Nottingham

  “He needed allies, and I am valuable at that. A bit controversial, I’ve come to realize, but valuable nonetheless. Our betrothal will stay the hand of those that would seek to destroy him before he begins. It will give him the chance to strengthen his position, to make himself unrootable.”

  “So then,” John struggled, “it’s just for show?”

  “A bit. But I will marry him.”

  “But why?”

  “John, this helps me, too!” Marion flinched, trying to unfold his confusion. He only knew her through Locksley, through their time in the Sherwood. None of them ever truly understood the other half of her life, her struggles for agency in London’s courts. This marriage was no punishment, it was opportunity. “I’ll be able to actually make a difference. With more powerful connections, I can influence policy. I can protect you all much better from here than anywhere else. The answer was never to get rid of the Sheriff, the answer is to work with him. And that’s what I’ll be doing.”

  “Work with him?” John asked. Whatever hideous image he had built in his mind that defined William, he could not seem to let go of it. That was precisely the type of thinking that led Will Scarlet to kill de Lacy. “You don’t honestly think he’ll listen to you?”

  Marion sighed. “He does listen to me. He already has. He came to me in Sheffield, John, for advice in this. William knew he couldn’t keep his position for long. He assumed he might only have power for a week, two if he were lucky. So he asked me for advice on what he could accomplish in that time.”

  It had been such a bittersweet visit. The new Sheriff of Nottingham had personally asked her what he should do to help its people, which was as close to a miracle as Marion could ever have hoped for. But she told William the truth, which was that he could not accomplish anything at all that could not be undone just as swiftly. True reform takes time. But time was precisely what she was able to offer him.

  It had meant changing everything. Leaving the community she had grown to love, leaving Robin. But those sacrifices were nothing compared to what she could accomplish, the lasting effects that would benefit them all. Not just for now, but potentially for generations.

  “I was the one to convince him he should stay, that he could keep the power if he was able to properly support his leadership. Marriage was my idea, John.”

  He looked both shamed and proud, a father who had underestimated his own daughter. He neither protested nor pouted, despite the enormous effort he had made to come find her. Instead he opened his hands and laughed. “Well, what in the hell am I doing here?”

  Marion felt a weight lift from her, and she touched her hands to his cheeks.

  He smiled and patted her softly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  The question was alarming. “I thought you knew,” she said. “Sir Amon told me he brought you the news.”

  “He did,” John nodded slowly, “but now for the life of me I can’t recall how he phrased it. He certainly didn’t give the impression it was your idea. But he didn’t stay long.”

  Marion’s heart clenched. To think they had been worrying about her all this time. They had organized to rescue her, of all ungodly things. “I asked Amon to tell you to stay away from this, to not come after me. Did he not say that?”

  “He did. But we thought you were just trying to protect us. Thought you were being selfless.”

  “It was an order, John. I gave it for a reason.”

  “We didn’t know.”

  Marion cursed under her breath, that a misunderstanding could carry such consequences. “I’m so sorry,” was all she could say, “I thought he made it clear.”

  John shook his head, sadly, but his pout pursed into a smile that let out his familiar laugh. “Well, damned if we didn’t have the whole thing wrong! We thought he locked you up in some tower and meant to marry you by force.”

  “How on earth would that help him?” She joined him in laughter. “Who would respect a union made that way? It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t suppose we thought much about it.” John shrugged his shoulders as he put it all together.

  “I wanted to send more messages, but I was hardly at liberty.” She pointed at the door.

  John followed her with a curious face. “That’d be my next question. If you’re not a prisoner, why is there a guard outside your door?”

  “There are normally two guards outside my door.”

  “There was only one,” he said guiltily. “I may have clobbered him.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Why are they guarding you if you’re here on your own?”

  “They’re not guarding me.” She could be proud of this one. “They’re afraid of me. The Captain of the Guard thinks I may be a spy, so he has them watch me day and night. If it weren’t so annoying it would be quite flattering. But if I sent Sir Amon again, they would have known. And then they would have found you.”

  John humphed. Finally he took the glass of water and stood, stretching his back and slapping his arms. She noticed a wet dark circle at his side. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Probably.”

  “Let me see that,” she reached out, but he twisted away.

  “It’s nothing.” He stretched his body around to prove it. “But I’m too old for this. Maybe ten years ago, but I’m not as strong as I remember myself.”

  Marion tugged at his lapel, straightening it out. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  He sighed and patted her leg, leaning back and taking in the room again. “So he’s not so bad then, this William de Wendenal?”

  “Not at all.” Marion thought on it. In the admittedly short time she had known him, William had shown a degree of responsibility and temperance she had rarely seen. “He reminds me quite a bit of Robin.”

  John didn’t respond, but held her gaze. He always had that way of looking into someone’s eyes, deeper, as if he were reading a person’s soul. “But you don’t love William.”

  She had to look away. “There is that distinction.”

  “Marion—”

  “It’s fine.”

  In many ways, William was a better man than Robin. But circumstance had given William an opportunity to use his talents for good, while Robin had always struggled with his place in life. Still, John was right. Love had little regard for logic.

