Snippet #826695

This day would be warm, Sir Martin of Essex thought absently as he led his small group through the worn pathway of Sherwood Forest. Trees, glorious English trees, it had been too long since he’d seen his homeland; nearly five years now to be precise, two of which had been in captivity. The crusades had been nothing like what he had been told. There were no glorious battle in the name of Christ and the church, it had been a campaign of bloody murder, rape and pillaging in the name of lining the pockets of the lords they were to fight under. He’d seen unspeakable things done in the holy lands, on both sides, and found he had distaste for the whole business. Indeed, Martin was looking forward to returning to his farm manor, once he’d firmly established at court that he was indeed alive, as would be customary, not to mention wise. A lot could change in five years, and cut off as he’d been, Sir Martin didn’t know nearly how much.

“Milord-?” Lillian asked, walking on the other side of the horse carrying his ward that Martin was leading through the forest.

“Sir Martin.” He corrected in a tone that suggested habit. “I am not your Lord, you have sworn no oaths, nor do I ask for any.”

“Milord?” Lillian began again, ignoring Martin’s dismissal once again.

“Yes Lillian.” Martin replied sighing. He was tired of trying to argue with the head strong young woman who insisted to him and anyone else they met that she was his servant. Many men might be envious of a pretty young wench jumping to serve his needs, but to be frank, he greatly disliked people waiting on him. He liked working with his hands, doing things for himself, and it made him greatly uncomfortable being around such devoted attention that to him seemed to border on worship. Good God, you’d think the woman had mistaken him for St. Paul!

“I’ve heard rumors of this forest. Do you think the tales of ghostly bandits are true?” Lillian ask, looking around the thick forest with a kind of awe.

“I could not tell you Lillian.” Martin replied simply. “I have not been to Nottingham in many years. Should we be attacked however I believe our would be thieves will be in for more than they bargained for, and little reward for their efforts.” Martin assured the young woman, having heard none of the rumors she referred to, and mistaking her line of questioning for anxiety. It was not a boast either, simply fact. Martin had already dealt with several would be bandits along their way to England, and defeated everyone in turn. He had no reason to believe a thief in the forest would be any different. Still, Martin held a sharper gaze towards the surrounding forest, and a steady hand near his sword.

“You’re not too chilled Zahra?” Sir Martin asked his ward. He knew the woman disliked him for taking her from the holy lands, but he had sworn to her father he would keep her from danger and protect her, and his estate in England was were he could best do that.