Read Online Robin: Lady of Legend (The Classic Adventures of the Girl Who Became Robin Hood) by R.M. ArceJaeger - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R.M. ArceJaeger
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demanded that she investigate.
“It is not my problem,” she muttered, but did not move. There was something about the way the holler had emerged—as if the person had tried to refrain from crying out, but could not help himself—that kept her from simply dismissing the sound.
Another scream punctuated the air.
“Plagues and murrains!” Robin cursed. Unhooking the bow from her back, she strung it and stalked off in the direction of the ruckus.
It was not hard to find the trouble’s locale—all she had to do was follow the shouting. When she judged she was getting close, Robin ducked down into the brush and crept forward the remaining distance; from her hiding place behind a tree, she peered out at the scene.
In the hollow between several flax-crowned trees, two men stood laughing with their backs to Robin, holding a third man still between them. Suddenly, the man in the middle rocked backward and would have fallen if not for the restraining grips on his arms. As the two soldiers pulled him upright, Robin saw a fourth man casually wind back his fist for another blow. Like his companions, he was clothed in purple attire.
Purple. What a stupid color to wear in a forest , Robin thought uncharitably as she contemplated her options. Then again, the Sheriff is not known for his desire to be inconspicuous. He probably has his men wear purple livery just so they do stand out. As if their brutality were not announcement enough.
Robin sighed. There was really only one thing to do. Glancing up at the tree she was hiding behind, she saw that it was a stately old ash with a broad base and bulbous grey arms. The lowest branch V-ed off from the trunk about four feet above the ground, and the second branch emerged a clothyard above that.
It will do .
Leaning her bow against the bole of the tree, Robin eased herself up into the first split. When she was in place, she drew up her bow and climbed into the second V. Her body was now within the lower canopy, hidden from view by a cluster of pale yellow leaves.
Robin nocked an arrow and made certain that her feet were firmly settled—one upon the tree’s broad branch, the other lodged in the crevice where the trunk split in twain. Her range was incredibly short—there would be no room for error here.
Sighting just below the purple shards that flashed through the leaves, Robin loosed; without pause, she drew another arrow from her quiver and shot it after the first. Arrow after arrow fell from the sky, causing the soldiers to scatter with horrified shouts. Robin was aiming for the ground near the soldiers’ feet, but the men did not know that. Thinking they were under attack, and completely unprepared to defend themselves against a bowman’s assault, they fled, leaving their insensible victim behind.
“That was almost too easy,” Robin whispered into the sudden silence, a trifle disappointed.
When she was certain that the soldiers were not coming back, Robin climbed out of the tree. Setting her bow against its trunk, she drew her sword and cautiously approached the prone victim; he had fallen over when the soldiers had let him go, and now lay unmoving upon the earth. His face was matted with blood and his nose was almost certainly broken. She thought he looked young, but it was hard to tell beneath the grime. When she nudged him with the tip of her sword, he moaned, but did not move.
Robin sheathed her sword and pondered the beaten man. Now what? They were near the edge of the forest. She supposed she could drag him to where the road met the verge; someone would stumble across him eventually.
“This is what I get for not minding my own business,” Robin muttered, deferring the problem for a moment so she could retrieve her arrows.
The force of her shot had buried the shafts so deep into the dirt that she had to dig her heels into the ground and tug with both hands to free them. Robin had just managed to dislodge the last arrow when she heard a low moan behind
“It is not my problem,” she muttered, but did not move. There was something about the way the holler had emerged—as if the person had tried to refrain from crying out, but could not help himself—that kept her from simply dismissing the sound.
Another scream punctuated the air.
“Plagues and murrains!” Robin cursed. Unhooking the bow from her back, she strung it and stalked off in the direction of the ruckus.
It was not hard to find the trouble’s locale—all she had to do was follow the shouting. When she judged she was getting close, Robin ducked down into the brush and crept forward the remaining distance; from her hiding place behind a tree, she peered out at the scene.
In the hollow between several flax-crowned trees, two men stood laughing with their backs to Robin, holding a third man still between them. Suddenly, the man in the middle rocked backward and would have fallen if not for the restraining grips on his arms. As the two soldiers pulled him upright, Robin saw a fourth man casually wind back his fist for another blow. Like his companions, he was clothed in purple attire.
Purple. What a stupid color to wear in a forest , Robin thought uncharitably as she contemplated her options. Then again, the Sheriff is not known for his desire to be inconspicuous. He probably has his men wear purple livery just so they do stand out. As if their brutality were not announcement enough.
Robin sighed. There was really only one thing to do. Glancing up at the tree she was hiding behind, she saw that it was a stately old ash with a broad base and bulbous grey arms. The lowest branch V-ed off from the trunk about four feet above the ground, and the second branch emerged a clothyard above that.
It will do .
Leaning her bow against the bole of the tree, Robin eased herself up into the first split. When she was in place, she drew up her bow and climbed into the second V. Her body was now within the lower canopy, hidden from view by a cluster of pale yellow leaves.
Robin nocked an arrow and made certain that her feet were firmly settled—one upon the tree’s broad branch, the other lodged in the crevice where the trunk split in twain. Her range was incredibly short—there would be no room for error here.
Sighting just below the purple shards that flashed through the leaves, Robin loosed; without pause, she drew another arrow from her quiver and shot it after the first. Arrow after arrow fell from the sky, causing the soldiers to scatter with horrified shouts. Robin was aiming for the ground near the soldiers’ feet, but the men did not know that. Thinking they were under attack, and completely unprepared to defend themselves against a bowman’s assault, they fled, leaving their insensible victim behind.
“That was almost too easy,” Robin whispered into the sudden silence, a trifle disappointed.
When she was certain that the soldiers were not coming back, Robin climbed out of the tree. Setting her bow against its trunk, she drew her sword and cautiously approached the prone victim; he had fallen over when the soldiers had let him go, and now lay unmoving upon the earth. His face was matted with blood and his nose was almost certainly broken. She thought he looked young, but it was hard to tell beneath the grime. When she nudged him with the tip of her sword, he moaned, but did not move.
Robin sheathed her sword and pondered the beaten man. Now what? They were near the edge of the forest. She supposed she could drag him to where the road met the verge; someone would stumble across him eventually.
“This is what I get for not minding my own business,” Robin muttered, deferring the problem for a moment so she could retrieve her arrows.
The force of her shot had buried the shafts so deep into the dirt that she had to dig her heels into the ground and tug with both hands to free them. Robin had just managed to dislodge the last arrow when she heard a low moan behind
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