by Anna Burke
“Are you all right?” Robyn asked in her ear.
She answered with her body, yanking off the gown with impatient fingers and untying her belt, which was heavy with the dowry purse, before turning back to face a Robyn struck dumb; she stared at Marian with a look that suffused her with a heady draught of power.
Robyn didn’t protest when Marian drew her down to the ground. The grass of the meadow was summer soft against her skin. Robyn undid her jerkin and ripped her tunic off over her head, leaving only her undershirt, and laid the tunic down on the grass before pressing Marian into it. The feel of Robyn’s weight against her, on top of her, with the stars overhead and the sweet summer air whispering through the grass, was exquisite. Robyn braced herself on one elbow, freeing her other hand to stroke the skin of Marian’s waist. The touch was almost too much. Her hips pushed against Robyn of their own accord and she grabbed a fistful of grass.
“God, you’re perfect,” said Robyn.
Marian’s heart ached at the words, and in that moment, she believed them. She was perfect. This was perfect. Robyn was perfect. Robyn would be so much more perfect if she would just touch her, and she arched her back as Robyn’s hand cupped her breast at last. When her thumb trailed over her nipple, something in Marian broke free. This moment didn’t belong to her father or her station or any misguided sense of duty. It was hers, and so was Robyn, and for the first time in her life she felt in control of something that mattered.
She rose against Robyn and rolled her into the grass so that she could straddle her with her hips as she pulled the undershirt over Robyn’s head and tossed it to the ground. The binding underneath was more difficult, and she tugged at it until Robyn sat up and allowed her to unwind it as best she could with Robyn’s mouth on her breast.
The feel of Robyn’s tongue nearly brought her to the brink. She bucked her hips, and the leather of Robyn’s belt rubbed against her. Her breath came fast and shallow. Robyn’s breasts were smaller than Marian’s, firm where Marian’s were full and heavy, and Marian stared in fascination as they met. Robyn’s stomach was hard and muscular beneath. She sat back, releasing her grip on Robyn as she took her in. She’d mussed Robyn’s hair, and it lay tousled over one eye. Robyn’s chest rose and fell as quickly as Marian’s, and the curve of her biceps made something inside Marian tighten almost painfully. She’d touched herself enough to know what she wanted, and the strength in Robyn’s arms promised release.
First, though, she wanted Robyn. She loosened Robyn’s belt and let her hair fall across Robyn’s stomach. Robyn lifted her hips for her to slide her breeches down, and Marian felt her kick off her boots, followed by her breeches, while Marian stared at the long, lean muscles of Robyn’s legs. If she had legs like those, she’d never stop running.
“Come here,” Robyn said.
She lay down, memorizing the feel of their bodies connecting at the breast, hip, and leg. The pulse in Robyn’s abdomen pounded against her own as she buried one hand in Robyn’s thick hair, the other stroking the smooth skin over Robyn’s ribs. The kiss Marian gave her was slower than their others. Deeper. The stars were behind her eyes, this time: a swirl of colors as she poured her heart into the woman beneath her. Robyn smelled of wood smoke and sap, and underneath the forest fragrance was a hint of apples.
“Marian,” Robyn said when Marian slid inside her. She tightened her grip on Robyn’s hair as Robyn’s hips rose to meet Marian’s hand. She stroked her, at first gently, then harder, until Robyn came with Marian’s name on her lips and Marian pressed her forehead against hers, sharing her breath as Robyn tightened around her hand, then relaxed, her face smooth and perfect and in this moment, at least, hers.
• • •
She lay in Robyn’s arms with her discarded gown spread over them as the night air cooled. Robyn smoothed the damp hair on Marian’s forehead.
“I wish we could stay here,” she said, circling her finger around the hollow of Robyn’s collarbone.
“Will they be looking for you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Robyn pulled her closer. “Ten pounds says it does.”
