by Anna Burke
This time, she didn’t bother trying to put things back where she’d found them. She tore apart his office, pulling scrolls and books off the shelves and searching behind them and inside them. Nothing. Outside, the town crier called the hour: eleven. Robyn might be here any minute, risking her life because Marian was a selfish fool.
The tax records.
Her heart leapt as she pulled the large book out of its drawer and turned the pages. Lords, ladies, knights, landowners, guildsmen—even land-owning peasants paid taxes, and their names and the amount they paid and owed were all here.
At the back, sewn into a tiny pocket in the binding, she found the key. It felt cool and heavy in the palm of her hand. She stroked the tarnished silver and fitted it into the chest’s lock, easing the lid open. A bolt of silk lay on top of the contents. Blue, of course, but finer than anything she’d ever worn. Nestled underneath it sat two silver goblets, a strand of pearls, and her mother’s golden ring. She touched each and wondered how they measured up to her worth.
The other object in the chest was a leather purse. The leather was old and cracked, but the coin inside gleamed. She raised a hand to her mouth in awe. How many pounds sat in her hand? Ten? Twenty?
A door slammed downstairs, interrupting her count. She clutched the purse to her breast and shut the chest, forcing herself to walk, not run, to the study door and lift the latch.
“Come here, you,” said a gruff male voice. Marian nearly shrieked before she realized the command was not aimed at her, but at the housekeeper, who laughed almost girlishly. The laughter subsided into a series of grunts and sucking noises that let Marian know exactly what was going on. She eased herself down the staircase one step at a time, praying that the couple was too engrossed in their activities to notice her as she dashed across the landing and flung herself out the door.
Twilight still colored the sky, faint purple and gold wreathing the clouds above the thatched roofs of Nottingham. She shoved the purse and the key into her belt and melted into the crowds.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Robyn waited by the gate, far enough away that the gate guard paid little attention to her, but close enough that she could keep an eye on traffic. Her hood shadowed her face and no one seemed to pay her any heed at all, not even the stray dogs. She’d walked past church processions and plays and fires of wood and bone, nodding when someone offered her food or drink, smiling when necessary, all the while knowing she shouldn’t have come. That didn’t stop her heart from leaping each time she saw a half-familiar woman turn toward her. Her frustration grew each time it wasn’t Marian. A group of boys raced by her, rolling a giant wheel and screaming with glee as they sped off down the sloping hill toward the town below. She stepped out of the way, and when she looked back up at the gate, she saw her.
Robyn didn’t know much about fabric. Noblewomen wore too many layers; tunics and breeches were good enough for Robyn. Seeing Marian forced her to reassess her opinion. The blue and gold gown clung to her hips, and while she found the sleeves ridiculously long, her eyes caught on the expanse of skin revealed by the gown’s open neck. Marian looked over her shoulder behind her toward the gate, and Robyn noted that she was not the only one fascinated by the ringlets cascading down her back. A group of young men paused to stare. One of them nudged the other, but Robyn crossed the distance between them before he could get any ideas.
“Shouldn’t you be at the castle, parading yourself in front of a more refined line of drooling boors?” she asked, slipping her arm through Marian’s.
“And shouldn’t you be in the forest, chasing down slavering boars?”
“Usually it is the boar chasing me.”
“A sentiment I couldn’t agree with more. Can we get out of here?”
The flush across Marian’s cheeks highlighted the brightness of her eyes, and it took Robyn several heartbeats to formulate a response. “We can go anywhere you like.”
“How about there?” Marian pointed to a distant hill where a line of fires lit the evening sky.
“Isn’t that a bit far?”
“We can’t get far enough away from here,” said Marian, leaning into Robyn as she pulled her down the hill. “Have you had anything to drink?”
“I crossed a stream on my way here.”
Marian raised a brow, looking up at Robyn through her lashes in a way that made the temperature of the night air rise several degrees.
“Then let me buy you a drink.”
