by Anna Burke
I have to get out. If she could somehow escape, then perhaps her father would blame Siward for her disappearance, and she could spend the rest of her life . . . where? Out here in the woods with Robyn? The past few hours had shattered that illusion. Back to the priory then, where perhaps she could persuade her father to let her pledge her troth to God in the wake of her disgrace. The walls of the cave closed in around her as all options faded. The sheriff would never let her join a convent, not when her children could guarantee him a position of favor in the years and wars to come.
So I marry then and tell myself that this was all a child’s dream, fueled by a minstrel’s song and too much ale. Try as she might, though, she could not reconcile herself to that fate.
Siward rolled over in his sleep, his back bumping up against her thigh. Her skin twitched with revulsion and she was about to move away when a stray gleam caught her eye. His belt knife lay almost within her reach. All she had to do was loosen the rope that connected her hands to her neck enough to allow her to grab it. Her fingers, swollen from the ropes as they were, edged their way around her throat, but they could get no purchase. If she pulled too hard, she knew, the rope would tighten, cutting off her air. She bit her lip in frustration. The knife was so close. She only needed a few inches, and he could roll over at any minute, depriving her of her chance.
A few inches. Her fingers found her hair, fingering the frayed ribbons binding the plaits. She tugged, and the knot, already pushed past its limits of endurance, gave. Her hair fell over her shoulder as she gathered the ribbon clumsily in her hands to make a loop. Sweat and oil had stiffened the silk, and she held her breath as she coaxed it toward the hilt. It took a few tries to catch. When at last the ribbon gained purchase on the shallow groove between hilt and blade, she paused, hardly daring to believe her luck.
Gently, she tightened the ribbon around the blade. Years of wrapping Emmeline’s hair had given her both skill and patience. When the ribbon felt tight enough, she pulled. The knife slid out of the scabbard in well-oiled silence, hardly putting up a fight at all. She paused after each inch of progress to make sure Siward’s breathing remained steady, until all that held the knife in place in its scabbard was the tip. Please, she begged whatever deity might be listening. The knife swung loose. She pulled it up by the ribbon until her fingers closed around it and she could flip the blade against her wrists.
Freeing her hands took another century. She could not saw away with any vigor, for that would make too distinctive a noise, so she had to time her efforts with Siward’s snores and the coughs of the man nearby. Eventually, however, the first rope broke beneath the blade and she eased the coils free, careful to maintain the same tension on the line that connected her to Siward.
He rolled over as she began working on the rope around her neck. In the dark, she couldn’t tell if his eyes were open. She stared at his face until another snore shook his chest, and then she gathered her courage, sliced the remaining fibers, and appraised her next obstacle: Yvette. The woman was just a silhouette against the dim starlight filtering through the rain clouds, but the entrance to the cave was far too narrow for Marian to sneak past. The hopelessness of her situation hit her again. She was just as trapped as she had been before. If she were Willa, she might have tried fighting her way out, now that she had a knife and free hands, but she was Marian. All she knew how to do was run.
Or hide. She strained her eyes to see the back of the cave, where, earlier, torchlight had illuminated the low tunnel that led to God only knew where. She remembered something her father had said once about Sherwood’s outlaws.
“If they get into the goddamn caves, it’s over. They’re warrens, and once the rats get below ground we can’t flush them out.”
I could be a rat. Wandering through the caverns offered risks of their own, but at least she’d be free to die of starvation or thirst, instead of her current alternatives. She had a vivid image of herself crouching by an underground lake, gnawing on the carcass of a rat or perhaps a bone-white fish, pale from eons of living out of the sight of the sun. Was that really better than waiting for her father?
Yvette stood, cutting off her speculations. Marian held her breath as the outlaw stepped out into the rain, perhaps to relieve herself or check on her other captive. I might not get another chance, Marian thought, and she gathered up her skirts and felt her way cautiously to the wall. She kept her hand on the rough limestone, and when it encountered empty air she turned, keeping her hand outstretched, and vanished down a tunnel that smelled of damp earth and stone. Her shoes scraped on the uneven floor and her breath sounded loud to her ears in the silence. Sometimes the echo of her footsteps rose, and she had the impression of open space around her. Once she passed through a shaft of muted light coming from a narrow crack, only the absolute blackness of the cave distinguishing this glimpse of stormy night sky from her surroundings. She peered up, breathing the cool night air and pausing to lick some of the rainwater that filtered through the rock before continuing.
Keep turning right, she told herself as she went along, but she knew that her turns were random and that there were passageways she must have missed. Sometimes she had to crawl, and once she wedged herself into a shaft that promised light at the end but proved too narrow for her body. She reached for the sky with her hand and let the rain cool her fingers.
The last skylight she found lit a small chamber filled with a large stalagmite. She could tell by the grayness of the light that it was nearly morning, and her body ached from sleeplessness and running. She sank to the cave floor with her back to the lumpy pillar and watched the gray dawn break through the cleft in the rock until her eyelids grew heavy and she dozed with her cloak wrapped around her, unable to keep herself awake any longer.
