Marian's impulse to ask the sheriff to free Guy was twofold. Part of her did it to lash out at Robin and get back at him for his unforgivable masquerade as her Confessor. But the greater part of her acted to allow him time to get away. And that part, Marian was pleased to note, was highly successful.
Sheriff Vaisey was distracted by her request, and forgot even Robin Hood for a brief time.
"Gisbourne?" the sheriff asked. "You want me to free Gisbourne? A clue...no, Missy! Have you ever noticed what an oversized head Gisbourne has, Missy, hmm? Too bad it's the only thing oversized on him! Except of course, for his incompetence! I'll not free him, oh, no! I plan to use his oversized skull as my piss pot! Now, out of my way! I'm hunting robins! Come along, you blithering oafs! I want you to find Robin Hood, and find him now!"
"But, my lord sheriff," Marian continued, "surely you don't mean to kill Guy? He is your most trusted servant."
"Do you want me to stage a double execution, Missy, hmm? For that is exactly what I'll do, if you don't step OUT OF MY WAY!"
Marian stepped aside, and watched the sheriff and his men race past her. Even with Cecily hampering Robin's flight, Marian guessed he was safely out of the sheriff's reach by now.
If only she had been the one Robin was spiriting away to the forest instead of Lady Cecily! And yet, she had only just returned from there, at her own demand.
She needed to grow up and face the facts, again. She and Robin were finished, forever. But why did it have to hurt so much?
...
Having shed the filthy monk's robe at the first opportunity, Robin led Lady Cecily through the forest, to the current location of his outlaw camp.
There was no need to blindfold the young lady. Robin moved his camp every few days, to avoid discovery. If Cecily were ever forced to tell the sheriff where his camp lay, she would be able to truthfully say she did not know its location.
"Please, Robin," Cecily begged him now, "may we stop and rest? You move so quickly, and I cannot keep up."
Robin turned and looked back at her. "Sorry," he told her, thinking how Marian could keep up with no complaint. "I didn't stop to consider how rugged the forest is, if you're unused to it."
"The ground is uneven, and my slippers are not designed for bramble." She lifted the hem of her gown a fraction, to reveal a satin slipper in shreds. She wanted to cry.
"We'll get you a sturdy pair of boots," Robin told her. "I'll ask Timothy to make a child's pair. You have such dainty feet." He laughed charmingly.
"Who is Timothy?" she asked, torn at being pleased that he mentioned her dainty foot, but dismayed by the mention of "sturdy boots."
Robin's smile faded, to be replaced by a questioning look. He couldn't understand how the other nobles never took the time to get to know people living among them.
"Timothy? He's only the finest cobbler in the north of England! He made these boots, and they've been through sand and sea, and now forest, and look good as new. He's an interesting man, as well as a skilled artisan. His sight's going, yet he won't let on, and you wouldn't know it from his work. It's a challenge to get more than a couple of words out of him, yet he's kind and thoughtful. You'd like him. Everyone does."
Cecily had stopped listening several sentences back. She rubbed her sore heels, wincing. "Is your home very much farther?"
Robin laughed. "All of this is my home now," he said, sweeping his arms in a wide gesture. "More beautiful than the grandest cathedral fashioned by man, wouldn't you agree?"
A bee buzzed by, and Cecily ducked her head, avoiding its path. She didn't answer, not wishing to be disagreeable. "Robin," she said, giving him her most appealing stare, "my slippers will not hold up another step. Nor will my 'dainty feet.' Would you mind very much being a gallant knight and carrying me the rest of the way?"
He chuckled. "I ought to be the one asking if you'd mind. It would be an honor, I assure you."
He kneeled before her, and she wrapped both arms around his neck, then smiled as he swooped her up. "You're so strong!" she declared happily, leaning into him.
...
"Whoa! Not bein' funny, Robin, but isn't this the second beauty you brought us in as many days? Who's this one?"
"This, lads," Robin announced, placing Lady Cecily on her feet, "is Lady Cecily of Edwinstone. You remember Stephen, don't you, Much? Fought with us at Acre? This is his little sister."
Much came forward, wiping his hands on a towel that hung from his waist. "Stephen, yes! Of course! You don't look like him! I'm Much, Your Ladyship. Are you hungry? Dinner's just about to be served."
"Thank you," Lady Cecily said, in a regal tone.
Robin continued the introductions. "This is Will Scarlet, from my village. And this is Little John, and Allan a Dale, and Djaq, from the Holy Land."
"What is a Saracen heathen doing here?" Lady Cecily asked coldly.
Robin quickly drew her aside. "I know the Saracens killed your brother, but Djaq is one of us. He's a good, brave lad. Trust him."
"I'll never trust a Saracen. They're all dogs."
"Then trust me. Your brother would agree with me, I'm sure of it."
His blue eyes stared so appealingly into hers, Cecily could only nod her head in agreement.
"Good!" Robin said. "And now, just to let you know, no one is better than anyone else in this forest. We're all equals here. So, while I expect my men to treat you with respect," and he shot Allan a warning look, "I ask you to do the same to them. You may learn from living here in Sherwood, that one man is much like another, milady."
"I will try. For starters, Robin, I insist you drop your formality toward me. Let me be 'Cecily' to you, or better yet, 'Sess.' "
"Alright," he grinned. "Sess it is!"
"Robin," Will interjected, "when are we going to distribute the money we stole last night?"
"Right after we eat." Turning to "Sess," he explained, "I'm sure you've heard how we rob the wealthy."
"I'm wealthy. So are you, or you were, at least."
"Don't worry. We won't rob you. We only take what others stole first, and give it back where it should have gone in the first place. We don't do it for our own gain. None of us keeps anything, do we, lads?"
"I know some ladies in Nottingham what would be glad to get some of that money," Allan said, half jesting.
"Please!" Much huffed. "You wouldn't know a lady if she...if she..." Much couldn't think of a suitable metaphor.
"No, Allan. I told you before, no pleasure jaunts. This money belongs to the poor."
"They won't miss it. I know a tart named Maggie, be glad to have it. The sight of her jiggling all directions is worth half a crown in itself."
Cecily's eyes grew wide, and she stared at Allan in outrage.
"Forgive my friend," Robin told her. "He's said enough. Much! Give Allan something to eat, to keep his mouth occupied. But no. First servings go to our guest." Smiling charmingly at Cecily, he said, "I hope you like...what are we having, Much?"
"It's chicken!" Much lied.