Marian curled herself under Robyn’s chin and listened to the beat of her heart. Her father had undoubtedly noticed her absence by now, as had Lady Emmeline. Her only hope was to sneak back into the city and feign a stomachache or too much drink. She could pretend to have passed out in a storeroom for a few hours, which would also explain her disheveled appearance.
Or I could run away. She let herself fall into the daydream. Like Willa and Alanna, she’d leave court for the forest, hunting with Robyn and lying like this beneath the stars every night with Robyn’s arms around her. The longing that accompanied the thought made her shudder.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
She couldn’t go with Robyn. Her father would hunt her down to the ends of the earth, and when he found them, hanging would seem like a kindness compared to what he’d do to Robyn. The thought sobered her.
“There’s something I want you to have,” she said into the warmth of Robyn’s neck.
“You don’t need to give me anything, Marian.”
“I want to.” She forced herself to sit up and reach for her belt. The purse clinked in the pouch. “Here,” she said as she pulled it out and thrust it into Robyn’s hand.
“What is this?”
“Open it.”
“Marian . . . is that . . . is that silver?”
“Yes. I don’t know how much it is.”
“I can’t take this—”
“You can. My father stole your life from you. I can’t fix that, but this will help your family pay the tax.”
“It’s too much.”
“It’s nowhere near enough.”
“Where did you even find this much money?”
“It’s mine,” said Marian, defiance rising in her voice. “It’s my dowry.”
“Your . . . dowry?”
“Most of it, anyway. The rest is in a locked chest, and the key is in the purse, too.”
“I can’t take your dowry, Marian.”
“Why not? It’s mine, isn’t it? And if anyone should have it, it’s you, because you’re the only one I want.”
Robyn set the purse down and cupped Marian’s face in her hands.
“It’s not fair,” Marian continued. “I hate the man my father has sold me to. He’s vile and old and cruel, and—” She felt the tears rising in her eyes and tried to blink them away, but one fell down her cheek. Robyn wiped it with her thumb.
“Listen to me,” Robyn said. “Nothing is ever fair for people like us. We have to make our own justice.”
“But I want to marry you.”
Robyn closed her eyes, and Marian wished she could take back the words. Idiot, she told herself. She doesn’t want to marry the sheriff’s daughter, even if she could. You’re just a stupid girl, and you’re lucky you can’t get pregnant.
“God, Marian.” Robyn’s eyes were still closed, and she took a long, shaking breath.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m stupid, and—”
Robyn kissed her. Marian tumbled over a cliff she hadn’t seen coming and landed in Robyn’s arms, Robyn, her Robyn, her brave, doomed Robyn.
“I want to marry you, too,” Robyn said when she pulled away. “More than anything.”
“Then keep the money and the key. We’ll find a way. We’ll go to France, or Scotland—someplace my father can’t find us.”
“You know I can’t leave.”
“You’re an outlaw. Of course you can leave.”
“Maybe someday.” She kissed Marian again, this time with a hint of regret. “Things like that take planning.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
“Your life would be easier if you married a nobleman.”
“My life would be empty, you mean. Maybe I’d love my children, if I didn’t die in childbirth. Maybe I’d even learn to like my husband, if he was kind. None of that
matters without you.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you’re giving up.”
“Because you do?”
“I can’t go back, Marian. I will never have a chance at a normal life again. Not here at least. You could. You could marry, and I could see you sometimes, if we were careful.” The pain in Robyn’s voice twisted in Marian’s chest.
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
“I can’t ask you to do what I want.”
“But if you could?” She willed her to speak the truth.
“I’d ask you to come with me, right now, into Sherwood, and I’d kill anyone who tried to stop us.”
“Then let’s go.” Marian tried to stand, but Robyn held her down, her eyes weary.
“I can’t ask that of you.”
“I’m not asking you to. My father will look for me, but he won’t know where I’ve gone until it’s too late. I won’t slow you down. If Willa can do it, so can I.” She ignored the voices of reason clamoring for her attention.