Chapter Forty-Five
The rain had at last penetrated every fold of skin and warm secret crevice Robyn’s body possessed, leaving her too miserable even to shiver. They’d taken her knives and they’d bound her tightly, a fact that the rain compounded as the rough fibers of the rope swelled until she couldn’t feel her hands beyond the sharp, pulsing pain of thwarted blood. Come on, John, come on.
Marian and the rest of Siward’s band were in the cave, blocked from her sight by darkness and the rain. Only Yvette remained, sitting just out of reach of the weather, sharpening Robyn’s belt knife with proprietary strokes. The woman didn’t seem to need sleep. She also hadn’t responded to any of Robyn’s questions, taunts, or threats.
They’ll untie me before the sheriff arrives, she assured herself, but the thought only renewed the panic gnawing at her insides. She had no guarantee they’d do anything of the kind.
John, she willed into the darkness. Get your ass back here.
An owl cried from somewhere down the lake. Yvette glanced up from her knife and stared at Robyn, who did her best to remain impassive. Did owls hunt in the rain? She didn’t know, and neither, it seemed, did Yvette, who studied the dark forest with sharp eyes. It could have been an owl. It also could have been her band. All of them knew that call.
The sound came again, this time closer. Yvette rose and stalked out into the rain, keeping her hand on the hilt of the knife as she approached Robyn.
“Friends of yours?” she asked in a low hiss.
A flash of white passed overhead, followed by the sound of wings.
Robyn shrugged, sending a cascade of water down her back. “It’s an owl.”
Yvette made a displeased sound in the back of her throat and turned back to the cave.
“You could always kill the sheriff,” Robyn said, seizing on the first thing that came to her mind. She needed to keep Yvette in the open. Once back in the cave, she could sound the alarm, which would ruin Robyn’s chances of escape. Yvette might have been willing to overlook the anatomical differences of various birds in the darkness, but Robyn had recognized the goshawk, and knew that her handler couldn’t be far off.
“Kill one, another gets appointed,” said Yvette. “I’d rather
have money.”
“He’ll want revenge for his daughter.”
“He’ll have the girl back. Untouched.”
“He’ll still want revenge. He’s not a man of his word. I could help you if you untie me.”
“With what?”
“You saw me shoot.”
Yvette crouched down in front of Robyn. “I know what I saw and I know what I felt. The rest of them might have sheep shit between their ears, but trust me when I tell you that you’re better off out here than in there. They get a whiff of a woman, and . . .” she trailed off.
“You’re a woman.”
“I’m a man-killer, girl, just like John. That’s why I’m out here. They know it, I know it, and we all sleep easy at night.”
Robyn kept her eyes trained on Yvette, but she saw the shapes moving in her peripheral vision. John moved silently when he wanted to.
“I’ve killed a man, too.”
“Not like I have.” Yvette’s smile would have chilled Robyn if it had been possible for her to feel any colder.
“Speaking of killing,” said John, choking off Yvette’s breath with his staff, “want to tell me why my friend is bound to a tree?”
Yvette made a harsh gagging sound.
“Drop the knife and I’ll let you speak.”
Yvette stabbed toward his legs with the hand that wasn’t clutched at his staff. He tightened his grip and dodged her blow. The knife landed in the mud.
“Hey, cos,” said Midge from behind Robyn as she began to fight the rope that bound Robyn to the tree.
John loosened his hold on Yvette enough to let her draw a breath when Robyn stumbled to her feet. Her bow was in the cave, as were her other weapons, but she was willing to kill Yvette with her bare hands. Or her knife. John kicked it toward her, reading her mind.
“Siward didn’t trust—” Yvette began in a strangled whisper.
“He doesn’t trust anybody,” John said. “Didn’t mean you had to leave Robyn in the rain.”
“Did you get in touch with a forester?”
“They’ll be at the river at midday.”
“Let me get Siward then.”
John hesitated. Robyn saw the decision in his mind: kill her or let her go? If he killed her, or at least bound and gagged her, they could make a clean escape, but they’d have to leave Marian behind.
“Let her go,” said Robyn.
John thrust the brigand from him in disgust, and Yvette stalked back to the cave.
“You all right?” he asked Robyn.
“Fine. Who’s here?”
“Will’s in the trees with Alanna and Tom. Lisbet’s keeping watch.”
“What the hell are we going to do?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
He didn’t get a chance to answer. Yvette’s shout broke the silence, followed by the sound of half-awake men mobilizing hastily, stumbling over one another in the process.
“Where is she?” they heard Yvette say. “Where the fuck is she?”
“Marian,” said Robyn, sprinting the few steps to the cave with John and Midge behind her.
Inside, chaos reigned. Someone fanned the coals of the banked fire until a torch flared to life, casting shadows that were almost as confusing as the darkness. Siward clutched a handful of rope with a murderous expression while Yvette snatched the torch from the bearer and thrust it into the corners of the cave. “She didn’t get out the front,” she said, and Robyn noted that she made a point of staying out of Siward’s reach as she searched. “Must have gone in.”
