"I'm still not entirely convinced that this isn't a trap," Friar Cluck remarked as the band administered the finishing touches to their disguises.
"Even if that were true, no one's been able to recognize us yet," Bill boasted, pulling down his fake beard to grin cheekily at the friar.
"But our good fortune won't last forever," the asparagus returned.
Robin turned from the small mirror he had hung up on a tree branch, and he smiled at his friend.
"It's not our fortune we're doing this for," he pointed out. "It's in our power to do good by winning that golden arrow and feeding kids, so we should go."
"Assuming it's real gold and not actually chocolate," Friar Cluck pointed out.
"Then we'll give the kids the chocolate," Robin laughed. "That's as good as ham!"
"Stop, you're gonna make me hungry!" Little John grinned.
Robin ran his hairbrush one last time over his bald head. Then, checking to make sure the guys weren't watching, he pulled out a tiny pouch attached to a cord. He slipped it around his neck and tucked it beneath his tunic before pulling up his red hood. Within the pouch was one of the few things he had brought with him when he left home to fundraise in Sherwood Forest: half of a silver ring, the mate of which belonged to Marian, if she still had it.
Of course, she might have thrown it away on her father's orders — or her father disposed of it personally — or maybe it got lost somewhere in the move from Normandy — or maybe she had donated it to charity — or robbers took it — or any number of explanations. Robin had been a youth when he asked her whether she "maybe, sorta, kinda wanted to marry him someday, if that wasn't too weird to ask," but Marian had had years to rethink her feelings. He could not expect her to hold a torch when they had not even exchanged letters during her long absence. If she had moved on, he was resolved not to hold it against her.
But if she hadn't, then he would show her his half of their engagement ring to prove he hadn't moved on either.
"You look goofier than usual, Rob," Bill Scarlet observed, wearing a smirk. "Thinking happy thoughts today?"
"Extra happy thoughts?" Big Red tittered while Friar Cluck and Little John exchanged knowing looks.
Robin cleared his throat and plopped a pair of Groucho Marx glasses on his heated face.
"Everyone, head on out!" he ordered, spinning toward Bethlingham.
His friends followed, singing a chorus of "Matchmaker, Matchmaker, make me a match..."
Anne saw to it that both Lady Marian and her blueberry lady-in-waiting, Lady Myrtille, felt properly welcomed. The two were a breath of fresh air against the usual tension of living under Prince John's thumb. As King Richard's ward, Marian was the most protected vegetable in the kingdom after Queen Eleanor, and both Prince John and his quiet wife, Princess Isabella, spoke kindly to her.
The first night, Lady Anne invited the ladies to her chambers for an after-dinner snack of sweet tea and cookies. Myrtille chatted a great deal about the Norman court, telling Anne about the chivalrous deeds of knights for their clever ladies, while Marian sat by the fire with her work basket, sewing tunics for the poor. Marian seemed sweet and thoughtful, and before she retired for the night, she helped one of the servants' children find his lost teddy bear.
After breakfast, Anne visited the two ladies in the guest quarters to offer a helpful suggestion.
"It is still several hours before His Highness and his company are to make their official appearance," Anne pointed out. "Perhaps you and Lady Myrtille would rather pass the time walking around the fairgrounds. You never know who you might run into."
Marian smiled. "I've only returned to England a short time ago. Aside from Prince John and Princess Isabella, I don't know many people in Bethlinghamshire."
"Oh, you never know," Anne hummed. "We get all sorts of interesting types around these parts."
Anne left soon after that and returned to her husband's chambers, where William was applying his favorite hair tonic to his voluminous pompadour in front of a bronze mirror. Anne strolled over and placed a peck on his red forehead.
"Only a little while now, dearest."
William took a deep breath, carefully wiping off his comb. "Keep your fingers crossed."
"If I had them, I think folding my hands in prayer would work better," she joked.
William flashed a nervous smile. Anne bumped her hip against his side.
"Relax, Will. Like you said, Prince John will resume his visit to his sister's after the tournament."
"I said he might," he corrected. "There's a chance he might not, and Robin will have to languish in despair until we can sneak a missive to Queen Eleanor to plead his case."
William raised his grave eyes, sweeping them over her face as if trying to memorize every detail. Anne could imagine he was remembering the Prince's threat to punish them both with despair. She forced a smile, placing a kiss on his large nose.
"You're smarter than you're giving yourself credit," she reminded him. "Your plan will work."
"I hope so."
