A little more than two years ago

No birds were chirping, and yet the winter breeze had its own special magic. Marian was eight, playing, running, and enjoying the world's beauty in the sunshine. Sunlight shone on the white snow like diamonds. It covered the Nottingham countryside like icing sugar. Then, an ominous crack. The ground beneath her gave way. Marian remembered the nasty cold. Of the pricking of tens of thousands of burning needles, the water, and the darkness.

The next thing she saw was the blurred face of a girl. Wet strands of blonde hair stuck to her face, and she shivered uncontrollably. Gillian. She wasn't anyone important or significant. At least not in the eyes of the nobles or society. She was just a girl, a peasant's daughter. But she had jumped in after her without hesitation.

The Girl had pulled her out of the water, and they trudged through the snow, clinging to each other for warmth. Her mother wrapped them in blankets - patched, home-knitted sheets that were not made of expensive fabrics. They smelled of sheep and straw and camomile.

They did not know each other. Marian was an earl's daughter, and Gillian was a farmer's daughter. Servants. Marian was used to being surrounded by them, but there was always an invisible curtain separating them. But not on this day. On that winter day, they sat there, embracing and holding each other as if they had known each other from childhood. When her father's men came to fetch her, she was firmly convinced she would never see her savior again.

But she was wrong. Her father did not let his daughter's rescue go unrewarded, and Gillian became her personal chambermaid. The daughter of a farmer's wife came to the castle, to her side. Her mother was given a position in the kitchen. Clothes, food, and a warm roof in all seasons. Gillian combed her hair, and she helped her into her clothes. The Girl made her laugh and held Marian as she shed tears over Robin of Locksley and also as she shed those over the death of her dearly loved mother.

"My lady! Get up at last. You cannot lie in bed all day," with a resolute flourish, the blanket was torn from her, and glaring sunlight burned in Marian's sleepy eyes. It freed Marian from the last, inert strings of a frosty dream and brought her unblinking into the golden light of a crisp autumn morning.

Humming wearily, Marian fished for the blanket to pull her up higher again.

"Come on, Marian," Gillian tried a little more personally now. "You need to get some fresh air," Gillian urged with gentle severity, shooing Marian out of her springs in her cheerful manner. She worked Marian over until she agreed to go for at least a little outing. "It will do you good. A little ride out. Maybe you should stop by the chapel again? I'm sure Father Francis would be pleased. You haven't been there for a long time."

She gave her an encouraging smile. Blonde strands fell her face under her white bonnet, matching the numerous, adorable freckles on her narrow cheeks. Gillian pulled open the dressing table drawer and took out a silver jewelry box. Rings lay there beside silver bracelets, fine twisted gold of brooches and chains. "How about the silver necklace?" suggested Gillian, but Marian shook her head with a laugh.

"You want me to go to the chapel draped in silver?" asked Marian, amused, "I might as well dress in brocade."

Now Gillian smiled sheepishly too. She put the necklace back and put the little box away. "Forgive me, that's true, of course. What a pity; I would have loved to have seen the look on Mother Superior's face." At this, she flashed a cheeky, mischievous smile. "And do you know what I heard from Nicholas this morning? Copper is pregnant! She will no doubt give birth to an adorable foal. I can't wait." Gillian was prone to chatter. She never stopped, gossiping happily all day about servants, the weather, fashion, which lad she thought was dapper that week, food, and much more. Marian liked that about her. Gillian pushed away the silence in which she would otherwise feel so alone.

"Promise me you'll bring some honey from Mr. Potter on the way back," Gillian asked as Marian turned the horse. "I'll bring you three pots of it right away," Marian promised, and the thick loden cloak wrapped her in comfortable warmth as the clatter of hooves accompanied them out of the castle courtyard.

Sherwood Forest was draped in vibrant colors. From orange to beautiful fiery red. Some firs sprinkled a lush green in between, and the yellow gave everything a golden glow. It smelled of earth and rain.

Gillian was right: it did her good. On horseback, she felt freer and lighter. She spent a few hours in the chapel and confessed her few sins to Father Francis. She visited her mother's grave and left a bouquet of dahlias she had picked herself. Afterward, she kept her promise and immediately got four pots of the fragrant honey from Mr. Potter's bees. When her father returned from his trip in a few weeks, he would enjoy the honey just as much.