“I don’t need—” she began, but Marian pressed a finger to Robyn’s lips and halted in front of an alewife with a ready cask, paying the woman extra for a drinking horn.
“Yes, you do. Now drink.”
Drinking was a bad idea if she wanted to keep her wits about her. This was Nottingham. Everyone watched everyone else, and it would take just one pair of eyes and a shout to summon the sheriff’s men at a run. Marian lifted the horn to Robyn’s lips and waited, a challenge in her light brown eyes.
Robyn placed her hands over Marian’s and drank deeply. The ale slid down her throat and went straight to her head, reminding her that she hadn’t had enough to eat today, then burying that realization with a rush of confidence she recognized as idiocy and didn’t care. Marian took her arm again and looped it around her waist, her fingers still entwined with Robyn’s.
“What if someone sees you?” Robyn asked. In her court clothes, Marian stood out. Even if she wasn’t recognized as the sheriff’s daughter, it was clear to anyone still half sober that she didn’t belong with Robyn.
“Let them.”
Unlike Midge and Gwyneth, Marian was nearly as tall as Robyn. She didn’t have to shorten her stride to keep pace, and before long they had passed out of the press around the city gates and down the comparatively empty road. Marian sighed in the silence.
“Was it that bad?”
“The food was fine, and I suppose the music was enjoyable,” Marian said. “I danced with enough men to please my father, as my toes can attest to.”
Robyn’s jaw clenched at the idea of men dancing with Marian. There wasn’t a man alive worthy of that honor.
“But I don’t want to think about that,” Marian continued.
“You don’t have to.” Robyn could do that for her. Visions of handsome men with groping hands seethed behind her eyelids.
“Tell me something about you. Did anyone ever ask you for your hand?” asked Marian.
“Just one.”
“Did you like him?”
“He was sweet, I suppose. Shy. He bought my arrows even when your father didn’t want him to.” And he saved my life.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m sure he’ll make someone else a good husband.”
“Robyn Hood,” said Marian, stepping in front of her to block her path. Robyn’s arm still held her, and she could smell the sweet wine on Marian’s breath.
“Of course I didn’t like him. Not in the way you mean.”
“Was that so hard?”
What was hard was refraining from kissing her in the middle of the road.
“What about you? Did you ever fancy anyone?” Robyn asked, buying herself time to catch her breath. The memory of their last kiss hung heavy in the air between them.
“There was a squire I was sweet on when I was nine, but I think I just liked his horse. Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“Have you ever been in love with anyone?”
“That’s not fair,” said Robyn. “There’s a big difference between fancying someone and being in love.”
“Love, lust, a silly crush—take your pick.”
“I don’t know. My brother always had girls around him. His brain stopped working the minute one smiled at him, and I promised myself I wouldn’t ever be like that.” A promise she’d broken the first time Marian had looked at her, once the swelling from the hornets went down.
“Men,” Marian scoffed.
“And then there was always so much w
ork to do, and I had Michael and Gwyneth and the sheriff to worry about.”
“What about Gwyneth?”
“What about her?”
Marian pulled back a half step. “Did you ever have feelings for her?”
“She’s my brother’s wife.”
“You do not answer my question.”
“Gwyneth . . .” Robyn took a deep breath, unsure what Marian wanted to hear and equally unsure of her answer. “It’s possible, I guess. In a dumb, young, silly way. She knows how I am, and she’s never judged me for that. Of course I love her, but it’s different. She’s my sister.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
Marian smiled. “Then you’re blind.”
“I can see very well.”
“Even in the dark?”
“Is it dark?” Robyn gently pulled Marian back to her, ignoring the whistle of a man leading a laden donkey toward the city. “Because I see you everywhere.” The words felt thick in her throat and she didn’t recognize her roughened voice.
