by Anna Burke
“That must have been quite a trial for you.”
She clutched at her breast and mimed a swoon. “You’ve no idea. Wine. I must have wine.”
“Is your mistress like that?”
“Emmeline? No. She’s tougher than horsebread. And kind. She’ll be worried.”
“And we’ll have you back to her in no time, unless the two of you can’t be quiet long enough for me to hear myself think,” said John with a scowl.
Robyn made a face at him behind his back, and the woman laughed, then pressed her hand to her mouth. The urge to make her laugh again almost overrode Robyn’s better judgment, but John was right. Silence was survival.
They came upon the forest road sooner than Robyn would have liked. She stared at the deep ruts while John surveyed the nearby woods, acutely aware of the woman standing close behind her. “Well,” she said, keeping her voice low, “it won’t be long now.”
A hand brushed her forearm. She felt the touch through her entire body.
“I’m Marian.”
“Marian?”
“Just Marian,” she said, tilting her head slightly to one side. “And you?”
Robyn leaned against a tree and crossed her arms as she weighed her options. She couldn’t give the girl her name, but she also didn’t want to lie to her. “If I see you again, perhaps I’ll tell you,” she said at last.
Marian gave her a smile that sent a slow burn down her chest and into her stomach. “Perhaps you will,” she said, and Robyn resisted the urge to tell her right then and there, just to hear Marian say her name.
“Do you often get lost in these woods?”
“I confess this is the first time.”
“Then I shall count myself lucky,” said Robyn.
“And why is that?”
A horn sounded further down the road.
“That’s Emmeline’s huntsman,” Marian said, and Robyn hated the huntsman and his horn for ripping Marian’s attention away.
“You should go,” she told Marian as she caught sight of John’s expression. “You’re safe now.”
“Am I?” Marian’s smile faded, and the look that came over her face held none of its earlier coy sweetness. “Thank you.” She reached out and took Robyn’s hand for a fleeting moment, just long enough for the tips of her fingers to burn against Robyn’s wrist, and then she was gone. Robyn watched her walk down the road and fought a disquieting desire to run after her.
Chapter Fourteen
Gregor saw her first. His white mustache lifted in a smile as he reined his horse up sharply. “Here,” he called over his shoulder before dismounting to stand before her. Marian knew she still looked nightmarish, mud staining her clothes and her face puffy and bruised, but she didn’t care. She collapsed into Gregor’s arms, startling him, and burst into tears. She’d learned long ago tears were the best way to avoid unwanted questions, and the relief in her throat wasn’t entirely feigned.
Emmeline arrived moments later. “Marian,” she said, pulling Marian to her. “We thought we’d lost you. We found your horse, but there was no sign of you, and the hounds lost your scent in the rain. Look at you.” And with that, she folded Marian into a fierce hug. Marian let herself relax into the embrace as the familiar smell of Emmeline’s perfume washed over her.
Since they had not brought Marian’s mare, she rode pillion with Emmeline back to the castle. The sky once more promised fair weather, and soft brushes of clouds swept the arc of blue. Marian glanced back over her shoulder as they rode. She could not make out the outlaw’s silhouette amid the trees, nor had she expected to, but her eyes scanned the trunks anyway.
If I see you again, perhaps I’ll tell you.
She hid her smile in Emmeline’s back.
Emmeline ordered a bath drawn and attended Marian herself when they returned to Nottingham as the maid looked on askance at this breach in protocol.
“You poor, tragic thing,” she said, sponging the dirt off Marian’s wounds and working oil into her hair. “I feared the worst.”
“The worst may yet come if my face does not return to normal.”
“Hush. You were too lovely by half as it was, although . . .” and here she paused, eyeing Marian’s swollen eyelids. “You do make a lovely cyclops.”
“You wound me.”
“Alanna says she will play whatever you like. I’ve been a monster since you left. The kennel master has half a mind to drown my hounds just to be rid of me, and even Willa was beside herself. She stayed another day to make sure you were recovered.”