Lady Anne was known for her exquisite taste at court, and her husband was an excellent organizer, so Marian and Myrtille were not surprised to find a delightful fairground waiting for them. A midway of brightly colored tents denoted fun activities, like dancing and ring tosses, or places to sample carnival fare, like funnel cakes, popcorn, and cotton candy. Those who tired of the midway games could go to the petting zoo or watch acrobats, jugglers, sword swallowers and fire-eaters perform on the green. Minstrels provided ballads and ambient music at different locations, and a free puppet show could be found in the shade of a large oak. Best of all, in Marian's opinion, was the fact that many activities and attractions had a sign which read, "All Proceeds Shall Go to Ye Olde Bethlingham Orphanage."
Robin would have loved to be part of a big fundraiser like this, Marian thought wistfully. She visualized the old days, when she and Robin sold lemonade in the summer or went door-to-door with raffle tickets. If her dear cucumber were here, he would probably be running several booths at once, undaunted and always wearing that kind smile.
Even so, Marian knew Robin had gotten in trouble with Prince John. She did not know all the details — something about disobeying a direct order, and from the king's brother no less — but she planned to speak to Prince John on his behalf once she had earned enough favor to request a royal boon.
Although times were tough with the war going on, Marian tried to visit as many places as she could to drop a few shillings or gold angels. Myrtille also flipped a coin or two of her own, following her lady's example, and they had a merry time. Like many Norman nobles, they conversed in French while they strolled down the midway, switching to English in order to make a purchase from one of the Saxon vendors.
At the tent for dancing, Marian decided to peek in, since she was curious about the latest English fads, and she broke into a delighted laugh when she spotted the elderly manager of the tent, sitting on a nearby bench with a few snacks.
"Master Swanthold?" she called, stepping into the tent.
The green grape paused in a bite of cotton candy, his eyeless face studying her through a pair of glasses. After a second, the dancing master brightened.
"Why, if it isn't little Marian Fitzwalter!" he beamed, hopping off his bench to meet her at the entrance. "Has the tomboy blossomed into a young lady?"
"I pulled it off at last, sir!" she laughed. "Though I still like archery and riding."
He gave her a welcoming bow, and she curtsied. He next exchanged greetings with Myrtille before turning back to Marian, giving her a sweeping look.
"It seems like only yesterday I was teaching you and the Mocksley children how to dance the foxtrot!" he chuckled.
"With actual foxes for our partners," Marian giggled.
"And you were always one of my best students."
"Speaking of the Mocksley children," Marian said casually, although her eyes started to shine, "have you spoken to any of them lately?"
"Any sibling in particular that you're interested in?" he asked slyly.
Myrtille grinned. "Oui, Marian, you'll have to be more specific."
Marian's face warmed. "Well, I've always been fond of the whole family."
"As though they were your own," Myrtille tittered.
Master Swanthold chuckled, before he checked their surroundings. Satisfied, he leaned in and lowered his voice.
"As for our mutual friend, try not to say his name too loudly while you're within Prince John's lands. The prince hasn't been too keen on our buddy after he refused to stop helping people."
"I heard about that," Marian replied, matching his soft tone. "Have you spoken to him? Is he okay?"
"As okay as a guy who lives in a giant-infested forest can be, I suppose," Master Swanthold answered.
"Poor dear!"
"Eh, being an outlaw hasn't slowed Robby one bit. He just keeps on getting hams to the hungry."
Marian did not even try to suppress a dreamy sigh. "Oh, how noble!"
"He's an upstanding fella, alright." Swanthold's smirk reappeared. "When I see him next, should I say you asked about him?"
"When do you think you'll see him next?" Marian pressed, ignoring his good-natured ribbing.
"Oh, he shows up every Monday, or so, in order to drop off the names of people who signed up for dance lessons. I'm a partner in one of his fundraisers," he added modestly.
Myrtille nudged Marian. "Maybe you ought to brush up on your steps, dear. Perhaps we can schedule a lesson for, say, Monday?"
"I should have a slot open," Swanthold grinned.
"Okay, you two," Marian laughed, flustered. "You talked me into it."
Although she wished Myrtille wouldn't smirk so, Marian felt giddy as they continued on.
"Is it possible," Myrtille said suddenly, "that your friend will be here today, dear?"
"I don't think so," Marian said, gazing wistfully at the crowd. "It's much too dangerous."
"But your friend already has a reputation for being brave," the blueberry reminded her, eyes twinkling again. "Maybe he would scale the town walls and fight his way through the sheriff's guards to catch just a glimpse of his long-lost love."
"You've been reading those Norman romances again, haven't you?" Marian returned.
"Only a dozen or two."
Marian chuckled, shaking her head as they pressed on. As she surveyed the fair, though, a part of her wished she could have seen that familiar cucumber shape — that certain height, those broad shoulders, that energetic gait — among the merrymakers. As unlikely as it was, her gaze searched for that figure anyway, or just something close enough so that she could pretend he was there with her.
…And she soon found such a shape, peeking at her from beneath the flap of a lemonade tent.
