by Anna Burke
The sheriff gave a humorless laugh. “Everyone can pay,” he said. “Even my daughter.” He undid his purse and tossed it to the ground at his horse’s feet. “Give it up, Tam. Marian.”
“Sir—” said Tam.
“Do it.”
Tam glared at his employer, then spurred his horse toward Robyn. She released the arrow on instinct. It took him in the sword arm, punching through the muscle of his biceps and burying itself nearly to the fletching. He roared with pain as Robyn dodged out of the way of the horse, whipping another arrow from her quiver.
“I said, give the boy your purse, Tam.”
“Are you mad?” Tam shouted. “Why should we yield to this coward?”
“Because,” said the sheriff, a vicious smile on his lips, “I would not shed even this coward’s blood in front of my daughter. But I promise you, Robyn Hood, I will not forget this, nor will I forget what you have stolen from me. We will meet again.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Now, Tam, I won’t tell you again. Your purse.”
Tam flung his purse into the woods. Marian, too, let her purse fall. Robyn did not move to return it.
Sheriff’s daughter.
“Good day then,” she said, forcing herself to step out of the road and make way for the riders. The sheriff smiled at her as he spurred his horse on. She recognized that smile. She’d felt it on her own face on the occasions she’d allowed herself to fantasize about this moment, only those fantasies had involved a slow drawing and quartering and the sheriff’s agonized screams, not the much more personal agony of watching him ride away unharmed, vengeance upon her fresh in his mind.
She didn’t look at Marian. Nothing in the other woman’s eyes could change what she should have already known: sheriff’s daughter. The sound of hooves faded. Tom poked around a sprawl of brambles to retrieve the purse, while John watched Robyn closely.
“We should get off the road,” Robyn said at last. “He’ll be back, and now he knows our faces.”
“Let him come,” said John. “We’ll be ready.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Her father rode in silence toward Harcourt. Tam kept up a steady string of curses as blood dripped from his arm, but Marian paid him no mind. Only the sheriff mattered. The sheriff, and perhaps Robyn. She saw Robyn’s face again: eyes burning beneath the shadow of her hood, mouth twisted in hatred as she pointed her arrow at Marian’s father’s heart.
That naked loathing had stripped away her own anger toward him. She’d never seen someone look at another person like that, and when Robyn’s eyes had met her own, she’d felt the white heat scorch her.
She had meant to kill him. Would have killed him, had Marian not been there. Her entire body ached at the thought as if she’d come down with a fever. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Whatever anger she held toward her father, she didn’t want him dead. His broad shoulders filled her vision on the road ahead, still strong despite the weight he’d added over years of rich eating. She’d loved those shoulders as a girl. He’d carried her around their manor on them, pretending to be a warhorse while the serfs shook their heads at their lord’s indulgence and her mother smiled.
What happened to that man?
She didn’t know the person on the horse in front of her.
She did, however, know that Robyn would hang for this. Her father would never forgive this slight against his pride. The feverish feeling grew. Maybe she didn’t know Robyn either.
A concerned servant helped her from her horse when they arrived at the manor. Her father remained mounted, too lost in thought to notice her or his wounded employee.
“Do you wish to join us for supper?” she asked him in a flat voice. She saw Emmeline coming toward them across the yard, limping more heavily than usual.
“I cannot stay. There is work that must be done.” His eyes focused on her face, and a flicker of something that might have been love lit them briefly. “No outlaw will harm you on our roads again, my dear. That I promise.” He turned his horse with a nod to Emmeline and trotted back toward the forest. Tam followed, cursing more loudly than ever.
Marian handed her mare off to the stable boy and caught Emmeline’s arm.
“Tell me,” the lady said as she searched Marian’s face.
“My father—” To Marian’s horror, she burst into tears. Emmeline led her to the garden and sat her on a bench. The smell of roses filled her nostrils, and she thought again of Robyn. The story spilled out of her. Not all of it, but enough. The viscount, the ambush on the road, and Robyn Hood.
“He . . .” She fought a wave of hiccups. “He saved me in the forest. I never told you.”
“Alanna had it right then,” said Emmeline. She gave Marian a warm smile, her gentle teasing reassuring. “But Marian, love, you’ve had a terrible shock.”
“He’ll kill him.” Marian let out a miserable sniffle. “My father will hunt him down and kill him, just like he always does.”
“Your Robyn sounds like both a fool and a clever man. Perhaps he’ll leave the forest.”
Marian nodded, though this did little to assuage her worry. Robyn leaving was almost as bad as Robyn dead. She wished she could tell Emmeline the whole truth. Robyn’s gender, however, might be all that saved the outlaw if it came down to it. She doubted her father would spare a woman, but if he was searching for a man, Robyn stood a chance.
“Marriage might not be so terrible,” Emmeline said, interrupting Marian’s thoughts. “It would get you away from your father, and the viscount is an old man. He could be dead within the year.”
“I don’t want to marry anyone.” Her outburst echoed around the small garden. Emmeline studied her, fair brows knitted together.
“Even your Robyn?”
