Fic: Love, Duty, Sacrifice Chapter 2/24
Title: Love, Duty, Sacrifice
Author: Mel missalee
Rating: PG-13, R later on
Summary: A mysterious letter calls Robin on a mission to France that upsets his happiness with Marian and has repercussions from Marian’s past, on the King’s family, and on the fate of England.
Pairing: Robin/Marian (some other couples will show up/develop later in the story which I don't want to spoil the surprise for - anything is possible)
Spoilers: Post Series/Season 1. In this world Series/Season 2 has not happened. Though slight S2 image spoilers in my banner under the cut. It will also help (but is not necessary) if you have read Honor, Protect, Serve which is a semi-prequel to this story. If you haven’t read the prequel then all you really need to know is that Marian has a protective dog named Luna.
Disclaimer: Definitely not mine, but extremely fun to play with. I’ll be playing with history here and there throughout the story, so events and characters may not follow the historic record. I do try to remain true to the spirit and intent of history, if not the actual facts.
See Chapter 1 for Author's Notes and Information
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1
Chapter 2
The sun was just beginning to rise as Marian guided her horse back into the stables at Knighton. She dismounted and began removing the tack from her mare, putting away the saddle and hanging the bridle before picking up the tools to groom the horse. Her movements were memorized and rhythmic, learned from years of practice.
Marian was exhausted, having spent the night searching for Robin in the forest and any other place she could think to find him. She had looked everywhere, had even sent Luna off to track him, but even her fiercely accurate wolf hadn’t been able to follow his trail. Eventually Marian had given up on finding Robin on her own and had approached the outlaws’ camp. The surprise on their faces when she said she was looking for Robin had been all the answer she’d needed.
Robin didn’t want to be found.
Much had promised to inform her when Robin returned and she’d been purposefully cryptic about the circumstances of her argument with Robin.
Marian understood that when Robin wanted to hide he would be able to disappear like a leaf in the forest. But she had questions. Questions about the letter he’d left with her. A letter that could have come from her mother. It was impossible and yet she couldn’t deny the language on the paper and the familiar curve of the letters and symbols.
Giving her horse a final brush, Marian left the stables, entering the house without notice from the servants and climbed the staircase to her room. Her father was away, visiting a distant relative in the neighboring shire. She expected him to return sometime that day and Marian cast a glance at the road that approached their home. She shook her head, knowing that if pure wishing brought about results she would have found Robin and her father would be home so she could question him about her mother.
After changing out of her riding clothes and into a dress, Marian paced her room, questions filling her head to the point of frustration. Luna watched her mistress anxiously as she moved back and forth. Marian suddenly stopped in her transit around the room, an idea blooming.
Hurriedly, she began searching through her desk, moving aside trinkets and parchment, her mind narrowing in on a specific goal, a specific memory. She moved next to her bedside table and, in her growing frustration, finally moved to the hand-carved wooden chest at the foot of her bed. She dug through the years of collected clothing and memories, her hand finally brushing against rough paper and a thick length of silk. Pulling out the stack of letters as long as her forearm and tied with a thick rope of silk, she stared at them.
It had been years since she’d looked at the letters. When Robin had left she’d nearly burned them. In a fit of fury she’d held them over the flames. But something had told her to pull back her arm. Angry with herself for even caring enough to keep them, she’d thrown them in the chest and buried them, both with time and in her memory.
She fingered the strip of silk, the memory of how she’d stolen it bringing a brief and bittersweet smile to her face. She’d been barely thirteen, Robin had been practicing with his bow and she’d sat and watched him, enjoying the sun and cool spring breeze on a rare free afternoon together when they were young. When he unstrung his bow and began polishing the wood she had carefully and, without Robin’s notice, wound the thick cord of silk around her fingers and placed it in the pocket of her dress. He’d been mystified about where the bow string had gone and had assumed he’d lost it in the blades of grass around him. She’d been too shy to ask for it even though he would have probably gladly given it to her.
But she’d looked at the bow string and she’d known that it was meant to hold his letters to her together.
Untying the strand, it fell away, revealing the first letter. Folded with the carefulness of an earnest teenage boy, her name was scrawled on the top. Marian took a deep breath and unfolded it carefully, relieved when she found the ink was still legible. It was easy to read now, the language she hadn’t even remembered when she’d first seen it the night before.
Marian,
I hope that Much is able to deliver this letter. Father has forbidden me from coming to visit you until I have improved my sword fighting skills. My tutor is also disappointed that I have not been doing as well on my History lessons. I can never seem to please them. I wish they could accept me as you and Much do. It is easier to play in the forest and forget that the world exists. I hope to see you soon.
Robin
He’d written the letter to her when he was thirteen and she was nine. It was the first of dozens of letters. At first it had been a game to them. Writing letters in code that no one understood, no one but her mother. After all, Marian’s mother had taught it to her in the first place.
One afternoon when she was eight years old Marian had found her mother writing a letter and had inquired who it was for.
“A distant cousin. He and I haven’t seen each other for years, but we always write to one another.”
“What do these letters mean? What is that symbol?”
Katherine lifted Marian to her lap, letting her daughter trace the odd characters with her small fingers. She brushed back the long brown locks of her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“It is a secret language only known to a few members of my family. I am one of the last to remember it. My cousin and I use it so that we may talk freely and not worry that someone will intercept our letters and know our secrets.”
Marian’s eyes widened at her mother’s words. A secret language. It was exciting, and something she knew would entice Robin.
“Would you teach me?”
