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Kat Lerner
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This is not your grandfather’s yarn of brave Robin Hood. When the Sheriff of Nottingham sets his sights on Maid Marian, will Robin be able to rescue her before it’s too late? Who’s rescuing who these days, anyway? Discover the long-hidden truth of the legendary “Robin Hood and his Merry Men.” Enter Sherwood Forest at thine own risk.
~~~
Each generation has told its own tales of valiant Robin Hood. To some, he was a champion of justice, using almost god-like skills with bow and arrow to fight for the poor and oppressed. To others, he was a Communist punk, pure propaganda for those who espoused unabashed class warfare against the feudal job creators. Others still no doubt saw him as little more than a kleptomaniac with tight pants. None of these stories are true of course, as I’m sure will not surprise you. For when speaking of protectors of the common folk forced to live in the woods during the late Middle Ages, it is clear that Robin Hood and his Merry Men were in fact women, and even more obviously, witches.
Maid Marian, on the other hand, was every bit as beautiful as the stories told, though significantly less noble. Rather than presiding over ladies-in-waiting or courtiers, most days Maid Marian presided over sheep. She lived with her father, tending his flock, and asked nothing more. That day however, she also presided over the May Games as Queen, or at least that was what she was told as she was given a thorny flower crown and forced to sit in an uncomfortable chair for everyone to look at while they danced and drank. The office also apparently came with the inexhaustible and inescapable attention of the Sheriff of Nottingham, with full view of his insufferable goatee and bald head that resembled an overstuffed sausage.
“Another silver for my silver star,” the Sheriff purred, dropping another coin into the obscenely stuffed sack by Marian’s chair.
Marian closed her eyes briefly and longed for her sheep. Looking up, she watched a scrawny young man shuffle off the field, head down and clutching his roughly hewn bow.
The Sheriff clicked his tongue. “Worry not for those so stupid as to think they could beat me at archery, and more importantly,” he said, jiggling the sack of coins, “so easy to part from their money. Should I buy you a present with our spoils, my pet?”
Marian fought the urge to grab a different sack and give it a good kick. “Good Sir, my neighbors are poor, and you offer them a chance to feed their families, pay their debts...”
“Their debts to me,” the Sheriff grinned. “Think not on losing our spoils to some flea-ridden miscreant, my queen, for I am known as the greatest archer in the country, and no man can best me.”
Unable to stand the way his beard stretched with his smirk, Marian turned away. Her gaze fell on a nearby tree, nailed to which was a wanted poster fluttering in the breeze. The drawing looked like a child’s creation, but the name stirred something nonetheless.
“What of Robin Hood?”
When no reply came, Marian looked back to find the Sheriff grinding his teeth. She stared until he noticed her eyes on him, jolting in surprise. “Pah!” he cried, waving a hand. “Reports are exaggerated. And besides, she dares not show her face in my presence.” Marian opened her mouth to argue, but the Sheriff grabbed her hand. “Now, enough of this. There is no need to worry when you are with me, m’lady. Oh, but you are right in not wanting me to spend my money on a present, for what ornament could improve—”
Before he could finish his thought or direct his ale breath any closer, a hand was laid between them.
“Marian! It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other. I had hoped to meet you today.”
Taken aback, Marian looked up to see a woman dressed in a rather ill-fitting gown, wimple, and a face she had never seen before in her life. Marian almost said this when she realized the woman’s eyes were speaking to her, and with a thrill, she understood.
“I had hoped the same thing, my old friend. You must tell me everything about how your parents are, and all your siblings too.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Marian saw the Sheriff look back and forth between them.
“Of course, dear friend,” the woman said, leaning in, “but first I must tell you about the boy I hope will court me.”
“Well, I shall allow you two lovely creatures your privacy,” the Sheriff declared, picking up his bow. “I’m sure there are a few more fools who’ve drunk enough to try their arm against mine.”
Marian looked up at the woman gratefully, until she spoke.
“Not so fast,” the woman called after the Sheriff. “The game is archery, is it not? One silver coin to enter, and if the challenger bests you, they win the whole bag?”
The Sheriff turned. “What of it?”
