Lady Margarita, beauty and youth
you have, and renown and courtesy and sense;
and if in anger I have said too much about that other lady,
about you I have said much less than the truth.
Se be-m partetz, mala dompna, de vos
Gui d'Ussel (c 1170-1225)
She was beginning to regret her choice. Humiliation, even dishonour, was better than death. Perhaps she should have listened to him.
The pounding of the hooves grew louder. No, the price had been too high. It wasn't worth the modicum of approval or even affection he might choose to bestow. It was too late for that. It had been too late long before she had even set foot in Nottingham. She wheeled her horse around.
"Well, I can't hide here forever," she whispered. She jerked the reins just as she caught sight of the first man. "Damn!" she hissed and her horse broke into a gallop.
"I'm 'ungry."
"You're always 'ungry."
"We haven't set up camp yet and he's going on about his stomach."
"At least he's said nought about his feet, Will!" Robin smiled, exchanging a weary glance with Marion.
"Come on," she said with a laugh. "We'll set up camp through there." She took Tuck's hand and proceeded to lead the group through the glade. However, they had not travelled far before a sound caused everyone to stop.
"Horses," stated Nasir. Marion released Tuck's hand. She and her friends forgot all about camps, rest and venison. They abandoned the glade and ran towards the road.
They had just reached it when one of the horses in question, flew past.
"Who's chasing him?" grumbled Scarlet. He stepped on to the road to take a better look; he would have been trampled by the second horse if John had not pulled him back.
"Are you all right, Will?" questioned Much in concern. Will shook his head in disbelief.
"What the hell's going on?" he demanded as three other horses thundered past. None of his friends could supply him with an answer. They were just as confused as he was.
"It's stopped," said Robin, suddenly realizing that he could no longer hear the din of hooves. Without another word, Robin sprinted up the road, the others not far behind him. They split up before they reached the horses, hiding among the trees on either side of the road. Not a twig snapped as they moved closer to the scene. At first they could only see the horses. Then, on closer inspection, they spotted the riders.
"What are they doing?" asked Much, confused. Robin rose silently and began to scale a tree. However, by the time he had reached its branches, the outlaws had figured out what was happening. Four men had surrounded a woman and their intentions seemed anything but friendly.
"You won't get away from us," spoke the largest of the four, who was obviously the leader the group.
"I can try," answered the woman, clutching a dagger in her hands.
"What? With that?" The other men laughed loudly. Their leader stepped forward boldy, then leapt back with a scream. Blood was streaming down his cheek.
"Why, you thievin' little--" The man never finished his sentence. He simply fell at the woman's feet, Robin's arrow planted firmly in his back. The remaining three bolted back to their horses and fled the way they had come.
The woman slowly raised her eyes to the tree and Robin started.
"Margaret?" he gasped.
* * * *
The woman stood her ground as the outlaws approached. Although she trembled slightly, her hold on the dagger was tight.
"Easy, lass. We don't want to hurt you," spoke John gently, taking pity on this small creature. The sentiment wasn't returned.
"That's what they said," retorted the woman sharply. Robin slid down from the tree and appeared on the road. Margaret stared at him, but there was only the barest sign of recognition in her eyes.
"You," she stated. "You saved my life."
"I was happy to, my lady." There was silence for some time as the two studied each other.
"You're Robin Hood," she said at last.
"Yes."
"I see." There was no fear in her voice, though she still hadn't released the dagger. She seems real enough, thought Robin, though he still couldn't understand how she existed at all. Her place was in the other time. Wasn't it?
"Who are you?" demanded Will, jolting Robin from his daze.
"Me? Oh, I'm Margaret."
"Why were those men chasing you?" asked Tuck. The woman lowered her fair head for a moment.
"Perhaps they didn't like my dress," she suggested, studying the splashes of mud on her skirts critically. She raised her head again and smiled. The outlaws laughed and Margaret lowered her dagger.
"Where were you heading, Margaret?" inquired Marion, watching the stranger closely.
"Hereford."
"That's a long way off," commented Will in surprise.
"Yes. Yes, it is."
"Then you must come and eat with us," said Tuck.
"And rest before your journey," added John.
"No, I-I can't."
"Nonsense," stated Tuck. "Why not?"
"It's impossible." The outlaws stared at her and Margaret realized that this vague excuse wouldn't be enough.
"Thank you. I'm most grateful. I'm in your debt. I wish I could repay you but all I have is this horse and few pennies. I'll need both if I'm to reach Hereford. Do you understand?" They understood. She was yet another traveller who had learned about the payment they exacted from guests.