Katherine looked at her daughter thoughtfully.
“This wouldn’t be so that you and a certain young man from Locksley could send letters back and forth in secret, would it?”
Katherine’s voice was playful and Marian couldn’t help but blush. She shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.
“Would you teach me?”
And Katherine had taught Marian the language. Marian, in turn, had taught Robin. He’d enthusiastically dubbed the language “Fitzwalter” after her mother’s family. Their letters to each other flew back in forth during times when they were separated by responsibilities. Much was their courier. The letters were sometimes filled with childlike simplicity, anger at chores or punishment. As they got older there were letters from Robin that had served as a balm to her wounded heart after her mother’s death. Letters full or apology when he’d done something insensitive. Letters conveying his hurt over his father’s disappointment in him. And eventually letters full of youthful love and idealistic planning for the future. She had spent many nights reading and rereading Robin’s letters. Even when they’d been apart for days, she had had his letters.
Even though the language had come from her mother, Marian had come to feel it was something private between her and Robin. Often they wrote things in letters to each other that they could never be brave enough to say in person.
Even though Marian had been horribly hurt by Robin leaving for the Crusades, she hadn’t been able to burn the letters. And now, she wondered at how the letter Robin had given her could possibly exist. The language was little known, her mother had told her that. Even if the handwriting hadn’t looked so familiar, there seemed to be no one else the letter could have come from. But that suggested that somehow her mother was alive, an impossible thing. And there were things in the letter that just didn’t make sense, even if it had come from her mother.
Along with the memory of the day Robin had first left her, the memory of her mother’s death was painfully difficult to recall. She had been ten years old, roused by shouting and panic. A glance out her window had told her the barn was on fire. One of the servants had come to stay with her through the night and hadn’t allowed her to look outside.
She would never forget the sound of the horses, screaming in terror at the heat and light. The fire had burned hot and long through the night until there was nothing but piles of ash as white as snow on the ground. As dawn broke she’d snuck a peek and had seen her father, covered in soot, staring at what little remained of the barn.
Later, he’d come to her room, sending the servant away. Marian had immediately asked about her mother. The look on her father’s face was something she would never forget. She’d been caught in the fire, he’d said. She’d been trying to help the horses escape. And she hadn’t come out. Marian remembered staring at her father’s face, covered in ash but where tracks of tears revealed skin pale as granite, and she could feel nothing but icy pain.
At the funeral Robin had sat with her, never leaving her side, his hand never releasing hers. He didn’t seem to mind her blank stare. He didn’t try to cheer her up or tell her it would get better like everyone else did. He didn’t try to tell her she was lucky her mother had lived as long as she did since disease and accidents took many people far too young. He just sat with her, his glare to nearly everyone who tried to approach a distinct warning. Later, Marian had written to Robin how his presence had helped her get through the day, and how writing to him in her mother’s language made her feel closer to her.
Robin never spoke of his mother, who had died in childbirth, along with his brother, when he was twelve. But when he finally did speak of Mary Locksley, it was in his letters to her. They spoke of their loss to each other, in a language only they both knew and with a feeling only they both understood.
Marian realized she’d been staring, lost in thought, at the first letter from Robin. She folded it and moved it to the bottom of the pile, reaching for the next one. The sound of an approaching carriage stopped her and she looked out her window, seeing her father returning home. Her heart pounding, she hastily tied the silk bow string back around the letters and hurried downstairs, shoving the letter Robin had given her the night before into the pocket of her dress.
Anxious, Marian waited as her father hung his coat and spoke to their stable boy, and then the cook about dinner. She folded her arms over her chest, her fingers digging into her arms. Finally, Edward turned towards her in the living area, coming forward to enfold her in a hug. She tried to relax in his arms, closing her eyes over the effort. What she had to tell him would upset him, she knew. And her father’s health was a constant worry to her. The only thing that forced her to tell him was she knew if her mother was alive that he would want to know.
“Marian, is something the matter?”
Marian guided her father to sit by the fireplace and she joined him in a chair sitting across from him, pulling the chair close enough that she could still hold his hands in hers.
“Father, I know what I have to ask you will pain you. But I must ask, and I must have you tell me with as much detail and honesty as you can. Please, it is very important to me,” she begged, her tone quiet. Edward nodded curiously, urging her to continue.
“Tell me about the night Mother died.”
Edward’s sharp intake of breath and his bowed head made Marian’s eyes fill with tears. Seeing him hurt was the last thing she wanted. But instead of refusing her, he lifted his head, the sorrow as fresh as if the wound had been inflicted the day before.
“It was ten years ago now. Towards the end of a dry summer. We’d been worried about fires in the fields and forest. But I’ve never seen a fire like the one that night. The barn was already ablaze when Katherine, your mother, was outside. I was slower but I caught sight of her entering the barn the first time. I thought my heart would stop until I saw her lead out two horses. And when she turned back to go in I started to go after her. She was always so headstrong, and she did love those horses. Just before I lost sight of her, I saw her look back. Even now I wonder if she wasn’t saying goodbye.
“I tried to follow her, but the fire was too hot. The entire barn was on fire. The dry summer had caused the rivers and ponds to dry up and we had no water to put the flames out. All we could do was watch it burn. The fire burned so long and so hot that there was nothing left.”
Marian nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat.
“There was never - you never found Mother’s body?” she asked. Edward shook his head, his gaze confused as her looked at his daughter. Marian took a deep breath and pulled out the letter, unfolding it and handing it to Edward. Puzzled, he glanced at it, then he met her eyes.