“What if we wait a few days? That way you can think about it, and you can’t run away in this, anyway,” said Robyn as she plucked at the gown. “Find yourself some hunting leathers and a warm cloak.”
“What if you change your mind?”
Robyn gave her an incredulous look. “Then I’d be a fool. Come on. Let’s get you back to the city before they release the hounds.” She stood and offered Marian a hand. Marian rose reluctantly, letting Robyn wrap her into one more embrace before she pulled her gown back on and did her best to fix her hair. Robyn’s clothes had been rumpled to start with and didn’t look the worse for wear, but her hair was mussed beyond saving. She pulled her hood over her head with a rueful grin.
“Hey,” said Marian, touching Robyn’s cheek. “I see you everywhere, too, Robyn Hood. Promise me you’ll come back for me.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Meet me at the priory in five days. If I’m not there, wait for me. Tuck will hide you from your father.”
“I’ll be there.” She closed Robyn’s fingers around the purse. The broadsheet with Robyn’s likeness and the list of taxes owed were tucked inside. “But take this. Please.”
“It’s yours, Marian.”
“I told you—”
“But I will keep it safe for you, and perhaps one day it will buy us that passage elsewhere.” Robyn secured the purse in her belt pouch.
“There is one more thing I would give you.” Marian slid her silver ring off the middle finger of her right hand and onto Robyn’s ring finger. The band fit as if it had been made for her. Robyn stared down at it, and Marian saw the moonlight glinting on the metal reflected in her eyes.
“I have nothing to give you in return.”
“I have the arrow from the fair.”
“You’re worth far more to me than a broken arrow.”
“Then give me this.” She kissed Robyn and let her lips linger, memorizing the way they yielded beneath hers. So much of Robyn was hard edges. This surrender, though, belonged to Marian alone.
• • •
Robyn left her at the city gates with a squeeze of her hand, but neither of them dared more than that, even with the rollicking crowds within. Marian dodged drunken revelers as she wound her way toward the castle. Her feet floated over the cobbled streets of the merchant quarter, past her father’s house and through throngs of men and women dancing to street music while the drink flowed freely.
I’d ask you to come with me, right now, into Sherwood, Robyn had said. Her body ached with the aftermath of pleasure, and everything her eyes touched seemed brighter, glazed with a holy light that filled her to the brim and made her want to shout or weep with joy. This, then, was what the singers sang about. Everything was different now. She’d do as Robyn said—plan for a few (eternal) days, finding clothing and supplies, and then she would join Robyn in Sherwood. Emmeline would miss her, but she could see her at the priory, and besides, Linley’s estates were a far cry from Harcourt. She’d see more of Emmeline as an outlaw than she would as the viscount’s wife.
An outlaw.
With a sickened start, she recalled the state she’d left her father’s study in. She quickened her stride. It was crucial he didn’t guess she was to blame for that. Plenty of other people had cause to hold a grudge against the sheriff, and Midsummer was a perfect opportunity for burglary. She chewed on her lower lip as sweat pricked her palms. Sobriety had returned, bringing its cousin, clarity, with it. Foreboding filled her mouth like ash. She had taken a terrible risk.
The guard at the castle gate waved her through without a second look. Please don’t remember me, she prayed, ducking into a servant’s passageway at the first chance she got. From here, she’d make her way back to the banquet hall and pretend she’d fallen asleep in a pantry somewhere. That would explain her disheveled appearance, and the flush in her cheeks could be attributed to wine.
Servants passed her laden with trays of soiled linens and dirty dishes. That was a bad sign; it signified that the banquet was dying down. By the time she reached the great hall, she was nearly running.
Music assaulted her ears as she rounded the corner to the open doors. She sagged against the wall in relief. Music meant the feast had continued, even if food had been replaced with ale. The singer closest to her had a large group gathered around him. Most were servants, pausing in their errands, but a fair number of young lords, ladies, and all the gentry in between hung on the singer’s words. A refrain floated toward her.
