by Anna Burke
Robyn jerked into consciousness when Willa placed a hand on her wounded leg.
“We need to get you down,” Willa told her.
“John—” Marian felt Robyn look around for the man.
“I’m here,” John said.
Robyn tried to swing her other leg over the cantle and the back of the horse, which was difficult enough for a hale rider. “Wait,” Marian told her, and swung her own leg over the horse’s lowered neck. The water filled her shoes the instant she landed.
Together, she, John, and Willa helped Robyn off the horse. Marian looped her arm around Robyn’s waist and bore the brunt of her weight while Willa repeated the process with the reins. John offered to take Robyn from Marian with a gesture, but Marian shook her head. She could not loosen her hold on Robyn. Not now, and perhaps not ever again.
“We’ll head downstream and then we’ll splint your leg,” John said to Robyn. “Can you manage that?”
“Yes,” Robyn gasped.
Marian half supported, half carried Robyn as they waded through the river. She couldn’t take Robyn into the deepest part of the stream because she didn’t want to get her wound wet, but that meant staying in the muddier shallows. The ground sucked at her thin-soled dancing shoes, and she lost both in a matter of minutes. They hadn’t been much use to her anyway out here, and there was no time to fish them out.
The horses, freed from their riders, trotted off, urged on by Alanna, who slapped their rears and forced them across the stream. With luck they’d lead any pursuit deep into the forest before someone found them. She didn’t have time or strength to pity the animals. Her stolen clothing grew quickly sodden, and the mail shirt weighed her down even further.
“Let me take her for a bit,” said John when he noticed Marian struggling.
“I can walk on my own,” said Robyn.
“And I’m the king of England.” John gripped his friend around the middle. “Just a bit farther, and then we’ll see to your leg. We’ve got to get that bolt out.”
Just a bit farther took them around several bends in the river, until they came to a narrow stretch. The water coursed between two boulders, and the exposed roots of a massive elm offered a shallow cave out of sight from watching eyes. John and Marian lowered Robyn onto the muddy bank.
“I’ll keep watch,” said Alanna.
“Still with us?” John asked.
“I’ve been better. I’m thirsty.”
Willa filled her hip flask from the stream and handed it to Robyn, who emptied it. Marian resisted the urge to quench her own thirst until after Robyn had drained the flask a second time. Only then did she kneel to drink her fill of the sweet, clear liquid, removing her helmet and splashing more water onto her face. When she turned back to Robyn, John had sliced away the cloth around the wound. Robyn lay on her side propped up on her elbow with a gray expression. Marian folded herself down to sit beside her, and Robyn leaned her head against Marian’s ribs.
“Just pull it out,” said Robyn.
“It’s through and through. First I have to cut the fletching.”
“Do it.”
Marian had not had a chance to take a good look at the wound back in the clearing. Now, she saw that the bolt had bit through the large muscle of Robyn’s thigh. The barbed head protruded at an angle from one side, and the bloodstained fletching from the other. John pulled out his knife and examined the bolt. Robyn reached for Marian’s hand.
“This is going to hurt,” said Willa. “If only we had some of Tuck’s mead to give you.”
“You think?” Robyn managed a grimacing smile. “Fuck the lord and all his angels,” she swore as John trimmed the fletching off the crossbow bolt. If even that slight pressure hurt, Marian did not want to think about the next step. Sweat sprang out on Robyn’s forehead, and she turned the color of day-old porridge. Her grip nearly broke Marian’s hand. Willa, too, looked queasy.
Only John kept his composure. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“No,” said Robyn.
John wrapped the point with a bit of cloth, then braced himself and with one steady movement, pulled the shaft out. Robyn stifled a scream by biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed. When John held up the bolt, Robyn slumped her head onto Marian’s lap and lay there, breathing shallowly. Marian brushed the hair back from Robyn’s face. “It’s over,” she told her.
Robyn lifted their clasped hands to her face and pressed her forehead against their interlocking fingers.