  “You were lucky, John. You and Marley shared so much together. Not everyone has the luxury of marrying someone they love. It’s a silly thing. William is a loyal and decent man. And he’s pretty, I like pretty things.” She tried to get John to laugh, but he no longer seemed interested. “In his own way, at least. I could certainly end up with a lot worse.”

  “I think that may be why Robin wants to rescue you.”

  “Why?”

  “He probably loves you.”

  “He probably does.”

  There wasn’t anything else to say about it. Letting her thoughts linger on Robin, that was better not done. Their entire lives had been like two boats on a river, side by side for a moment but then drifting away from each other, only to come back and away again, endlessly. For so long, she had seen her own boat as constant while his went weaving. He would always try too hard, try to be just slightly more man than he was. And when he failed, his emotions flared and he pushed himself away in the current. All she ever wanted was for him to accept himself, and what had happened. But he bore his brother’s act as if it were his own, always overcompensating. Always trying to impress her enough to make it go away, to make up for things that could never be undone. It had taken him years to return to her, to finally claim ownership of his misgivings, and seize responsibility for those he taught. When they kissed under the eaves of the Oak Camp, she thought their boats were finally side by side, as she had long hoped.

  And then she’d suddenly keeled her own boat toward the farthest bank.

  “So that’s it?” John asked.

  “As I said,” she stood, with fi
nality, “I don’t get that luxury. What I can accomplish here is far more important.” She forced herself to forget about Robin. To forget he was here, that he was here for her. “You should go find him. I don’t know that I can protect you if they find you in here with me.”

  “Well,” John said, slapping his knees and standing, “that certainly isn’t how I thought this would go.”

  He opened his arms for her and she went right to him, letting him wrap around her, squeezing. She buried her forehead into his chest, ignoring the rank of his sweat. She couldn’t help but wonder when next she would be able to embrace him.

  “You’re a good man, John Little.”

  “You know what, Lady Marion?” He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her. “You’re a better man than I am.”

  She laughed and had to dab at her eyes to dry them. “Oh, am I?”

  “That you are.” He let her go, and turned to unwedge his staff from the door. But as soon as he touched it, he froze. “Oh hell, you don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  His face lost all the love that made it so gentle a moment ago. “Elena. She took her own life, Marion.”

  He might as well have punched her in the chest.

  “She broke out of the prison with Will, but things went bad. Alan’s dead, too, and Lord Gisbourne, and more than a few others. Some men from Bernesdale that got involved.”

  The floor of the room dove down—it spun sickeningly away and her legs were a hundred stories tall. Marion bent over in shock.

  “Stop it, John!” she yelled.

  “It was such a fury, everyone’s tempers were up, I don’t know—”

  “Stop it! What are you doing? What the hell are you all doing out there? Don’t you see you’re making it worse?” She wanted to grab him and shake him, to shake all of them, to go and put them in a box where they couldn’t do themselves any more damage. “I’m trying to save you, that’s why I’m here! I’m trying to save all of you, but I can’t do it if you keep running around killing each other!”

  “I’m sorry.” He looked devastated, as he should. “We were just doing what you told us to do.”

  “Did I tell you to come here? Or did I specifically tell you not to? Did I tell you to kill Gisbourne?”

  “We thought you were captive, Marion … we didn’t know…”

  “What have you done?” Her thoughts threw to the gallows outside, and the hanging tomorrow. Gisbourne’s death, Scarlet’s escape, it meant immediate danger for William, for his hold on the sheriffcy, and by extension her own safety. “What is wrong with you? Lord Gisbourne?”

  Little bobbed his head. “Robin.”

  Her mind staggered at the consequences, racing down cruel paths that had no end. “Dear God. And then you two came here? You killed the Captain and came here afterward? Have any of you, have any one of you ever stopped to think about what you do? I can’t help you now, don’t you see that? If they catch Robin they’ll put him on the gallows tomorrow. Why in the hell would you do that?”

  “We didn’t know.”

  What a worthless bunch of words. “You should have known better!”

  “You didn’t tell us what you were doing.”

  “Get out of here!” She pointed at the door so harshly it could have cracked. “Before somebody sees you, get Robin, get out of Nottingham, right now! Let me make my instructions unmistakably clear this time. I command you to get Robin back to the others, and just … just do nothing. For God’s sake, for once, just do nothing. Don’t rescue anyone, don’t kill anyone. Get drunk, sleep for a week, and let me handle this!” Her face burned, her hands clenched into fists, she wanted to rip the walls down. She didn’t mean to take it out on him, but he could take it. “We are on the verge of bringing things back to some kind of order here, we are on the edge, the very edge of succeeding—for once!—but you all just keep stirring things up!”

  John put his hands up. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

  “Good God, find Robin before he does anything stupid.” A dozen more nightmares went through Marion’s mind, all of increasingly idiotic acts that Robin might think were justified, all to prove himself to her. He was still trying to save her.

  John said what Marion was thinking. “I don’t think he’ll leave without you.”

  “Tell him I’m not here. Tell him I’m somewhere else.”