She slowed her step, watching from the corner of her eye. He was most definitely a cucumber, although he was covered by a cloak and hood. He wore funny glasses, so she could not see his face, but his eyes — oh, his eyes! — watched her with wonder and undeniable longing.
Her heart raced, hardly daring to believe it, but she always had a knack for seeing through his disguises, even when they were kids. The only way to know for sure was to get close enough.
Wordlessly, she turned down the path leading past the lemonade tent, and Myrtille followed her without remark. Smoothly, Marian withdrew her silk handkerchief, turning it idly in her grasp and kept her eyes straight ahead. As she passed the tent, she let the cloth fall.
Three, two, one…
Quick footsteps followed after her.
"Forgive me, m'lady," her intended said, reaching her side, "but you seemed to have dropped this."
Marian graciously turned, using the excuse to peer into his face. Those eager eyes gazed back at her from behind the glasses, and a warm smile peeked out from under the bushy mustache.
"Thank you, sirrah," she smiled, accepting the cloth. "Not many peasants would return such a keepsake."
"I always try to do good when it's in my power, m'lady," he said humbly.
Myrtille, meanwhile, formed a secretive smirk, hopping down the path. "I'll be just up ahead, Marian dear. I wanted to look at the T-shirt vendor."
Marian nodded, thankful to have such an understanding (and quick-witted) friend. Keeping her gaze on the cucumber, she gestured with her handkerchief toward the quiver on his back.
"I see you're here for the archery contest."
"Wouldn't miss it," he answered, his happy eyes remaining steadily on hers. "They say a very pretty lady is going to present the golden arrow, so I'm hoping to see her."
"Oh?" she answered playfully. "Do you think you'll win?"
"When the prettiest girl in the whole kingdom is involved, I plan on it."
Marian could not contain her girlish giggle, and she quickly covered her mouth with her handkerchief. She batted her eyelashes at the cucumber.
"It's been years since I've been in this area, sirrah, but you seem familiar to me. Have we met before?"
"It's possible," he said, grinning. Slowly, he tugged at his collar, and he withdrew a small pouch. "By any chance, do you recognize—?"
A shout of delight cut him off. "Ah, my lady! There you are!"
Marian whirled around, caught off guard to recognize the cheerful voice. A cucumber in rich clothing advanced through the crowd, his bone-shaped smile glistening in the sun. His red hair shone like copper, and he had a long nose, almost like a banana.
"Sir Guy!" she cried. "I didn't know you were in England."
"Arrived a few days ago!" he beamed, coming to a halt beside her. He did not even seem to notice the other cuke, who regarded him warily. "It's so good to see you again, dear Marian!"
"'Dear Marian'?" the other cucumber repeated under his breath. His pouch disappeared into his shirt once more.
Marian forced a laugh, trying to pass the awkward situation off as one large joke.
"Sir Guy, this is an unexpected surprise!"
"A delayed one, unfortunately," he chirped, flashing his large, white teeth. "I had been hoping to catch you in London, but you had already left. Fortunately, I had planned to meet my cousin, and Bethlinghamshire is on the way, so I thought I might take a crack at this archery contest I've heard so much about. Are you really going to present the arrow, my lady?"
Marian cleared her throat. "Yes, sir."
"Ah, splendid!" His eyes twinkled. "Then I wouldn't dream of missing the contest then! If I may be so bold, may I have the honor of wearing your favor during the archery contest?"
The other cucumber immediately straightened. Behind his glasses, he looked alarmed and a little hurt. Marian glanced between the two cukes, relying on all her social graces to keep herself from scolding Sir Guy outright for flirting with her in a public setting as though she were some waitress at an inn.
"I, uh, think it would be better if you were to shoot for your own pleasure than mine, Sir Guy," she said evenly, though her cheeks burned.
Her friend broke into a good-natured laugh. "Right. I ought to prove myself first before trying to shoot in your name, but you'll see, dear Marian, I'm an excellent suitor—I mean, shooter."
The mysterious cucumber drew back, and beneath his mustache, his jaw seemed to quiver.
"If you'll excuse me, my lady," he sighed, swiveling away.
Marian wanted to call him back — to say the name which she knew belonged to him, to prove her true feelings toward that lad who had easily won her heart — but she dared not betray him to his enemies and alert the sheriff to his presence. She held her tongue and watched the cucumber she loved disappear into the crowd.
A/N: If you couldn't tell, Sir Guy is played by Ryan the Only Slightly Less Invincible from "Duke and the Great Pie War" (since he works as Larry's rival for Petunia's affections, haha).
Princess Isabella — To be clear, that would be Isabella of Gloucester, John's historical first wife, not Isabella of Angoulême, his second wife.