Nottingham

by Anna Burke

  Emmeline still had Will in her grasp. Robyn couldn’t hear the words the lady murmured into Will’s ear, but she saw the emotion contorting Will’s face and looked away. John and Midge hovered behind Tuck in the doorway, equally unsure of how to handle this display of affection, while Alanna chatted with Tuck.

  “I don’t know,” said Robyn. “That sounds like something I might have liked to see.”

  “I swear dust came out of the mortar. I thought the walls might come down.”

  “That would have been a pity.”

  “Indeed. You would never have gotten to meet my lady.”

  “Or seen you again.”

  “Would that grieve you?”

  “Marian,” Robyn started to say, but Emmeline had turned to them.

  The proper thing to do when confronted with nobility was a display of deference. Robyn froze, torn between a curtsy and a bow, until the moment had passed and her indecision translated to defiance. “M’lady,” she said, accepting her fate.

  “I owe you a debt, it seems. Twice now you have rescued friends of mine from harm.”

  “Anyone in our position would have done the same,” Robyn said, but it was a lie and they all knew it. “This is John, and my cousin, Midge.”

  “I am glad to meet you all. Sister, will you bring us some of the mead you are so fond of?”

  Tuck leaned her head out of the door and called out for another nun. Emmeline’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and Robyn had a suspicion she had been hoping Tuck would fetch the mead herself.

  “I’ve sent for a flagon,” Tuck said. “This is the house of God, Emmy, not Harcourt.”

  “And you do make such a lovely bride of Christ. The Lord must be ever so pleased with your . . . devotion.” Emmeline turned her attention back to Robyn. “Name a reward and it is yours as long as it is in my power.”

  “A reward?” Robyn repeated, glancing at John. A thousand wants flashed across her thoughts. Safety for Midge’s family. Warm winter clothing. The sheriff’s head on a pike. Marian. A place to winter, with food and fire and shelter. In other words, nothing she could reasonably request.

  “My friends mean a great deal to me. I would be honored to repay you,” Emmeline pressed.

  Something Will had said came back to Robyn. Outlaws with noble ties do not hang. She wished she had a moment to talk with John and Will or even Marian, but Emmeline’s cool gaze waited, and so she did the same thing she’d been doing ever since she loosed that fatal arrow: she gambled.

  “My friends mean a great deal to me, too. The greatest reward I can think of would be to count you among them.” She didn’t dare look away from Emmeline to gauge the reactions of her companions, but the words felt right.

  “Well said,” said Emmeline. “And I confess I am curious about you. Should we ever get that mead, I would love to hear how a yeoman’s daughter ended up in Sherwood.”

  “It is not a terribly interesting story, m’lady.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Marian. “Alanna will embellish it for you. She has a knack for making dragons out of housecats.”

  “A gift, we minstrels call it,” said Alanna.

  “Gwyneth, thank you,” said Tuck as Gwyneth entered the room bearing a flagon and mugs on a tray. Robyn stared. Gwyneth looked different than she had when last she’d seen her: brighter, lighter even, and her eyes had lost a little of their shadow. She served in silence before greeting Midge quietly, and when Robyn offered her an uncertain smile, Gwyneth returned it.

  “Your widow,” said Marian in a whisper near Robyn’s ear. Robyn tore her eyes away from Gwyneth to glance at Marian. Her face gave nothing away, but some of the warmth had left her gaze.

  “Gwyneth,” Robyn said, unsure what Marian wanted from her.

  “Gwyneth.” Marian repeated the name. “Yes, we’ve met.”

  For the first time, Robyn wondered if Marian was aware of her father’s interest in Gwyneth.

  “My father asked about her,” Marian said as if reading Robyn’s mind. “He said she left a quiver of arrows for you with the fletcher’s guild.”

  “What?”

  “From the fair,” said Marian, as if this should be obvious.

  “She didn’t leave me any arrows.”

  Marian’s brow creased.

  “Did your father say anything else?” Robyn asked.

  “He showed me an arrow and asked me if I thought it was yours.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I didn’t know.” Marian still had a cold look in her eyes. “But it was yours. I recognized the fletching.”

