The Storyteller

Chapter 32: To Seek Forgiveness

Two weeks had come and gone since Lynna's encounter with the Sheriff. For the first few days she had worn kerchiefs about her head to hide her shorn hair, but now she had cast off such clothing and let the uneven, short hair fall down as it may.

She flitted about Locksley Manor in her usual fashion. The servants had long since adjusted to their Lady's disregard of station and her cheerful manner. She was permitted to help with a few chores about the house and in doing so she had found she had acquired a few new friends.

She spoke rarely to Guy, who still regarded her with a wary eye and a cool demeanor. She tried not to show how much his attitude towards her hurt her, and even as she bore her frustrations silently this did not stop the servants from gossiping.

Lynna had taken to weaving in her little work room often during the course of the day. She liked being alone with her thoughts and her yarn. From the window she could see the village, and often she could swear she could see Robin make his way from house to house, delivering food or money. Sometimes she wanted to see her friend again, other times she could not help, but feel angered that because he had asked her to spy for him she had lost a precious confidence with her husband.

If only she knew that amount of guilt Robin felt when Clorinda had returned and given him the news. Part of him had wanted to race of to Nottingham and see for himself if Lynna was well, but he knew that she would probably not want to see him. His guilt was mixed with elation, for the news of the location of the King's return had been music to his ears.

There was no way to contact the King. It would be up to him and his men to beat the Black Knights to the harbor and personally see to it that the King was escorted away safely. It would not be easy, especially since there was no way to know how many Black Knights and their soldiers would be lurking in wait.

Already Robin could taste victory. His sleep was less troubled, the nightmares of Marian's death had lessened, even if the grief continued. He took comfort in the fact that soon her death would be avenged. Then maybe he could finally put her ghost to rest. The constant loyalty of his gang had kept him going for these past two years. He would have been lost without them.

The newest addition to his band; however, was something of a loose arrow. He couldn't make Clorinda out. One moment she was astute and reasonable, with as much sense as any other woman. The next she was zooming about the camp like a jaybird, twittering about one thing or the next and as usual, bragging about skills untried and untested. At least she had not been jesting when she had said she was an archer, and a finer one he had never seen.

It was a different matter entirely when it came to the other arts of battle. Robin had spent many afternoons now teaching her how to wield a sword properly, and at the end of each lesson he came away with a feeling of hopelessness. Clorinda could never be taught, she had no patience, or head for learning.

She was however, turning out to be a fair boxer of sorts, and the defense skills Robin had taught her quickly had her begging to learn more. He found he enjoyed her more when he had her head in a fierce lock. For all of Clorinda's faults, she was no fool. Even when she had run headlong into a troop of guards escorting a case of silver coins to Nottingham, she had used to sense and taken out the most dangerous men first. Her courage was a reckless thing, and she seemed to have no fear of losing life or limb. Already, Robin was planning how he might use such bravery to his advantage in the coming month. Perhaps Clorinda would be the extra man he needed to ensure his King's safety.

Clorinda waved at him from her vantage point over looking the road. Robin walked over to meet her. She was leaning against a wooden staff: the typical weapon she and Robin used during their lessons. “I hope you don't mean to go about smashing in my skull with that thing just yet.”