“I need to remove the tourniquet, but first I need something to stanch the bleeding. Preferably something clean,” said John.
They all examined their persons. Nothing on Marian’s body had been clean in some time. The soldier’s clothing stank, and her shift was soaked with sweat beneath it. Willa and Alanna were in somewhat better condition. John matched Robyn stain for stain.
“Use my hood,” said Robyn.
“It’s already soaked in blood.”
“Then we’ll use mine,” said Willa.
“Your hair is too easily recognized. Just because the sheriff knows who you are now doesn’t mean the rest of Nottinghamshire needs to know. Besides, leather won’t work as well as cloth.” Alanna pulled her tunic off and handed it to John.
“Thanks.” John folded it into a thick pad, then untied the cord from Robyn’s leg. Robyn groaned in pain. John pressed the pad to the wound and secured it in place. “Now we need something to splint your leg with so you can walk without using that muscle.”
Alanna climbed the roots of the tree and returned a few minutes later with a stout rod.
“Perfect.” John tied the splint to Robyn’s leg with the severed reins. “Let’s move.”
“I’d move faster without this,” Marian said, gesturing at the mail shirt and helm.
“You’d also be more recognizable,” said Alanna. “But the helmet catches sunlight. Give it to me.”
Marian handed over the helm. Alanna dug a hole in the stream, filling the helm with the dislodged mud and pebbles, then plunged the helm into the hole. “No one will find it here.”
“Brilliant.” Willa smiled wearily. “Okay. We can leave the river now, I think. John?”
“No.” Robyn shook her head before John could answer. “A bit farther.”
“It will be harder for you.”
“So will getting shot again.”
No one argued with that logic. Alanna and Willa led the way while John and Marian supported Robyn on either side, through the boulders and onward as the river flowed through Sherwood Forest toward the priory and safety.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Robyn woke to the gray light of morning and the sound of voices arguing. Every part of her body hurt. Squinting against the ache in her head, she opened her eyes.
She didn’t recognize her surroundings at first. The stone walls pressed in on her, somehow different from their home in the cleft, and distant voices sang—a sharp contrast to the voices hissing at each other above her.
“She’s awake,” a familiar voice said at her shoulder. Midge’s face hovered into sight. She looked cleaner than Robyn had seen her in a while, and her curly hair fell loosely around her shoulders. Robyn herself had been bathed and cosseted in clean bed linens.
“Robyn.” Gwyneth leaned into her field of vision with concern twisting her face.
“Gwyn? Where am I?”
“You’re at the priory of course. Don’t move,” she added as Robyn tried to sit up.
“I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are,” said John.
Robyn’s head whipped around to locate him, and she ignored the pain it caused her. “Did everyone make it?” she managed to ask.
“We all did.”
Something about his words mattered. She looked back at Gwyneth, then around the room, counting Midge, Will, Alanna, Tom, and Lisbet. “Where’s Marian?”
“With Tuck,” said Will. “And the lady Emmeline.”
“And she’s . . .”
“Fine. We
’re all fine, which is a miracle, considering.”
“Did they track us here?” Robyn’s head felt clearer by the minute. Gwyneth held a cup of water to her lips, and she drank gratefully.
“Not yet,” said John. “And we’ll be out of here soon enough. Tuck thinks you’ll be able to move by this afternoon, although she doesn’t recommend it.”
“You should stay here in case the wound festers,” said Gwyneth with a glare at John.
“And put you and the baby in danger?” Robyn raised a hand to Gwyneth’s cheek. “You know I can’t.”
Gwyneth frowned but didn’t argue.
“I’ll go let them know you’re awake,” said Alanna.
Dread and hope filled Robyn’s chest. With everything that had gone wrong, Marian couldn’t possibly want to stay, despite what she’d said to her father, but it was enough that she was alive and unhurt.
“What happened? The last thing I remember is the river.”
“You passed out just after we got out. Marian and I carried you most of the way here,” said John. “You could stand to lose a few pounds.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that next time we get a deer,” Robyn said. “And thank you.”