“What is this? What does this say?”
“Do you remember that Robin and I used to write letters to one another in a secret language?”
Edward smiled at the memory, his eyes touched with sadness.
“Yes, you two were always so delighted in your mysteries.”
“Robin received this letter by courier yesterday. Did you know that Mother first taught me the language, and I taught it to him?” Marian asked, watching her father carefully. He was a smart man and she saw the moment the pieces fell into place in his mind. He went utterly still, his eyes burning fiercely into hers.
“You don’t mean to suggest that this letter is from your mother? Marian?”
“I keep telling myself it is impossible, but I can come up with no other explanation. Mother told me the language was practically forgotten, that it was passed down through her family, but that no one outside the Fitzwalters knew of it,” Marian said, standing to face the fireplace, twisting her fingers anxiously. Edward grasped her elbow and handed her the letter, his hands shaking a little.
“Marian, tell me what it says.”
Smoothing out the parchment, she began to read, the almost forgotten words coming fast and easy.
Robin of Locksley,
I write to you in a time of grave distress. I have been the caretaker of the King’s illegitimate daughter in France for the last decade. King Richard has come to realize that while England is in desperate need of guidance, he cannot leave the Holy Land to return at this time. In order to secure a line of succession and provide a stable alliance if he is unable to ever return, he has arranged for his daughter to marry Henry the Lion, a Germanian prince in the Saxony region. He has asked me to contact you, the most loyal and brave of his personal guards, to come to France, escort his daughter to Brunswick, and see that she is safely delivered to her husband-to-be.
Tell no one of your mission. You must come as quickly as possible to Bayeux. Look for the Chateaux la Riviere five kilometers from the center of town.
Long live the King.
Marian finished reading, folding the letter and slipping it back in her pocket. She was silent, waiting for a reaction from her father. She almost wasn’t sure of her own thoughts anymore, it felt as though she couldn’t trust her own judgment to be true. Looking out the window, the pang of wishing Robin were there to explain, to reassure her, reared up. But he’d tried to tell her, they’d hurt each other, and now she almost couldn’t blame him for avoiding her.
“Robin received this letter yesterday?” Edward’s voice was hushed. She nodded, turning back to face her father.
“And he hasn’t been able to offer any further explanation?”
“Robin and I quarreled. When he told me he was leaving I wouldn’t allow him to tell me why and-“
“And you hurt him enough that he is now avoiding you?” Edward finished, a wry smile tipping the corner of his mouth. Marian nearly exploded at her father’s expression.
“He could have told me! But I reacted so quickly and said hurtful things to him and then he left. I looked for him all last night but even now, when he knows that I will have read the letter and suspect it has come from Mother, he stays away. Why do Robin and I always manage to hurt each other?” Marian asked, sinking into her chair in frustration. Edward took Marian’s hand in his, stroking it gently.
“You and Robin have always had a tempestuous friendship. As children I worried over the trouble he pulled you into. I was almost relieved, if not for seeing your heartbreak, when he left for the Crusades. You were both so foolishly in love, so headstrong together. When Robin returned I never could have guessed that you two would find your way back to each other. But like a bee to pollen, you are always drawn to one another. Don’t let a misunderstanding tear you apart.”
Marian nodded, hearing the wisdom in her father’s words but not sure how she could regain Robin’s trust. Or how he could restore her faith in him.
“There is something I must tell you about your mother, Marian. It was always a secret that we decided should stay a secret to keep our family safe.”
Curious, Marian nodded, watching her father’s grave expression.
“Your mother, Katherine Fitzwalter, was a cousin of King Richard’s.”
Marian’s eyes widened and she forgot to breathe for a moment. Of all the impossible things she’d considered so far that day, even despite the fact that her mother could be alive, she had never thought her father could reveal such a secret.
“But then, the letters she was writing when I was young-“
“Were to King Richard. They never spent much time together, but they were always close through their letters to one another. I think King Richard often trusted Katherine’s judgment over others’ because she was not in the inner political circle. Her family kept their association with the monarchy a secret in order to live quiet lives away from court. When your mother told me and you were born we agreed to uphold that tradition. I didn’t want to spend years fighting off prospective suitors and your mother had no desire to intermingle with higher society. She was always happiest here, in her gardens, and with you.”
Edward’s voice trailed off and he looked into Marian’s clear blue eyes and then away, lost in the memory of his beloved wife.
“But then, why would she leave? Why did she leave? Fake her own death? Leave us when I was so young?” Marian asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
“Marian, despite this letter, you mustn’t jump to conclusions. If King Richard taught the language to someone else it would serve as the perfect way to secretly communicate.”
Marian stood, shaking her head and pacing the room.
“No. This is her handwriting, I am sure of it. The King must have written her, needed her for something. That is the only explanation for what would take her away. And she is the only person who would know that Robin can read this language, she is the only person who would write to him and know he would understand the message, and that she sent it.”
Marian continued to pace, her words stronger than she felt. She wasn’t completely sure the letter came from her mother. The King could have written the letter, knowing somehow that Robin could read it. But that couldn’t explain Robin’s extreme reaction. He believed it was her mother. And that was all she needed to believe too.
“I have to get ready. I have to pack,” Marian said suddenly, turning to go upstairs. Edward stood, following her to the staircase.
“Whatever for?”
“I have to be ready to go. I have to find Robin. I’m going to France.”