The promise of food and music, combined with the luxuriant feeling of Emmeline’s hands on her hair and the draught of wine she’d drunk to banish the lingering chill nearly lulled her to sleep. She let her eyes close as Emmeline sluiced hot water over her hair to rinse it. The outlaw’s face rose before her. Marian remembered the straight arrow of her nose, the proud chin, and the slight slant of her hazel eyes. I will find a way to repay you, she decided, even if she had to wander the forest on foot. Whoever you are.
“Come, put on something dry and I will fetch Alanna.”
Marian rose from the copper tub and allowed the maid—who looked relieved, at last, to be doing something—to pat her dry, and then she slipped into a soft wool tunic. The fabric did not chafe against the scrapes, and she gave a little shudder of pleasure at the feeling of clean cloth against her skin.
Food arrived, along with Willa. “You look terrible,” she said as soon as she saw Marian. “Did you run into a tree?”
“I think, perhaps, a tree hit me. I don’t remember doing much running.”
“Your horse did that for you. I did not believe her capable of such speed.”
“I wish she hadn’t been. I might have made my way back sooner.” Marian touched the sore spot on the side of her head.
“Be nice to her,” Emmeline ordered Willa. “I will not have you goading her today.”
“I do not goad,” said Willa, looking affronted.
“I am not blind, nor am I deaf. Now pass me that cheese and for goodness’ sake, pour the wine before we die of thirst.”
Marian sank into the couch and listened to the familiar sounds of Emmeline and Willa’s good-natured bickering.
“M’lady,” said a servant, opening the door enough to peek her head around. “Alanna is here.”
Alanna pushed her lyre into the startled servant’s hands and wrapped her arms around Marian. “We were worried sick about you,” she said into Marian’s ear. Marian held on to the strength of Alanna’s slender frame, grateful for her friends and even willing to forgive Willa, albeit temporarily. “Tonight I’m all yours. Whatever you want to hear I’ll sing, no matter what Willa says.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ignore her,” said Alanna as she retrieved her lyre.
Marian settled back onto the couch and ran her hands through her damp hair. They all wore their long hair loose, a luxury allowed only in the company of women and small children. Henri played in the corner and made small chirruping noises as he galloped his wooden horse over the rushes.
“Fine. Marian, what do you want to hear? After all, you had a harrowing night alone in Sherwood Forest,” said Willa.
“Alone?” Alanna strummed the lyre’s strings gently. “They say the forest is thick with thieves.”
“Perhaps my swollen face scared them all off,” said Marian.
“I know a lay about a maiden, taken by outlaws, who falls in love with the leader of their band.”
“Let me guess, he turns out to be a knight, wrongly denied his due by his vassal lord?” said Willa.
Marian laughed, hoping to cover the blush that spread over her cheeks. Her memory of the conversation she’d overheard by the fire was hazy, distorted by the blow to her head, but she remembered the man telling the woman to stop flirting with her. She remembered, too, how the words had made her feel: light, almost drunk, as if she’d downed a flagon of French wine. My head, she tried to tell herself, but the way the outlaw had
held her gaze reminded her uncomfortably of the way Willa looked at her—more curious than courtesy allowed. Unlike Willa’s gaze, however, the outlaw’s hadn’t made her want to run for cover. Quite the contrary. She’d wanted to stay there in that hazel glow despite the mud and pain and the worry her absence had surely caused.
Emmeline gave her a shrewd glance. “My dear, you’re blushing.”
“The wine, m’lady. It always brings up my color.”
“I think we’ll hear that song,” said Emmeline as she refilled their glasses. It was good wine, stronger than the watered stuff they drank at meals, and Marian savored the spices. “Perhaps we shall rewrite your story. A night alone in the woods is perilous, but a night with an outlaw . . .” She trailed off suggestively.
