“You have agreed to marry this man, Lady Marian?”
Inch by inch, she ratcheted the corners of her mouth up into what she fervently hoped was a smile. “I…have.”
Not one iota of intensity leached from the sheriff’s eyes. “Strange. It seems it was only yesterday that you were quite averse to the very idea of marriage.”
“Only to that miserable sack of flesh you called a cousin,” Marian answered sweetly, a real smile sliding effortlessly over her mouth.
The sheriff dipped his head in acknowledgment of the insult, but the bulk of his attention seemed reserved for Robin and his disguise. Slowly, he reached behind his desk and opened a drawer. Something heavy and metal grated against the bottom of the wood and he withdrew a small dark metallic sphere. Marian fought the urge to lean back as she recognized it as an iron bearing. The sheriff offered it to Robin.
“If you would be so kind as to hold this for a moment?”
Robin arched an eyebrow. “You wish me to hold ammunition?”
“Please.”
Marian’s pulse picked up speed, blood racing through her veins. Robin was fey. If he touched that iron, his glamour would shatter. And she was starting to suspect that the sheriff somehow knew that.
Cursing the people of Scythia and their willingness to believe in the supernatural much more easily than the sensible people of the five grand kingdoms, Marian readied herself to make a run for it.
“I didn’t do it! You can’t prove I did it! Let go of me!”
As one, Marian, Robin, and the sheriff swiveled to face the shrieks of protest piercing the air of the courthouse. The unholy noise was coming from a man clapped in irons being dragged between two bulky guards. His hair was disheveled, his clothing torn, but it was obvious that he was—or had been—a noble. What remained of his clothing was silk and fine satin, the fabrics a deep blue and pale sea green. A finely crafted leather band hung from a lock of his hair, holding onto the ends in a knotted mess and swinging crazily from side to side as the man struggled.
“Do you know who I am?” he screamed.
The sheriff dropped the iron ball to his desk, glaring at the guards fighting to subdue the loud-mouthed criminal. “What are you doing? Take him to the jail! Let him rot there until he can keep a civil manner in a court of l—”
A flurry of movement erupted between the guards and their prisoner, the noble’s hands snatching something from the guard’s side. An all too familiar sound, something flickering through the air mere inches in front of Marian’s face…
And then an arrow buried itself in the sheriff’s chest.
Sheriff Tyre stumbled back, staring dumbly down at the feathered wood protruding from his body, the wet, red stain spreading over his clothes, soaking the silver thread even as the black material tried to hide the evidence of the grisly accident. His mouth moved and he fell back into his chair, hands rising to grip the projectile.
Marian stared, lips parted, her hands reaching for a bow and arrow that still weren’t there. A hand closed around her arm and suddenly she was being dragged, forced to run. Robin was pulling her, bolting out the doorway, straight past the stunned guards and the still screaming, but now disarmed, prisoner.
Heart pounding, Marian fumbled with untying the horse’s reins from the post. The leather strands mocked her, seeming to tighten more every time she plucked at the knot that had seemed so simple when she’d first tied it. Long, slender fingers slid in front of her, expertly maneuvering the knots until the reins fell into her shaking hands. A green-eyed wink and then Robin was on his own mount. She pursed her lips, biting back the urge to snarl at him, to curse him for the mess he’d made of things, the chaos he’d caused, the attention he’d drawn to her.
Arguing with him now will only draw more attention. Get out of here, then kill him.
Chapter Nine
“You’re thinking about killing me, aren’t you?” Robin kept his voice casual, but it wasn’t easy. The red-headed huntress had slowed her mount to put herself behind him, and her stare was boring a hole between his shoulder blades. At this point, he thought her position might be a coincidence. The chaos surrounding their exit from the courthouse had distracted her, and perhaps her mount was taking advantage of that distraction to take up a more leisurely pace. And he was reasonably certain she wasn’t the sort of person to murder a man she was honor-bound to repay a loan to.
Reasonably certain.
