by Anna Burke
“Too much to drink?” a man asked her in a voice so slurred she barely understood him.
Nodding, she pointed the horse’s nose toward the city gates. Moving in the post-festival traffic chafed at her already panic-stricken mind. Traveling at anything more than a walk would draw unwanted attention, and while the lack of pursuit was so far comforting, she knew better than to trust it would last.
A few people commented to each other on her peculiar appearance as she shoved her way through the crowd. Her skirts were not divided for riding and showed more leg than was proper. Only the people right next to her noticed, however, as the press of bodies remained tight right up to the city gates. She joined the mass of people exiting the city. The hood fell over her eyes, and she hoped the guards would credit the choice with a hangover.
After the appalling odor of the city, the breath of fresh air that wafted over her outside the gates took her by surprise. She looked back over her shoulder at the walls of the place that had once been her home and searched her heart for regret.
She found none.
Marian urged her stolen horse into a trot and rode toward Sherwood.
Chapter Forty-One
Alanna returned later that day with a smile on her face, which faltered when she saw Robyn’s expression.
“You,” Robyn said, rising from the rock where she’d been fletching an arrow.
“I’m glad to see you made it back safely,” Alanna said cautiously.
“I need to talk with you.”
Alanna unslung her instrument from her shoulder and waited.
“You can’t sing about me anymore.”
“People love the songs.”
“We’re wanted.”
Alanna’s expression sobered. “I know.”
“And you still think this is a good idea?”
“I think,” Alanna said, keeping her low voice calm, “that we need it more than ever. If anything, I must sing that song louder and more widely.”
“Don’t feed me any horseshit about how eager people will be to help us. I know how eager they are. People love blood far more than they love songs.”
“Unless the songs are about the man who will get them their money back from the sheriff.”
Robyn felt all the blood drain from her face. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been helping your family and friends. Have you thought about helping the rest of Nottingham?”
Her heart beat unnaturally loudly in her own ears, and she recalled the children she’d given feathers to on the day of the fair so very long ago. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“Everyone knows the sheriff skims off the top of the king’s taxes for John’s purse and his own. They hate him, Robyn, even more than they love a good hanging. Find a way to give them back some of their coin, and even some of the nobility will want to kiss you.”
“That’s impossible,” she said, but her mind flew back to the piece of paper Marian had given them.
“It’s not.” Alanna said the words simply, as if she already knew where Robyn’s thoughts had strayed. “Trust me, Robyn. I would never do anything to put you or Willa in danger. You saved us. Let me save you.”
• • •
Robyn set out with John early the next morning, leaving the rest of the band to continue work on the camp while they scouted out Siward’s territory and delivered their message.
“Here,” said John, stopping by the river to smear mud under his eyes. Robyn did the same, aware of how visible a pale face was amid the trees.
“If we’re stopped, we will be hard-pressed to explain ourselves,” she said.
“If we’re stopped before we get to Siward, mud will be the least of our problems.”
She ceded John the point with a frown. “How far is it, anyway?”
“Six miles, or at least it was last I knew. Let’s just hope he hasn’t moved camp.”
That didn’t seem likely. From what John had told her about his previous winter in Nottingham, the limestone caves where Siward camped were dry, defendable, and spacious. She doubted the self-styled outlaw king would give up such territory without a fight.
“What do you think of Alanna’s reasoning?”
John took a moment to ponder the question. “I don’t know. You and I come from a different world than she and Will. I’ve never heard of a song saving anyone’s life.”
“Me neither.”
“But I also know this: if I got wind of a man—or woman—willing to risk their neck to spite the sheriff of Nottingham, I’d do what I could to keep him out of the gibbet.”
“Even if it meant your own life?”
“No. But I wouldn’t go out of my way to turn him in, even for a reward that large.”
“You wouldn’t turn me in for ten pounds?”
“I haven’t yet.”
“We can’t count on everyone being as thick as you.”