Marian shook her head at her mistress as Alanna began to play, but thoughts of Sherwood, the outlaw woman, and all else fled her mind when Alanna opened her mouth. Her voice filled the room, rich and low, then sweet and high, as versatile as the lyre in her hands and twice as lovely. Marian closed her eyes and let the music wash over her while her heart soared with the notes.
The music ended abruptly with a sharp knock on the door.
“My lady,” said Gregor from the other side of the oak.
“Come in.” It might be improper for Gregor to enter Emmeline’s solar, but the tone of his voice suggested this was an occasion that merited exception. He bowed upon entry, taking note of those assembled and then dropping his eyes respectfully.
“There’s been news.”
The peaceful look brought on by the music left Emmeline’s face, and the lines returned. “Tell me,” she said.
“King Richard is now with the Roman emperor.” Gregor paused as if considering whether to continue.
“And?” Emmeline prompted.
“He’s demanded a ransom of 150,000 marks.”
“150,000 marks? That’s more than the crown draws in a year. What does Eleanor say?”
“The queen regent means to pay it.”
Marian saw the words hit Emmeline like a blow. The Saladin Tax had taken her husband, and now the crown was after more. This time no husband or son would suffice; the crown needed money, and estates like Harcourt would provide it. Her own plight seemed small in comparison. That didn’t stop her stomach from plummeting. It would take months to raise that much money, if it could be done at all. Months Emmeline didn’t have.
Emmeline clenched her jaw and nodded to herself as she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her lap. “Thank you, Gregor.”
He hesitated, then bowed his way out of the room and shut the door behind him. Emmeline let her head fall into her hands the moment the latch fell into place. Stunned silence settled over the four of them. Henri looked up from his toy in confusion, the wooden horse in his hand forgotten.
“Well,” Emmeline said eventually through her fingers, “we had better hope for a good harvest.”
“Even with a good harvest that will beggar the kingdom,” said Willa. “How can she hope to raise that much?”
“I don’t know.”
Marian didn’t say anything. The messenger had just killed the small hope she’d harbored for Richard’s swift return, and she cradled its corpse, too beaten to even cry. Her dowry would be a boon to any suitor now, and her father would want to make good use of the opportunity. She knew he thought that marrying her far above her station would serve her well. Sometimes she didn’t even blame him for not seeing beyond the viscount before Linley’s name, and the earl he thought would come. To be a countess—that should have been all she wanted. Her children would inherit lands and titles, and she would have influence. What did it matter if Linley repulsed her? He would give her sons and daughters, and if she survived childbirth, he would eventually leave her alone and take his pleasure elsewhere. She was a woman. This was her lot.
Why, then, did her soul scream for something more?
Chapter Fifteen
“Raise it higher,” John instructed. Robyn adjusted her grip on her quarterstaff as sweat dripped down her back. The sun beat down on them in the clearing near the stream. Every farmer knew the basics of handling a quarterstaff. Staffs kept stray dogs away from livestock when the wielder did not have a bow, and in a pinch they kept away thieves of the human variety, too. Robyn understood the basics. Block, strike, block again, sweep.
John took this to another level.
“I thought you would use a hammer or an axe,” she said, panting as she narrowly blocked another strike. “Seeing as you’re a blacksmith.”
“I like to keep my enemies at arm’s length,” said John. “And a staff can be used like an axe too.” He swung it up and over his head in a two-handed grip, then brought it down in a chopping motion. Robyn threw herself out of the way as it hit the dirt.
“I suppose I should be grateful that all you did was toss me in that stream.”
John leaned on the staff and grinned.
Two weeks had passed since they’d returned Marian to the city, and so far it seemed she had kept her promise. No one came to hunt them down to hang them—or to thank them, and John no longer frowned whenever Robyn mentioned Marian’s name. Instead, he made her go through quarterstaff drills. Robyn wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow and made the most of the breather.
“Hold up,” John said, tilting his head to one side as he listened to something in the distance.