He tugged surreptitiously on the reins, slowing his horse until he once again rode abreast with Marian. Some of the tension bled from his shoulders when he saw she held no weapon…and then he saw her face.
“You look upset.”
“Do I?”
A shiver ran down Robin’s spine. Her voice was a rasp, the sound of a sharpened blade over a whetstone. Her face was a storm cloud, green eyes sparking like fire seen through the multifaceted face of twin emeralds. Her hand closed around the handle of her bow, though the weapon remained tethered to her saddle. For now.
“A bit.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what’s put that sour look on your lovely face?”
“You dare to ask me that?”
“What?” Robin drummed his fingers on his thigh as he turned over the events of the afternoon in his mind. Paid the eric, fooled the sheriff, got away. “I thought our mission was accomplished rather well.”
The grip around her bow tightened, the weapon rising an inch. “You stupid arse. I could have talked my way out of that, assuaged his suspicions, paid the fine and been on my way. But no, you had to step in, had to hand him that ridiculous story about an engagement.”
“Why was that such a ridiculous story? I wove a very fetching glamour for that visit, and I made it clear I was very wealthy. Nobles break engagements all the time, no one will blink an eye when you never marry.”
“Didn’t you see the look on his face? He knew who you were—what you were,” she snarled.
Robin chuckled and waved a hand to brush away her concern. “He always thinks he knows it’s me, but he has no proof.” Happy memories of past encounters with the sheriff danced through his mind. The man was so very serious, so very intense. Tangling with him was always a good time.
“Always thinks…” Marian’s lips moved for a while longer before any more sound came out. “You’ve had other run ins with him?”
“Oh, my, yes. The sheriff has a rather unhealthy obsession with me and my band.”
“You and your… Oh, Goddess, how could I have been so foolish? Of course the sheriff knows you, you make such a spectacle of yourself! Prancing around the forest stealing from anyone who passes by the wrong tree. I—”
Anger flared inside him, warm and sudden. “I do not steal from just anyone. I steal only from those who can afford it, and I give it to those who need it. How quickly you’ve forgotten.”
He said the last bit with a deliberate sneer, just a touch of threat. Marian stiffened.
“Your loan will do me no good if I am locked away anyway for being associated with a thief.”
Robin jerked at the reins, dragging the horse to a stop and earning an indignant snort from his mount. “If my money is of no worth to you, then you are most welcome to give it back.”
A red flush washed up her neck to color her face. It would have been a very becoming look for her if he wasn’t fighting the urge to knock the sanctimonious wench off her horse.
She twisted around in her saddle and stuck her chin out. “I said I would pay you back. Unless you are changing the terms of our agreement and taking away the year you promised me?”
“I will not take away the year.” He urged his horse closer to her, invading her space until her own mount shifted back an uneasy step. “But I did not say how that year would be spent, or how you would pay me back. The fact that you made assumptions that I meant after one year’s passing you would owe me four hundred pounds of gold is your error, not mine.”
He urged his horse forward again and the da
pple grey beast threw its head back, trying to resist even as it shuffled another step forward. The bay grunted and fell back two ungraceful paces, bouncing Marian in her saddle. “Perhaps what I want is information. Perhaps I want to know why you smell of rosemary and nothing else? Why you hide yourself away? What the circumstances were that led your foster parents to discover a babe in the woods?”
It was a sadistic pleasure that overtook him as he watched the blood that had so recently filled Marian’s cheeks drain away with twice the speed. She stared at him with the pale countenance of a ghost now, real fear in her eyes. Robin’s pulse sped up. He was close to something, something real. He could feel it.
“What is your secret, Marian?” He softened his voice, but didn’t move back, didn’t give up the ground he’d taken. “Why is such a fierce huntress so quick to fear?”
“Why won’t you go away?” she whispered. “What have I done to deserve you?”
Frustration ate at the edges of his patience and he held onto his horse’s mane as he leaned forward again. “I am not a plague, Marian. I would be a boon to you, a friend even, if you would let me.”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to be your anything. I just want to be left alone.”