********
Marian considered the items on her bed with a shrewd eye. With the weather turning it was harder to decide what to bring and what to leave behind. Clothing for rain, for temperate days, and even for freezing cold were needed. She guessed they would camp along the way since the journey to the coast should only take three days. And Marian knew Robin’s clothing and supplies were sorely lacking, so she had packed a few items for him.
One last item underwent her scrutiny. Robin’s letters in a neat stack, tied tight by his bow string. It would be easier to leave them. Marian set them aside, folding and pushing clothing into the leather knapsack she was planning to bring. When she finished she saw there was a little more space at the top of the bag. Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked up the letters and buried them deep underneath the clothing.
Satisfied, Marian shed her dress, pulling on leather breeches and a long sleeved tunic before pulling on her leather vest. Sitting by the fire, Luna’s ears perked up as she recognized Marian’s Knightwatchman costume. Casting a glance at the darkening sky, Marian grabbed her cloak in one hand and her mask in the other. With the flick of her finger as a command Luna preceded her down the stairs. Pausing in the kitchen to fasten her cloak, Marian steeled herself before facing her father, who had followed her and stopped in the doorway.
“Will nothing I say convince you of the foolishness of this idea? Going with Robin to France is dangerous.”
“Robin will protect me, as I will protect him,” Marian replied, her tone smooth and confident.
“The Sheriff. And Gisborne. They will notice you are gone.”
“We can tell them I am visiting family on the continent. It is not illegal yet to travel.”
Frustrated at her easy answers, Edward was silent. Finally he looked up at Marian, deep worry creasing his forehead.
“He’s doing it again. Has been doing it since he returned. Pulling you into the trouble that has always followed in his wake.”
Marian smiled a little sadly, knowing her father did not and could not understand. Like a bee to pollen, he’d said. And she knew he was right. Neither one of them had been able to resist their pull towards one another, even when they actually tried.
“I am willful and headstrong. This I know. But what I don’t know is the truth about what may have happened with Mother. And I can’t stay in Nottingham wondering what Robin has discovered. I must go with him. And you were right, I should not let a misunderstanding come between us. We have been through too much together.”
Edward looked almost as though he regretted his earlier words, but Marian knew that even if he could not say it, her father admired and trusted Robin. He did trust Robin with her safety. But he could not stop worrying.
“I am going to see if Robin will allow me to find him tonight. I will be back before sunrise. I’m taking Luna with me. Please don’t worry, Father.”
Before she could reach for the door to walk outside and to the barn, a staccato knock sounded against the kitchen door. Marian’s heart immediately began to pound. It was a knock from one of Robin’s men. And even as she hoped, she knew it wasn’t Robin. She opened the door quickly and a tall, slim figure darted into the room, closing and locked the door behind him. Calloused hands with long fingers reached for the hood covering his face and Marian saw the glint reflected off the metal axe at his side.
“Will!” she greeted, unable to stop the surprise from her voice. Will Scarlet was easily the quietest of Robin’s men. But she’d often seen the way Will silently watched and appraised the people and things going on around him. She knew his quick mind had gotten Robin and the outlaws out of countless treacherous situations. Will nodded to her father before turning his piercing gaze on her.
“Lady Marian, I’ve come to tell you that Robin has left.”
Marian blinked in surprise.
“’Left’? What do you mean? He can’t have left. He said he had days to go before he finished getting ready, gathering supplies.”
“Robin returned to camp this afternoon. Much did try to persuade him to come see you. He spent the afternoon and evening gathering what he needed for the journey to France and he left the forest, heading south about three hours ago.”
“Three hours! Why did no one come tell me?” Marian cried. She saw Will flinch a little and laid a comforting hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry, Will,” she murmured. He nodded quickly, her outburst already forgotten.
“I was out hunting this evening and when I returned Much was the only one in camp. Robin had left while the rest of us were gone and made Much promise not to tell you he’d gone. Thankfully he didn’t say Much couldn’t tell me,” Will replied. Marian nodded, beginning to pace and calculate in her head.
“If he left three hours ago then he can’t have gotten far. I could probably catch him by morning if I left now,” she murmured. Edward began to protest, but Will cut him off.
“It would be best if you waited until morning to leave, Lady Marian.”
At her puzzled expression, he continued.
“Robin left with very little food stores. He sacrificed having supplies in order to leave quickly. Much said he was anxious to go so that he could finish his mission and return to you and prove his reasons for leaving. He will have to hunt along the way to the coast.”
“Marian, you were out searching for him all night and should rest before you follow him,” Edward urged.
Marian hesitated, knowing Will was right, but hating that Robin was already so far ahead of her.
“Robin left strict instructions with Much. We are to behave as though he is still here. One of us will always be in disguise as Robin Hood so that the Sheriff and Gisborne do not realize he has gone. And we are to look after you.”
“Did he say how long he would be gone?” Marian asked.
“He told Much a minimum of nine weeks and perhaps as many as twelve,” Will replied. Marian felt a pang, imagining all that time that she was supposed to have waited for him to return.
“I should leave Knighton while you are gone.”
Marian turned in surprise to look at her father. He nodded slowly, confirming what she thought she’d heard.
“The Sheriff and Gisborne will be curious at your absence. It would be better if we both disappeared for awhile and left word with our neighbors that we are visiting relatives on the continent. They will not be welcoming upon our return, but it should keep suspicion away from us.”
Marian nodded at her father, proud of his quick thinking and turned back to Will.
“We’ll help your father get away. Early tomorrow morning,” Will answered the question she’d been about to ask.
“Then I will leave immediately for the coast. Where did he say he was planning to travel to in order to cross the Channel to France?”
