Page 2 of Rogue of the Greenwood
But he didn’t take the bow. Instead, he shoved it back toward her. “No. Take your stupid bow and get off my father’s land.”
She held herself stiff and straight as a board although inside she felt utterly deflated. Robert yanked the arrow out of his bag and tossed it to her feet. With one last defiant glare he spun on his heel and marched off into the green. Marianne was leftstanding with her bow and her very distraught cousin.
“Why on earth did you… what could you possibly be thinking?” Meg stammered when they were alone.
Marianne grabbed up the discarded arrow and shoved it into her quiver. She could scarcely hide her disappointment as she grumbled her reply.
“I thought maybe, just this once, the great-great-grandson of Robin Hood would show us what he is made of.”
Chapter 1
July 1815
Nottinghamshire, England
The rural landscape spread out around them in a sun-guilt panorama. The carriage had stopped here, virtually nowhere, to allow one of their passengers to make use of a nearby thicket and tend to nature. The other passengers took advantage of the moment to step out and stretch weary legs.
This roadway they traveled was hard packed from centuries of traffic. Due to the summer heat and recent drought, usual ruts from carriage wheels and the cloven pits from hooves of oxen had been worn smooth. The few dusty footprints had perhaps been made only hours ago, or perhaps they were ages old, left by Roman legions who had once tromped this way.
History had truly left its mark on this land. The great invasion force led by Aulus Platutius himself had marched over this very ground. They could have watered their mounts in the valley nearby or relieved themselves in a thicket such as any of those growing beside the road today. Ancient warriors likely gave little thought to who would come after them, merely passing by on a relentless quest to trample and possess more ground.
Those Roman occupiers were here for centuries. They battled Caledonians or Celts or Boudica or anyother blessed fool who thought to stand up against them. Then came the Saxons, then the Danes, then the Normans, then the Tudors, then—most recently—theIndustrialistes. It seemed these hillsides had always been under the thumb of some browbeating oppressor. Thankfully, peace ruled Nottinghamshire now.
Capt. Robert Locksley scanned the horizon. He knew each one of the spires rising in the distance, the thatched cottages dotting the hillsides, the outline of trees forming the dark forest. Yes, everything was peaceful, and it was good to be home.
"You know this land, then?" his friend, John, said, gazing over the green.
"Since infancy," Robert replied.
A light breeze caught up some dust from the road, whipping it into the air in a half-hearted eddy. Robert blinked into the dust and brushed it off of his coat, though he needn't have bothered. The worn fabric was beyond hope and the many snags and seams that he’d tried to repair were faded and frayed.
Robert Locksley might be returning from war, but it was not without casualty.
"Is that the forest over there?" John asked, pointing North, toward the unmistakable dark mass of trees.
"It is," Robert confirmed.
John clucked his tongue. "The true Sherwood Forest. Who would have thought? I tell you, all my life I thought Robin Hood was just stories."
"Robin Hoodisjust stories," Robert insisted.
"Oh, come now," John blustered on. "Of course he was real. You've got the same name and everything!"
"My name is Locksley, and any rumor that hasanything to do with some ancient criminal named Robin Hood is entirely unfounded."
One of their compatriots joined the discussion. William Redding had been traveling with them since leaving Brussels, yet his clothing somehow remained unrumpled and even the dust of the road refused to stick to him.
“Ah, so we are back on Robin Hood again, are we?” Will asked.
“No,” Robert replied.
“Of course we are!” John asserted. “It’s the most interesting thing about ol’ Locksley here—several-greats-grandson of a literal legend!”
“That’s all it is; a legend,” Robert grumbled. “I’ll thank you to leave off the subject.”
“But how can we?” Will said, flicking a gnat that had the gall to land on his sleeve. “We have reached Nottingham, about to enter the deep, dark greenwood! Who knows what footpads and rogues are about.”
“None,” Robert informed him. “Nottinghamshire is as law-abiding and peaceable as you could ever hope.”
