“More or less,” Jemma hedged, glancing over at Lia. “Still don’t completely trust him.”
“You didn’t completely trust Lia when we first arrived in Nottingham, but look at the pair of you now.” Robin grinned. “Thick as thieves, you two are.”
Jemma chuckled. Lia dropped her head to her hands with a groan, muttering, “She who would pun would pick a pocket.”
“Considering the lot of us are outlaws and pickpockets, anyway, what have we to lose?”
“She has a point,” Jemma said as she prodded Robin in the side to get her moving. The very earliest of risers were beginning to wander through the marketplace, mostly those who were coming to set up their stalls for the day, but the less people who saw them hanging about, the better. “We are what we are, and we can’t change it now.”
“No, we can’t.” Robin linked her arm through Jemma’s as they made their way through the side streets and alleys, keeping to the shadows when possible. “But we can damn sure use it.”
“Amen to that,” Lia said, even as she wandered away from them to double back a few times on the way to the room she rented in order to keep her stall wares, in case anyone had thought to follow them.
***
Robin sat cross-legged in a patch of sunshine with her back against the side of Tuck’s cottage, an apple in one hand and her knife in the other. A short distance away, Will lay on his back as his horse nosed affectionately around his neck and head. His tied wrists and forearms rested on his belly even as he twisted away from the snuffling animal, smiling widely.
She balanced her knife on her knee and unconsciously reached to touch the chain around her neck. Marcus’s locket sat heavily on her breast between her collarbones.
***
“They have to eat, Jem,” Robin said hotly, though she kept her voice soft. “Ginny’s starting to look like nothing but skin and bone.”
“We’ll get by.” Jemma wrapped both her hands around Robin’s where the other girl gripped the locket with white knuckles. “We’ll find a way; don’t you worry. Much is doing well at the bakery, and Maggie thought she might have found some odd jobs to do at one of the higher-born houses.”
She still wasn’t convinced, and though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she’d sell the locket if she had to. For Jemma and the others, she’d sell the last bit of Marcus she had in order to keep them alive.
“Not like this, Robin,” Jemma whispered as a lonely tear tracked down Robin’s pale cheek. “Not now. Not like this.”
“He’d agree with it,” Robin protested. They both ignored the waver in her voice. “He’d—he’d know it was the right thing to do.”
“He would, but he wouldn’t like it.” Jemma let go with one hand to wipe the other girl’s tears away with her thumb. “It was a gift out of love, and it should be used for the same kind of love. I think he’d want that most of all.”
Jemma was right. She was always right in situations such as this, and while it tore at Robin, she was also grateful beyond words.
***
She snapped out of her reverie in time to slap Tuck’s hand away from her apple as the friar sat down beside her.
“Thought I’d caught you napping,” he said, stretching his legs out in front of him.
“Never.” She dropped her hand from her neck and picked up the knife again. “You don’t grow up with Jemma and not learn to sleep with at least one eye open, sometimes two.”
Tuck chuckled. “I’ve no doubt she’d say the same about living with you.”
“That she would.” Robin cut a slice of apple, meticulously looking at neither Tuck nor Will. “She had good reason to.”
“A hell-raiser, were you?” He leaned back and rested his hands on his belly, twiddling his thumbs.
She swallowed heavily, the apple tasting of ash. “You could say that. She… I was horrible at being a lady.”
“That boy is going to get his ear taken off by that damn horse,” Tuck said, sounding highly amused.
Robin had no choice but to look up, a slice of fruit hanging between her lip and the knife in a rather undignified manner. Will had curled into a ball as best he could, the sounds of smothered laughter echoing from where his chin was tucked into his chest as the horse continued to wuffle about and nudge him.
“A lady or a lady?”
Her stomach churned. She speared the apple and offered it to Tuck.
“Thank ye kindly, Robin. I was feeling a little peckish.”