“Answer my questions,” he pressed, “and I will consider it.”
She looked away from him then, and for a moment he thought she’d run. Her calves tensed as if preparing to spur her horse into action, to flee his interrogation, consequences be damned. Then her spine straightened and she met his eyes.
“I smell like rosemary because I like rosemary. I hide myself away because I do not enjoy the company of others, and being alone is easier than resisting the urge to shoot people who annoy me with their persistent presence.” She flicked at a nonexistent speck of dirt on her skirt. “As for the circumstances under which my parents found me, you would have to ask them, as I was just a wee babe at the time and have no memory of that night.”
Robin growled and pounded a fist on his thigh, startling his horse into taking a quick side-step. “You know what I am, know that I am no human to be frightened away no matter what you are. Why do you insist on playing this game?”
She mangled the reins in her hands, palms growing red from the friction. “Just because you traipse about the woods, taking what doesn’t belong to you so you can paint yourself as some glorious benefactor to those in need, does not mean everyone yearns for such attention. Some of us want only to be allowed to live in peace—and solitude.”
“I do not rob from the rich and give to the poor for the attention.”
“No, you do it to avoid boredom. And if you think that motivation makes you any less immature, then you’re even more of a child than I thought.”
The thin thread of Robin’s patience snapped. For months he’d watched this woman, and never once had she given him any real information to go on, a real clue to her nature. Now even after having spoken with her, interacted with her—kissed her—he was still no closer to learning her secret. Added to her refusal to confide in him was her insistence on insulting and belittling him every chance she got—demonstrating a complete and total lack of gratitude for what he’d done for her.
No more.
His power rose like a cloud of hornets inside him, buzzing against his skin, full of dangerous promise. He flicked a finger at the ground in front of Marian’s horse, relishing the snap of power as the energy inside him lashed out. The air shimmered, darkened, and a sudden hiss filled the air.
A long serpent coiled before the horse, scales of olive green and dull black catching the rays of the sun in a muted shine. Its beady eyes locked on the equine beast, mouth open to reveal fangs glistening with a sickly yellow sheen of poison. It writhed as it rose into the air, muscles tensing in preparation for a strike.
The bay reared up in terror, eyes rolling back as it screamed. Marian sucked in a breath but had no time to shout before she tumbled off the back of the horse. She landed hard on the ground with a great whoosh of air as the breath was forcefully expelled from her lungs. The horse danced on its hind legs, hooves slashing at the air, back quarters barely missing trampling Marian’s prone form.
Robin studied her eyes, watched the flicker of panic as her body refused to move, her lungs still fighting to draw in the breath to shout. Another flick of his hand and the serpent vanished, the glamour melting into nonexistence with no more than a thought.
The bay fell back to all fours, but shuffled nervously, wild eyes still showing too much white as they scanned the ground for the creature that had frightened it. Robin had been careful to keep his own mount facing away from his little impromptu glamour to avoid sharing Marian’s unseated fate. The beast was perfectly docile as he dismounted and stood over Marian.
“My fair lady, the time has come for us to make clear a few things. I do not wish to be misunderstood. You are correct, my exploits are largely inspired by my need to avoid boredom. I have lived for a long time, and I shall live a long time to come. It is easy to grow bored, and boredom for one of my kind can have…disastrous consequences. For everyone. You must believe me when I say, you wouldn’t like me when I’m bored.”
Marian glared at him, the rise and fall of her chest regaining its rhythm, the color returning to her cheeks. She lurched to her elbows, twisting her body to rise with the determination of someone bent on a fight. Robin put a foot on her chest and with one firm thrust, pinned her to the ground. What little air she’d regained left her again, and panic chased back her anger as her body once again found itself with no breath.
