Chapter 2
Winchester, England 1191
May Day it was and Richard the Lionhearted took the few he trusted most in his court to go a-hunting. Of this, naturally Harlana and her knights were apart of. She wore a dark shade of green satin and rode a white palfrey. Her Knights Templars always wore the same color their mistress did. They too, rode white mounts, beautiful silk like stallions.
Harlana rode beside King Richard the Lionhearted. Always, she was at his side. A great friendship, not one with a tryst, but one as brother and sister, they had. They both kept the other in light conversation.
They had just finished their latest kill and rode back to the court, although the king preferred to stay a-hunt longer than a singe day. He had the party ride back for Harlana’s sake. She could not stand to be without Gawaine for long. In Scotland, they had never been parted, for always she had to have him in her sight so her late husband could do no harm to him. So now, when they were free, she had great difficulty with this.
Once they arrived at court, Harlana could not hide her anticipation. She dismounted herself, which gave the people surrounding great shock. She ran to his chambers.
At the door, two guards stood by and refused her passage. “My lady, you best not enter,” one said with sweat rolling off his head for nervousness when speaking to the Lady Harlana as all were.
“What ‘tis this?” Harlana demanded, anger rising up within her breast. “Why might I not see my son? Why will ye men not let a mother go to her child?”
“My Lady Harlana,” the other spoke, “you may not go to him for he has caught a sickness that could claim his life and others who come into contact with him.
Harlana refused to believe this until James came to her and confirmed it. “Aye, milady, ye should do well to listen to these men for they speak truth and ye should beware for yer own life.”
Then, Harlana broke into tears. “Why should I, my lad is ill and I may not go to him?”
How dare they! Harlana thought this as she paced back and forth before Gawaine’s door.
They refused passage which grieved her sore. They keep an ailing child and its now ailing mother apart, just for the safety for Harlana. They knew full well that she cared not for her life but for the life of her son. If she would died comforting both herself and Gawaine, she would be glad to do so. After all the poor efforts Harlana had done to go to her son; throwing a series of tantrums, unwillingly, to gain passage, they still refused to allow her passage. When it was time for the guards to rest, they locked the door from the inside out.
Once she gained control over her fast pacing emotions, Harlana broke down and did naught but weep. Yet this situation had changed this woman for the worse of which she became bitter and fell deep into a thing none wants to be in, hysteria. Her mind was at a severely bad place and she was losing fast her sanity.
Harlana could not, under any circumstances lose Gawaine. She had fought so hard for Gawaine’s safety all those long four years and her son was now of the age of four, a whole long life ahead of him and if he were to die it would go untouched and his mother could not go on. She would be as good as a dead corpse, a meaningless void of pitch black nothingness. Everything would no longer be of importance and there would be only darkness, despair, as well as the sweet taste of death.
For her son’s sake, she became a murderer. Gawaine was Harlana’s only happiness, her only joy, the reason she kept herself alive. Long ago without her son to have been conceived, she would have taken her life. That is what Harlana’s late laird did to those trapped under his enchantment. They lose all hope. There is no reason to exist any longer in this world of which the victim ceases to care of anything and ceases to believe in anything good in life. Sanity is taken away and replaced with madness and hate and lots and lots of pain unspoken. Unspoken for fear of what he would do and all anyone would receive would be naught but mockery and persecution. And then, death consumes them and death is what becomes the soul. Then there is nothing but a lifeless corpse to replace that life that was lost. Harlana was at the brink of committing this sin until her Gawaine. With his birth, he saved a life that would have soon be lost. These thoughts consumed this woman as would fire burn a human at an unjustly execution.
When she ceased to pace for a minute, she could barley make out the figure walking towards her through her blurry vision caused by her bitterness. But when the figure inched closer, she saw it to be Sir Robert walking toward her full in his Templar attire as if ready for a battle he was sure to lose, as his demeanor told her. She returned to her frantic pacing after letting in him into her mind.
Once he was near enough to do so, he grabbed her arm and stopped her and turned her around to face him. “Madam, best you stop this madness.” Robert said, with fear in his eyes.
Although Harlana knew full well it was madness, she refused to let herself of others to believe so. She spoke, “’tis not madness, Sir Knight. Worry for my lad ’tis this.”
“My lady, you are becoming a daft woman and have lost all your sanity and have replaced it with bitterness. None of us, my lady, including His Majesty, take joy in this matter. Concerned we are for you and best have you reasoned with.”
“Daft I am not Sir Robert, nor am I bitter. Milord, I am not as yer accusations make me to be. I am not but a lioness wishing for the well being of my cub.”
Robert was becoming frustrated and it showed for his grip tightened on her arm. “My lady, you are as I say you to be. We all are greatly grieved at what has become Gawaine.”
Harlana laughed and Robert shook her. “Milord, ye will release me,” Harlana said through gritted teeth in a whisper. She felt herself becoming irritated. She spoke louder and harsher, “Sir Robert, I as yer lady has so commanded my release from yer grip. I warn ye sir, that if ye shall not do so, to disobey my will, ye go against myself and against yer code as a knight and a Templar, ye go against yer true master, our Lord and our sovereign lord, His Royal Majesty, King Richard. And ye will cause me to be greatly wroth to go among my great distress.”
At this, the knight reluctantly released her after a great debate in his mind, it seemed. As he so did, he unintentionally shoved her back before he turned from her. Harlana was both sore abashed and wonderfully wroth. She stood there, stock still, staring with marvel at the knight.