  “What color were the feathers?” Robyn asked, closing her eyes as she visualized the arrow that she’d left in Clovis’s chest.

  “White, except for half of one.”

  Damn. “Did he say anything else?” Keeping her tone level took all her concentration. She wanted to grab Marian by the shoulders and demand that she tell her everything she knew.

  “Just that I must attend a banquet on Midsummer, where I am to be paraded like a broodmare for the viscount and all of Nottingham.”

  Robyn knew she should have grabbed the arrow. Damn Cedric and his mercy. If she had shot him, too, she might have made a clean break. Banquets and marriages were nothing next to that.

  “Robyn?” Marian reached out a tentative hand and touched the inside of her wrist, breaking her train of thought. “Is everything all right?”

  “No.” Nothing was all right. “He can trace that arrow back to the shop, and if he does that, he can figure out who I am.”

  “All this from one arrow? Didn’t Gwyneth sell to other people?”

  “A few maybe, but your father made it nearly impossible.” At Marian’s look of confusion, she hesitated. “Do you not know?”

  “Do I not know what?”

  “Your father wants to marry my sister-in-law, Gwyneth. That’s why he had my brother hanged, and that’s why I had to win the archery contest.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Michael.” She felt his name in her mouth like a memory of light. “He was hanged without a trial.”

  “But—”

  “Your father hated him. A neighbor turned him in for poaching.”

  “Robyn, I am so sorry.” Marian’s stricken eyes met hers. “I didn’t know.”

  “You didn’t tie the noose.”

  Marian bit her lip. “I had two brothers. They were much older than me, and we were not close, but I loved them. They went on Crusade with Richard, and—” She broke off and swallowed, hard.

  Robyn’s panic receded at the pain in Marian’s voice. “Then I, too, am sorry.”

  Neither spoke for a moment, but Robyn felt Marian’s presence within the space of her grief, and the broken half of her soul trembled at the touch.

  “Gwyneth is your sister-in-law?” Marian asked eventually.

  “My brother’s widow. Yes.”

  “Oh. I thought . . . it doesn’t matter what I thought.” She touched her lips, her dark brows furrowing in thought. “My father never told me he was courting.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t, would he? She was born a peasant. Michael was a step up for her, but marrying your father would have been several stories. Only a fool would have turned him down. But she and my brother were in love, and I don’t think either of them realized what would happen.”

  “My father does not like to be told no.”

  “No.” Though he enjoys saying it.

  Marian shook her head and exhaled sharply, as if she had been about to laugh or sob. “He would have married a peasant, and yet he won’t let me join the priory or choose my suitors.”

  “He’s not overfond of priories these days,” said Robyn, remembering the fight she’d overheard between the sheriff and Tuck.

  “Nor is he overfond of me. I will get the arrow for you. It might be too late, but if he keeps it in his study then I could take it. I have to go to Nottingham tomorrow anyway.”

  “To be paraded like a broodmare.”
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  “Yes,” said Marian, glancing up at Robyn through her lashes. Robyn’s pulse quickened, and for a moment the sheriff and her errant arrow ceased to matter.

  “I could meet you,” Marian suggested.

  “In Nottingham?”

  “Why not? It will be like the fair. With the bonfires going, who would recognize you?”

  “Your father.”

  “I could slip away.”

  “Marian,” said Robyn, recalling the brush of her lips and forgetting that they stood in a priory surrounded by their friends. “What are you asking me?”

  “Meet me outside the town gates at half past eleven tomorrow. I’ll have the arrow.”

  “Are you asking me to meet you at the fires?” said Robyn, lowering her voice.

  Marian’s breath caught, and Robyn felt a flush rise in her cheeks as her own breathing grew suddenly more difficult.

  “Yes.”

