RESOLVES AND REGRETS

The funeral was over and Little John was buried before Rodger and Archer obtained permission from King John to return to Locksley. The capricious monarch was in a foul temper over the messy state of his kingdom, and in no mood to grant favours even to those he had a passing liking for. It took all of Archer's skills of persuasion, backed up by the authority of Queen Eleanor, to finally release them.

Archer and Rodger set out for Nottingham the following day. As they rode through the town's crowded streets, many curious and admiring eyes followed them. And no surprise, for they made a splendid pair—two strikingly handsome men, dressed in the rich clothing of the king's court and mounted on beautiful horses. Archer returned the men's stares with a nod, and the women's with a grin and a playful wink, but Rodger looked straight ahead and thought only of home.

He was going home to Locksley. More than a year had passed since he'd walked out of Gisborne Hall with his saddlebags packed, and ridden down the dusty lane that led out of the village onto the road to London.

I wonder if everything will look the same, or all strange and different?

They passed through the main gate and across the bridge, and urged their horses into a canter. As Nottingham receded into the distance, Rodger turned and gazed back over his shoulder at the town.

When I was a child, I thought there wasn't a bigger city anywhere in the world than Nottingham, and no taller stone walls than those of the Castle. I was sure they reached up to the clouds! Funny, I've been in London only a year, but Nottingham looks so small now.

Something else had changed for Rodger, too. He had passed through the town without fear of encountering Peter or any of his gang, and had ridden by Rowan's carpentry shop with only a casual glance. The terror had gone out of the memory of that night sometime during his year away.

I'm Sir Guy of Gisborne's son. I know how to wield a sword and swing a battle axe. If that scruffy little bastard bothers me again, I'll run him down with a lance—

But Little John's words came back to his mind, and quickly crushed out thoughts of revenge.

'Rise above it, Rodger. Show him you're the bigger man.'

Rodger smiled to himself. Little John had given him good advice. Discipline, self-control, restraint—these were the qualities that made one a man. He would not follow his father's regrettable path. He'd continue to be the bigger man. The past was behind him, where it belonged and where it needed to stay.

He only wished that Little John wasn't part of the past, too.

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Rodger led Starlight into his old stall next to his brother and sister's ponies. When he entered the house, the familiar surroundings embraced him like a warm and comforting hug. His parents, his brother and sister, and all the servants were there to greet him. His mother ordered his favourite meal. Later that evening, he went upstairs to his room. A fire blazed in the hearth, the bed was piled high with pillows, and Ghislaine had tucked two of her kittens under the quilt to keep him company.

But for all that, it was a somber homecoming.

Rodger spent most of the next day getting reacquainted with Richard and Ghislaine. They were eager to share their latest accomplishments with their older brother. Richard had new drawings and songs to play on his lute. Ghislaine, quite the little horsewoman, had a new pony, and had just learned to jump over some low hurdles. For a while Rodger was able to forget what had called him home, until the evening meal at Locksley Manor brought them all together again.

When the Gisbornes arrived at the manor, they saw John Little sitting near the fire with Robin and Marian. After the greetings and introductions were made, John sat back down wearily. He'd stayed with the Locksleys to help arrange his father's burial. Now that it was done, the depth of his loss was beginning to sink in.

"I should have come sooner," he sighed through his tears.

"It's all right," said Marian. "You did find him, John. Your father was happy."

"The happiest he's been in a long time," added Robin.

But John would not be easily comforted. "He won't see his grandchildren now. I should have looked for him years ago."

Why didn't you, then? Robin wanted to ask, but he shut his lips before the words came out. No, he's already blaming himself. No need to add to his guilt about something that can't be changed now. Little John should have tried to find his son, too, but he didn't, and he never said why. Only he knows, and he took that to the grave with him.

John saw the question in Robin's eyes, however, and he felt moved to explain.

"I never knew him. He left before I was born. Luke was the only father I knew. At first I stayed away for my mother's sake. He hurt her so much that I wasn't ready to forgive him for it. And then, well, life just got in the way. I learned my trade from Luke, and I got married and started a family. But I thought about him, I did. I thought that if I found him then maybe I could understand why he left my mother and me. Maybe we could have—"

"Just remember that you did find him, and because you did, he was able to die at peace," said Meg. "You gave him a wonderful gift."

"Meg's right," said Guy, with a tender smile at his wife.

"But what if my coming here killed him? Maybe the shock of seeing me—"

"No," said Robin. "It's not your fault. Your father was ill for some time. Matilda told us his heart was failing. I'm surprised he lived this long, to tell you the truth. You might have given him a shock, John, but it was a happy shock. People don't die from that."