Marian bit her lip and stared at Robyn out of darkened eyes, moonlight illuminating the perfect arch of her brows and the shadows of her lashes. A distant pipe played a familiar tune as a group of revelers made their way up the road. Robyn had heard that tune at festivals for as long as she could remember. Usually she hated the song. It was about a lord and a shepherdess and didn’t mention the fact that the lord probably left the woman with a bastard child to care for when he returned to his castle and his wife, but without the words it had a pleasing lilt. She just wished Marian would say something so that she felt less like a fool for standing there on the road with her heart exposed between them.
Instead, Marian kissed her. Her lips pressed against Robyn’s with an intensity that knocked her off balance. She caught herself as her body responded, opening to Marian without a shred of resistance, and she reeled when Marian pulled away.
“Let’s get off the road,” said Marian.
Robyn nodded, still dumbstruck, and followed Marian into a field occupied by a herd of grazing sheep. The music grew louder, accompanied by torchlight and the high, excited voices of dancing children.
“Dance with me?” Marian asked.
“What if I step on your toes?”
“I don’t care.”
Marian laced her fingers through Robyn’s and pulled her into the quick step of the jig. The last time Robyn had danced with anyone had been with Midge; this was different. Marian moved with a careless grace that took Robyn’s breath. Dancing with her was easy, and she couldn’t have stopped the smile from spreading across her face if she had wanted to.
“Is this how you dance up at your castle?” she asked as Marian twirled away from her.
“Hardly. That’s more like this. Here. I’ll be the nobleman, you be the lady.” Marian put her hand on Robyn’s waist before Robyn could protest. “Put your hands on my shoulders. See? I get to guide you.”
She pulled Robyn in a tight step that forced her to pay attention to her feet. Marian, meanwhile, stepped wide, her skirts brushing against Robyn’s breeches as she commanded Robyn’s movements. Flustered, Robyn fought, only to discover that Marian knew exactly how to manipulate her weight so that she fell into the pattern of the dance whether she wanted to or not.
“How are you doing that?” Robyn asked, laughing.
“Just trust me. Remember, you’re a fancy lady in a fancy gown.”
“Am I?” Robyn eyed her worn leather jerkin.
“Lady Robyn. You look simply ravishing tonight.” Marian pulled her in tightly. Robyn found herself tumbled in a position she would very much have loved to have had Marian. Perhaps sensing this, Marian smirked.
“Thanks?”
“You’re supposed to simper.”
“I don’t think I even know what that means.”
“‘Oh, Sir Marian, you’re too kind. And so strong.’ Like that.”
“You are strong.”
Marian relaxed her hold on Robyn. “Better.”
The music faded behind them, and with it Marian’s smile. “I have to tell you something,” she said, avoiding Robyn’s eyes. “About my father.”
Robyn didn’t want to talk about the sheriff of Nottingham. Not with Marian in her arms and the summer sky wheeling overhead.
“I couldn’t find the arrow, but I did find something else. My father’s put a price on your head. Ten pounds for you, and five for anyone found in your company.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Marian watched her words blow all the joy of the evening away. Robyn’s jaw tightened, and she stiffened in Marian’s arms. The muscles of her stomach hardened beneath Marian’s hands.
“I’m sorry, Robyn.”
“Ten pounds.”
“He really hates you.” Ten pounds was more than someone like Robyn could hope to make in a year, if not several years. It was also the amount of money in the purse Robyn had won at the archery contest, which didn’t strike Marian as a likely coincidence.
“Then you shouldn’t be here with me. It isn’t safe,” Robyn said.
“My father isn’t going to collect money on my head.” She brushed off Robyn’s concerns. “And he hasn’t announced it yet.”
“That’s why you wanted to get out of the city.”
“I know I should have told you sooner, but . . .” But I didn’t want you to leave.
Robyn raked a hand through her hair and broke free of Marian’s embrace. The warm night air chilled her in the sudden emptiness where Robyn had stood.
“Robyn.” Her voice broke. Robyn’s profile stood out stark against the sky, her straight nose and firm jaw cut from starlight and the high, pale clouds.
