Page 5 of Rogue of the Greenwood
Alan nodded in agreement. “It’s a ripe shame they don’t have a Robin Hood to come help them.”
Robert felt his chest grow tight. His fists clenched, and he struggled to keep his voice even.
“There is no such person as Robin Hood! Must I keep saying it? Robin Hood is nothing more than a legend—he isnota real person and he never has been!”
“I say, no need to shout at us, Rob,” John chided. “If you say there’s no Robin Hood, then clearly there is no Robin Hood.”
The other men exchanged glances, rolling their eyes, and Robert felt a bit stupid for making such a fuss. But if his friends only knew what he’d experienced, the rumors and the taunting directed at his family all of his life… well, they would certainly not joke of such things. Robin Hood was indeed only a story—and one with an unhappy ending. He wished everyone would simply let him forget all about it.
Chapter 2
Marianne Maidland stood in the window and surveyed Nottingham. It was a beautiful town, crowded with ancient buildings clustered around the River Trent. From her uncle’s prominent home situated just outside of town, she could view everything below, all the way from the forest beyond to the cliffs of Castle Rock. She loved it here; had missed it all the years she was gone.
But now she was back. The forest was the same, the river was the same, and the cliffs were the same… yet somehow Nottingham was different. She wasn’t exactly sure where the changes had come from, but she felt them. Oppressive, burdensome, tired… the air felt heavy and even the sunlight was dimmed.
She looked over the horizon. The dark line of trees separated earth from sky. Clouds billowed above, the river cut through the landscape below, and there—off in the distance—was a familiar shape. The chimneys and peaks of Greenwood Manor.
It was abandoned now, she had heard. Perhaps that was some of the source for the changes she felt. The Locksley family was gone; the previous patriarch had died and more recently, his son. Robert Locksley had gone off to war and become a casualty, like so many others. He was a cousin, she believed of her friend Emma Forgall. Perhaps that is why she was thinking of Emma today and chose to write her a letter. They were good friends, although they hadn’tseen each other in years. Emma’s father traveled as a diplomat, taking his daughters with him. He’d been on the Continent for the most recent years, and Emma’s last letter said the family was moving to Paris as her father helped with the peace treaty being drafted.
It sounded very exciting, yet there must be sadness, too. Emma had written of her sorrow when Robert Locksley had died. Such a sad waste. Marianne had known him in childhood, yet not for many years since. Still, she felt his loss here.
She’d come back to Nottingham, in fact, secretly hoping to see him again. It was sad to realize she never would. True, there had never been anything between them outside her own childish dreams and foolish fantasy, but they had been hers. The boy was the descendant of Robin Hood, after all! How could twelve-year-old Marianne not have been secretly enamored of that? She’d been enthralled by the stories and wanted to believe they were real.
They were not, of course. She could laugh at her foolishness now. Still, those long-ago childhood imaginings had formed her; they made up a vital part of her, despite how her stepmother had tried to remold her in more recent times.
Marianne was no longer the adventure-seeking hoyden that Papa had allowed to run wild. She was feminine, cultured, and polite. At least that is what others might think. Gazing out at the wild forest and the craggy cliffs, she could feel that the old Marianne still remained. Her logical self might scoff at those foolish fantasies of Robin Hood and daring-do, but deep down she still craved them. What if Robin Hoodwasreal? What if Robert Locksley reallyhad beenhisgreat-great-grandson?
What did it matter now? Robert Locksley was dead. She felt a wave of grief. Not only had a young man lost his life, but she’d lost the last bits of her childhood.
There was nothing now but to live in reality. Her father was gone and her step-mother happily remarried to an ogre of a man. Marianne had no home in London anymore. It was kind of her uncle and aunt to invite her back here, but she could not live as their guest forever. It was time that she made a home of her own.
That would mean marrying, of course. Aunt Regina had that all sorted out for her, too. Their dear family friend, Mr. Giles Gisborne, was practically thrown at her on every occasion. Marianne supposed he would make an adequate husband and tried not to be disappointed when she found him tiresome at nearly every level. There was one aspect to him, though, that she found fascinating.
Giles Gisborne was the trustee of Greenwood, the sprawling, lush Locksley estate. He lived in Greenwood Manor and had managed the estate as steward in Robert Locksley’s absence. Now he was acting as executor. Really, though, Marianne thought he was acting a bit more like master. It was almost as if he expected to take ownership of the estate once things were all sorted. Marianne couldn’t imagine how that might happen, but he had hinted at it more than once. He had hinted at other things, too. In fact, she rather felt that Mr. Gisborne was merely waiting for the matter of estate ownership to be resolved before asking for her hand in marriage.
And what would her answer be? Even though hewas not a man of great means, Mr. Gisborne gave every appearance of being a gentleman. He was well respected in Nottingham and certainly Aunt Regina favored the match. Everyone did, so it seemed. Why was Marianne so undecided? He doted on her, didn’t he? And if he did have some way to possess Greenwood Manor… well, what more could she possibly want?
But would he be the new owner of Greenwood Manor? That was the great question. She had heard the property was mortgaged; surely whoever held that mortgage would take over the estate if there were no heirs. Perhaps Mr. Gisborne had an agreement with the mortgage holder and knew that he would be kept on to manage the place. Or perhaps he knew of a way to buy the mortgage for himself. All he would need, after all, was a wealthy wife.
“Are you ready?” a voice called from the doorway.
Marianne turned her back on the window to find her cousin, Meg, entering the room. “Are you ready to go for a drive?”
“Er, yes,” Marianne answered quickly. “I just finished a letter and I’d like to post it on the way.”
Meg shrugged. “The servants can do that.”
“I know, but I’d rather post it myself,” Marianne said. “It will only take a moment. That won’t delay our plans too badly, will it?”
“I suppose not,” Meg said with a sigh. “At least you know Mr. Gisborne won’t complain. If it is an errand for his precious Miss Maidland, he will never bat an eyelash. Now if I were the one going to post a letter…”
“Oh, rubbish,” Marianne said. “A quick stop like that would hardly matter to anyone. Mr. Gisborne would be just as happy to do an errand for you. He ishere so often discussing business matters with Uncle Prinley I daresay the two of them are nearly like brothers.”
“But he is yourbeau,” Meg said with a giggle. “Do you suppose once are married to him I will have to call you Auntie?”
“I’ll box your ears if you do!” Marianne replied in her best aged-auntie voice.
They laughed at each other as they gathered up their things. Marianne promised herself she would enjoy the afternoon. Mr. Gisborne was not completely without charm, and his companion, Mr. Reeve, had seemed to be quite taken with Meg on their last outing together. The man was not at all to Marianne’s liking, but he was well respected in town. As Sheriff of Nottingham, Mr. Reeve did Meg quite an honor to call on her. Indeed, it was good to see her cousin getting the attention she deserved. Perhaps Marianne would not be the only one considering matrimony in the near future.