Still holding Marian’s gaze, the woman’s eyes twinkled. “I challenge.”
“What?” Marian and the Sheriff said at once as she dropped a coin onto the pile and picked up the challenger’s bow and arrows.
“My dear,” the Sheriff cooed, “such a sport requires strength ... precision ... acuity.”
The woman stepped up to the challenger line and turned doe eyes on him. “Then perhaps you would like to shoot first and instruct me.”
Visibly relaxing, the Sheriff accepted the offered bow and quiver. “Of course, m’lady.” He faced his target and drew back the string. “The key is a firm stance. Relax your bow arm slightly. Aim for the center of the target. Then, simply release.” His arrow flew and stuck the line between the middle and outer rings.
“Fascinating,” the woman said, aiming at her own target. With a fwip, her arrow flew and struck the center. Marian’s eyes widened, and the Sheriff’s smirk faded.
“Move the targets back,” he barked at two of nearby henchmen who were working their way through a bushel of apricots. Once satisfied, the Sheriff drew his second arrow and shot, hitting the inner part of the middle ring. He turned to the woman and seemed to bore a hole through her with his gaze. Not appearing fazed, she aimed her second arrow and let it go, again hitting the center circle. She turned back to the Sheriff and smiled sweetly. The Sheriff’s neck began to swell.
“It is unbecoming for a lady to play such games,” he said between clenched teeth. “I shall end this quickly.”
“By all means.” The woman gestured to the target.
Yanking his string back, the Sheriff aimed, taking a few more seconds than necessary, and finally released. It struck just inside the center circle. The Sheriff whipped back around, his mouth stretched in a smug grin. “You are more than welcome to forego your last shot and save your fine gown, m’lady.”
The woman hummed thoughtfully. “You’re absolutely right, kind sir. I shouldn’t spoil the dress.” And without further ado, she pulled it and her wimple over her head, revealing short hair that fell around her eyes, a green tunic over breeches and boots, and a sword that glimmered in the sun.
Marian felt every hair on her body stand on end. The Sheriff staggered back a pace before catching himself, setting his jaw.
“Robin Hood,” he declared unnecessarily. After the King and the Sheriff, Robin Hood was one of the most famous—or infamous—people in the country. This became evident as the band stopped in a fizzle of discordant notes, the crowd circling the archery field and murmuring amongst themselves. Many seemed torn between trying to hide and shoving for a better view.
Robin Hood turned to look at the wanted poster tacked to the tree and clicked her tongue. “Now that reward is a bit cheap. Am I worth so little to you?” She smiled cheerfully. “It’s a lovely picture though. Give my regards to the babe who drew it.”
A muscle in the Sheriff’s jaw twitched.
“Oh, and before I forget—” Without breaking her gaze with the Sheriff, Robin pulled back the string of her bow and let loose her third arrow. Everyone’s head snapped to the target, where her arrow was still vibrating at dead center.
“It’s been a pleasure,” Robin said as she grabbed the sack of coins. “Well, it’s been an experience.”
Marian watched her take ten leisurely paces across the field before the Sheriff broke out of his stunned silence.
“Seize her!” he shouted to his henchmen, who after shaking themselves of their own daze, barreled after her with swords raised.
Marian’s heart leapt into her throat, and she was halfway out of her chair before knowing why. Robin, however, seemed to know exactly what she was doing, as she threw a black stone ahead of her and ran towards it. The henchmen hesitated as it exploded in a plume of smoke, and stopped altogether when from it a hazy, phantom-like horse rose to its feet. Robin, however, didn’t break stride. She ran straight towards the horse’s hindquarters and sprang up to mount her, the horse breaking into a run that very second.
“It’s witchcraft,” one of the henchman whispered to another, his triceps quivering.
The Sheriff ran towards them, face reddening with both exertion and rage. “Of course it’s witchcraft, you idiots! She is the most famous witch in the country! After her!”
And perhaps they would have, if it hadn’t been for the dozen other women dressed down to their witch wear, perched atop their own enchanted horses, flicking and curling their fingers at the henchmen’s lower halves.
“The Merry Maidens,” Marian breathed, awestruck.
