A BIT OF HIM, A LITTLE OF HER
"Anyone else as famished as I am?" asked Robin, as he, Marian, Guy and Meg wandered among the food vendor's stalls in Nottingham's marketplace. It was noon, the summer sun blazed overhead, and the marketplace and the inns were packed with hungry fairgoers.
"I could eat a horse—bones, hooves, tail, and all," responded Guy. "And drink a whole lake."
"Of water, or ale?"
"Ale, preferably."
"Let's get something here, and find a spot to eat in peace," suggested Marian. "Something a bit more appetizing than horse meat, if you don't mind."
They purchased several baskets of food and then retired, with a number of other families, to the sunny, grassy knoll just outside the city gate, away from the hot, dry dust and noise of the streets. Meg spread a blanket for their picnic, and the two couples sat down to the repast.
"Our children didn't want to join us? And where's Archer gone off to?" Robin wanted to know.
"Archer went to the Trip with Allan and Little John, and our children took John's orphans with them to watch the puppet show," answered Marian. She laughed. "After all the fuss Eleanor made about being too grown up for puppets and jesters, and it was her idea to invite the other children to go with her."
"Children grow up faster than they should," said Meg. "I'm glad that they can still play and have fun together."
"As long as it's not that kind of fun," quipped Robin.
"Oh, Robin!" said Marian, as she tossed a bread roll at him. He grinned and winked at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Guy's enigmatic smile, and wondered what it meant.
Rodger, and Eleanor? Surely not! They've been raised together. They tease each other, and fight and bicker, and in between are occasionally friends.
It wasn't as if the idea had never occurred to her. Oh, it had, many a time. But it had always seemed unlikely to her that the two would ever be more than friends.
Rodger and Eleanor. No, they would never—they're like brother and sister—aren't they?
Marian looked over at Guy and Meg as they finished their meal. Guy lay on his back on the blanket, sprawled out with the feral grace of a tiger, his head pillowed on Meg's lap. He smiled up at his wife, his expression peaceful and relaxed in a way it seldom was, as she smoothed his hair from his face.
Guy was just over fifty years of age. A heavy sprinkling of grey strands now streaked through the long, silky black hair that slipped through Meg's gentle fingers. A few deep lines, of sorrow and loss and regret, had carved into his strong features over the decades. But for all that he was still a very handsome man.
Somehow, she and Guy had managed to live next door to one another for many years, with their respective mates, in relative tranquility.
'I've loved you since the night we met,' he said to me at the celebration party in Locksley, just before he asked Meg to marry him, 'and I'll never stop loving you.' I wonder if he still—
No, I won't think of it. He never spoke of his feelings for me again after that night. He married Meg, and we left that part of our lives behind.
Meg's abundant curls were still a rich chestnut brown, though her once slender figure had plumped up with the bearing of three children. She was as pretty and rosy-cheeked as the day she became Guy's young bride, arm in arm with him on the snowy steps of the church in Nottingham one December day nearly seventeen years ago.
She loves him so much, thought Marian, and she's been good for him. She's helped him in so many ways. She gave him her whole heart in a way I never could, and it's made him happy, as happy as he'll ever be in this life. And she's given him the children I couldn't. I can't have any more children, and if I'm honest about it, I don't want any more. Motherhood comes naturally to Meg. It never did for me. Not that I don't love my daughter. I do, very much.
Marian had never fully recovered from Vaisey's attack. The wound had healed, but it had weakened her. She'd given birth to Eleanor with great pain and difficulty. No more children had come along after that.
Robin told me it didn't matter to him. He is satisfied with Eleanor as his daughter, and I'm thankful for it.
But Guy, he wanted a son to carry on his name. It would have mattered to him. If I had married him—
She glanced over at Robin. He smiled in his familiar, mischievously boyish way, his deep blue eyes twinkling at her, and took her hand in his, and the momentary confusion was swept away.
No, things are better as they are. I don't regret anything.
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"Here come our children," said Robin. "And they look hungry. Do we have enough food left?"
"There's plenty," answered Meg. "Did you like the puppet show, darling?" she asked Ghislaine as she caught her daughter in a hug.
"Oh, yes!" and Ghislaine went off into a lengthy description of the funny puppets and their adventures. Richard flopped down on the blanket next to his parents, and rummaged through the baskets of food.