“Good morning,” Tuck said in her resonant voice as she entered the room. “Glad to see you’re still among the living.”
Robyn nodded, but her eyes passed over the nun and the blond woman beside her to land on Marian. She had a vague memory of Marian in mail, but now she wore a simple tunic and leggings, and her hair hung in a single braid over her shoulder instead of bound in ribbons. Despite the exhaustion evident in the dark circles beneath her brown eyes, Robyn hadn’t ever seen anything so beautiful.
Marian met her eyes with a look full of anguish, longing, and hope. She didn’t blame Marian for the former; at least Robyn knew her family had loved her before she’d lost them. The latter two emotions, though—could she trust them? Robyn had failed to save her from Siward, and while they had escaped the sheriff, surely her ordeal had made her reconsider a life of outlawry. “Marian,” she said.
Emmeline placed a hand on Marian’s shoulder, and Robyn saw Marian lean into the support. “Would you have killed him?” she asked.
“When I thought he’d killed you? Yes.” Robyn pushed herself into a sitting position, shaking off Gwyneth’s attempts to keep her lying down. “But I missed.”
Marian folded her arms over her chest.
“I watched the sheriff set dogs on the caves when you could have still been in there.”
“I was in there.”
Robyn flinched. She’d been right, then, to fear for Marian’s life. She wanted to ask how Marian had escaped, but it was not the time. First, she had something she needed to say.
“For months, I’ve dreamed of killing your father, Marian. I thought he took everything from me: my brother, my home, and Gwyneth’s happiness and safety. And he did take those things. But he also gave me you.”
Marian’s expression melted fractionally.
“And the sheriff didn’t pledge Willa in marriage to a man who might have killed her, one way or another. The sheriff is not the only reason John is here, nor Lisbet, nor is he why Alanna left the comfort of Harcourt. The sheriff did not levy the tax. I’ve hated him for so long that it blinded me. When he cornered John and me today, I could have killed him. If I had, though, it would have condemned John, and it also might have condemned you, Marian. I thought he might at least let me lead him to the cave exit so that he could call off the dogs and buy you time. Do you see?
“Killing the sheriff won’t change everything. They’ll just replace him with another man, and for all we know his replacement could be worse. Alanna is right.” All eyes swiveled to the minstrel. “There is more we can do. We can help people. Not just our families, but everyone the sheriff and the crown like to grind under their boots. Even you, m’lady.” Emmeline nodded her head in recognition. “We can flush venison and boar into your holdings, and perhaps we can even take back some of the seed grain taken from you for the ransom tax.” As Robyn spoke, her voice and her conviction grew stronger.
“The sheriff killed my brother for trying to feed his family. I killed a man because Michael’s death left us hungrier than ever, and as a result I had to abandon Gwyneth. Michael would have wanted me to help her, not take revenge for him. If we can prevent other people from having to make the choices he and I were forced to make, isn’t that a better way of remembering him?” She turned to Gwyneth. Her sister-in-law’s eyes were dry, but the look she gave Robyn shone with love. She held that gaze, knowing both of them were remembering her brother’s laughter and his warm, strong arms.
“We might die trying. You all know that. Most of us were dead anyway. I’d rather die here in Sherwood, or if I have to hang, then at least I’ll hang knowing I did something to stick it up their asses, with the people who matter most to me beside me.”
Tuck’s laugh rumbled. “Love thy neighbor, sayeth the Lord.”
“But I think we stand as good a chance as anyone. Better, even. I intend to make it to next spring.”
“You can winter in Harcourt,” Emmeline offered without pause. “We’re snowed in more often than not anyway, and the roads are too wet and muddy for much travel. No one will be dropping in unexpectedly, and my people are loyal.”
“Thank you.” Robyn didn’t protest. They needed help if they were going to do this, and that meant accepting that others understood the risk and were willing to share it.