One by one, the henchmen collapsed on their bottoms, their pants yanked off at the ankles by an invisible hand. The Sheriff was the last to fall, his skintight black breeches flying to Robin’s own outstretched arm.
Marian snorted the most indelicate snort of her life. However, it died in her throat as Robin met her eye and winked before turning her horse and leading the Merry Maidens charging towards the woods, disappearing like smoke.
Marian fell back onto her chair, trembling and feeling like she’d drunk too much wine.
“Alright, clear out, the lot of you! The Games are over!” the Sheriff barked at the crowd, sending them pushing and shoving their way off the field. Marian didn’t blame them. If the Sheriff was insufferable while in a good mood, she shuddered to think what he would be like after being publicly humiliated. Eyes widening at the thought, she slipped from her chair and bounded through the copse of trees back to her father’s fields.
Unfortunately, she was not quick enough to avoid hearing one of the henchmen marvel that the Sheriff was not wearing underclothes.
That night, Marian finished her usual routine of shepherding the sheep home, cooking her father’s dinner, cleaning the house, and climbing into bed. Once there, however, she found she could not sleep. The memories of Robin Hood played so loudly in her mind. After flopping over for the twelfth time, she surrendered. She checked that her father was sound asleep, grabbed her cloak, and slipped quietly out the door.
Marian had walked in Sherwood Forest before, but never at night, and never this deep. She reminded herself that Robin Hood and the Merry Maidens were in here somewhere, but wasn’t sure if that should make her feel better or worse. Nearby, a trig snapping jolted her out of her reverie. Marian ducked behind a tree and watched as a young girl dressed in work clothes picked her way through the brush past her. Curious, Marian followed. The voice of her father in her head told her she should warn the girl and tell her to turn back. Though truthfully, she didn’t want to turn back herself. So they kept walking until the faint sounds of merrymaking hit her ears, and a few moments later through a final line of oaks, a raucous camp came into view.
Marian stared in open amazement until a reveler’s loud cackle made her jump and hide herself behind a tree. Her heart thudded in her chest. She wondered if she was under some sort of spell. Why else would she have walked into the middle of a forbidden forest in the dark of night, straight into a camp full of witches and outlaws? Still, unable to help herself, she peeked around the trunk to get a better look.
Marian didn’t know what she expected. If her father’s warnings were to be believed, most likely human sacrifice. Instead, she counted three fires around which women clustered, some dancing merrily, some drinking, one sitting quietly next to a heap of mending. Marian recognized the Merry Maidens from the Games. To her surprise, several townswomen sat among them. Bursts of laughter broke the thrum of chatter often, bawdy and indelicate, but not cruel. As if pulled by magic, Marian leaned her ear to listen in.
“I wonder, should we donate the dresses we wore today?” asked one of the Merry Maidens. “Disguises can only be used once, after all.”
“What I want to know is when we can fit these pants to us,” another Maiden replied, flourishing a pair of brown breeches Marian recognized from the henchmen.
The woman with the pile of the mending jabbed the needle through the fabric violently. “Well, if you helped, Agnes, it would get done faster.”
“Problem is,” a fourth women piped up, “dresses are the only disguise that works these days.”
The women around the next fire turned.
“I heard the Sheriff officially banned women from wearing trousers. Can you believe that?”
“Aye, it’s true,” said a plump woman wearing barmaid’s clothes, “’cept the the Sheriff’s men can’t tell a lady in trousers from a man, so they’ve taken to stopping every poor soul in breeches they see. Some of the pretty young fellas have taken to wearing dresses just to avoid harassment.”
“Quite the turn of events,” the third woman agreed, not looking up from her mending.
“Then we should give these to them, shouldn’t we?” the first woman said.
“Thank the Heavens,” the barmaid said. “My boy Bartholomew’s been complainin’ he’s tired of his blue gown.”
Shaking her head clear, Marian scanned the clearing for Robin Hood and found her kneeling before the girl she had followed to the camp. Robin drew out the sack of coins from the Games and dropped a handful into the girl’s pocket. Marian’s eyebrows rose, higher when Robin lifted the girl’s hand and kissed the back of it, leaving a faint silver mark. As the girl curtsied and turned back the way she came, more Merry Maidens knelt and kissed her hands, leaving them like two shimmering stars against her skirt.
