Chapter 18: "Urgent business!"
Gisborne's drink-reddened eyes glared at the informant before him. "Are you sure?"
Just as sure as I can be, my lord," the man insisted. "My son Eric delivers firewood to Rufford Abbey twice a week, and the place was buzzing with the news! The Lady Marian has gone back to Sherwood. I'll stake my life on it!"
"You are, imbecile," Gisborne warned, "you are. Why back to Sherwood? Her father is still hiding in the abbey."
"They say she left in forest dress and in the dead of night, my lord."
Gisborne tossed two copper pennies to the floor and quickly left the room.
The knight's steps took him passed Lady Hildegard's door; the black-hearted wretch, Guy tried to slither by unnoticed. Not an easy feat since she always left her door open to observe the goings on outside. No matter what the time – night or day, she missed precious little.
"You!" Come along!" She ordered.
Her scratchy shrill shriek caught Guy up short and he was obliged to respond. The leather-clad man released a labored sigh then entered the lady's chamber. "My lady, I have urgent business with the Sheriff."
"Urgent?" The old crone spit the word at him. "You stay hold up in there with drink half the time!" Hildegard lowered her head and her voice, "How was she, eh?"
"My lady?" Gisborne squirmed under her scrutiny.
"That wench that was up here last night, you fool! You think I'm blind? You think I lived this long not knowing what is going on under my very nose?"
Again Gisborne squirmed. It was the Sheriff's insistence that forced him to occupy the chamber next to hers – all the better to be at Hildegard's beck and call. It was his punishment for not finishing her off when he had the chance.
"A pretty confession that will make," she mused. "Or do you confess anything at all?" Her cackle was wearing on the knight's nerves; but he made no reply.
"Go and attend to your 'urgent' business…but do not be gone too long."
Marian was deep in Sherwood when the sound of splashing stopped her in her tracks; her forest instincts returned instantly. Slipping easily into the undergrowth, she made her way to a better vantage point. A dazzling flash of light caught her eye near the water's edge as the sun glinted off the surface of a sword. It was not the sword of a forester or soldier, it was a scimitar. The only person she knew of in Nottinghamshire that carried a Saracen blade was Robin.
Without thinking she scooted closer letting her fingers caress the worn leather belt and grasp the ivory hilt. A sense of warmth washed over her, followed quickly by nervousness as she realized he must be near. Heart pounding, she ducked into the maze of vines and greenery. Safely out of sight she scanned the lake; she saw him floating lazily across the surface.
Her mind splintered into a thousand questions. What if Robin would not take her back? What if he could never understand why she left him? Their last meeting was still fresh in her mind; Robin pulled away from her, refused her help. And she was, for the first time, acutely aware of how deeply she hurt him. Always before her thoughts were on her pain, her loss, never his. Just then movement on the lake disturbed her reflection.
Unaware of her presence, Robin stood up. He tossed his head from side to side shaking the water from his hair, his chest glistening in the sunlight. Lost in the vision, Marian was not aware she was sliding closer to the water. Unwittingly dislodging a sizeable rock, she watched in horror as it rolled unimpeded into the lake. PLOP!
Looking quickly from side to side, Robin caught a glimpse of movement in the bushy shrubbery - a flash of lily white skin. He dove underwater and swam close to the muddy bottom heading for the tall reeds framing the rustic lake. Breaking off a sturdy stalk below the surface to muffle the sound, he cleared the water from the reed and breathed easily underwater – waiting.