  The word sent a jolt through Robyn. Michael had courted Gwyneth at the fires, arriving home early in the morning with a smile that nearly spanned his entire face. She’d rolled her eyes then, but now all she could think about was how smooth Marian’s skin would feel against her lips as she kissed her neck in the light of the bonfires, music and laughter whirling around them as the night air promised the full strength of the summer to come.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good,” said Marian, and as they turned back to the rest of the group, she slid her hand into Robyn’s, concealing the gesture behind the folds of her skirt. Robyn noted the strength in her fingers as they interlocked with hers. What was it John had said? It wasn’t Marian he worried about, but the hold Marian had over Robyn? She looked around the room, noting the warmth between Will, Alanna, and Emmeline, and the way Midge stood close to John. Only Gwyneth watched Marian and Robyn. When she caught Robyn’s eye, she smiled, an expression in her blue eyes Robyn couldn’t read. Marian’s thumb stroked the palm of her hand as Emmeline addressed them, and Robyn dropped Gwyneth’s eyes to listen.

  “I extend my friendship to you all, and I have no desire to see any of you hang.”

  “Thank you, m’lady,” said Robyn.

  “Furthermore, I encourage you to take advantage of the hospitality provided to you thus far by my sister. There are places a nun can go that an outlaw cannot. Willa, I am sure the prioress would be happy to send messages to me on your behalf.”

  “M’lady,” said John, “do not put yourself at unnecessary risk.”

  Emmeline gave a hollow laugh. “Risk. Come the harvest, I shall have to beggar my estate to pay this ransom, leaving my son with little more than a heap of stone and a few surly peasants. My husband is gone, most likely dead, and should Prince John make an attempt at the throne I shall have to turn over the rest of my estate to his forces. Once the civil war is over, the winner will either reward me for my loyalty, or strip me of my title. I might be in need of assistance from you then, if only to put food in my son’s mouth. I take no risks, John. I merely hedge my bets.”

  Silence followed Emmeline’s words. The gentle aroma of lavender and thyme drifted up from the rushes to mingle with the beeswax from the candles. Robyn glanced at Marian, who looked troubled, and then at Tuck. The nun’s expression surprised her. Tuck’s face glowed with pride as she observed Emmeline, and the hope that had filled Robyn ever since they found the cleft in the rocks threatened to overflow its banks.

  With friends like these they might just stand a chance.

  “One more thing. Alanna, I have not dismissed you from my service. You will return to Harcourt with me. I will not hold you against your will, but I cannot excuse your absence indefinitely.”

  “Emmeline,” said Will, her face stricken.

  “I can come and go between you,” Alanna said. “I’ve composed some new songs I’d like to try out on an audience, and Harcourt is forgiving.”

  “Will you sing one now?” asked Midge.

  “Only if you’ll accompany me.”

  Midge downed her mead. “But of course.”

  Alanna unslung her lyre from her back and cradled the instrument between her knees as she tuned the strings to her liking. When she was satisfied with the sound, she nodded at Midge, who cleared her throat. Together they sang.

  “There dwelt in Sherwood an outlaw

  By the name of Robyn Hood,

  And he ruled beneath the branches

  Of his majesty’s greenwood.

  Deer and fox and maiden fair

  All fell before his bow,

  And the sheriff cursed and the sheriff swore

  He would see the thief brought low.”

  Robyn’s hand closed around Marian’s in horror. John burst into laughter, joined shortly by Tuck, and even Gwyneth smiled.

  “There’s more,” said Midge, fixing Robyn with an evil grin.

  “I don’t doubt it. Tell you what. You keep singing. I’m going to get some fresh air before I give in to the overwhelming urge to strangle my favorite cousin.”

  “And at the faire he met a maiden fair . . .” Alanna sang, drawing out the notes for emphasis.

  Robyn felt her face flame as she shook her head, unsure whether she was annoyed or amused, but positive that she did not want to listen to another word. She gave Emmeline a short bow, then withdrew her hand from Marian’s and fled.

  “Wait,” Marian called from behind her.

  Robyn paused as Marian gathered her skirt and ran after. The leather soles of her boots were almost silent on the stone. “You don’t want to listen to ‘The Ballad of Robyn Hood’?”

  “Oh, I do,” said Marian as she caught up. “But I’ll ask Alanna for a private recitation.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “How exactly do you intend to stop me?”

  “I could get Alanna lost deep in the forest.”

  “Then I’d be forced to make up my own lyrics. It’s a memorable tune, don’t you think?” She hummed a few bars.