“About a three days ride southeast. To Dover.”
TBC next Monday
Author: Mel missalee
Rating: PG-13, R later on
Summary: A mysterious letter calls Robin on a mission to France that upsets his happiness with Marian and has repercussions from Marian’s past, on the King’s family, and on the fate of England.
Pairing: Robin/Marian (some other couples will show up/develop later in the story which I don't want to spoil the surprise for - anything is possible)
Spoilers: Post Series/Season 1. In this world Series/Season 2 has not happened. Though slight S2 image spoilers in my banner under the cut. It will also help (but is not necessary) if you have read Honor, Protect, Serve which is a semi-prequel to this story. If you haven’t read the prequel then all you really need to know is that Marian has a protective dog named Luna.
Disclaimer: Definitely not mine, but extremely fun to play with. I’ll be playing with history here and there throughout the story, so events and characters may not follow the historic record. I do try to remain true to the spirit and intent of history, if not the actual facts.
See Chapter 1 for Author's Notes and Information
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1
Chapter 2
The sun was just beginning to rise as Marian guided her horse back into the stables at Knighton. She dismounted and began removing the tack from her mare, putting away the saddle and hanging the bridle before picking up the tools to groom the horse. Her movements were memorized and rhythmic, learned from years of practice.
Marian was exhausted, having spent the night searching for Robin in the forest and any other place she could think to find him. She had looked everywhere, had even sent Luna off to track him, but even her fiercely accurate wolf hadn’t been able to follow his trail. Eventually Marian had given up on finding Robin on her own and had approached the outlaws’ camp. The surprise on their faces when she said she was looking for Robin had been all the answer she’d needed.
Robin didn’t want to be found.
Much had promised to inform her when Robin returned and she’d been purposefully cryptic about the circumstances of her argument with Robin.
Marian understood that when Robin wanted to hide he would be able to disappear like a leaf in the forest. But she had questions. Questions about the letter he’d left with her. A letter that could have come from her mother. It was impossible and yet she couldn’t deny the language on the paper and the familiar curve of the letters and symbols.
Giving her horse a final brush, Marian left the stables, entering the house without notice from the servants and climbed the staircase to her room. Her father was away, visiting a distant relative in the neighboring shire. She expected him to return sometime that day and Marian cast a glance at the road that approached their home. She shook her head, knowing that if pure wishing brought about results she would have found Robin and her father would be home so she could question him about her mother.
After changing out of her riding clothes and into a dress, Marian paced her room, questions filling her head to the point of frustration. Luna watched her mistress anxiously as she moved back and forth. Marian suddenly stopped in her transit around the room, an idea blooming.
Hurriedly, she began searching through her desk, moving aside trinkets and parchment, her mind narrowing in on a specific goal, a specific memory. She moved next to her bedside table and, in her growing frustration, finally moved to the hand-carved wooden chest at the foot of her bed. She dug through the years of collected clothing and memories, her hand finally brushing against rough paper and a thick length of silk. Pulling out the stack of letters as long as her forearm and tied with a thick rope of silk, she stared at them.
It had been years since she’d looked at the letters. When Robin had left she’d nearly burned them. In a fit of fury she’d held them over the flames. But something had told her to pull back her arm. Angry with herself for even caring enough to keep them, she’d thrown them in the chest and buried them, both with time and in her memory.
She fingered the strip of silk, the memory of how she’d stolen it bringing a brief and bittersweet smile to her face. She’d been barely thirteen, Robin had been practicing with his bow and she’d sat and watched him, enjoying the sun and cool spring breeze on a rare free afternoon together when they were young. When he unstrung his bow and began polishing the wood she had carefully and, without Robin’s notice, wound the thick cord of silk around her fingers and placed it in the pocket of her dress. He’d been mystified about where the bow string had gone and had assumed he’d lost it in the blades of grass around him. She’d been too shy to ask for it even though he would have probably gladly given it to her.
But she’d looked at the bow string and she’d known that it was meant to hold his letters to her together.
Untying the strand, it fell away, revealing the first letter. Folded with the carefulness of an earnest teenage boy, her name was scrawled on the top. Marian took a deep breath and unfolded it carefully, relieved when she found the ink was still legible. It was easy to read now, the language she hadn’t even remembered when she’d first seen it the night before.
Marian,
I hope that Much is able to deliver this letter. Father has forbidden me from coming to visit you until I have improved my sword fighting skills. My tutor is also disappointed that I have not been doing as well on my History lessons. I can never seem to please them. I wish they could accept me as you and Much do. It is easier to play in the forest and forget that the world exists. I hope to see you soon.
Robin
He’d written the letter to her when he was thirteen and she was nine. It was the first of dozens of letters. At first it had been a game to them. Writing letters in code that no one understood, no one but her mother. After all, Marian’s mother had taught it to her in the first place.
One afternoon when she was eight years old Marian had found her mother writing a letter and had inquired who it was for.
“A distant cousin. He and I haven’t seen each other for years, but we always write to one another.”
“What do these letters mean? What is that symbol?”
Katherine lifted Marian to her lap, letting her daughter trace the odd characters with her small fingers. She brushed back the long brown locks of her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“It is a secret language only known to a few members of my family. I am one of the last to remember it. My cousin and I use it so that we may talk freely and not worry that someone will intercept our letters and know our secrets.”
Marian’s eyes widened at her mother’s words. A secret language. It was exciting, and something she knew would entice Robin.
“Would you teach me?”
Katherine looked at her daughter thoughtfully.