“And not everyone’s as mistrustful as you. The sheriff was going to be after us no matter what. If Alanna wants to turn us into heroes, I say we should let her. We’re ready for him.”
They walked on. Robyn turned John’s words over in her head, along with Alanna’s. If they really could convince Siward to ambush a tax collector or a trade caravan, perhaps her band could find a way to take the money once the sheriff thought she was dead.
And how, exactly, are you going to arrange that?
She’d figure it out. He’d want to believe her vanquished, and he hadn’t gotten a clear view of her face, thanks to her hood. Any man of a similar build would do.
And if your plan fails?
Then she’d do what she had to do.
“John,” she said, thinking of the promise she’d made to Marian. “If this goes awry, promise me you’ll kill the sheriff.”
“You stand a better chance of that, archer.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“I made a promise.”
“Not all promises should be kept,” he said, but Robyn heard the resignation in his voice.
“Do you—” She broke off, unable to frame the rest of her question for fear of the answer.
“Do I what?”
“Do you think I’m damned?”
“For which crime? You’ve got a few to your name now.”
“Marian.”
“For loving a woman? God should be grateful we can find any love at all in His world.”
“Even the sheriff’s daughter?”
John stopped to face her, and the mud did little to obscure the seriousness of his expression. “I want that man dead as much as you do, Robyn, but if we can’t have that, then it gives me great pleasure to think that Robyn Hood will be the one to despoil his daughter.”
Robyn hesitated. She opened her mouth to tell John about the pact she’d made with Marian, but faltered. This wasn’t the time. They needed to stay focused on the task at hand.
They came upon the first signs of Siward’s camp as the midday sun began to sink toward the western horizon.
“Here,” said John, pointing at a mark slashed near the base of a tree. “That’s one of his boundary markers. The foresters know them, and they leave him alone.”
“Tell me more about Siward.”
“I don’t know much about where he came from. He was a soldier once. He’s clever, unpredictable, and cruel. So are his men.”
“Are we any better?”
“When I left Siward to join you, I made a choice. It wasn’t death. If I hadn’t thought there was more to you than met the eye, I would have brought you back with me to Siward’s camp and done my best to keep you safe there. Instead, I followed you.”
“You didn’t follow me. I followed you.”
“And yet the minstrel isn’t singing songs about Little John.”
“Give her time,” said Robyn darkly. “Midge said she was working on one.”
“Look. I’m not good with words. That’s Alanna’s business. But what you’ve done means somethin
g.”
“I haven’t done anything. Except maybe kill Clovis.”
“You stood up to the sheriff. Twice.”
“Which has done us so much good.”
“Don’t be so sure. I know Midge has been angry with you about moving the camp, so I don’t know how much she’s told you about things back in Nottingham, but no one’s forgotten the archer at the spring fair who gave away the prize to save Michael Fletcher’s widow from marriage to the sheriff of Rottingham.”
“Rottingham?”
“That’s what Midge has started calling it.”
“I don’t see your point.”
“I’m saying it isn’t just about your family anymore, or Tom’s, or any of our friends. We could do something lasting out here.”
“Alanna’s wrong.” Robyn shook her head. “You’re the hero.”
“I’m not pretty enough to be the hero.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s true.” John reached out and ruffled Robyn’s hair beneath her hood. She pointed in silence at a branch broken off at eye level. “We’re close.” John motioned for her to halt and pointed to a ridge ahead. “They’ll have someone on watch. We should be able to get around, but if we’re caught, remember to follow my lead. He won’t trouble us so long as we pay the proper respect.”
She nodded. Discovery on someone else’s terms wasn’t a contingency she relished, but as she and John had endlessly discussed, it had merits of its own.
“This way.”
They were halfway up the ridge, shielded from view by a low brow of rock, when an arrow thudded into the tree directly ahead of them. Robyn had an arrow of her own nocked a second later as she crouched and scanned the trees for their attacker.