Robert was growing a headache that gave him great pain. He rubbed his temples as he spoke after a long absence of voice. “Grow I awry of your stubbornness and great burdening pride, the only pride a Frenchmen and a……..”
“Say it not, Sir Robert. If ye grow so awry of my being, then I have half a mind to relieve ye of my service.” Harlana placed her hand on his back. “A good and loyal knight ye are milord. I should loathe to send ye from my service. Ye must understand…….”
Robert turned so fast to face her, she was frightened. “I understand indeed what those Scottish bastards has done to you and have turned you into, how they changed you! Damn them, damn them all to hell!”
Harlana frowned. “Sir, changed me they have not.”
“Damn your Scottish pride! Before, you were a kind woman, a true virtues woman. Now you are naught but a bitter, selfish woman bent on vengeance. That is what they have done to you.”
“I am not what ye charge me with.”
“Listen to your words. What you speak suffices what I speak to be truth.”
With that, Robert left stood there, full of a mixture of emotions in her breast. Soon all emotion left, save anger. She picked up a goblet of mead and threw it at the wall, letting out a deafening scream. As this transpired, a gentleman of the king’s privy chamber saw it and ran past her, not wishing to further provoke Harlana Galbraith.
Chapter 3
Nottinghamshire, England 1191
Robin paced the Sherwood. Much, in his usually high-pitched voice, complained. On Much went, giving Robin the urge to slam the pommel of his sword to his cheek. There was no stopping the faithful friend of Robin Hood. Whenever Much spoke, he was unaware of his mad ranting, which continued and never ceased; if one was to speak to him on that matter, it would get much worse for the poor soul listening to Much. There was no escaping.
Robin was being deprived of his sanity and no longer able to stand Much’s voice any longer, he picked up his bow, withdrew an arrow from his quiver and strung his bow and acted as if her were to aim it at Much.
Much immediately silenced himself but left his mouth gaping open in shock and his eyes grew wide. His always pale features turned paler. Robin gave Much a sheepish grin and returned his arrow to its quiver and through his bow at the foot of the oak tree where they stood under.
“You know,” Much was beginning to speak, “you should not do such a thing.”
“Oh, and is that right?” Robin asked with a hint of laughter in his voice.
“Yes, you should not do such a thing. You being the best archer and swordsman in the world, save for the king, I mean. You even better the great Lancelot du Lac. Should you, Robin of Loxley, of all people do such? No, I tell you……….”
Much was starting on one of his never ending tales. Robin pointed a finger at his friend. “No Much, no more of your many never ending stories that would make even the King of England himself have you sent to the Tower and beheaded.”
Much ignored Robin and gave a smile. “It would be a cheery one.”
“Mayhap it should. Yet it should be a tragedy too.”
“A tragedy for whom?” Much asked, playing Robin’s game which he did not know he was playing.
“A tragedy for you.”
“In what way, pray you?”
Robin grabbed one of Much’s shoulders and shook him. “For you to be an outlaw and a great friend and have cheated death a many times, only to be killed by me because of your burdening mouth.”
“You are lucky that I take offense naught to your unkind and false words.”
Robin Laughed and stalked away to Nottingham Castle to pay a little visit to the sheriff, John de Oxford.
It took Robin a little over half an hour to reach the castle. He entered the castle with ease, using the familiar passages taught to him by Marian. Once in the castle, Robin went to the stout, bald sheriff’s chamber at the far end in the castle’s west side, the opposite side which Robin entered from.
John de Oxford’s chamber consisted of a sitting room and a bedchamber. The fire in the hearth was ablaze. Above the hearth was a painting of the Lionheart; a mockery for John de Oxford’s allegiance lies with Prince John.
As usual, the fat man was asleep in his chair beside the hearth. Robin withdrew the dagger on his belt. He slowly made his way to the Sheriff of Nottingham’s chair. He put the dagger to the sheriff’s throat which was covered by his black doublet. John de Oxford’s eyes immediately snapped open, exposing his dark, forbidding black eyes.
Robin would not kill the sheriff, though he has killed many times, only if he was forced to do so. Still, Robin would not kill him, though it would pay for his many crimes. He just wanted the sheriff to understand.
John de Oxford squirmed, his eyes still weary from his slumber. When he saw it was Robin Hood, he made a move.
“Easy, sheriff.” Robin spoke.
“What do you want, Hood?” The sheriff asked, his eyes dancing with the thought to put Robin’s head on a pike.
Just then, one of the sheriff’s knights entered. Once he saw it was Robin of Loxley with a dagger at the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire’s throat, he immediately put his hand to his sword’s pommel and drew it, its blade ringing with the metallic sound of metal. He called for some of John de Oxford’s other men for aid against the always feared Robin Hood.
At this, Robin couldn’t help but smile. Robin put the dagger through the sheriff’s wrist, attaching it to the chair. He withdrew his sword, for he forgot his favored bow under the oak. He went and fought the men of the sheriff’s.
While Robin fought John de Oxford’s men, the sheriff fought to free himself of Robin’s dagger. When Robin again proved him to be a great man of prowess, after he killed three of his opponents, he spun around and grabbed the dagger forcefully from the sheriff and the chair, of which the sheriff groaned in agony. Robin jumped out of the window with the men looking at him, with the sheriff shouting orders to other men.
When Robin landed on the ground in the courtyard, he ran into Guy of Gisborne, whom drew his sword and charged at Robin. “I have not forgotten Marian,” Robin cried.
Robin surpassed Guy of Gisborne, only to injure him. Robin ran from the castle and town, dodging arrows, soldiers, and people and ran for the Sherwood.