“This wouldn’t be so that you and a certain young man from Locksley could send letters back and forth in secret, would it?”
Katherine’s voice was playful and Marian couldn’t help but blush. She shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.
“Would you teach me?”
And Katherine had taught Marian the language. Marian, in turn, had taught Robin. He’d enthusiastically dubbed the language “Fitzwalter” after her mother’s family. Their letters to each other flew back in forth during times when they were separated by responsibilities. Much was their courier. The letters were sometimes filled with childlike simplicity, anger at chores or punishment. As they got older there were letters from Robin that had served as a balm to her wounded heart after her mother’s death. Letters full or apology when he’d done something insensitive. Letters conveying his hurt over his father’s disappointment in him. And eventually letters full of youthful love and idealistic planning for the future. She had spent many nights reading and rereading Robin’s letters. Even when they’d been apart for days, she had had his letters.
Even though the language had come from her mother, Marian had come to feel it was something private between her and Robin. Often they wrote things in letters to each other that they could never be brave enough to say in person.
Even though Marian had been horribly hurt by Robin leaving for the Crusades, she hadn’t been able to burn the letters. And now, she wondered at how the letter Robin had given her could possibly exist. The language was little known, her mother had told her that. Even if the handwriting hadn’t looked so familiar, there seemed to be no one else the letter could have come from. But that suggested that somehow her mother was alive, an impossible thing. And there were things in the letter that just didn’t make sense, even if it had come from her mother.
Along with the memory of the day Robin had first left her, the memory of her mother’s death was painfully difficult to recall. She had been ten years old, roused by shouting and panic. A glance out her window had told her the barn was on fire. One of the servants had come to stay with her through the night and hadn’t allowed her to look outside.
She would never forget the sound of the horses, screaming in terror at the heat and light. The fire had burned hot and long through the night until there was nothing but piles of ash as white as snow on the ground. As dawn broke she’d snuck a peek and had seen her father, covered in soot, staring at what little remained of the barn.
Later, he’d come to her room, sending the servant away. Marian had immediately asked about her mother. The look on her father’s face was something she would never forget. She’d been caught in the fire, he’d said. She’d been trying to help the horses escape. And she hadn’t come out. Marian remembered staring at her father’s face, covered in ash but where tracks of tears revealed skin pale as granite, and she could feel nothing but icy pain.
At the funeral Robin had sat with her, never leaving her side, his hand never releasing hers. He didn’t seem to mind her blank stare. He didn’t try to cheer her up or tell her it would get better like everyone else did. He didn’t try to tell her she was lucky her mother had lived as long as she did since disease and accidents took many people far too young. He just sat with her, his glare to nearly everyone who tried to approach a distinct warning. Later, Marian had written to Robin how his presence had helped her get through the day, and how writing to him in her mother’s language made her feel closer to her.
Robin never spoke of his mother, who had died in childbirth, along with his brother, when he was twelve. But when he finally did speak of Mary Locksley, it was in his letters to her. They spoke of their loss to each other, in a language only they both knew and with a feeling only they both understood.
Marian realized she’d been staring, lost in thought, at the first letter from Robin. She folded it and moved it to the bottom of the pile, reaching for the next one. The sound of an approaching carriage stopped her and she looked out her window, seeing her father returning home. Her heart pounding, she hastily tied the silk bow string back around the letters and hurried downstairs, shoving the letter Robin had given her the night before into the pocket of her dress.
Anxious, Marian waited as her father hung his coat and spoke to their stable boy, and then the cook about dinner. She folded her arms over her chest, her fingers digging into her arms. Finally, Edward turned towards her in the living area, coming forward to enfold her in a hug. She tried to relax in his arms, closing her eyes over the effort. What she had to tell him would upset him, she knew. And her father’s health was a constant worry to her. The only thing that forced her to tell him was she knew if her mother was alive that he would want to know.
“Marian, is something the matter?”
Marian guided her father to sit by the fireplace and she joined him in a chair sitting across from him, pulling the chair close enough that she could still hold his hands in hers.
“Father, I know what I have to ask you will pain you. But I must ask, and I must have you tell me with as much detail and honesty as you can. Please, it is very important to me,” she begged, her tone quiet. Edward nodded curiously, urging her to continue.
“Tell me about the night Mother died.”
Edward’s sharp intake of breath and his bowed head made Marian’s eyes fill with tears. Seeing him hurt was the last thing she wanted. But instead of refusing her, he lifted his head, the sorrow as fresh as if the wound had been inflicted the day before.
“It was ten years ago now. Towards the end of a dry summer. We’d been worried about fires in the fields and forest. But I’ve never seen a fire like the one that night. The barn was already ablaze when Katherine, your mother, was outside. I was slower but I caught sight of her entering the barn the first time. I thought my heart would stop until I saw her lead out two horses. And when she turned back to go in I started to go after her. She was always so headstrong, and she did love those horses. Just before I lost sight of her, I saw her look back. Even now I wonder if she wasn’t saying goodbye.
“I tried to follow her, but the fire was too hot. The entire barn was on fire. The dry summer had caused the rivers and ponds to dry up and we had no water to put the flames out. All we could do was watch it burn. The fire burned so long and so hot that there was nothing left.”
Marian nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat.
“There was never - you never found Mother’s body?” she asked. Edward shook his head, his gaze confused as her looked at his daughter. Marian took a deep breath and pulled out the letter, unfolding it and handing it to Edward. Puzzled, he glanced at it, then he met her eyes.
“What is this? What does this say?”