Marian watched women young and old filter in and out, some carrying gifts, others with not even a shawl around their shoulders. A few stayed, sitting by the fire with the Merry Maidens. Each left with a kiss and a pocketful of silver coins until the sack was empty.
As she watched, a lump formed in her throat. It was so unlike the hollow silence of her father’s house. Gathering her cloak around her, she turned and picked her way back through the trees, finding the main path by the waxing moon. Marian listened to the crunch of her own footsteps, her brows drawing together. She had satisfied her curiosity, yet she felt more restless. The thought of returning to her bed in the loft above her father seemed as appealing as a night in the castle dungeon.
“Perhaps I shall stay with the sheep,” Marian mumbled to herself.
“Perhaps you shall sleep in the stocks,” a voice answered.
Marian jumped back, colliding against a nearby poplar. She whipped her head around, looking for the source of the voice.
“Do not hurt yourself, m’lady,” the voice continued as a black-clad body stepped out of the shadows.
Marian’s stomach seized, certain the Sheriff could see what she had seen just by looking into her eyes. Still, she drew herself up to full height and met his gaze.
“I have committed no crime in these woods.”
“Sherwood Forest is forbidden, m’lady. ‘Tis a crime to set foot here.” She watched his lips stretch into a smirk. “But I don’t care about that. It’s a silly law, isn’t it?”
“Sir, you wrote it.”
The Sheriff ignored this, striding forward and ghosting a hand across her cheek. Crows cawed and flapped in the branches overhead. “This will of course be overlooked in exchange for your assistance.”
The Sheriff’s breath smelled of ale and rot. Marian pressed her back further against the tree trunk, bark digging into her spine. “What could I possibly do for you?”
His expression hardened. Slowly, his hand traveled from her cheek to cover her throat. “Tell me where Robin Hood is.”
Marian’s eyes shot up to see the Sheriff’s turning bright and feverish.
“I know you were there. At the camp. You saw it. Take me there.”
“Why can’t you find it on your own?” Marian bit out. The Sheriff had hung people for less, but she couldn’t stop the words. Robin Hood’s name was like a spell cast over her.
“It’s protected by magic,” the Sheriff hissed, his hand tightening around her throat. “It must be you. I order you—”
“If you wanted an invitation so badly, you should’ve asked.”
Both Marian and the Sheriff stilled. Glancing up, they watched Robin Hood swing deftly from the lowest branch and land before them. She grinned crookedly, her eyes catching the moon’s silver glow. Marian’s heart tremored like plucked harp strings.
“Forgive me,” Robin said as the Sheriff stood fixed to the spot. “I assumed you wouldn’t be interested in all our lady talk. Do you desire to join our hair braiding circle?”
As if by magic, a ray of moonlight hit the top of his bald head, lighting up the clearing. Marian snorted under her breath, and Robin caught her eye and winked.
His body finally seeming to catch up, the Sheriff’s face purpled with rage. His hand slipped from Marian’s throat as he turned to face Robin. Marian took the opening and ducked out from between the tree and the Sheriff, tripping towards Robin’s side of the clearing.
“You should head home, Sheriff,” Robin said, holding his gaze. “One hears stories of outlaws in these woods.”
Not seeming to hear her, the Sheriff spat. “Lady talk. You are no lady, witch.”
“Oh, was that meant to insult me? Well,” she said, pulling a sword from her scabbard, “I had better live up to expectations.”
The Sheriff snarled and wrenched his own sword from his belt, charging forward. Whispering unknown words under her breath, Robin spun around, sending the edge of her blade colliding with his. Light sparked, but not merely a reflection. It seemed to come from within, as if she had dipped it a blacksmith’s hearth.
“Oh no you don’t,” the Sheriff huffed and brought down his sword hard against hers. Robin held against it, and the Sheriff scraped his blade down like steel striking flint. The reaction was instant. His sword glowed white hot before bursting into brilliant red and gold flames.
The Sheriff dropped his weapon with a yelp, clutching his hand. Without missing a beat, Robin brought the tip of her sword under his chin, tipping it up.
