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The Songbird	By : bloodrosered Category: M through R > Robin Hood Prince of Thieves Views: 2136 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. I intend to make no profit from this story

Chapter List
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Chapter 2
William Tuck, Rosalie's father, was worried about his daughter. He remembered watching in horror as Guy of Gisbourne grabbed her and carried her off. He prayed to God that no harm came upon her. The Sherriff came in, smiling, amused by the suffering that was going around him.
“Sorry to keep you hanging about,” he laughed at the suffering prisoners. “Now, which one of you is William Tuck?”
“I am, sir,” said an old man with fading red, curly hair.
The Sheriff approached him, smiling with cold eyes. “I am here to inform you that your daughter has agreed to work for me in exchange for your freedom.”
“Rosalie?” her father said. “Where is she?”
“No need to worry, old man. Your daughter is safe and unharmed.”
“May I see her? Please!”
“You will not see her again.” He turned to the torturer. “Torture him. Kill him as well.”
XXX
Rosalie waited for her father to arrive as she swept the floor. The Sheriff returned, looking very grim.
“Where is my father?” she said.
“I am sorry,” he said sadly. “Your father is dead. He died when I arrived. The torturer told me so."
Rosalie fell to her knees and began to weep bitterly, hiding her face in her filthy hands.
“Don’t cry, child,” he said, kneeling beside her. He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head, staring into her wet blue eyes. Her flesh was soft as a rose petal. “But surely you know that your father is in Heaven.”
She nodded, barely containing her tears.
Knowing how naïve the girl was, he decided to throw in some sad stories to gain her trust. It was too easy.
“You know, I lost my father too,” he said; his thumb brushed a tear off her cheek.
“You did, sir?” she said.
“Ah, yes. It’s heartbreaking when you lose someone you love. I was a lonely child growing up. I am lonely myself and I have always wanted a child. I know it's probably too much to ask of you, but would you consider me as a father?”
She couldn’t speak. “’Tis awfully kind of you, sir, but I don’t know.”
“I would treat you like any father would to his daughter.”
“You would, sir?” she said.
“I assure you that I ask for very little. All I want is for you to obey me like a good child.”
Hearing how kind and endearing, Rosalie wasn’t aware of his true intentions. She nodded her head.
“I’ll try,” she said.
He gave a smile. “That’s good. Now come, my child,” he said.
He held his arms out and encircled the girl, allowing her to sob into him while he stroked her hair, feeling the corn-silk texture. Her little body trembled in his arms: how soft and untouched she was! He wanted her. He had many whores in his castle, but they were nothing more than old playthings and the one he had now was a young, naïve innocent who was trembling and sobbing in his arms. He could easily take advantage of her since her father was dead and he was willing to take his place to be a loving father figure to her. Yet, not just yet. He wanted her as unspoiled as possible.
XXX
Rosalie did as she was told: whatever the Sheriff wanted, she obeyed without complaint. She cleaned the castle floors, made the Sheriff’s bed, and cleaned the plates and goblets until they shone like the sun. Needless to say, the Sheriff was pleased.
Most of the time, the Sheriff was away or in another room. Rosalie did her best to stay out of the way, singing to herself as she cleaned, spending time near a window, looking down at the townspeople, walking around in hopes to find her brother. She was lonely and missed the outside world: the open air, the wide open space, the green grass, the wildflowers, her farm…mostly her father and her brother. She wished she could’ve said goodbye to her father.
The Sheriff heard the nightingale’s voice, echoing in the vast castle and was enchanted by it. It sounded like an angel’s.
The Sherriff wasn’t the only one who heard her singing. Will Scarlett, a young man with short hair happened to be passing through and heard the sweetest voice that pierced his heart. He looked up at the tower and saw a young maid with strawberry red hair, looking out the window, sighing and staring down at the crowd. He only wished he could’ve seen what she looked like because with a swish, her red hair disappeared inside the black hole of the castle.
She went back to work, polishing the silverware and goblets, admiring the jewels and color. She had never seen such pretty things up close before. Mostly she ate food off of wood or hardened mud. She had seen gold, silver and jewels on the rich, but never up close.