“Do you remember that Robin and I used to write letters to one another in a secret language?”
Edward smiled at the memory, his eyes touched with sadness.
“Yes, you two were always so delighted in your mysteries.”
“Robin received this letter by courier yesterday. Did you know that Mother first taught me the language, and I taught it to him?” Marian asked, watching her father carefully. He was a smart man and she saw the moment the pieces fell into place in his mind. He went utterly still, his eyes burning fiercely into hers.
“You don’t mean to suggest that this letter is from your mother? Marian?”
“I keep telling myself it is impossible, but I can come up with no other explanation. Mother told me the language was practically forgotten, that it was passed down through her family, but that no one outside the Fitzwalters knew of it,” Marian said, standing to face the fireplace, twisting her fingers anxiously. Edward grasped her elbow and handed her the letter, his hands shaking a little.
“Marian, tell me what it says.”
Smoothing out the parchment, she began to read, the almost forgotten words coming fast and easy.
Robin of Locksley,
I write to you in a time of grave distress. I have been the caretaker of the King’s illegitimate daughter in France for the last decade. King Richard has come to realize that while England is in desperate need of guidance, he cannot leave the Holy Land to return at this time. In order to secure a line of succession and provide a stable alliance if he is unable to ever return, he has arranged for his daughter to marry Henry the Lion, a Germanian prince in the Saxony region. He has asked me to contact you, the most loyal and brave of his personal guards, to come to France, escort his daughter to Brunswick, and see that she is safely delivered to her husband-to-be.
Tell no one of your mission. You must come as quickly as possible to Bayeux. Look for the Chateaux la Riviere five kilometers from the center of town.
Long live the King.
Marian finished reading, folding the letter and slipping it back in her pocket. She was silent, waiting for a reaction from her father. She almost wasn’t sure of her own thoughts anymore, it felt as though she couldn’t trust her own judgment to be true. Looking out the window, the pang of wishing Robin were there to explain, to reassure her, reared up. But he’d tried to tell her, they’d hurt each other, and now she almost couldn’t blame him for avoiding her.
“Robin received this letter yesterday?” Edward’s voice was hushed. She nodded, turning back to face her father.
“And he hasn’t been able to offer any further explanation?”
“Robin and I quarreled. When he told me he was leaving I wouldn’t allow him to tell me why and-“
“And you hurt him enough that he is now avoiding you?” Edward finished, a wry smile tipping the corner of his mouth. Marian nearly exploded at her father’s expression.
“He could have told me! But I reacted so quickly and said hurtful things to him and then he left. I looked for him all last night but even now, when he knows that I will have read the letter and suspect it has come from Mother, he stays away. Why do Robin and I always manage to hurt each other?” Marian asked, sinking into her chair in frustration. Edward took Marian’s hand in his, stroking it gently.
“You and Robin have always had a tempestuous friendship. As children I worried over the trouble he pulled you into. I was almost relieved, if not for seeing your heartbreak, when he left for the Crusades. You were both so foolishly in love, so headstrong together. When Robin returned I never could have guessed that you two would find your way back to each other. But like a bee to pollen, you are always drawn to one another. Don’t let a misunderstanding tear you apart.”
Marian nodded, hearing the wisdom in her father’s words but not sure how she could regain Robin’s trust. Or how he could restore her faith in him.
“There is something I must tell you about your mother, Marian. It was always a secret that we decided should stay a secret to keep our family safe.”
Curious, Marian nodded, watching her father’s grave expression.
“Your mother, Katherine Fitzwalter, was a cousin of King Richard’s.”
Marian’s eyes widened and she forgot to breathe for a moment. Of all the impossible things she’d considered so far that day, even despite the fact that her mother could be alive, she had never thought her father could reveal such a secret.
“But then, the letters she was writing when I was young-“
“Were to King Richard. They never spent much time together, but they were always close through their letters to one another. I think King Richard often trusted Katherine’s judgment over others’ because she was not in the inner political circle. Her family kept their association with the monarchy a secret in order to live quiet lives away from court. When your mother told me and you were born we agreed to uphold that tradition. I didn’t want to spend years fighting off prospective suitors and your mother had no desire to intermingle with higher society. She was always happiest here, in her gardens, and with you.”
Edward’s voice trailed off and he looked into Marian’s clear blue eyes and then away, lost in the memory of his beloved wife.
“But then, why would she leave? Why did she leave? Fake her own death? Leave us when I was so young?” Marian asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
“Marian, despite this letter, you mustn’t jump to conclusions. If King Richard taught the language to someone else it would serve as the perfect way to secretly communicate.”
Marian stood, shaking her head and pacing the room.
“No. This is her handwriting, I am sure of it. The King must have written her, needed her for something. That is the only explanation for what would take her away. And she is the only person who would know that Robin can read this language, she is the only person who would write to him and know he would understand the message, and that she sent it.”
Marian continued to pace, her words stronger than she felt. She wasn’t completely sure the letter came from her mother. The King could have written the letter, knowing somehow that Robin could read it. But that couldn’t explain Robin’s extreme reaction. He believed it was her mother. And that was all she needed to believe too.
“I have to get ready. I have to pack,” Marian said suddenly, turning to go upstairs. Edward stood, following her to the staircase.
“Whatever for?”
“I have to be ready to go. I have to find Robin. I’m going to France.”
********
Marian considered the items on her bed with a shrewd eye. With the weather turning it was harder to decide what to bring and what to leave behind. Clothing for rain, for temperate days, and even for freezing cold were needed. She guessed they would camp along the way since the journey to the coast should only take three days. And Marian knew Robin’s clothing and supplies were sorely lacking, so she had packed a few items for him.