“She—he’s not my Robyn. And even if I did, that would be impossible.” In so many ways.
“We are allowed to feel,” said Emmeline, taking Marian’s hand in hers. “It is only how we act that matters to others. You are not married yet, Marian, and a great deal can happen in a short period of time. And if nothing else, marriage will give you children, God willing, and you will love them as you have never loved anyone or anything.”
Is that all I have to hope for? A child to love? Not such a terrible thing perhaps, but if so, she prayed that child was a boy.
Men could take what they wanted.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Robyn waited by the mill, jumping at the slightest sound. She trusted her instincts deeper in the wood, where she knew which crack of branch meant human and which meant deer, but here she swore she could feel the sheriff’s eyes upon her no matter where she stood.
Smoke rose from the mill’s kitchen. The front door stood open and the sound of a screaming baby drifted out over the late summer morning. Robyn’s chest ached with the palpable chaos of family. A woman stepped out of the door, laughing over her shoulder at something from within the house. Mallory, one of Midge’s older sisters. Robyn shrank further behind the tree.
“Come on, Midge,” she whispered.
A grinding noise made her jump again. She wiped sweating palms on her tunic as the water wheel sprang to life, powering the millstone that ground the grain Robyn had eaten all her life. Longing for the taste of bread joined the other aches.
“I’ll be back later.”
Robyn’s head jerked as she heard Midge’s voice. Her cousin kissed Mallory and turned to head down the rutted road. Robyn followed, careful to leave enough space between them until they were out of earshot of the mill.
“Midge,” she said, stepping out from behind a tree. The forest was sparse here, and Midge noticed her immediately.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to warn you not to come today.”
“Robyn, we’ve been over this before.”
“This time is different. Listen to me. You have to promise to listen.”
Midge folded her arms across her chest and waited.
“I . . .” The words
piled up, but Robyn found she could not say them. Things had been going so well. Now she’d ruined everything. Again.
“You what?”
“I nearly shot the sheriff.”
Midge listened to the story with uncharacteristic patience, nodding in the right places and resisting her usual urge to interrupt.
“Then I mentioned Gwyneth.”
“You what?”
“I said . . . damn it, I don’t remember what I said, but I brought her into it. He may try and question her again, and I can’t have you getting dragged—”
“Why would I get dragged in?”
“I don’t know. You’re my cousin. He might . . . Oh, God, Midge.” Robyn grabbed her cousin’s shoulder to steady herself.
“What?”
“The arrow.”
“What are you talking—”
“I shot Tam.”
“He’s a bastard. So what?”
“So, the sheriff now has one of my arrows. What if he—”
“He already knows you bought arrows from Gwyneth. You said as much at the fair.”
Robyn’s heart raced as she considered this. Midge was right, but that didn’t explain the sick feeling in her gut. “I never retrieved the arrow that killed Clovis.”
“Jesus, Robyn. It’s an arrow. You tie a bunch of feathers to the end of a pointy stick. How can he track that back to you?”
“Is that really what you think fletching is?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Not entirely, but Midge . . .” She clutched the back of her neck, frustrated by her inability to articulate the sense of foreboding flooding her veins.
“Hang on. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just shoot him.”
“In front of his daughter?”
“How many people did he hang in front of their families? How many people, despite the law, did he sentence to death before they could get to the courts?” Midge’s voice rose and cracked. “Robyn, if you had killed him, we might finally have stood a chance.”
Sick fury uncoiled inside her, desperate for the chance to strike at someone other than herself. “And if the next sheriff was just as bad? He’d still collect the ransom tax, Midge.”
“But he wouldn’t know your face.”
“It doesn’t matter. I know the woods seem large to you, but there are only so many places to hide. That’s what I came to tell you. I’ll try and bring you coin and food when I can, but I can’t risk them linking me to you, and I can’t risk you getting caught. You can’t come looking for us anymore. We’re moving camp.”
Midge’s eyes widened in disbelief. “So that’s it? You’re vanishing again?”
“To protect you—”
“No. To protect yourself so that you don’t have to feel guilty.”
“Think about your family, Midge.”
She glared at Robyn. “You are my family.”
Robyn removed the sheriff’s purse from her belt and shoved it into her cousin’s hands. “This should be enough to get you through. I love you, Midge. Take care of yourself.” She stumbled away from her cousin before she could change her mind, Midge’s stricken face burned into her memory.
“Not as much as you seem to love the sheriff’s daughter,” Midge said, nearly shouting the words as Robyn fled back into the shelter of the trees.
I had no choice, she told herself. I have to keep them safe. She walked as fast as she dared, sprinting when she could, aware that the forest would soon be overrun by workers harvesting fallen wood, mushrooms, and the first of the nuts and fruits to ripen on the trees. Any one of them might recognize her, even in Michael’s clothes with her hair worn loose and short. Or, worse, she might run into one of the sheriff’s men, and then everything would come undone.
Not as much as you seem to love the sheriff’s daughter. She flinched anew as she remembered Midge’s words. Midge couldn’t understand, though, what it was like to lose a father or a brother. None of her sisters had died in front of her, and both her parents were hale and strong. No matter how much Robyn hated the man, she couldn’t do that to Marian. Or anyone. Even if that meant risking her own life.