  “He won’t believe that.”

  “Then tell him you found me and I’m already gone.” The words came out as quickly as she thought them, overlapping his excuses. “That I left the castle first and will meet you at the camp, and you two ought to hurry and catch up with me. Tell him he’ll see me tomorrow.”

  John’s mouth twisted into a knot. “He won’t appreciate being lied to.”

  She had to get him out of the castle, before it was too late. “Please, do this one thing for me, get him out of Nottingham. Tomorrow you can tell him the truth, and you can tell him I ordered you to lie about it.”

  “He’ll come back for you.”

  “Then tell him I love William!”

  John knew she didn’t mean it. “I couldn’t.”

  “Fine! Tell him I love him! What does it matter?” It wouldn’t matter if he knew, it wouldn’t matter if she said it, not like this. They had driven everything to the edge, the terrible lip beyond which nothing mattered at all. “I don’t care what you tell him, just don’t let him come back here. That goes for you, too, you cannot ever come back here. Ever, do you understand me? Some day in the future, a month, a year, I will call for you. Until then, my instructions stand. Do nothing.”

  Poor John Little, he had meant so well. His mouth opened and closed, his eyes watered and he held his breath.

  “Robin is here,” he tried, “and he’s fighting for the people.”

  “No he’s not,” Marion sighed, the truth of it crushing her. “He’s fighting for the dream I sold him, and I was wrong, John. I was wrong.” Her eyes welled up, her throat closed. “Don’t mistake me, I was happier than anyone that he came back to help, but it wasn’t because he believed in helping us. He’s just fighting because he doesn’t want to disappoint me, again. If he genuinely had the people in mind, he wouldn’t have led you here, here. It makes no sense to come here, except that he can’t stand the guilt of leaving me.”

  John hesitated.

  “That’s always been the way with him,” she continued. “With Much, with his brother, with me. He’s always fighting because of the things he didn’t do. He’s never fighting for something. He doesn’t care about what comes with success, he’s just afraid of what comes with failure. You think he cared about the Crusade? You think he cared about his father, or us?”

  “I think he cares about you.”

  It was her turn to falter.

  “So he fights because of his mistakes, so what?” John asked. “He’s fighting now because he doesn’t want to make another one. Because he knows what happens when he does nothing—he loses someone he loves. And you’re next on that list.”

  She bit her lip. It didn’t matter if he was right. “I’m sorry, John.”

  When finally he let it go, it came as a rolling groan, and a great melancholy seemed to overtake him. He turned his back to her and let the door drift a few inches open. “We were just trying to do right by our own.”

  “I know,” she cried, just for a moment, and regained herself. “We all are.”

  He nodded, respectfully, and put his fist to his chest. “M’lady.”

  He opened the door wide and left. She thought about stopping him. She could summon Sir Amon, to help find Robin get them out safely. Even as John’s shape lumbered away, even as she watched him heave to a run down the corridor. Until it was no longer an option. How easily she might have helped, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. There would be consequences, cruel consequences, and there was more at stake here than yesteryear’s memories of lost love.

  Everything, everything she’d been working toward in Nottingham
had led to this. More than a few times she had worried about the risks, about the selfishness she feared within herself. There was no pretending she did not envy the power she was finally so close to claiming, and she knew its cost. But if Robin ruined this, if Marion ended up in the woods running from the law, every life lost was an unconscionable waste. Here, at the head of the city, she could finally make right on the wake of pain that had brought her here. It was a bittersweet victory, but the only kind she could ever expect.

  Well after John was gone, she realized she was staring at the gallows again, imagining what Robin’s neck would look like with a rope around it. She pictured him looking out in the crowd, finding her, whispering her name just before he dropped. She ran back to the door and locked it, as if shutting out the world could make it smaller and less important. She went to the mirror and her hairbrush and told herself that Robin would escape, and that he’d understand.

  They would have to say goodbye to whatever selfish fantasies they may have once had. Those dreams belonged to young Marion Fitzwalter, but not to Lady Marion de Wendenal. Both of them had to recognize it, that their boats would never again drift together, because they were no longer going to the same harbor. They had come to a fork. Two different boats. Two rivers. She tried to convince herself. She brushed her hair so hard she bled.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  ROBIN OF LOCKSLEY

  NOTTINGHAM CASTLE

  ROBIN SMASHED HIS WEIGHT into the door. Its answer came in the form of a sharp crack, but it did not open. His shoulder swore at him, but he had no time to waste. Instead he leveraged his weight against the opposite wall of the narrow stone hallway and kicked at the door’s handle, satisfied with its splintering response. He burst upon a room too tiny to be burst upon, containing little aside from a crude oak desk and a man who had once been his closest friend, clambering to the far side.

  “How did I know you’d be hiding in here?” Robin growled.

  The highest room of Nottingham’s highest tower was the only place pompous enough for what William had become. Robin should have started his search here. He could have avoided all the troubles that were, at this moment, shortly behind him. He could only hope the makeshift barricade he created at the base of the staircase would slow them down, almost as much as he hoped for some clever means of escape to reveal itself before then.