“Goodnight, Sheriff.”
The Sheriff tensed, glancing from the blade to Robin and off to where Marian stood watching behind her. Robin pressed the edge more firmly against his neck.
Grumbling low in his throat, the Sheriff staggered backward. He looked down regretfully at his sword, flames still licking happily around it, before turning and stumbling through the trees.
Once he had disappeared, Marian’s gaze fell to the burning blade. “How did you do that? Why isn’t the fire spreading?”
Robin’s lips quirked, a mischievous spark lighting her eye. She nodded towards the sword. “Pick it up.”
Marian paused, raising her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
Robin stared back challengingly.
Eyeing her dubiously, Marian knelt down, her hand hovering over it. Finally, she reached through the flames to touch the hilt.
“It is still cool,” she said, raising it aloft. “It was only an illusion of magic?”
When there came no reply, Marian looked back to see Robin mirroring the awe she felt.
“You trust me.”
Marian startled, looking down at the magical flames encasing her hand. She knew it was foolish, but she supposed after the way she had spent the evening so far, it hardly mattered. Still, she felt a strange desire to argue.
“Why were you following me anyway?” she countered.
The question seemed to take Robin by surprise, and she looked almost abashed. Marian watched a lock of unruly hair fall into her eyes and itched to sweep it away.
“Well, uh, you followed me first?”
Heat flooded Marian’s cheeks. “I...I’m sorry. It was stupid of me.” She shook her head. “I’ve done many stupid things tonight.”
“Just one,” Robin said, the glint returning to her eye. “Lurking as a phantom in the shadows for hours instead of joining in the fun.”
Marian nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Shall I give you a kiss then?” Robin asked softly.
Marian’s eyes widened. “It’s a little sudden, isn’t it?”
After a beat of silence, Robin snorted. “A witch’s blessing. It will make your foes uninterested in you, so that you may return home safely.” She ducked her head, catching Marian’s eye. “I believe you saw these when you were spying earlier.”
Marian made a small strangled sound in her throat and wondered if there was any quicksand nearby that she could fall into.
“Right,” she nodded, holding out her hand, “of course.”
Ignoring it, Robin stepped forward and held Marian’s cheeks, kissing her forehead lightly.
“You have worse foes than most,” she explained.
Marian froze, feeling her skin tingle. She wondered if a silver lip print had been left behind. It wasn’t until Robin stepped back that Marian realized she was leaning into Robin’s hands. She had to catch herself from pitching forward.
“I can escort you home, if you’d like,” Robin said, pulling out the shiny black stone from the May Games.
“No,” Marian rushed, more forcefully than necessary. Taking a deep breath, she painted on a smile. “My thanks, but I think an enchanted horse is likely to arouse more suspicion at this time of night.”
“You are too wise,” Robin hummed and dropped the stone back in her pocket. “Then I big you good night, milady.”
“Goodnight.” Marian curtseyed and turned out of the clearing, proud of herself for keeping her voice firm and gait steady.
“Other way,” Robin called behind her, making Marian jump. Turning, she saw Robin point in the opposite direction, a grin tugging at her lips.
Clearing her throat, Marian nodded and walked back across the clearing. She praised and thanked everything she knew when the forest’s shade finally enveloped her. Still, she couldn’t shake the nagging image of Robin stepping lightly through the branches overhead, just out of sight.
It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling.
~~~
It was mid-morning when Marian returned at last to her father’s house. Her thoughts had been just as tangled as when she had left, if not more so, and she found her sheep made better company when she didn’t want to answer questions.
This proved true the moment she slid the door latch closed behind her.
“Why were ye in Sherwood Forest las’ night?” her father asked, his voice low and dry like burning paper. He sat hunched over their small table, quill in hand, scrolls spread out across its surface and a pipe laid atop them, small wisps of smoke escaping the bowl. Her father didn’t look up. “The Sheriff was here this mornin’.”
“It’s alright,” Marian hurried. “He didn’t hurt me. He tried, but you’ll never believe who—”
Her father held up a bony hand, and her words wilted on her tongue.