Robyn heard it. Footsteps: one person, coming toward them at a fast pace. Her first instinct was to climb the nearest tree and string her bow, but John shook his head and faded behind a tree trunk. Robyn did the same.
The footsteps neared, followed by the sounds of someone breathing heavily. Something about the quick panting breath sounded familiar.
“Midge?” Robyn said, stepping out from behind the tree as her cousin barreled into the clearing. “Midge, what are you doing here? What’s wrong?” Branches tangled in her cousin’s hair and her face was red from exertion.
“I had to tell you,” she said, gasping for air.
“What?”
Midge shook her head, too out of breath to continue for the moment.
“Let her breathe,” said John, placing a hand on Midge’s shoulder. “Get her some water.”
“The king,” Midge said after she had taken a long swallow from Robyn’s waterskin. “The German king set his ransom for 150,000 marks. They’re demanding a quarter of all property value for nobility, freemen, and the church. No exceptions.”
Robyn felt the air leave her lungs as her throat closed in panic. “Gwyneth,” she said, gripping her cousin by the forearms. Never before had she wished to be a serf, but now, with that impossible sum hanging over their heads, she wasn’t sure the small plot of land they owned was worth it.
“That’s why I came.”
John looked between them in confusion.
“There’s no way she’ll be able to ‘pay.’ Not that Midge’s family will either, but the sheriff will use this to press his suit, and Gwyneth will have no choice but to accept.” Her hands tightened around Midge, who shook her off with a glare and rubbed the skin that Robyn had bruised.
“Gwyneth will accept for Symon’s sake,” Midge agreed. “Though if I were the sheriff, I would sleep with one eye open.”
The only person Robyn knew who hated the sheriff as much as she did was her sister-in-law, but Midge was right. Gwyneth would do it for Symon. She would do anything for Symon. Robyn turned and slammed her fist into the nearest trunk. The bark bit into her knuckles in a glorious burst of pain, splitting them, and she rested her head against the trunk as she struggled to control her breathing. All this time, she’d thought she’d spared Gwyneth the worst of it by running. Instead, trouble had rushed in to fill the space she’d vacated. Gwyneth thought Robyn was dead. With no other hope she’d have little choice but to marry, and if she chose anyone besides the sheriff, he would bring his wrath down on her new husband just as he had the old.
“I will kill him,” she said, the tree doing little
to muffle the venom in her voice. “I will hunt him down and send him back to Prince John in pieces. This I swear.”
“Hear, hear,” said John.
All the anger that she’d held tight to her chest since her brother’s death rose to blur her vision. The sheriff had taken her brother and driven her out of the only home she’d ever known, and before that he’d done everything in his power to make her family suffer.
Now it was her turn to make him pay.
“Midge,” she said, taking her by the shoulders and looking straight into her eyes. “Nobody is going to starve this time. Do you understand me?”
Midge frowned.
“You keep asking me what I’m going to do.” She searched her cousin’s eyes. “We’re going to take back what belongs to us. We’re not going to run like rabbits. We’re going to fight, and we’re going to steal, and we’re going to take from the sheriff what matters most.”
“Which is?” asked Midge.
John answered for Robyn. “His pride.”
Midge looked back and forth between the two of them, then drew herself up to the limits of her height and gave Robyn a short nod. “I’m in.”
Robyn opened her mouth to tell Midge that it was too dangerous, but held her tongue. Midge understood the stakes. And besides, the part of Robyn that still blazed with anger said, it is her fight, too. “We need to start being more careful, then,” she said at last. “We can’t leave any signs for the foresters to follow, and we need to plan.”
“Midge can help with that,” said John. “Keep your ear to the ground. Listen to everything, even if it doesn’t seem important.”
“My sisters already do that,” Midge said. “They’re the worst gossips in town, and there are a hundred of them.”
“A hundred?”
“Eleven,” Robyn corrected. “But they might as well be a hundred.”
