Read Online Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) by R.M. ArceJaeger - Free Book Online
Authors: R.M. ArceJaeger
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shot wide. Not by much, but enough.
Without looking at her, her father walked off. Robin slowly sank to her knees, the longbow clutched convulsively in her fingers. It was all over.
The next morning at breakfast, Robin stared glumly at her lap rather than risk meeting her father’s eyes. She did not even look up when the servitor came in with their food. Only when Will nudged her to eat did she reluctantly glance up and see that rather than the plate of stew she had been expecting, the servant had brought the oaken longbow instead.
“I–I do not understand,” she stuttered. “I lost.”
“I am aware of that fact,” Lord Locksley said dryly. Robin quickly shut her mouth. “You will keep your end of the bargain?”
“Oh, yes!” Robin cried. In that moment, she could have hugged him, but he had never permitted that sort of thing before. She gave him a blinding smile instead.
Lord Locksley looked at his daughter, puzzled. “I cannot understand why this means so much to you, Robin. But you have always asked for little enough. Keep your promise, and I shall keep mine. Mayhap you will grow out of this foolishness. One can hope, anyway.”
Robin did keep her promise. She endured Darah’s lessons, if not enthusiastically, then at least with good cheer. Some of the lessons, like how to sew a wound, she even found interesting. Who knew that embroidery could be put to such use? In time, she even became what some might call accomplished, although she never thought of herself as such. Becoming a lady was just the price she had to pay for the hour of freedom at the end of the day, when she could take up her longbow in her hand and send arrow after arrow whistling through the air like a redbreast’s sweet song.
She had never played at swords again. Until now.
Robin gazed at the blade in her hand. Welts were beginning to form along her fingers and on the pad of her hand; their angry red stare mocked her. The sword was simply too heavy—it was meant to be wielded by a man, not by an eighteen-year-old girl. Well, a twelve-year-old girl had not been meant to wield her old longbow, either, but she had learned. She would learn this, too. Ignoring the way her muscles seized up as she lifted the sword once again, Robin got back to work.
* * * * *
The deer Robin had killed lasted her for half a week, and would have lasted longer if not for the warmth of the day and various unwanted scavengers, which rendered it unfit for consumption by the fourth day.
By this time, however, much of Robin’s strength had returned, and she had begun to explore her surroundings. One of the first places she examined was the rock cliff leading down to the stream, which turned out to be pocketed with various caves that stayed very cool, even on the hottest of days. These hollows would be better than a larder for storing her food, and a few rocks placed over the entrance would protect her meat from any interested creatures.
So when Robin killed her second deer, rather than simply slicing away enough meat for a single meal, she proceeded to gut and carve the deer . . . or rather, she tried to. It soon became apparent, however, that while her arrows and sword were capable of removing small amounts of meat, they were entirely unsuited to the intricate task of carving. After an hour or so of trying, Robin finally cast the shaft she was using aside and resolved to make herself a dagger.
She found a nice, oblong river rock that fit comfortably in her hand and was long enough to provide a decent blade. The stone she had chosen was even pretty—red, with cream-colored bands running through it. The harder boulders of the cliff face served as her whetstone, and after an afternoon’s labor, Robin had a dagger that was sharp enough to slice a scion from a tree; she felt inordinately pleased with herself.
Reprieved of their meat-cutting duties, Robin turned her arrows back to their natural task of archery. She practiced in the fog-lit mornings,
Without looking at her, her father walked off. Robin slowly sank to her knees, the longbow clutched convulsively in her fingers. It was all over.
The next morning at breakfast, Robin stared glumly at her lap rather than risk meeting her father’s eyes. She did not even look up when the servitor came in with their food. Only when Will nudged her to eat did she reluctantly glance up and see that rather than the plate of stew she had been expecting, the servant had brought the oaken longbow instead.
“I–I do not understand,” she stuttered. “I lost.”
“I am aware of that fact,” Lord Locksley said dryly. Robin quickly shut her mouth. “You will keep your end of the bargain?”
“Oh, yes!” Robin cried. In that moment, she could have hugged him, but he had never permitted that sort of thing before. She gave him a blinding smile instead.
Lord Locksley looked at his daughter, puzzled. “I cannot understand why this means so much to you, Robin. But you have always asked for little enough. Keep your promise, and I shall keep mine. Mayhap you will grow out of this foolishness. One can hope, anyway.”
Robin did keep her promise. She endured Darah’s lessons, if not enthusiastically, then at least with good cheer. Some of the lessons, like how to sew a wound, she even found interesting. Who knew that embroidery could be put to such use? In time, she even became what some might call accomplished, although she never thought of herself as such. Becoming a lady was just the price she had to pay for the hour of freedom at the end of the day, when she could take up her longbow in her hand and send arrow after arrow whistling through the air like a redbreast’s sweet song.
She had never played at swords again. Until now.
Robin gazed at the blade in her hand. Welts were beginning to form along her fingers and on the pad of her hand; their angry red stare mocked her. The sword was simply too heavy—it was meant to be wielded by a man, not by an eighteen-year-old girl. Well, a twelve-year-old girl had not been meant to wield her old longbow, either, but she had learned. She would learn this, too. Ignoring the way her muscles seized up as she lifted the sword once again, Robin got back to work.
* * * * *
The deer Robin had killed lasted her for half a week, and would have lasted longer if not for the warmth of the day and various unwanted scavengers, which rendered it unfit for consumption by the fourth day.
By this time, however, much of Robin’s strength had returned, and she had begun to explore her surroundings. One of the first places she examined was the rock cliff leading down to the stream, which turned out to be pocketed with various caves that stayed very cool, even on the hottest of days. These hollows would be better than a larder for storing her food, and a few rocks placed over the entrance would protect her meat from any interested creatures.
So when Robin killed her second deer, rather than simply slicing away enough meat for a single meal, she proceeded to gut and carve the deer . . . or rather, she tried to. It soon became apparent, however, that while her arrows and sword were capable of removing small amounts of meat, they were entirely unsuited to the intricate task of carving. After an hour or so of trying, Robin finally cast the shaft she was using aside and resolved to make herself a dagger.
She found a nice, oblong river rock that fit comfortably in her hand and was long enough to provide a decent blade. The stone she had chosen was even pretty—red, with cream-colored bands running through it. The harder boulders of the cliff face served as her whetstone, and after an afternoon’s labor, Robin had a dagger that was sharp enough to slice a scion from a tree; she felt inordinately pleased with herself.
Reprieved of their meat-cutting duties, Robin turned her arrows back to their natural task of archery. She practiced in the fog-lit mornings,
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