“Walkin’ in those woods is a crime. Ye know that, girl.”
Marian nodded. “Whatever the punishment, I’ll accept it.”
“No need,” he said simply. “The Sheriff has offered t’ marry ye instead. Isn’t that a laugh?”
Marian almost did laugh. “What did you tell him?”
“Not much t’ say, really.” He scratched his quill across a piece of parchment. “No better offer’s gonna come for ye, unless the king ‘imself returns from the wars thirsty for sheep’s milk.”
Marian stared. “Father, who would take care of you?”
“Sheriff said he knows many a fine woman who’re handy on a farm.” At that, he set down his quill and picked up his pipe, inhaling and blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Me bed’s been cold too long.”
Marian felt ice slide down her spine. Wordlessly, she opened the door behind her, ready to run back into the woods, only to collide into the Sheriff’s chest.
“Have you had enough time to prepare, my pet?” His hand ghosted over her throat, across the marks his fingers had made the night before. “Tomorrow shall be the day we wed.”
Fire coursed through her, turning the trail of ice to steam. She wrenched his arm from her neck. “Tomorrow will be the day you enter Heaven if you touch me again.”
The Sheriff stilled before letting out a deep, throaty guffaw.
“Oh, won’t this be fun.”
At the snap of his fingers, two henchmen appeared in the doorway and grabbed her on both sides. The world blurred around her. She struggled to break free, kicking out, scratching at the arms around her, but too soon a carriage door opened before her, and a blunt blow hit the back of her head. Her vision blackened, and her body sagged.
~~~
“It has been too long since the good people of Nottingham have had the joy of a royal wedding,” the Sheriff declared.
Below the castle balcony, the crowd cheered their agreement.
The Sheriff placed a hand over his heart. “With our king away at war, for the holiest of purposes, you have had to endure me as a crude imitation.”
The crowd clapped politely.
“However, while we cannot all have the honor of fighting on the battlefield, we must remember that there is still a war to be won here at home. A war against darkness, against superstition, and against the Serpent’s temptation.”
The Sheriff paused, and a smattering of claps sounded.
“Which is why I have at last selected a wife. A bud plucked from pastoral innocence, but who can only blossom under the right care.”
Reaching out to his side, the Sheriff pulled Marian to stand before him. She was wrapped in embroidered silks that covered her bound wrists, her cloth-gagged mouth hidden behind a gauzy veil. His hands gripped her upper arms like a vice.
“I present to you my bride-to-be, Maid Marian, Queen of the May Games, and I hope soon, queen of all your hearts.”
While the crowd cheered once again, Marian shook to and fro, trying to wrench her arms from his hold. Finally, she felt one hand release, followed swiftly by the tip of a dagger blade pressing against her spine. She stilled. The Sheriff addressed the crowd.
“You see, our dear Marian is in danger, pursued by the outlaw witch who hides like a coward in the woods, hungry to corrupt our virtuous, law-abiding ladies and draw them into her cult of darkness.”
“Only on Saturdays if the weather is pleasant,” a voice called from the back of the crowd.
Marian’s heart leapt in her chest. The voice was unmistakable, not only to her but seemingly to the Sheriff too. His hand gripped her arm painfully tight, but she barely felt it.
“I think we’d better have a talk, Sheriff. But first things first.”
As if gentle fingers tugged at the hem, the veil slid from Marian’s face, and she watched it flick across the gasping crowd to Robin’s outstretched hand.
“Oh dear,” she said, “what a way to treat your betrothed.”
The crowd turned back to Marian, a murmur rippling through at the sight of the gag tied around her mouth. Marian looked back to Robin and saw real anger in her eyes for the first time, dark as a thunderstorm as she stared at the Sheriff.
“A trick of magic, obviously,” he spat.
At his words, the clouds in Robin’s vision cleared. She clicked her tongue. “I didn’t come here to argue, Sheriff.”
“Then why show your face?”
The corner of Robin’s lips quirked. “To offer you a rematch.”
Between them, the crowd buzzed in confusion, and a muscle in the Sheriff’s jaw twitched. “Why, pray tell, would you do this?”
“I play for Marian’s freedom.”