“Do you remember Clovis?”
Marian shuddered. Clovis’s death had come as a relief to her. He brought out the worst in her father, and she hadn’t liked the way he looked at her. “I remember him.”
“I was a fletcher once. He caught me poaching. I shot him. That’s why I had to leave Nottingham. I killed Clovis, and Cedric, the boy I told you about, saw me.”
“The one who loved you.”
“Yes.”
“And he didn’t tell anyone?”
“I faked my death before he could.”
“Robyn—”
“My life isn’t one of Alanna’s songs, however clever they are. I’m not a hero. I’m a murderer and an outlaw.”
“And I’m the sheriff’s daughter.”
Robyn smiled faintly, turning back to Marian. “And you’re the sheriff’s daughter.”
“What do we do?”
“You marry a rich nobleman, and I hang.”
“I think I prefer Alanna’s version.”
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Marian.”
“I’m not. And if I recall correctly, I dragged you into most of it. If I hadn’t fallen off my horse, you wouldn’t have had Willa dumped into your lap.”
“She’s growing on me.”
“Robyn.” Marian held out her hand. Robyn took it, but her face was still twisted with pain. “I don’t care that you killed Clovis, and I hate that my father ruined your life, but I am glad I met you.”
Marian saw her words fall into Robyn slowly. Robyn’s hand tightened on hers, and her hazel eyes widened. It made her look suddenly young. Marian lifted Robyn’s hand to her cheek and held her eyes, waiting to see if Robyn planned to stay or go. Stay, she prayed. Stay with me.
“Marian.”
Robyn’s voice sounded raw as she said her name. She thought about everything Robyn had lost—a brother, a home, a life—and she hated the world for taking all of that from her. She hated her father.
“I won’t let you hang,” she said, and Robyn’s lip curled in a crooked smile as she brushed Marian’s mouth with her thumb. The touch was tender; the effect it had on Marian was not. She shivered as reverberations of the caress traveled down her body, weakening her knees and any reserve she might have had left. She turned her
mouth to Robyn’s hand and kissed the skin of her wrist, tasting tree sap.
Robyn watched her with slightly parted lips. Marian could see the flush darkening her tanned skin even in the pale light of the moon. She kissed her wrist again, this time moving toward her palm. Robyn’s breath came faster. She ran her lips over the base of Robyn’s thumb with her eyes still on Robyn’s, intoxicated by the way Robyn’s pupils dilated and the thrall her touch held over them both.
“I like your hands.” She let her lips brush Robyn’s fingers as she spoke.
“I like your mouth.”
The calluses on Robyn’s palms scratched her face and sent another shiver down her spine. She wanted those hands, rough though they were, on her body. The fabric of her gown chafed against her breasts, and she let her lips close over the tips of Robyn’s fingers as her tongue tasted the archer’s calluses. Robyn gasped in response. The sound went through Marian like lightning. She pulled Robyn’s hand away and reached for her face, but Robyn was already there, kissing her, holding her, her mouth hot and willing as Marian wrapped her arms around her neck.
A cool, evening breeze stirred their hair. Robyn’s hands rasped against the smooth fabric of Marian’s dress, and then her hands were on Marian’s bared shoulders, pushing the gown down, her palms warm and rough on her skin. Marian could barely breathe. Desire like this was completely foreign to her, and she gasped for air as Robyn traced the neckline of the dress.
“Take it off,” Marian said. She turned in Robyn’s arms and presented the laces. Robyn tugged at them, her normally deft fingers fumbling as she loosened the bodice enough to let the gown slip off one shoulder. Marian leaned back into her as Robyn kissed her neck and then down the newly bared skin, barely able to stand. Robyn’s mouth left a trail of need as she slid the gown still lower. The hem caught her nipples as it passed over her breasts, and she cried out in surprise at the shock the sensation sent between her legs.