"We only steal from those who have more than they require," explained Robin patiently.
"Eat with us," repeated Tuck.
"Come on, lass," insisted John. Will took a step forward and looked directly into her eyes.
"What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid!" she protested indignantly.
"Then what's stopping you?"
"I..." she paused, finding his gaze disconcerting. She forced a laugh.
"Nothing," she answered. "Nothing at all."
Who are you? Robin looked at her carefully. She wasn't Margaret of Huntington anymore. At least, not the Margaret of Huntington he had known, nor the one who had known him. Did she know Gisburne? Suddenly Robin had an alarming thought. What if she wasn't Margaret of Huntington at all but...?
"What brought you to Nottingham, my lady?" inquired Tuck, finally satisfied that Margaret had taken her share of food and drink. Robin thought he saw Margaret start in surprise, though she was quick to recover.
"I was visiting someone."
"Who?" asked Will, tossing a bone into the fire.
"My brother," she admitted. Robin held his breath.
"And he is?"
"Probably very pleased that I'm gone!" Will smiled and acknowledged the quip with a nod.
"Why should your brother be happy to see you go?" questioned John. "I'm happy to be in your company."
"Thank you," replied Margaret graciously, as Will punched his friend in the arm. "We...Well, we had a fight."
"Who won?" asked Much.
"Much!" exclaimed the outlaws, but Margaret didn't take offence.
"I won, naturally," she replied. "Why do you think I had to go?"
"He forced you to leave?" said Robin, not that he was very surprised. Margaret shook her head.
"No, he did nothing of the kind. I left when I realized I had overstayed my welcome." She rose and Robin suddenly understood her intentions as she began to brush out her skirts.
"You're still welcome here. Don't go."
"I must."
"But it will soon be nightfall, my lady!" protested Tuck.
"I'm not afraid of the dark."
"But we are," stated Will. Margaret covered her mouth. Robin pulled the hand away and she broke into a fit of giggles.
"Why do you think we want you to stay?" added Robin, with a wink to the others.
"I can't. Really!" Robin frowned and beseeched her with doleful eyes. Margaret threw up her hands.
"All right. Perhaps I should stay until you regain your courage," she replied, allowing Robin to lead her back to the fire.
"Here, you're shivering," stated John, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. The outlaws fell into conversation again. Margaret followed the words closely at first. Then she heard the words "Gulnar" and "Fenris". Her eyelids began to grow heavy. Barely an hour had passed when John glanced down and found their guest fast asleep on his shoulder.
Gisburne stormed into her chamber and slammed the door. He didn't know what he expected to find there, but it was better than staying in the hall and listening to the Sheriff's incessant comments on the matter. He paced around the room restlessly, wondering why he was so agitated.
It was ridiculous. He should be grateful that she was finally gone. He turned to leave, then froze. Her dress was strewn across the bed.
"Damn her," he muttered. He walked quickly to the bed with every intention of throwing the garment aside. He grasped a sleeve, but could go no further...
The Sheriff was still eyeing Margaret coldly. She didn't flinch. She regarded him calmly, smiling all the while.
"Gisburne." The Sheriff beckoned and the two men walked away from the unexpected guest.
"Well, I suppose you had better show her to her chamber, hadn't you?" stated de Rainault wryly.
"Yes, my lord."
"You'll have quite a bit to talk about, I imagine."
"Yes, my lord."
"Well, don't leave her standing there all day, Gisburne!"
"No, my lord."
"Gisburne..." The Sheriff lowered his voice. "What does she want?"
"I don't know," answered the knight, much to the Sheriff's chagrin.
"Well, whatever you do find out quickly and get rid of her!" he hissed.
"Yes, my lord." The Sheriff walked back to his table and poured himself a drink. Gisburne was relieved when Margaret understood the hint. She followed him dutifully as he led her up the stairs.
"This should do," he declared, as they stepped into a chamber. "I'll have a servant prepare it." The knight would have left but the sound of laughter stopped him.
"Guy, don't you want to know why?"
"Why?"
"Why now. Why I should choose to come now." Gisburne said nothing.
"Well, I expected some response. I didn't think you'd welcome me with open arms, but I thought you'd say something, that there would be an argument...Anything!" Gisburne's brow creased.
"What do you want?" Margaret smiled.
"That's better," she replied sweetly. Then her smile deepened. "I don't want anything." Gisburne stared at her for a moment in astonishment.
"Then why did you come?" he demanded.
"To see you of course."
"Why?"
"I have something to share with you."
"What?"
"No, not now. I can't tell you now."