She snorted. “My father expected a son, and my mother wanted someone I wasn’t. He taught me to shoot; she taught me needlepoint. I was covered in dirt and mud more than gowns and silk. I was the daughter she neither wanted nor deserved, Tuck.”
“But you were the daughter she had, weren’t you?” He crunched loudly on the apple. “And she fought for you at her last, didn’t she?”
Robin looked at him sharply.
“Kitty had a little too much honey mead,” he said with a wink. “And I am a man of God. Who else can you trust but one of those?”
“God Himself, probably, but if I’m going to talk to Him, then something’s gone horribly wrong.” She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Jemma put up with a lot over the years because of me. Misdirecting my mother’s servants when they were looking for me, helping me hide when I didn’t want to be found or wasn’t where I should have been. It was all very dangerous for her.”
“Dangerous for you, too, if I’m not mistaken.” Tuck tossed the apple core away. “You were going to kill Gisborne.”
“He killed the only man I’ve ever loved,” Robin said simply, resting her chin on one of her kneecaps. She watched Will get to his knees, and then use the horse for help in getting to his feet. He was lean and sinewy, strong in ways Marcus hadn’t been.
Strong in ways she still wasn’t.
“Eye for eye, tooth for tooth.” He shrugged. “God has a great many things to say on revenge. But a great many more on redemption.” He looked across his yard and called out, “Oy! William! Come sit with us.”
Will turned sharply on his heel at the mention of his name, and, after a moment’s hesitation, wandered over. He settled on Tuck’s other side, well away from Robin, who barely looked at him.
“As I said, the Lord has a great deal more to say about redemption and repenting than He does about the merits of revenge.” He resumed twiddling his thumbs. “Consider this a confessional, of sorts. One for weary outlaws.”
Robin felt the laugh bubble up within her, but stifled all but a small giggle. She steadfastly refused to look at either man beside her when she said, “I’m an outlaw wanted for a murder I didn’t commit. I swear, my mouth to God’s ear, I’ve never killed anyone.”
Tuck’s expression remained curiously neutral. Will leaned forward and openly stared, stuttering, “But, I thought—that night in Lockesly?”
“Oh, I wanted to,” she said, the flickering flames of Lockesly manor vivid in her mind’s eye. “I went to the inn he had been staying at to murder him in his bed, but he’d already gone to Lockesly for me. I thought I’d slit his throat in the yard, and yet there he was at the archery contest, hale and hearty.” She looked at him straight on and asked, “How the hell do you know about Lockesly?”
Will’s eyebrows rose. “Kitty had a little too much honey mead the one night…”
Between them, Tuck chortled.
She turned her knife-sharp look on Tuck, who put his hands up and said, “I only tend the bees and make the mead. I’m not responsible for who drinks it and what they say after they do.”
Robin cupped her hands over her face and muttered, “Damn honey mead.” She picked her head up. “What else has she said?”
Tuck pursed his lips together, as though to keep from laughing aloud. Will, on the other hand, while looking anywhere but at Robin’s face, tentatively said, “She mentioned something about you seducing one of the Sheriff’s men, and then letting him run head-first into a bar.”
&nbs
p; The friar let out a loud guffaw.
“Everyone has secrets,” Will assured her. “Yours are just… not so secret.”
Whatever scathing reply was on the tip of Robin’s tongue was stifled by the appearance of a flour-covered Much with her sleeves pushed up to her elbows.
“Can I borrow Will? He asked me about yeasts and different breads yesterday, and I’ve got some dough made I want to show him.” Any of the other girls would have been fidgeting, but Much was more unflappable than all of them put together.
“Of course,” he said as he rose awkwardly to his feet. “Lead on.”
Robin watched the two of them go. She sighed.
“The lad deserves a chance.”
“I’m still not convinced he’s not a fox in the hen house,” she said.
“If he was the Sheriff’s man, don’t you think he’d be a little more hasty to get back to Nottingham proper?” Tuck heaved himself upright off the ground. “There’s more in town who would have trusted him quicker than your tinker, if given the choice. See you at supper.”