One last item underwent her scrutiny. Robin’s letters in a neat stack, tied tight by his bow string. It would be easier to leave them. Marian set them aside, folding and pushing clothing into the leather knapsack she was planning to bring. When she finished she saw there was a little more space at the top of the bag. Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked up the letters and buried them deep underneath the clothing.
Satisfied, Marian shed her dress, pulling on leather breeches and a long sleeved tunic before pulling on her leather vest. Sitting by the fire, Luna’s ears perked up as she recognized Marian’s Knightwatchman costume. Casting a glance at the darkening sky, Marian grabbed her cloak in one hand and her mask in the other. With the flick of her finger as a command Luna preceded her down the stairs. Pausing in the kitchen to fasten her cloak, Marian steeled herself before facing her father, who had followed her and stopped in the doorway.
“Will nothing I say convince you of the foolishness of this idea? Going with Robin to France is dangerous.”
“Robin will protect me, as I will protect him,” Marian replied, her tone smooth and confident.
“The Sheriff. And Gisborne. They will notice you are gone.”
“We can tell them I am visiting family on the continent. It is not illegal yet to travel.”
Frustrated at her easy answers, Edward was silent. Finally he looked up at Marian, deep worry creasing his forehead.
“He’s doing it again. Has been doing it since he returned. Pulling you into the trouble that has always followed in his wake.”
Marian smiled a little sadly, knowing her father did not and could not understand. Like a bee to pollen, he’d said. And she knew he was right. Neither one of them had been able to resist their pull towards one another, even when they actually tried.
“I am willful and headstrong. This I know. But what I don’t know is the truth about what may have happened with Mother. And I can’t stay in Nottingham wondering what Robin has discovered. I must go with him. And you were right, I should not let a misunderstanding come between us. We have been through too much together.”
Edward looked almost as though he regretted his earlier words, but Marian knew that even if he could not say it, her father admired and trusted Robin. He did trust Robin with her safety. But he could not stop worrying.
“I am going to see if Robin will allow me to find him tonight. I will be back before sunrise. I’m taking Luna with me. Please don’t worry, Father.”
Before she could reach for the door to walk outside and to the barn, a staccato knock sounded against the kitchen door. Marian’s heart immediately began to pound. It was a knock from one of Robin’s men. And even as she hoped, she knew it wasn’t Robin. She opened the door quickly and a tall, slim figure darted into the room, closing and locked the door behind him. Calloused hands with long fingers reached for the hood covering his face and Marian saw the glint reflected off the metal axe at his side.
“Will!” she greeted, unable to stop the surprise from her voice. Will Scarlet was easily the quietest of Robin’s men. But she’d often seen the way Will silently watched and appraised the people and things going on around him. She knew his quick mind had gotten Robin and the outlaws out of countless treacherous situations. Will nodded to her father before turning his piercing gaze on her.
“Lady Marian, I’ve come to tell you that Robin has left.”
Marian blinked in surprise.
“’Left’? What do you mean? He can’t have left. He said he had days to go before he finished getting ready, gathering supplies.”
“Robin returned to camp this afternoon. Much did try to persuade him to come see you. He spent the afternoon and evening gathering what he needed for the journey to France and he left the forest, heading south about three hours ago.”
“Three hours! Why did no one come tell me?” Marian cried. She saw Will flinch a little and laid a comforting hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry, Will,” she murmured. He nodded quickly, her outburst already forgotten.
“I was out hunting this evening and when I returned Much was the only one in camp. Robin had left while the rest of us were gone and made Much promise not to tell you he’d gone. Thankfully he didn’t say Much couldn’t tell me,” Will replied. Marian nodded, beginning to pace and calculate in her head.
“If he left three hours ago then he can’t have gotten far. I could probably catch him by morning if I left now,” she murmured. Edward began to protest, but Will cut him off.
“It would be best if you waited until morning to leave, Lady Marian.”
At her puzzled expression, he continued.
“Robin left with very little food stores. He sacrificed having supplies in order to leave quickly. Much said he was anxious to go so that he could finish his mission and return to you and prove his reasons for leaving. He will have to hunt along the way to the coast.”
“Marian, you were out searching for him all night and should rest before you follow him,” Edward urged.
Marian hesitated, knowing Will was right, but hating that Robin was already so far ahead of her.
“Robin left strict instructions with Much. We are to behave as though he is still here. One of us will always be in disguise as Robin Hood so that the Sheriff and Gisborne do not realize he has gone. And we are to look after you.”
“Did he say how long he would be gone?” Marian asked.
“He told Much a minimum of nine weeks and perhaps as many as twelve,” Will replied. Marian felt a pang, imagining all that time that she was supposed to have waited for him to return.
“I should leave Knighton while you are gone.”
Marian turned in surprise to look at her father. He nodded slowly, confirming what she thought she’d heard.
“The Sheriff and Gisborne will be curious at your absence. It would be better if we both disappeared for awhile and left word with our neighbors that we are visiting relatives on the continent. They will not be welcoming upon our return, but it should keep suspicion away from us.”
Marian nodded at her father, proud of his quick thinking and turned back to Will.
“We’ll help your father get away. Early tomorrow morning,” Will answered the question she’d been about to ask.
“Then I will leave immediately for the coast. Where did he say he was planning to travel to in order to cross the Channel to France?”
“About a three days ride southeast. To Dover.”
TBC next Monday