The Sheriff’s nails dug into Marian’s arm. “And if you lose?”
“My life.”
Marian’s eyes shot up. She barely heard the crowd rising to a clamor below her. Robin eyes locked with the Sheriff’s, while his neck worked as if struggling to swallow her words.
Finally, he turned to the henchmen at his side. “Set out the targets.”
Marian might have felt relief when the Sheriff left her side. She might have rubbed her arm where bruises were already blooming beneath the skin. As it was, all she could do was watch the crowd parting to allow Robin through to where four henchmen were dragging two target boards. Another carried their bows and arrows, white flags for the Sherriff, black for Robin, just like last time.
Before Robin could reach them, the Sheriff plucked out two of her arrows. “I will only release her if you best me in three straight shots.”
Around them, the crowd fluttered indignantly, but instead of arguing, Robin grinned. “I was planning on it.”
A vein in the Sheriff’s forehead throbbed. Marian bit the cloth gag around her mouth to stop a stream of giggles.
“White moves first,” Robin said, gesturing for the Sheriff to take his shot.
“No,” he said, drawing an arrow from his quiver. “Together.”
Marian held her breath as Robin nodded, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Sheriff. In perfect sync, they pulled their bowstrings back and released. The Sheriff’s arrow struck the second circle, and Robin’s struck the center.
Behind them, excited whispers rippled through the crowd. The Sheriff gripped the handle of his bow until his knuckles turned white.
“Again,” he barked, yanking back his string.
Robin followed, and they released a second time. With a thwack, Robin’s arrow landed snugly next to her first, while the Sheriff’s veered off to the left, just hitting the inside edge of the target.
“Prepare yourself for our departure, milady,” Robin called as she nocked her final arrow. Sparing a look over her shoulder, she glanced up at Marian and winked. Marian’s heart thrummed. She wanted to stay in the safety of that gaze forever.
She stayed just a second too long.
Catching movement, Marian’s eyes flicked to the Sheriff. As if in a dream, she watched him turn towards her, bowstring pulled tight, arrow pointed at her chest. She sucked in a breath, and a blur of color swam before her. Robin lunged towards him, sending him staggering back.
“You could have killed her,” she cried, grabbing a fistful of his collar.
“Not at all,” the Sheriff said, his lips curling around yellow teeth. “I have saved her.”
Robin, Marian, and the crowd turned to see her third arrow sticking in the ground beside the target, still vibrating from being carelessly released. The Sheriff cleared his throat, pulled back his bowstring, and released his arrow without even looking at the target. It hit the outer circle. Marian felt a stone drop in her stomach.
“You have your tricks, witch,” he said, “and I have mine.”
Robin lifted her head slowly, as if in daze. She would not meet Marian’s eyes. Around them, time slowed like a river freezing over. A group of henchmen circled Robin and dragged her out of sight. Marian couldn’t hear the crowd’s shouts or her own, even as her throat grew raw and her lungs screamed for air. Another henchman’s meaty arm wrapped around her, and her world went dark.
~~~
I failed her.
The thought ran circles through Robin’s mind as she was led down a dank and dripping staircase to the castle dungeon. Her body felt like it was filled with lead. Finally, they stopped before the mouth of a tunnel, a burning torch bathing the stone walls in an eerie glow.
“If you thought your humiliation would be granted the quick reprieve of death, you were sorely mistaken.”
Robin did not flinch at the Sheriff’s voice as he strode from the tunnel to stand over her. Instead, all the fog in her mind cleared, fire burning it away.
“It is not my humiliation, but the one who could only best me by threatening his own betrothed.”
Robin lifted her eyes to meet his, allowing every ounce of heat to blaze through them. The Sheriff winced, and the corner of Robin’s lips twitched up.
“I would gladly sever head from neck this moment,” the Sheriff snarled, “but I have prepared for this day.” Grabbing her by the elbow, he pulled Robin around the corner. Robin gawked at what lay before her. Instead of the iron bars that surrounded every other cell, there stood shimmering rods of gold. It was like standing at the gates of Heaven.
“Why?” Robin breathed.