“. . . and at the fair he met a maiden fair
With golden roses in her hair.
She swore she’d seen no truer mark
Than Robyn Hood of the Greenwood.”
Alanna. She pushed through the listeners to find a drunken Alanna seated on a stool, strumming her lyre with half-closed eyes.
“Alanna,” she said, nearly shouting.
Alanna’s eyes snapped open in alarm. Upon seeing Marian, she bowed to the crowd and excused herself with a few gracious nods, dissipating the rumbles of displeasure.
“What are you doing?” she demanded of the minstrel.
“Where have you been?”
“I—”
“Your father’s looking for you.”
Sweat did more than prick, now. It trickled down her back in a river of cold fear. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He realized you weren’t here about an hour ago. The viscount is angry, too. Where did you go?”
“I met Robyn.”
“You should have told me you were leaving. I could have covered for you.”
“There wasn’t time. Alanna, I have to talk to you.” Skipping over the majority of the evening, she told Alanna about the price on Robyn’s head, and the price that hovered over the minstrel’s as well.
“I’m worth more than five pounds,” said Alanna when she finished. “At least seven.”
“It gets worse.”
“How?”
“I stole my dowry.”
Alanna’s mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “Why?” she managed at last.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a terrible answer.”
“I can’t marry Linley. I just can’t. I was drunk, and it was there.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Alanna said, but her voice was solemn. “What will you tell your father?”
“That I had too much to drink and fell asleep in a broom cupboard.”
“Do you think he’ll believe it?”
“I’ve done it before. Remember Leonne’s wedding?”
“Does anyone?”
“Alanna—”
“You’ve been spotted. Good luck and good night. I’ll see you next time I’m in Harcourt.” She retreated into the crowd with a sympathetic grimace before Marian could tell her that she’d agreed to meet Robyn at the priory, leaving her to face her father.
“Where in the seven hells have you been?” He hissed the words. Comb
ined with his wine-red face, she concluded the only thing between her and the back of his hand was the surplus of witnesses.
“The dancing and the drink,” she said, gesturing in what she hoped was a helpless manner. “I needed air, and then I sat down, and the next thing I knew I woke up and came here.”
“You have disgraced me.” He gripped her wrist.
“You’re hurting me.”
“I needed you here.”
“And I was. I danced with your suitors and I drank what they brought me so forgive me, father, if I was too agreeable. Lord Linley pours liberally.”
A cough from behind her surprised them both. She looked over her shoulder, unable to turn with her arm still trapped in her father’s grip, and up into Linley’s eyes.
“It’s true, Pierrot. I may have given her too much to drink.” He touched the small of her back in what he seemed to think was a solicitous manner. Caught between her father and the viscount, she quivered like a bowstring. “She’s still just a girl.” His fingers brushed low across her waist. The difference between his touch and Robyn’s spanned centuries. She would burn this gown, she decided, smiling up at him in forced gratitude, along with anything else of hers he’d touched. I will die before I marry you, she thought as she apologized again. Her father’s face relaxed as Linley accepted her apology with a smug smile. And if it comes to it, my lord, Robyn will kill you for me.
“She won’t be a girl much longer.”
She glanced up at her father, confused by his words. Linley wore an anticipatory smile that made her queasy.
“I’ve formally accepted Lord Linley’s proposal on your behalf. You’ll be wed in three days’ time.”
“Three days?” she asked, her voice faint.
“It’s the soonest I can arrange,” said her father. “My lord, will you excuse us? I wish to speak to my daughter about the ceremony.”
“Of course. My lady.” He kissed Marian’s hand with lips that lingered far too long. She shivered with revulsion as he pulled away.
“Now,” said the sheriff, smiling through clenched teeth as he spoke, “you will explain to me why one of my men reports to have seen you at the city gates.”