“We can fortify the caves in the spring,” said John. “There’s plenty of room there to house anyone who might need our help, and perhaps we can arrange for more peaceable relations with the neighbors: hides and meat for grain, instead of raiding them as Siward did. The cleft will serve as an alternate camp.”
“Yes. But the first thing we’re going to do once I can walk is figure out how to take out the tax caravans. Tuck,” she said, meeting the nun’s eyes, “do you know how we might smuggle goods back to their rightful owners?”
“As long as it’s small enough to fit in a cask, I think we can find a way. I must ask, however, if you’ve thought this through. To right one wrong with another is a slope you may find it hard to climb back up.”
“I know.” Robyn considered her next words carefully. “And I wish there was another way. Perhaps we’ll find one someday. I do not wish us to become like Siward, nor do I wish us to meet the sheriff with his own weapons. It would please him to paint us as lawless brigands.”
“Might he have a point?” said Tuck.
“We need to make our own justice. If we steal, we give something back. If we must take a life, we find a way to grant life elsewhere. More than that, I want us to believe that there is a place here for all of us to exist as we are, instead of how others wish us to be. It won’t be easy. We’ll provide coin and safe passage to those who want to start over elsewhere. If any of you wish to leave, I—”
“Oh, shut up,” said Midge and John in unison.
Robyn couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at their looks of disgust.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while,” said John as he shook his head.
“We all have,” said Midge.
“What are you talking about?”
“For you to realize what you’re capable of.” Midge clapped her on the shoulder. “Alanna’s right about you.”
Robyn’s face heated with embarrassment. “Come off it.”
Midge broke into a rousing chorus of “The Ballad of Robyn Hood,” which intensified Robyn’s discomfort. She couldn’t look at Marian, though she felt her eyes.
“That’s it. That’s all I had to say,” she said when Midge subsided. “If we’re all in agreement.”
“That’s not it.”
They all turned to look at Marian. Robyn couldn’t read her expression, and her heart stilled. Marian was about to tell her she was leaving. She steeled herself, trying to convince herself it was for the best.
&nb
sp; “Tuck,” Marian said, breaking eye contact with Robyn to face the nun. “Can you marry me and Robyn?”
Robyn expected a wave of shock or outrage from the nun and Emmeline, and perhaps from some of her friends. Instead, Tuck considered first Marian, then Robyn. “It’s not necessarily within the scope of my authority,” she said. “And there is the matter of the law. But as long as that doesn’t bother you, I don’t see why I can’t.”
Robyn hardly heard her. She pushed herself to her feet, wobbling unsteadily on her bad leg while her head spun with dizziness and disbelief. John helped her up by the elbow as Marian turned back to Robyn with defiance radiating from her blazing eyes, as if daring her to try to turn her away.
“Are you sure?” Robyn asked. Or at least, that’s what she meant to ask. Instead, the only word that left her lips was Marian’s name.
Marian closed the distance between them before she could add anything else. “I’m staying,” she said, and then she kissed Robyn with an intensity that drove the pain from her body and left only sweet, aching love.
Chapter Fifty
Tuck ushered them into the church an hour later. Marian still wore her new clothes, which had been left by a previous guest of the priory, and Robyn walked with the support of John’s quarterstaff, dressed in the clothes Gwyneth had cleaned and patched and dried over the fire the night before. None of that mattered. Marian thought with amusement of the elaborate ceremony her father had planned. In truth, she’d married Robyn that night on the hill. This was just a formality, and—if she was honest with herself as she looked at Robyn’s scratched and bruised face—a way of ensuring Robyn didn’t try to send her back out of misguided concerns about her safety. Robyn raised an eyebrow at her as if she guessed her thoughts and held out her hand. Marian laced her fingers through hers as they stood before Tuck at the altar.
Lady Emmeline and Gwyneth carried flowers picked from the priory garden. Gwyneth had woven hers into a crown for her son, who looked up at his mother with round eyes. The rest of the bedraggled company stood around them. Marian moved closer to Robyn.