But what about Gwyneth and Midge? Didn’t you just put their lives in danger, all to spare Marian a few nightmares? Robyn ran faster, trying to outrun the voice in her head. There were no good choices. That was just the way of it. Wishing things were different didn’t help.
She did need to think about how to hide her band from Nottingham. Today, tomorrow, or a month from now, the sheriff would return. They needed to keep a watch at all times and stay out of sight as much as possible. Feeding themselves would be challenging, but they’d eaten well over the past few weeks as the forest ripened around them. They could afford a few days of hunger. A brace of pheasants scurried through a clearing ahead of her. She resisted the urge to bring one down and skirted the open land, keeping to the shadows. They’d have to leave their camp near the river. Too much traffic to and from the water left trails, and the longer they were in plain view, the more likely the risk of capture.
“Damn,” she cursed under her breath, picturing the lazy loops of the river as it wound through the woods. Their current camp had everything they needed. Shelter from prying eyes, a thick canopy to keep off the rain, and proximity to water. No other spot boasted so much. Moving, however, was necessary. They had no way of knowing how many eyes might have seen smoke from their fires. They needed higher ground—harder to get to, easier to keep an eye on. That meant abandoning the stretch of road near Harcourt and moving deeper into the woods, closer to Siward and away from Marian.
Siward. Tom and his sister hadn’t fleshed out their numbers that much, but she vowed to bring it up tonight over the fire. Perhaps one of the others would have an idea that wouldn’t end with all of them dead.
• • •
“So,” said Will later that night as Robyn prodded the embers of the fire with a stick. “Siward.”
“Siward,” she agreed. John and Tom sat staring into the flames with identical expressions of longing that Robyn assumed came from missing the forge, while Tom’s sister stood watch outside the bright circle of firelight. “We’re still too few to take him on directly.”
Will tapped her fingers on her thigh as she thought. “My brother hated strategy. I attended those lessons for him until we got too old to pull it off. Our tutor actually applauded him when he discovered what we’d been up to. Him, mind you, not me. Called it a bait and switch.”
“Did you get the switch, too?” asked John.
“I couldn’t sit for a week.” Will shuddered at the memory. “What I’m wondering, though, is if there is some way we can pull a bait and switch on both Siward and the sheriff.”
“We’re listening,” said Robyn.
“Siward has a large band, right?” Will asked John. He nodded, and she continued. “That means he has a lot of mouths to feed. He might be willing to take more risks than we are, and that could work in our favor.”
“It will also make him more dangerous,” said John.
“If Siward caught wind of a wealthy caravan, do you think he’d take it?”
“Hard to say. He might, if he thought the odds were in his favor.”
“And if the sheriff were to hear a reliable rumor that Robyn Hood had plans to ambush said caravan, do you think he would come in person?”
Robyn remembered the look in the sheriff’s eyes as he rode away from her. “He’d come.”
“Then we get them in the same place, and while they’re at each other’s throats, we take them out.” Will’s voice did not shake as she suggested killing Marian’s father.
Robyn pressed her boots deep into the ground to keep from clenching her fists and pretended she did not feel John’s eyes on her. He had to know the agony she was in. Her feelings for Marian complicated everything, but she could not put them in front of the lives of the other people she cared about. She and Marian had never had a future anyway.
“How do you propose we drop thes
e hints?” Robyn asked Will.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Siward is easy. He knows me. I could go to him,” said John.
“Is that safe? Won’t he ask where you’ve been?” said Robyn.
“We’ll think of something to tell him.”
“What about the sheriff?” asked Tom.
“That will be harder. Are you sure Midge is out? Because—” asked Will.
“Yes.” Robyn and John spoke at the same time.
“Then one of us needs to drop a hint to a forester.”
Robyn thought of Cedric and said nothing. He would listen to her if she could bring herself to betray him. He could also ruin everything.
“I could,” said Alanna.
They all turned to look at her.
“I’m a minstrel. I can go where I please with fewer questions asked.”
“Alanna—”
“It’s a start.” Robyn cut Will off before she could protest. “But we have no way of discovering when a caravan will come through.”
“But we do.” Will turned green eyes to Robyn, and she did not miss the challenge there.
“How?”
“Marian.”
“No.” Robyn stood. “You would have me ask her to plot her own father’s death?”
Will paled beneath the vehemence in Robyn’s words. “I didn’t mean—”
“Then what did you mean? She’s the daughter of the sheriff of goddamn Nottingham, Willa of Maunnesfeld, or did you forget?”
“Enough.” John’s deep voice growled over Robyn’s. “There will be time to deal with Siward and time to deal with the sheriff, but not if we are at each other’s throats.”
“Then perhaps we should not have brought a fox into our midst.”
“Robyn.”
She glared at John. “Tomorrow we move camp.” A part of her hoped Will would argue further, but the redhead sank back down to her spot before the fire and refused to meet her eyes.
Chapter Thirty