The agreement

Chapter 4

What had seemed a brilliant plan the night before was quickly appearing to have been a bad idea in the cold crisp morning. Staring in the polished metal that served as a mirror, she straightened her dark green gown and made a cursory attempt to tidy her long blonde hair. She had given up covering her hair, the headpieces that noble English women wore annoyed her and she had never worn them at home in Ireland. Emma knew that such immodesty probably shocked some of the other women present in the castle, but she also shrewd enough to realise that some of the unflattering comments muttered in her wake arose from jealousy.

Rising early, before either Vaisey or Guy had appeared, she had walked to the stables and ordered a horse be saddled. At home, a groom would have always accompanied her on a ride, for the sake of decency but here she she found that when a groom she hadn't recognised had half- heartedly gotten to his feet to accompany her, she had dismissed him and no one had argued. For once she has cause to thank her uncle for his lack of regard for her. On this ride she wanted no company.

As she rode towards the outskirts of Sherwood Forest she felt a small tingle of anxiety. The forest was huge and sprawling, whole villages existed in its midst as did a thriving subculture of runaway serfs and poachers.

The dark interior of the forest was dappled with sunlight from gaps in the canopy where older trees had succumbed to age. The confusion of light and dark played tricks with her eyes and Emma felt a creeping nervousness in her belly. Although in theory the Sheriff and various officials maintained the King's peace, the forest was not a place for the faint-hearted and certainly not a woman alone.

For Emma, though, the possibility of being attacked and murdered, compared to being married to the poxy Percy, was worth the risk. Her main concern was that she may not run into the people she was seeking, but she was hoping that they may still be somewhere in the Wickham area.

She travelled for over an hour, passing through small villages that lay on the road, curious peasants pausing in the middle of their morning chores to quietly stare as she rode past.

By the time the sun had risen to almost overhead she was beginning to lose hope. The forest had opened up a little, the trees were alive with the sound of birds and small animals foraging in the rich undergrowth, each sound causing her to start with fear.

She made an easy target but so far no one had taken the bait. Of course, just in case her plan went awry she had a backup plan. Hidden under the folds of her long burgundy cloak was a sharp and well-oiled broad sword. Being brought up in Ireland in the company of mainly men had had its advantages, the most useful to her at the moment being that her father's men had thought it amusing to help the little Emma to pursue her interest in learning to fight with a sword. She wasn't exactly an expert, but she had bettered fair opponents in the past. Although she was nowhere as strong as a man, she was a thoughtful and wary fighter and often gained the advantage because her opponents underestimated her abilities because of her sex.

She smiled in memory of the shocked face of her father's friend when she had unarmed him as a child of 14. Unfortunately, as she got older her father had begun to question the wisdom of having a daughter that could earn a wage as a man at arms and had tried to curb her wilful nature somewhat. Still, he had been a good father, very lenient and kind to her after the death of her mother.

Emma was torn from memories of her childhood by the crack of a branch to the left of the track. The footfall was too heavy to belong to any animal. She stiffened in her saddle; her right hand feeling its way instinctively to the hilt of her blade.

Her head swung to the right as another noise gained her attention. Fury, the horse she had borrowed from Guy without his knowledge, suddenly reared up as two men bearing long bows appeared on the road in front of her. With difficulty she controlled her frightened mount and looked behind her for an escape route. That way, too, was blocked by a burly man in a shaggy bear skin rug and a few smaller men clutching clubs menacingly.

She turned and face the two men in front. One was tall, lean with cropped fairish hair; good looking but rather grubby. His companion was shorter, more compact and looked decidedly less trustworthy than his friend.

Emma smiled to herself. At last, she had found what she had been hunting.

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