On their way back, clouds gathered in the sky. The wind drove the leaves swirling across the ground, making them rustle furiously. A downpour began as soon as she entered the yard. The heavy weight of the dark clouds poured down like buckets. As Marian rode into the outer castle courtyard, she should have realized that something was wrong. She felt it from the moment she rode through the great gate. It was a sinking feeling that she couldn't explain. When she thought about it later, the scales would fall from her eyes: Servants avoiding her gaze, literally skipping away, suddenly so busy. But Marian was drenched, and so she strode straight towards her chamber.

When she opened the chamber door, another maid stood at her bedside, flipping back the covers. When Marian entered, she flinched and jumped back like a frightened mouse. Marian was irritated at first but blamed it on the fright. "There's no need for that. I'm wet, let Gillian call me. I want out of these wet clothes, and the coat needs drying." The heavy loden coat trailed a trail of drops across the floor.

"I-I'm sorry, my lady," the maid stammered, fixing her eyes on the floor, "But I am your chambermaid now. I will take care of everything."

"What?" Marian stared at the Girl and gave a short, uncomprehending laugh, thinking it a failed joke. "There must be some mistake. Where's Gillian? Go get her."

Still, the Girl did not look up. "Excuse me, my lady. But you can't."

"Why not?"

The maid pressed her lips together so tightly that they formed a thin, pale line. Then she wrung her hands around each other. They were pale and certainly cold.

At that moment, Marian became uneasy. The Girl was obviously afraid to answer. And that, in turn, made her uncomfortable.

"What happened? Where's Gillian?" she demanded more insistently now.

"T-the sheriff... My lady..."

Marian felt her stomach turn. The sheriff! What had the sheriff got to do with this?

"Where is he right now?" she immediately wanted to know.

A short time later, Marian hurried through the dim corridors, accompanied by the rumble of thunder outside the castle. Marian entered the sheriff's room without knocking.

The sheriff's room was large and sprawling. Large iron candle chandeliers lit it up, casting their light on the barren walls. Marian passed a few shelves filled with old books and scrolls of parchment and strode across the worn carpets until she stood before the large oak table.

"Lady Marian," the sheriff chimed in with his usual cool tone and pointed to the chair placed in front of the table.

"Sheriff," Marian felt uneasy and uncomfortable as she sat down on the leather cushion. Lord Richmond of Gisborne was a righteous man. The former squire had been Sheriff of Nottingham for barely a few months, but he was very capable and law-abiding beyond measure. That, however, was precisely what was in her stomach. Had he had Gillian chased away or even arrested? "I was told my lady-in-waiting was no longer at her post by your command. Has Gillian done something wrong? Is that why you dismissed her?"

The sheriff exhaled heavily once and inhaled again. Then put the pen in his hands aside. "I did not dismiss your maid, my lady," he replied soberly, reaching to his side. A drawer creaked, then he rose and placed what looked like a handkerchief on the desk. He flipped it open, and gold flashed in the light of the candles: a necklace, two rings, and a gold bangle with a graceful flower.

"Your chambermaid, Gillian," he pronounced her name as if they were talking about a stranger, "was caught stealing jewelry and goods from Castle De Burgh and the estate of Lady and Earl De Burgh. She attempted to barter and sell the stolen goods." The sheriff retook his seat, and Marian stared at the golden bracelet. "During our questioning, it emerged that she had previously stolen and disposed of jewelry and items." The sheriff snorted snidely. "She claimed to be stealing for her home village. For the poor in the streets and that she wouldn't have kept the money for herself."

"Where is she now? Is she in the dungeon? I-I must speak to her. I want to ask her myself."

The sheriff just looked at her. Then he folded his hands on the table in front of him.

"My lady, this woman was a thief. She stole from Earl De Burgh, and she did it several times. Stealing from a lord is no trifle for which the dungeon will suffice. Such an act borders on treason. That is why she was punished like a traitor."

"What do you mean?" Marian's heart beat faster. She did not understand. Perhaps she didn't want to understand.

"Lady De Burgh. Traitors hang."