“Do you like pretty things, Rose?” asked the Sherriff.
Embarrassed, she put the goblet down, ashamed that she dared to touch it.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to…”
“No need to apologize, my child. As long as you don’t steal them, you can touch them as much as you want. But you still didn’t answer my question: do you like them?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, quietly.
“Would you like to have pretty things like these?”
“I suppose,” she said, a bit uncomfortably.
“Since you did such a fine job cleaning,” he reached into his leather pouch and handed her a ruby ring, sliding it on her finger. It was the size of a robin's egg.
“Well, thank you, sir.”
“Pardon me for asking, but I thought I heard singing earlier today. Was that you?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I’m sorry if it bothered you.”
“Not at all. In fact, I would like some entertainment when I need to. Would you like that? I would pay you.”
“I’ll be happy to do so,” she replied.
“Wonderful. I shall hire you a music teacher so you could play a harp. Your voice and a harp would certainly go well.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, appreciatively.
XXX
Needless to say, Rosalie was very talented. The music teacher was impressed by her voice. He taught her to play the harp, which of course she mastered very well.
Whenever the Sheriff had dinner, he showed off his new songbird, having her stand amongst the musicians and she sang to him and his guests. Though she couldn’t hear them, they talked about her.
“George, you’re lucky to find someone with a voice that matches angels,” said one of his friends.
“Ah, yes, my cousin brought her as a present for me,” he said.
His friends mumbled amongst themselves with both impressed and envious for this beautiful songbird that the Sheriff possessed.
As time went by, they got drunker: their faces turned red and sweaty, they chattered wildly like a flock of noisy birds, and they laughed loudly and madly. They were too drunk to care what she sang. Once her singing was finished, she was about to retreat to a corner.
“Wait!” said the Sheriff, drunk. “Come, sit with us, my child.” He gestured to a chair next to him.
She felt uncomfortable and looked at the chair.
“Sit!” he commanded.
She sat down as slowly as possible, embarrassed. He handed her a goblet filled with wine. Father had warned her to never accept wine from a man she didn’t know.
“Have a drink, my child. It’s good wine.”
She pretended to sip it by letting it touch her lips, knowing that he was too drunk to notice. She gave a smile.
“’Tis delicious,” she admitted.
“Yes, it is,” he said. “A gift from France.”
She pretended to sip her drink while slowly dumping it on the floor since she knew they wouldn’t notice.
Soon, one of the Sherriff’s men began to touch her leg, slowly moving it towards her intimates. She froze, completely scared. He was an ugly man with rotting teeth, smiling lecherously at her. He had an upturned nose like a pig.
“So, George,” said the ugly man. “Have you bedded this little tart yet? She looks like a limber little bit o' skirt."
Rosalie was disgusted when he heard him speak those words. Needless, the Sheriff saw the man's hand on her leg and was furious. He backhanded him so hard that he landed backwards on the floor. His face was red with rage. Though the men were drunk, the minute they saw the Sheriff go off like that, they sat there in stunned silence, frozen in their seats and holding their goblets. Rosalie hugged her knees, terrified.
“How dare you lay your filthy hand on her!” he said. “This girl is my daughter...and you treat her like a whore.”
“I-I'm sorry!” he stammered. “I didn't mean to! It's just that a man gets lonely and he sees a pretty thing like that...”
“Shut up! You will not speak like that about my daughter in her presence. And if you touch her again, I'll cut off your hand.”
“Y-yes, sir. I won't touch her.”
The Sheriff turned to her. Though he was drunk, he looked very concerned. “Did he harm you, my child?”
She shook her head no. “May I go, sir?”
“Certainly. You don't need to be around all these...” he turned to the men, who just sat there in stunned silence for what he had done. “Lecherous pigs who should be ashamed of themselves. You can go.”
She nodded, still shaking from the whole ordeal. She had never realized that there were men who thought of her like that. At least the Sheriff defended her against that lecherous pig who tried to touch her. Father had warned her that there were men like ravenous wolves. He said that there were many good men, but some of them may have bad intentions. Men like that shouldn't be trusted
Perhaps she should be more on her guard, especially in the presence of the Sheriff's men.
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The Songbird