“Robyn,” John said, pulling her back into the open.
“What does she mean, in?”
“The caves are a maze.” He shook his head, worry and admiration evident in his furrowed brow. “Either she got loose herself, or someone cut her loose and took her back there. Any idea how many men Siward had?”
“We can’t count now,” said Midge, peering around the lip of the cave mouth. “Half of them have already gone in.”
“Are there any other ways in or out?” asked Robyn.
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
“We’ve got bigger problems,” he said, keeping a firm grip on her arm. “We need to get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving her here.”
“She isn’t here,” Midge pointed out.
“They have my bow.”
“We brought your spare.”
“Marian’s in there.” Robyn tried to yank her arm free, but John didn’t budge.
“He’s coming, Robyn. We need to get out of here. Now.”
“Let go of me.” Robyn froze as his words sank in. “You actually went to the sheriff?”
“This is what we wanted, remember? Siward and the sheriff. Everyone wins, Robyn. Marian goes home safely, we get him off our backs, and Siward is no longer a threat.”
Marian goes home safely.
“No,” she began, planning to tell him what she and Marian had decided, but Midge interrupted her.
“Robyn, let’s go. Or do you want to die? What will happen to Gwyneth if he finds out who you are? Or my family?”
Gwyneth. The name snapped Robyn back to her senses. Gwyneth and Symon depended on her in a way Marian didn’t. Her loyalties were first to them, and second to her band. She couldn’t afford to split them any further, but neither was she willing to leave Marian behind.
“You said there was another way out,” she said as she let John pull her away. “Take me there.”
“Robyn—”
“Dammit, John, I’m not leaving her.”
“Then it’s time to run.” He set off, and Robyn and Midge followed just as Siward’s angry voice asked Yvette, “where is the goddamn archer?”
John skidded to a halt beside the mossy trunk of a fallen giant ten minutes later. Shelf mushrooms as large as shields grew from the dead oak, and its gnarled, decaying roots played host to spiderwebs larger than Robyn’s arm span.
“This is the other entrance to Siward’s cave,” he said. “There are other caves in the cliffs, though. If she stumbles into one of them she could come out anywhere.”
Robyn knelt to peer beneath the trunk. A dark passageway barely wide enough for a man and no taller than her waist met her eyes.
“How well do you know the caves?” Robyn asked. The others gasped for breath as they joined them, and Lisbet crawled into the entrance and back out, looking thoughtful.
“Well enough.”
“Can you find Marian?”
John looked around at their band as he considered his response. “The caves are dark. With a torch, maybe I could. Without one, no.”
“What about the sheriff?” asked Tom. “We don’t want to be in there, dealing with brigands and the sheriff’s men at the same time.”
Will and Alanna turned on Tom, but Robyn cut them off. “He’s right,” she said. “John and I will go. The rest of you will get out of here while you still can.”
“No,” Will said flatly.
“We shouldn’t go in,” said Lisbet. They all turned to stare at her. “They’ll send in the hounds if they find out Siward doesn’t have Marian. Like hunting rabbits. We should stay by the exits and see what the dogs flush out.”
Hounds. Robyn looked into Lisbet’s dirt stained face and pictured the massive boarhounds favored by the nobility snarling down a cold, dark tunnel.
“She might be right,” said John. “And we’ll have no way to know if Marian’s escaped by a different way once we’re inside. If she’s even in there at all. Getting ourselves lost won’t help her, and it certainly won’t help us.”
“We have to do something.” Robyn hated the cold logic of their words, even as she knew they were right.
“There’s nothing we can do.” John’s expression hardened. “She’s the sheriff’s daughter. It’s up to him to see that she isn’t harmed.”
“Or Siward will kill her to spite him,” said Robyn.
“Charging in there blind will only get you killed. Think about it.�
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“I’m going in.” Robyn moved toward the cave.
John blocked her way. “You’re not,” he said.
“Let me by.”
“You’ll die in there for nothing. Her father is coming. We should use this opportunity.”
“How?” She considered striking John.
“We kill the sheriff after he kills Siward.” John’s eyes glittered with resolve. “One good shot. That’s all it would take.”
Silence met his words. Robyn held John’s gaze and thought of Michael and Gwyneth and the life the sheriff had stolen from her. What was a promise worth, compared to that? Her brother would never see his son’s first step. Gwyneth—laughing, sunlit Gwyneth—now spent her nights alone and her days in silent prayer and hard work, and Robyn would never again walk among her friends and neighbors. She would never see her brother’s smile.
None of that would change with the sheriff’s death. She could, however, prevent the sheriff from harming anyone else ever again, including her band. Dead men might haunt, but a ghost couldn’t wrest Gwyneth from the priory. A ghost couldn’t skim money off the top of their taxes, getting fat and rich while the rest of them starved. In the chaos to come, they’d have their chance at last, and Robyn was the best shot. She’d asked John to kill him as an alternative when there had been time for another plan. Now she resigned herself to the reality that unless they got lucky and the sheriff died in battle, she needed to be prepared to act.