Chapter Sixteen

"You complete and utter fool," Marian scolded Charlotte that night as the two prepared for bed. "You could have gotten yourself killed, and worse, you've put Robin's plans in jeopardy!" Charlotte, who was braiding Marian's raven black hair (marvelling at how soft and beautifully shiny it was), sighed.

"I'm sorry," Charlotte insisted for the twelfth time, "but if it hadn't been for me, then Robin wouldn't have the book now."

"True," Marian replied, her brow furrowed. "But still… you are more trouble than you are worth."

"I know," Charlotte replied, grinning. "I can't help it."

Little John and Djaq sat inside the dark, gloomy tavern, waiting for Robin. Surely he couldn't be far…

A dark figure approached the two, his head hooded. Robin nodded once, which was the signal. Djaq stood up and John yawned in reply, both mentally running over their jobs. Adrenaline rushed through all three as they prepared themselves for their greatest robbery yet.

That night, Charlotte honestly couldn't get to sleep. She tossed and turned, constantly aware of the sleeping Marian in the bed beside her. Even in her sleep, Marian appeared ready for anything and slightly stressed, with her features firm.

Exasperated, Charlotte slipped out of bed. Maybe a night-time ride would calm her nerves. She dressed hastily and tied what was left of her hair into a messy ponytail with a white ribbon. Silently, like a creature of the night, Charlotte made her way down to the stables. The guards who had been posted outside there were fast asleep.

'Typical,' Charlotte tutted in her head, then smiled at how much she sounded like the Sheriff.

Choosing a chestnut mare, Charlotte saddled the horse and made a quick getaway. She then proceeded to ride into the night, until the new sun was warm on her back, announcing a new day. She found herself on the outskirts of the forest, fairly close to where she supposed that Marian lived. Only then did she permit herself to cry.

Charlotte felt as if her heart had been ripped in two. She had endured heartbreak and hardship before, so she was confident in her strength, but everyone needs to cry. It is impossible to be in control all the time. Thinking about it, Charlotte realised that she had cried more often than she ever had before in the last week.

When Charlotte was only a girl, her mother died in childbirth. Her father died not long after, leaving her and the boys all alone. She had watched both parents die- an unnecessary agony. Her youngest sister, Estelle, had been taken in by a wealthy aunt. Apparently, Charlotte and the boys were too 'uncivilised' for her aunt. They had never seen Estelle again, but Charlotte knew that she was already married off. Estelle was now only twelve; the same age that Charlotte had been when she had been forced to become the parent. That was eleven years ago.

She, Ewan, Isaac and Caleb were orphaned, but inherited their father's house… and their father's debt. They lived off what they could beg for, find or steal. No-one cared for them, except for a kind nun who gave them bread and meat once a week. The nun died after only one year of helping Charlotte's family. Charlotte had been born a lady, and raised a peasant.

It was hard enough being the boys' sister as well as having the extra job of being the mother. Ewan was too full of dreams to earn a living as an artisan, Isaac wanted to become a knight and Caleb was by far too young to earn any money at all.

'But we toughed it out,' Charlotte thought, proud of her brothers. Indeed, they had. Ewan was sent off to live in a monastery so that he could receive an education, and when he came of age, Isaac went off to be a page. He was a squire now. Young Caleb would head off to a monastery as soon as possible; only unlike Ewan, Caleb would be a monk one day. It was his dream.

Charlotte lay down on the dew-covered carpet of lush, green grass, closing her eyes and placing her hands behind her head.

Then Daniel had shown up, turning her world upside down. Ah, dear Daniel. The mere thought of his name sent shivers running down her spine and happy tingles straight to her toes. Daniel was her first- and only- love.

Charlotte remembered very clearly the day that he had proposed to her. It was summer; the joy of the peasants had been almost tangible in the air. Up to his usual antics, Daniel had climbed on to the thatched roof of his father's house. Charlotte had joined him.

"I love summer," he had told her, his hazel eyes bright. "Summer reminds me of you, my angel; bright and full of energy." They talked until night fell, then Daniel had kissed her hand softly.

"Charlotte, my summer angel, will you do a poor man a huge favour?"

"That depends what the favour may include," Charlotte replied, grinning. She remembered playing with a lock of his curly coal bronze-gold hair.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, his husky voice entirely serious.

"Yes!" she had cried, perhaps too eagerly. Daniel laughed. His laugh was the most wonderful sound in her world then, and she would do anything to hear it now. Charlotte had loved Daniel obsessively, becoming distraught at the mere thought of being separated from him. Charlotte fingered the ring that she wore on a cord around her neck. She had not worn that ring since that fateful day…

"Your betrothed is dead," the messenger had said bluntly. "He died a hero's death, protecting the king. His body lies in Acre."

Daniel had been drawn in by the glory of war.

"I will make you proud," he had sworn, slipping the engagement ring on to her finger. "When I return, we will marry." What a naïve fool she had been, believing that he would return. Charlotte used to dream of him running up the pathway, his arms wide. He would fling them around her and hold her close, telling her how much he had missed her. Now whenever she dreamed of him, she saw his mutilated body lying in a pool of blood… Charlotte shook her head. That door had closed. Slammed, more like.

Then there was her most recent loss… but that was mourning for another day.

So here she was, drenched in morning dew and shivering with cold. The sun was now very high in the sky, but suffused with grey clouds. Another dead day. Running her fingers through her now messy, half-out ponytail, Charlotte tried to return to the present day. For a long time, she was unsuccessful.