The Sheriff smirked. “I know your Merry Maidens will try to help you escape, and I know a woodland witch needs like metal to enchant like metal, just as you cursed my sword with yours. Steel against steel.”
Robin looked back the Sheriff, realization dawning on her face. “But there is no gold. You seized every last fleck of it when the king left.”
“And what good use I have put it to,” the Sheriff said, looking up at it admiringly, “a gilded cage to hold a robin.”
“You’re mad,” Robin laughed. “Why not just kill me?”
“Oh, but where is the fun in that?” the Sheriff purred, stepping his closer. His eyes were black and wild. “Where is the fun in killing you while the Merry Maidens aren’t here to watch? Before Marian is with child...Before you beg for the mercy of my sword.”
Robin’s blood chilled at Marian’s name. The Sheriff took the opportunity to shove her past the open bars, her shoulder slamming against the back wall.
Robin listened to the clank of a key turning a lock, followed by retreating footsteps. Rushing forward, she grasped the bars and reeled off a spell, then another, and another. She closed her eyes and tried to channel her energy, gain control of just a piece of it, but it slid off the gold like water.
Robin opened her eyes. Her hands shook as they slid down the smooth metal, palms slick with sweat.
“I do not mind honoring my end of the bargain, my dear Marian, even if it was deceitful,” she said softly, “for how can I live knowing I failed you?”
~~~
Robin woke to the sound of church bells.
Jolting from where she had slumped against the cell door, she winced and yanked her head back through the bars, rubbing her neck as it popped free.
The church bells clanged on, loud and unceasing.
“Are they trying to call France to Mass?” she groaned, just before the penny dropped.
“The wedding,” she said. “Marian, you are already married.” Robin dropped against the back wall, hands tangled in her hair. “He has touched his lips to yours.”
Morning light filtered in above her, and she drew her knees to her chest, covering her eyes as if it burned.
“Your capture is my fault,” she mumbled. “I followed after you like a stray dog, and the Sheriff used you to seek vengeance against me. All I wanted was to protect you. I am nothing but an arrogant, straw-brained fool.”
“You forgot theatrical with impressively quick reflexes.”
Robin’s head shot up.
Standing bathed in the glow of a burning torch, Marian smiled broadly, her cheeks flushed, hair askew, and more beautiful a sight than any Robin had ever seen.
“I’ve come to rescue you,” she said.
Robin stared at her as if she was a ghost. “But the church bells...”
“Oh that?” Marian nodded above them. “The Merry Maidens are creating a bit of a distraction, with the help of most of the townswomen...and the men who received the Maidens’ dresses. They looked quite fetching. In any case, we should probably make haste.”
Robin pressed against the bars. “Do you have the key?”
“Not as such, no,” she said.
Deflating, Robin shook her head. “Marian, the cage is gold. I can only enchant metal with a tool of the same metal, and the Sheriff seized all the gold in the country. I am powerless.”
“Then it’s a good thing the Sheriff is too proud to let his betrothed be seen with a ring of commoners.” Marian held up her left hand, showing a thin, golden ring on her third finger. Robin’s jaw fell slack.
Wordlessly, Marian pulled the ring off and reached for Robin’s hand.
Robin smiled crookedly. “It’s a little sudden, isn’t it?”
Marian glared, but could not stop a smile from tugging at her lips. “Just for that, I shall not allow you to give me your witch’s blessing.”
“No?” Robin raised her brows.
“No,” she said, sliding the ring onto Robin’s finger. “I’m going to give you one instead.”
Robin froze, and Marian took advantage, leaning forward and kissing her lips. All at once, a swell of magic bloomed in her. The ring on her finger glowed white, but she didn’t even notice. She gripped the bars between them, and they turned soft in her hands. She pulled until, with a final groan, they gave way. Without breaking the kiss, Robin rushed forward and gathered Marian in her arms. She thought she would drown in the feeling of her solid weight against her, alive and safe. She hoped she would.
“I believe we have a corrupt government to overthrow,” Marian whispered.
“Indeed we do,” Robin agreed, while wrapping her arms tighter around Marian’s waist. She would let go soon, and they would fight, and she would clobber the Sheriff with one of his gold prison bars.
Just not yet.