“Hold,” said John, stepping in front of her. “It’s John. I’ve come to see Siward.”
A shape detached itself from a nearby elm and made its way toward them. Robyn noted the unkempt hair and tattered tunic, along with the gaunt cheeks and yellowed eyes.
“John?” the wraith of a man said. “Thought you were dead.”
“Thought I was dead, too.”
“Who’s this?”
“Friend of mine.”
“What are you doing sneaking around then?”
“Trying not to get shot by the likes of you.”
The man chewed on this quite literally, gnawing on a ragged wisp of beard as he weighed John’s story. “Looks like we’re full of visitors these days.”
John’s eyes flickered over to Robyn’s, but neither questioned this strange statement.
“Siward’s holding court in the greenwood. You know the way.”
“What’s to stop the rest of you from turning us into hedgehogs?” asked John.
“Better hope your luck holds. Where’ve you been anyway?”
“I’ll tell you after I tell Siward.”
“Suit yourself.”
Robyn waited until the man was out of earshot before speaking. “The greenwood?”
“The woods by the caves. You’ll see. It’s not far from here.”
They were challenged twice more, once by another bearded man, and once by a woman. The female sentry eyed Robyn with suspicion.
“That’s Yvette,” John said when they’d left her behind. “She likes killing.” The way he said it suggested John had witnessed more than he’d wanted to of Yvette’s hobby. “I don’t know where she came from. She knows how to use a knife, though, and I’ve seen her gut a man for looking sideways at her.”
Their path led them over a ridge and Robyn’s mouth worked in silent envy as she took in Siward’s territory. Crags rose on either side of a long lake overgrown with trees, and she saw a pair of swans swimming in the distance. The natural enclave offered shelter, fresh water, and a vantage point to watch for unwanted visitors. John followed a game trail along the slender strip of land between the crags and the water’s edge until the ground opened up to reveal a clearing. Robyn knew at once why it was called the greenwood. The trees and rocks dripped with moss, the brilliant green carpeting every surface and muffling their steps. A massive oak dominated one end. At its base sat a man wearing a wooden crown, and at his side, her eyes wide with shock, sat Marian.
Chapter Forty-Two
The rope cut into Marian’s hands as she clenched her fists to keep from shouting Robyn’s name. Siward shifted beside her on his makeshift throne, a tortured thing built of twisted wood and deerskins. He was a slender man, something that had led her to believe at first that he was harmless until she’d looked deeper into his pale blue eyes. What she’d seen there had pricked a cold sweat all over her body. Now, he lounged at his ease, considering the outlaws before him. Marian bit her lip until blood blossomed in her mouth. She stared at Robyn and tried to communicate with eyes alone everything that needed to be said. The mud that smeared Robyn’s cheeks concealed the fury that flushed them, which Marian alone recognized. John, also smeared with earth, offered Siward a bow with a carefully neutral expression on his face.
“I see you’ve found yourself some company in my absence, your highness,” John said.
Siward tried to stroke Marian’s hair. She pulled away fast enough to hurt her neck. He chuckled. “Little pigeon got lost in the forest.”
“I hope you haven’t harmed her,” said John. “She looks valuable.”
Robyn’s eyes searched Marian’s, and Marian gave her head a minuscule shake. No, Siward had not harmed her, or not in the way she had feared when he grabbed her horse’s bridle on the road to Edwinstowe. That he was capable of such harm she didn’t doubt. The fact that he’d held off was entirely due to the quality of the gown she wore and the ribbons in her hair.
“She’d be a fitting queen, don’t you think?” he said.
John made a show of looking Marian up and down, then shrugged. “If you like highborn ladies. I find they tend to scream, and you never know who’s listening out here.”