Rodger and Eleanor, however, were still in dispute about the archery contest.
"I'd have won if not for that gust of wind, and you know it," she argued.
"You don't know that for sure."
"You're just mad 'cause you didn't win, either."
"I am not. I don't care that I didn't win."
"You're so bad at lying, Rodger. You couldn't tell a convincing lie to save your life. You wanted to win because you wanted to look good in front of Margaret. I saw her blow you a kiss!"
"Leave off about Margaret, already!"
Eleanor's response was a series of long drawn-out kissing noises, which served to fray, and finally snap, the last of Rodger's patience.
"All right, you asked for it, Eleanor!"
In a moment the two were in a tussle. They landed in a flailing heap, and rolled across the soft grass as they tried to pin each other down.
"You should've taught her your Nightwatchman moves, Marian," was Robin's languid remark at the spectacle.
Meg was busy getting Ghislaine something to eat, so Marian turned to Guy, urging him with an unspoken appeal to exert his authority and end the childish scuffle. But Guy was in a mellow mood, apparently, and disinclined to shift off the blanket to intervene.
He's pleased with himself just now, thought Marian, with a rising annoyance, because he silenced every man in that crowd who complained about Eleanor's participation in the archery contest. But that's Guy. Some things about him never change.
"Eleanor!" she called, when the fight dragged on to the point of ridiculousness. "Enough! No more of that! Come and have some dinner."
The two were on their feet now, but Rodger still had Eleanor grasped from behind in a bear hug.
"Take it back, Eleanor!"
"No!" she laughed, out of breath but defiant. "You can't make me!"
"I can, and I will!"
"Ouch! Stop it!" she cried as he lifted her off her feet.
"Rodger, enough!" Guy finally said. "Come sit down." Reluctantly, still laughing and breathless, the two sat down to eat.
Marian watched as Ghislaine finished her meal and got up to pick flowers, arranging them into a dainty bouquet to give to her mother. Her glossy black hair caught in the breeze and swirled about her face, which already held the promise of great beauty. Her dress, after a full morning at the fair, was still spotlessly white. She was a little lady, every inch of her—a picture of feminine grace and dignity at six years of age.
Marian looked back at her own daughter, and sighed. Eleanor, tall and boyishly slim, sat with her long legs folded under her in a most unladylike manner, and her dark hair falling in a messy braid. Her clothes were now stained with grass and mud. She was not as pretty as she had once been, nor as beautiful as she would become.
There's far more of the child than the woman in her, thought Marian. But rolling around with Rodger on the grass, wrestling with him? That has to stop. She and Rodger are too old to play games like that. I won't spoil her fun today. I'll choose the right time to talk to her. But she needs to stop this business. It's not proper. She's a young woman now, not a little girl, and he's—
She looked at Rodger as he sat near Robin. Robin was a man of good height, but Rodger nearly looked him in the eyes now. Though his frame was lean and wiry, his shoulders were broad. His mouth was more tender, less stern than Guy's. It was the only likeness to his mother, however. Otherwise, his face was a young copy of Guy's.
Eleanor is a little version of me, with a good dose of Robin. Rodger is a fair bit of Guy, only softer, because of Meg. Our children. What if—the two of them together? It would be just like me and Guy all over again.
No, not quite the same. God willing, our children will never have to go through what we did. Their lives will be better than ours….
A trumpet blast from the direction of Nottingham Castle sounded in the distance, interrupting Marian's thoughts.
"There's the signal," said Robin. He stood up. "Everyone finished eating? It's time for the men's archery. Come on, Guy, let's show those young pups a thing or two. Show them you've still got what it takes."
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Most of the men and boys, and quite a few of the women and girls, had re-gathered at the archery range for the men's competition. Robin took his place once again as judge, while Guy joined the line of men trying for the silver arrow, and the title of best archer in Nottinghamshire.
As the second archer shot his last arrow, Robin saw them, father and son, and for a moment his heart leapt into his throat. Rowan watched from the crowd near the line of contestants. A boy of ten, or perhaps eleven years, stood beside him. Peter, Rowan's son.
After Rodger's encounter with the boy in the marketplace, Robin had made inquiries about Rowan's son. Along with his name, he'd learned that the boy had a reputation as a tough little scrapper who liked to hang out with older boys and cause mischief around Nottingham. Robin took in young Peter's sturdy body, hard fists, and pugnacious expression, and decided he was a lad who bore careful watching.