"Ah, a secret is it?" asked the knight sarcastically.
"You could say that," answered Margaret cautiously.
"Let me guess. It's such a big secret that even you don't know it." Margaret leaned forward, her hand resting on Gisburne's arm.
"Oh, I know it." She tilted her head and studied her brother closely. "Don't you believe me, Guy?"
"I don't even know you," he hissed. Again she regarded him with that same irritating smile.
"You will. I promise you that."
* * * *
"Robert, who is that woman?"
"Margaret of Gisburne."
"Who?"
"Gisburne's sister."
"Gisburne doesn't have a sister."
"Yes, I was under that impression as well." Abbot Hugo tugged at his earlobe nervously.
"What does she want?"
"Gisburne said he didn't know."
"And you don't believe him."
"I haven't decided yet," spoke the Sheriff, dropping his voice to a whisper as the subject in question approached. "Hugo, this is Lady Margaret of Gisburne. My lady, this is the Abbot Hugo de Rainault, my brother." Margaret held out her hand and the Abbot took it reluctantly.
"Well, it's a real family gathering, isn't it?" she stated cheerfully. The de Rainault brothers exchanged glances of horror. Their eyes then fell on Gisburne, who had unfortunately chosen that moment to enter the hall. However, he possessed enough courage to take his place at the table. This courage increased when he observed that Margaret had actually taken the trouble to find a decent gown to wear. She had also plaited her loose tresses. A wimple would have been better, but even Gisburne realized that he couldn't expect miracles.
"Did you arrest the smith, Gisburne?" questioned the Sheriff, who immediately launched into business despite Margaret's description of the meal as a "family gathering". Gisburne quickly swallowed his piece of pork.
"Yes, my lord," answered the steward dutifully.
"Good." There was silence for a time. Margaret calmly worked her way through the meal, while her brother drained at least two cups of wine.
"So has he always been this way?" inquired the Sheriff, suddenly breaking the silence. Margaret started, then stared at the Sheriff, confused.
"What way, my lord?" Gisburne gritted his teeth and waited for his employer to list all his vices.
"Stupid, sullen, quick to act and slow to think, incompetent, brash--"
"I wouldn't know, my lord. We were raised apart." The Sheriff put down his goblet.
"Raised apart?"
"I grew up in a convent, my lord," she replied. "Our mother was a pious woman, was she not?" she added, casting a glance at Gisburne. He didn't answer.
"If you were raised in a convent, then why aren't you a nun?" asked the Abbot, who was suspicious. "You seem a little old to still be a novice, not to mention the fact that you're wearing the wrong attire." Margaret clasped her hands tightly in her lap.
"The Reverend Mother believed that I wasn't...suitable."
"I'm not surprised," muttered the Sheriff, pushing a bit of meat across his plate. "Is that why you've come to Nottingham?" he continued. "To throw yourself on your brother's mercy?" The Abbot chuckled coldly and Gisburne looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"I have no intention of begging for anyone's mercy," she answered sharply. "And if you think I've come here to ask Guy to find me a husband, you're mistaken...my lord." The Sheriff lifted his head in surprise. He hadn't expected her to retaliate.
"'But I suffer not a woman to teach nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence'," he stated sternly. *
"'In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin: but he that refraineth his lips is wise'," retorted Margaret. **
"Well, I can see who inherited all the brains in your family."
"As I can with yours," spoke Margaret, looking directly at Hugo. The Abbot gloated and his younger brother glared at Margaret angrily. Gisburne knew he needed to act quickly.
"Ow!" cried Margaret, clutching her ankle.
"She hurt her leg on the journey, my lord," explained Gisburne, who managed to move his own leg before Margaret could return the favour.
"You had better escort her to her chamber then," replied the Sheriff, who knew exactly what was happening and had no objections to his steward's plan. Gisburne rose and took Margaret's arm as she limped out of the hall.
Despite the pain, she was having a hard time holding back the laughter. It was only Gisburne's scowl that held it in check.
"You shouldn't have spoken to the Sheriff that way."
"He shouldn't have insulted my brother."
"I don't need defending."
"Oh, no, of course not. You do such an admirable job of defending yourself!" Margaret looked around as if expecting the Sheriff to pop up behind them. "Perhaps you had better escort me to my chamber before he has me arrested...unless you're planning to do it yourself..."
The grip around her arm grew tighter and Gisburne pulled her to her chamber.
* 1 Timothy 2:11 (I'm sorry but I took this from the King James Bible. I was too lazy to find the version they would have used!)
** Proverbs 10:19 (See above note concerning my laziness!)