"It was just his time," added Marian. "Don't blame yourself."

They were later joined by Much and Eve and their little daughter, and Allan and Catherine and their brood. Quiet reminisces were exchanged over supper. Everyone had a tale to tell about Little John. John grew more cheerful as the evening went on, and was able to listen to their stories with tolerable composure.

Rodger had seen Eleanor as soon as he walked in the door, and he remained acutely aware of her presence all through the visit. She in turn was very conscious of him. They spoke no words to each other, not even a greeting. Only a few furtive glances passed between them.

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After supper, Rodger joined his mother beside the fire.

"How did it happen, Mother? Was he ill for long?"

"No. He died in his sleep, darling. I don't think he suffered."

Like Prancer, thought Rodger. Just like my old pony. He died in his sleep, too, out in the pasture on a sunny day, happy and content.

"I wrote to him, but I wanted so much to see him again. I never got to say goodbye."

He felt his father's hand touch his shoulder. Guy came around him to sit beside Meg.

"Father, Mother, remember the night I ran away, after I learned about—"

"We remember," said his father. "You went to Little John. Rode all night through the cold to see him."

"He was so kind to me. He helped me make sense of things. Everything was better after I talked to him."

"Little John was a wise man," said his mother. "And he loved you very much."

"His last words to me were about you," his father added. "He told me he was very proud of you. He wanted you to know that."

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John Little departed for the orphanage the next day to collect his father's belongings. Rodger and Archer rode with him. They left him at the house, surrounded by the children his father had cared for and loved, and walked in silence to the burial plot.

Rodger smiled through his sadness when he glimpsed the ornate stone pillar in one corner of the cemetery, about which Uncle Robin had warned him ahead of time. Archer was more effusively amused.

"Just look at this, will you?" he chuckled. "Robin wasn't joking when he said your father insisted on putting up a monument instead of a simple stone. I wonder what Little John would've thought of it?"

They read the inscription on the stone:

John Little of Locksley, Nottinghamshire. 1147—1214 A.D. He was "Little John" to his friends, "Papa Bear" to the children of Rufford Abbey Orphanage, father of John Little, and beloved grandfather. We will never forget you, Big Bear.

Rodger easily guessed what humble Little John would have thought of the elaborate headstone.

"He'd have laughed at my father's grand gesture," he said with a smile. "He'd have called it utter nonsense. Except for these words. He'd have been pleased about this."

"Yes, I think you're right," said Archer.

"Little John was such a good friend to our family, and to me. I wish I could have seen him one more time. There's so much I left unsaid…."

Archer put his arm around his nephew's shoulder. "I miss him, too, lad."

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No one cares about me anymore. I might as well disappear.

Eleanor sat on her bed. Her mother had called her down to supper, repeatedly, but she wasn't hungry, at least not hungry enough to sit through another miserable evening with the Gisborne family.

John Little had gone home to his wife and child, and now her father and Uncle Guy were engrossed in conversation with Archer much of the time. She'd heard snatches of their talk and it all sounded rather dull—something about King John's continuing troubles with the barons, who were determined to force him to sign some document being drawn up with the funny name of Magna Carta.

Who cares? Men are always fighting about something. In the meantime I haven't had an archery lesson with Papa in three weeks. He's forgotten me in all this fuss over Little John. I'm sad that he died, too, but he was ancient, for goodness' sake! And he was such a grump.

No, I suppose that's not fair. He was a good man, and my parents' friend.

But Mama doesn't notice me, either. She and Aunt Meg are too busy fussing over Rodger and Archer. Spoiling them rotten. As if Rodger deserves it. I didn't expect much from him after what happened, but the way he pointedly ignores me is getting unbearable. I want to shake him, slap him, scream in his face, anything to get a reaction. I just wish—

She sighed, threw herself across her bed, and hugged her pillow. There wasn't much hope in wishing for anything. Not long ago she'd asked her mother to describe the costume she'd worn as the Nightwatchman, and show her some of her "moves", but Mama had squelched that plan flat.

'Don't be silly, Eleanor,' Mama had said. 'Locksley doesn't need a Nightwatchman. No one is starving in our village, your father and Guy see to that.'

She'd then asked to be allowed to visit London.

'You can't go there by yourself,' Papa had argued. 'It's not safe for a girl alone.'

"Then what about—"

'No!'

The answer was always no.

They treat me like a baby. Rodger goes off to London and enjoys all kinds of adventures with Uncle Archer. What do I get to do? Nothing! Not that anyone cares. No one cares how I feel. If I disappeared tonight, it would be days and days before anyone even noticed….