“But regardless of my motivation,” Robin continued mildly, “the fact remains that I serve more of a purpose to this community than you do. Because of me, parents who usually go without food so that their children can eat have enough to fill their own bellies as well. Men who would go to prison for no other reason than they are too poor to pay the latest tax can remain at home with their loved ones.”
He leaned down, staring into Marian’s eyes, waiting until she looked at him, gave him the full attention he demanded. “Women who are forced into unpleasant situations can escape with their honor.” He straightened, but kept his foot on her chest, holding her to the dirt. “What are you but another noblewoman concerned only with herself, with her own needs? You spend all your time hiding from Ermentrude, making excuses for why you’re not working your own land.”
A flash of insight struck him suddenly, snatches of conversation returning to him, merging with what he’d witnessed to paint a new picture. “At least I know who I am, am comfortable with who I am. I’m not trying to live up to some standard set by my foster parents, some image I’m not suited to.”
There. Pain blossomed on Marian’s face, her delicate features twisting, green eyes glistening with the threat of tears. Oh, Marian. Was it your foster parents? Are they the ones who made you run from what you are?
“It’s not very common for rich couples to work their own land, and yet your foster parents did, didn’t they? And they expected you to do it as well. That’s why Ermentrude is always after you to take an interest in the gardening and the farming, why you always look so guilty for avoiding her. You must have thought all that would be over when they died, but even now you can’t escape the life they wanted for you. Tell me, when your foster parents were alive, did they force you to work the fields? Was their love for you conti—”
Marian’s fingers closed around his foot still pressed against her chest. He tensed, tried to shift his weight to get the balance he needed to pull free, but she didn’t give him time. She twisted, hard. Pain exploded in his ankle as bones broke, muscles tore. He screamed and toppled to the side, landing on his shoulder with a thud that jarred his entire body, every nerve spasming with a sudden burst of pain. Marian rolled sharply in the opposite direction, regaining her feet in one smooth movement.
He watched her through slitted eyes, trying to breathe through the agony eating its way up his leg from the mess she
’d made of his ankle. There was nothing logical in her expression now, no sanity, nothing to reason with. She was lost to fury, her hand closing around her bow with the unwavering finality of a huntress, a predator—a murderess. She nocked an arrow and brought the weapon around, the glinting tip trained on his heart.
Power flowed through Robin’s veins, sped along by the pain pouring adrenaline into his blood. A thousand memories flooded him, sensory details exploding in his consciousness, every one as fresh as the first time he’d experienced it. This was the key to his power, his glamour, the thing that no one understood. He didn’t remember standing in Marian’s bedroom, he was there. He could see the mantle, the urns paired with faded pictures of a man and woman. He was in the foyer, waiting where the butler had ordered him to stand, studying the painting over the fireplace that depicted the same man and woman. Scents tickled his nose, grass and hay, overwhelming rosemary, musty fabric. Sounds were next, washing over him in a torrential downpour.
Remembered dialogue.
He gathered those details, breathed them into the power burgeoning inside him. Colors swirled in the air between him and Marian, formed humanoid figures, leapt to life. A man and woman stood beside them now. The woman had red hair with a few muted strands of grey pulled into a bun at the back of her head. She wore a plain brown dress and an orange and brown plaid shawl over her thin shoulders. The man wore faded blue pants and a matching shirt with an olive green and black plaid cape tied at the neck and hung over his left shoulder. Both of them smelled of fresh cut grain and had dirt embedded deep under their fingernails. Their faces creased in a combination of disapproval and concern that only a parent could manage.
“Marian, what are you doing?” The man held a shovel in his grip, the metal end digging into the ground as he leaned on it, tilting forward in Marian’s direction. His tone was stern, with a faint note of warning.
Marian jerked like she’d been burned, staring in dismay at the couple. For a moment, she looked like the child she must have once been, ashamed at having been caught in unladylike pursuits. The bow and arrow dipped as though she would hide the weapon behind her back, her lips moving with the ghost of an excuse. Then her jaw tightened and she steadied herself to once again aim at his chest.
The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) Page 10