  “And who exactly do you think the ‘maiden fair’ is supposed to be?”

  “Your sweet sister-in-law. That part was obvious.”

  Robyn pulled her into an alcove, enjoying the feel of Marian’s body close to hers as the summer breeze drifted in through the window. “Is that really what you think?” she asked.

  Marian tilted her face up and searched Robyn’s eyes. “Is there a reason I should think otherwise? She’s quite lovely.”

  “Marian.” Warmth spread from their clasped hands up into her chest, where it curled around her ribs and made it hard to breathe. A tendril of Marian’s hair had come loose from its ribbons, slightly damp from the summer air. Something about the way it brushed Marian’s cheek made the tightness in her chest grow, and she thought of the kiss they’d exchanged in the woods—brief, fleeting, but indelible. A nun passed them at a sedate pace, her eyebrows rising into her wimple as she observed how close they stood to one another.

  “Is there anywhere here where . . .” she couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but Marian understood her meaning.

  “The stable.”

  Robyn waited until the nun’s footsteps had passed, her breathing too loud in her ears, then stepped out of the alcove. She didn’t let go of Marian’s hand.

  “Keep up,” said Marian, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she pulled Robyn along the hall to the cloisters, then through a side door and at last into the warm darkness of a long row of stalls. The smell of hay and horses washed over them.

  “Isn’t your guard here somewhere?”

  “Gregor?” Marian called out. There was no response beyond a few curious snorts from the horses. “Last I saw he was talking with some of the villagers. It’s just us and the horses.”

  “Which one is yours?”

  “This one.” Marian stroked the neck of the mare Robyn remembered from their earlier encounter in the woods. The horse twitched her ears lazily, enjoying the comfort of the stable and the hay in the manger.

  “She’s pretty.” Robyn did not bother lo
oking at the horse. Now that they were alone, her heart hammered, the earlier certainty of the pull between them overwhelmed by the paralyzing fear of the consequences. Their sex aside, an affair with the sheriff’s daughter was suicide for them both. What am I doing? she asked herself as her eyes fell from Marian’s, drawn to the girl’s mouth. Her body answered the question for her. The world narrowed to the full curve of Marian’s lips and the slight dimple in one cheek when she smiled. Her boots had rooted themselves to the stable floor. In the stable’s dim lighting, Marian looked older, no longer a girl but a woman capable of things Robyn had only allowed herself to imagine late at night as she stood watch, boredom and solitude breaking down the inhibitions she might have felt during the day. She didn’t look like the sheriff’s daughter, here. She looked . . . she looked like the answer to a question Robyn had been asking herself her whole life.

  Marian’s hand fell from the mare’s shoulder. Robyn watched, transfixed, as she reached out. Her fingers brushed Robyn’s neck, and then Marian’s lips pressed against hers with a fierceness that belied the lightness of her touch. Robyn caught herself on the wood of the stall as Marian fell against her, her lips obliterating conscious thought. The mare gave a startled snort behind them. Her mouth moved against Marian’s and responded to the intensity of the kiss with a power that left her shaking. She wrapped her arms around Marian’s waist, feeling the other woman’s breath come just as quickly as her own. Marian’s fingers buried themselves in Robyn’s hair, eliminating any possibility of coming up for air, and Robyn pulled her closer still and gave in to the demands of lips and tongue.

  Marian whimpered as Robyn pressed her up against the wall with her hips. The sound undid Robyn. She pulled her lips away, eliciting a gasp of frustration that turned into a soft moan as Robyn kissed the curve of her jaw and down the smooth skin of her neck. Marian’s breath came quick and hot in her ear, and she tightened her grip on Robyn’s hair as Robyn reached the base of her neck.

  “Oh, God,” Marian cried out. The words vibrated in Robyn’s ear.

  The resulting ripple of desire nearly blinded her. Marian’s skin tasted like sunshine and clean sweat, sweet and warm and with a hint of rosewater. She could kiss that skin all day. Nothing else mattered. Not the sheriff, not the precariousness of their position, and certainly not their half-baked plan to take down Siward.