fallen into trouble."
"I know..." Christine said, "You must tell me all."
"Why dost thou wear this mask?" Robert asked, running his fingers across the worn leather face that sat in his lap. Christine looked over at him from across the fire. She was still taking in all of the information that he had just disclosed. Her mouth opened and closed stupidly, and it took a gentle touch on her shoulder by Robert to rouse her from her thoughts.
"To save myself from persecution."
"What?" Robert was obviously confused as he handed her back the mask and watched her tie it securely behind her head.
"A long time ago, I was a noble...in fact, I was Guy Gisbourne's sister," she nodded towards the sleeping Guy, who was bound by thick robes near John's tent. Robert's mouth gaped open, but other than that, he did not seem surprised in the least. He had given up on doubt as of late, and something inside him told him that Christine was one to be trusted.
"And," she continued, "I was meant to marry a barron, a sheriff...one that tha must know pretty well..."
He had not told her his relations to the Sheriff of Nottingham. How could she...
"I am a seer, Robert of Loxley, do not question how I know these things," her eyes locked with his, "Henry Loxley was to be my husband. But my heart had only one owner...one that tha must also know..."
"Marian?" he asked, unsure of his answer.
"My daughter, Mary Gisbourne. Known to thee as Marian."
"Marian is a noble?" he asked in disbelief.
"Aye. We fled when we had the first chance, for we knew not when we would get another. Though, we were caught, Marian was sent back to my brother's, me with the Sheriff."
"How did tha get away?"
"'Tis my story, child, allow me to tell it as I wish," she said, scolding him, but then a smile passed across her lips, "I escaped. And fled into the Wastes of Barnesdale, knowing that the old forest would give me protection. There I stayed for seven years, growing used to the forest ways, hiding in a cave, becoming a hermitress. I even made this mask," she said, touching the leather upon her face, "To assure that none would recognize me."
"What of Marian?"
"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," she said, beginning to tell the story again, "I found her in the forest, nothing but a wandering, thin, starving waif of a thing...and believe thee me, I could hardly hide my joy. Or sorrow. Mind thee, though I had found my child, I could not reveal my identity to her, t'would have risked her life, and mine. So, we lived together, she knowing me only as Sarah, the hermitress, and I thinking of her as Marian, Lady of the Woods."
"And now I hear that she is captured by that Sheriff, so I journeyed as far as Sherwood Forest, and by an odd chance of luck, I met thee, dear Robert, and here my tale ends. Now, what dost thou plan to do about my girl in Nottingham Castle, this very moment?" she asked, looking at him expectantly.
"Well, I, uh..." he began, rubbing his arm nervously, looking everywhere but at Christine, for they had not devised a surefire course of action as of yet.
"A plan of some sorts?" she suggested, raising her eyebrows."
"A plan," a voice said, coming from behind a tent. The owner of the voice strode out and stood in front of them both, the fire casting dark shadows under his eyes, making him look menacing. Scarlet grinned, "A plan is just what we need."