She didn't want to cry. Someone, most likely Mama, would be sure to knock on the door and demand to know what was wrong.

I won't cry, I won't!

She buried her face in the pillow and silently screamed. Just as she did, a knock sounded on the door. She dashed the telltale tears from her eyes.

"Who is it?" she asked. Maybe it's Rodger. Maybe he wants to talk—

"It's Edith, my lady. There was a letter delivered for you just now."

"Come in."

The maidservant curtsied and handed Eleanor the letter. Eleanor shut the door after her and tore open the letter.

Dearest Eleanor,

I hope this message gets to you in time. My father is sending me to my uncle's again, for at least a year. I don't want to go. I can't abide my uncle. He's a tyrant and a bully. I won't see you again if I'm sent away, because my parents are arranging a marriage for me. I've met her and don't like her one bit, but I'll be forced to marry her when I return home if we don't do something now.

This is our only chance. I'll send someone to meet you, tonight. He'll be waiting at the stable in Nettlestone with a horse for you. If you agree, he'll take you to me, and we can leave together. I know a priest in London who will marry us, no questions asked. We won't need our parent's permission. They'd never give it anyway, we both know that, but our love is stronger than their disapproval!

Eleanor, dearest, you're the only woman for me. I've always known it. We were made and meant for each other. I love you so much. Please, if you love me, be my wife. Marry me. I'll make you so happy, I promise!

all my love, Robert

Eleanor sat back down on her bed, her face white and her body empty of breath. It was all so sudden, and so crazily insane.

Run away with Robert and marry him? Without anyone knowing until it's final? I can't! What would Papa and Mama say? They'd be so angry with me. They want me to get married here, in Locksley, with all my family and friends in attendance, not sneaking off like this as if I'm doing something shameful.

But they want me to marry Rodger. I'm as good as engaged to him in their eyes. Why? Rodger hates me! Hasn't he shown it clearly enough? He wouldn't marry me now if I were the last girl on earth.

Robert loves me, enough to risk his father's anger to be with me. Shouldn't I be willing to do the same for him? No one else loves me the way he does, not even my own family….

Eleanor stuffed some clothes untidily into her satchel, and threw in her hairbrush and a few other necessities. She tore a piece from the bottom of Robert's letter and scribbled a note to her parents. Then she opened her window, dropped the satchel to the ground, and climbed out on the roof.

Ah, yes, there it was! Allan had left a ladder leaning against the back of the house where he'd been making some repairs to the roof. Eleanor swiftly climbed down the ladder, grabbed up her satchel, and ran through the darkness toward Nettlestone.

In her haste to escape, she had left Robert's letter lying in plain sight on her bed.

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"Where is that girl?" demanded Marian, hands on hips as she looked up the stairs.

"Perhaps she's tired and went to bed early," suggested Meg.

"That's not like her," answered Marian. "She loves to stay up late."

"It's all right if she wants to stay in her room."

"She's just being stubborn, Meg. She's been sulking all day, come to think of it, for no reason that I'm aware of."

One of the maidservants brought a tray of cakes and set it on the table.

"Edith, were you upstairs a while ago? Is Eleanor still in her room?"

"Yes, Lady Marian. I brought up a letter for her."

"A letter? At this time of night? Who delivered it?"

"I don't know, my lady. A boy. No one I've seen before. He said he was a friend of Eleanor's. I asked his name. He wouldn't give it to me at first. He was quite impolite, my lady. Finally he said his name was….oh, dear, what was it? Peter? Yes, that was it."

"Peter?"

Marian climbed the stairs and rapped on Eleanor's door.

"Eleanor, what are you doing in there? It's bad enough that you didn't come down to supper, but we have company. You're being rude, young lady! Come on out here."

Marian opened the door. No Eleanor, but the window was up and cold air was blowing in.

"Eleanor, where are you?"

Marian peered out the window, but could see nothing. She looked around the room. There was a sheet of paper on the bed, and a smaller piece on the candle stand. She picked them up and read them both.

'Dearest Eleanor' began one, and the other, 'Papa and Mama….'

She dropped them with a gasp and ran to the landing.

"Robin!"

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Author's Note: Anyone besides me want to smack Eleanor right about now? :P Well, she's still quite young. Her parents did some pretty crazy and impulsive things. Like Robin and Marian, like daughter. She will grow up eventually, I promise! And maybe see through Robert in time? Rodger has some growing up to do, too. More to come! Thanks for reading, and for your patience-I know this update was slow in coming. (very busy last month!)