I just hope they don't catch sight of each other, thought Robin. What did Guy say—'If I get my hands on the man who told his son that story….' That's just what we don't need here today. We've already caused a stir by letting Eleanor be in the contest, but if Guy and Rowan were to see each other, I'm not sure what Guy would do. I'd like to think he's learned some wisdom and a measure of self-control over the years, but—
While Robin bit his lip, measured the previous man's score, and fervently prayed for Guy and Rowan to be struck with blindness, Rodger, oblivious to the presence of Peter and Rowan, stood on the sidelines and watched as his father took his position. He thought back to how Father had silenced the angry crowd around Uncle Robin and Archer—silenced them with a word and a look.
My father's amazing, thought Rodger, with a flash of pride, as he watched the man draw back his powerful longbow with practiced ease, aim, and strike the target near the center. Two more shots, one almost in the center, and he retired amongst the cheers of the spectators, none of whom, Rodger noticed, dared mutter against him again.
"Impressive shooting, for an old man, that is," Robin whispered to Guy as they passed each other. His playful insolence was rewarded with Guy's amused smirk and a thump on the back. Once upon a time, Robin had detested those smirks of Guy's, especially the sneering, scornful ones that came after some cruel pronouncement from Sheriff Vaisey. He'd wanted very badly, and occasionally had opportunity, to strike that look of contemptuous disdain off Guy's face with his fist.
But there was no longer any malice toward Robin in Gisborne's eyes, and no hatred in their hearts for each other. The witty repartee between them was all in fun now, and the two enjoyed it equally.
The rest of the bowmen took their turns. In the end, Guy placed a very respectable third place among the large field of contenders. The Sheriff shook his hand. Robin was relieved to see Rowan and his son disappear out of sight in the crowd, with Guy none the wiser. Meg went to Guy and hugged him, her eyes full of love and admiration for her husband. He bent and kissed her long and lingeringly in return.
Rodger watched them, with the new and slightly uncomfortable knowledge that Mother and Father were more than just his parents. He'd never thought of them in any other way, until recently. Now he saw them in a new light. They were husband and wife, lovers as well as friends.
'Someday you'll fall in love too, Rodger, and marry and have a family of your own,' Mother had said.
Someday, years from now, he would be Sir Rodger, the Lord of Gisborne Hall, with his Lady by his side.
Eleanor? The thought intruded irresistibly.
No, not Eleanor. He flung the notion aside, and smiled to himself at the idea of marriage to Eleanor. How awful it would be! They would fight like cats and dogs! They'd kill each other!
Never her. Not the way she taunts me and makes fun of me. No, I want someone who respects me the way Mother respects Father.
After congratulating his father and excusing himself, Rodger turned and jostled his way through the crowd of spectators. His father, Robin, and Archer were meeting Little John and Allan at the Trip, while the women took the younger children and John's orphan charges to see the lions. It was his chance to fetch Starlight from the Sheriff's stable and ride him around the course in a practice run before tomorrow's race.
He strode toward the stable, where his family's horses were temporarily housed. He looked back before he slipped inside. Eleanor was not trailing him. Good, she'd gone with her mother. He wanted his entry in the horse race to remain a surprise, and he didn't need her spying on him.
He led Starlight from his stall, but Rodger was not as alone as he thought. He was being followed.
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"Yeah, that's him!"
"Rodger of Gisborne?"
"You know him?"
"Sure. I mean, a little bit. So you think his father's the one who—"
"I know he is! My father told me all about it. He was there when it happened."
"What has this got to do with Rodger?"
"I hate him!"
"Why? You don't even know him. What's your quarrel with him? He's nobody."
"Are you with me or not, Robert?"
"I don't know. If we get caught, we're in big trouble."
"Robert's right, Peter. If my father finds out, he'll skin the hide off me."
"You're chicken hearts, both of you!"
"Aw, shut up, Peter! You do it then! It's your fight. I've got nothing against Rodger, so why should I get myself in trouble for you?"
"Because we're a gang, we stick together, right? Right?"
"All right, fine. But we better not get caught."
"So, what's the plan? Should we jump him now?"
"No, lads, let's wait for a better time, when no one else is around. We'll wait 'til we get him alone."
"And then?"
"You'll see."