Robyn glared at her companion and opened her mouth to say something, but John cut her off with an elbow to the rib cage and Robyn’s words ended in a whistle of lost breath that Marian could hear ten paces away. Eleven of Siward’s people surrounded them, but Marian knew at least five more lurked in the limestone caves nearby. She was not entirely sure how many brigands Siward had under his command. Sixteen, at least, but she suspected the number was closer to twenty, and Yvette, who scared her far more than Siward, counted for two. Robyn and John didn’t stand a chance in a fight.
“Where’ve you been, John?”
“Got caught. Spent the summer rotting in Nottingham, but they never got around to hanging me. Old friend of mine here got me out.”
“Did you bring me anything?”
“News.”
“Silver would have been better.”
Robyn interrupted John before he could respond. “What are you doing with her?”
“I plan to ransom her back to her mistress after we’ve had our fun. Not that it is any business of yours.”
“If you touch a hair on her head, you piece of horseshit, I will put an arrow in your eye faster than you can say ‘Mother Mary.’”
Marian cursed inwardly at Robyn’s outburst. An ugly silence fell over the greenwood. The assembled outlaws bristled, waiting for Siward’s command. John shifted his grip on his quarterstaff and Robyn, good as her word, had an arrow nocked, drawn, and pointed at Siward’s skull. Marian hadn’t even seen her draw it, but she’d seen that same look in Robyn’s eye before. Then, the arrow had sought her father’s heart. Marian wouldn’t mind if Robyn’s finger slipped on the bowstring this time, so long as none of the other arrows in the clearing found their mark in Robyn’s chest.
The tableau before her stretched as the seconds passed. She knew what would happen if Robyn killed Siward. Siward’s band would slaughter Robyn and John where they stood, and when they were finished, they would turn to Marian.
“Wait,” she said, all hope of escape draining from her body. “Robyn, tell him who I am.”
“
Get behind me, Marian,” Robyn ordered.
Marian didn’t move. She had chosen to identify herself as simply a highborn lady’s handmaid, marking her as one of the lesser gentry, rather than the sheriff’s daughter. Unlike her first encounter with outlaws, this was not because she feared reprisal for her father’s deeds. It was because she feared her father. However, the sport the brigands might have had with a handmaid was one thing; invoking the wrath of the sheriff of Nottingham was another. They wouldn’t dare touch her. Not if they valued their lives.
She raised her chin and repeated her command. “Tell him who I am.”
Siward, far from showing signs of alarm at the naked threat in front of him, leaned back further in his chair and crossed one long leg over a bony knee. Jeweled rings, all no doubt stolen, adorned the hand that rested on his thigh, and the other hand—the one that had tried to touch her—toyed with a loose tuft of hair from a deer hide. If anything, he seemed amused.
“She’s no one,” said Robyn. “Let her come with us.”
“Your friend’s manners leave a lot to be desired, John.” Siward stood in a languorous motion and placed his hands on Marian’s shoulders, positioning her body between him and Robyn. Robyn lowered her bow. “You bring me nothing, and yet you demand I give you my latest treasure.”
“She’s the sheriff’s daughter, Siward,” said John. “And if you hurt her, it will be on all our heads.”
“You’re joking.” Siward’s rings dug into Marian’s shoulders as his hands tightened.
“On my honor,” said John. “And my mother’s grave.”
Siward spun Marian around. “You’re the bastard’s bitch, then?”
“I am the daughter of the Sheriff of Nottingham, in service to the Lady Emmeline of Harcourt, and betrothed to Lord Linley.”
“Tell me more about this Linley, pigeon. Would you say he was a wealthy man?”
“Yes. And even if he wasn’t, my father will pay you. Maybe he’ll even pardon—”
“Do I look like I want a pardon, pigeon?” He shook her, and her bound wrists knocked against his chest. “Why would I go back to Nottingham, when I am king of Sherwood?” He laughed, and the sound had a manic edge. “Maybe I’ll give my men a taste of the sheriff’s justice. Yvette, too, of course. She won’t pass up a slice of pigeon pie. Then we’ll send what’s left of you back to Lord Linley with a bastard in your belly.”