She let her head thunk back against the wall of the cottage, no more sure about Will and his place with them than she had been when he’d first told her he was looking for them specifically.
“Maggie’s got an admirer,” Kitty blurted later that night as they sat around the fire. Graham and Ginny were sound asleep in Tuck’s cottage, and the rest of them formed a loose circle—including a bond-less Will.
Jemma hadn’t let Robin have her bow strung and at the ready for something as simple and traditional as their nightly fire, and Robin ran her fingers over the string coiled on her wrist as a way to lessen the tightness in her chest.
“Is he plying for your affections in ribbons?” Jemma teased, briefly nudging her shoulder into Robin’s.
Kitty snorted inelegantly. “No. But he’s made her this—this thing.” She pulled something from the folds of her dress—she was, like Jemma, quite good at hiding things on her person—and held it up. Robin squinted to see what it was. Most of the others, who’d been falling asleep where they sat, perked up as well.
Alan sat ramrod straight, as though someone had shoved a stick up the back of his shirt.
“It’s a flute,” Maggie said as she reached for it, only to have Kitty move it out of her grasp. “Makes music. It’s nothing. Just—it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Can you play it?” Much asked.
Robin kept one eye on Kitty, Maggie, and the flute, while stealing glances at Alan.
Kitty passed it to Maggie with a shrug. Maggie put it to her lips and blew hard, one long, screechy note that echoed through the trees.
Alan was up like a shot and headed for Tuck’s cottage before anyone else but Robin knew he’d been uncomfortable.
“Stay. I’ll get him.” Tuck motioned for everyone to stay seated as he stood and followed in Alan’s footsteps.
“I didn’t mean to make him angry,” Maggie said quietly. “It’s—it’s only a stupid flute.”
“I don’t think so.” Robin spoke slowly and looked pointedly at Lia. “You’re not surprised that happened.”
The tinker shrugged. “I’ve known him longer than you lot.”
“Will you tell us?” Will kept his voice low, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.
“Not my story to tell, even if I happen to know it.” Lia leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest.
Robin twitched at the sound of footsteps, though she knew it was only Alan and Tuck. They resumed their seats. Alan made a few motions with his hands, the signs almost too quick for Robin’s fledgling knowledge to pick up and interpret.
“Go ahead and tell it, tinker,” Tuck said, eyes flickering between Lia and Alan. “He’s said you can.”
Lia smiled, though it was small and humorless. “Our lovely Alan was born Elena. She had the voice of an angel, and she had a sister.”
Jemma leaned into Robin’s shoulder with a shiver.
“They traveled together when they got old enough, just the pair of them. Ana played the flute, while Elena sang, and they both danced merrily and wonderfully. One day they came to an inn, and in the taproom, they started their dancing, singing, and flute playing.”
Robin watched Alan lean forward and stare into the depths of the fire as though it held the answers to life itself. The others were all frozen, listening intently to Lia.
“But there was one among the crowd who wished to have these beautiful women for his own. He approached them, but he was turned away. They weren’t out for husbands. They were out simply to make music and dance, and to have a lively time making coin enough for them to keep traveling.” Lia paused, glanced at Robin, and added, “A man who’s been spurned by a woman is a dangerous one, indeed.
“He convinced the villagers they were witches. For how could they not be? Their music and dancing ensnared all the men who witnessed it. And so he appealed to the villagers, and they decided to hang the witches.”
Alan untied the scarf that was always around his neck. There, barely able to be made out by those across the fire, was a scar across his throat and up near his ear. It reminded Robin of Gisborne’s scar, and she flinched hard enough to nearly dislodge Jemma.
“Ana’s neck snapped immediately, and she was dead within seconds,” Lia continued. “Elena’s rope wasn’t tight enough. She survived the noose, though they left her there, thinking she’d die eventually. A kind, wandering friar came along and cut her down.”
“Got you back to health, too,” Tuck muttered.
“There was much swelling, and it was difficult for Elena to breathe. But the swelling went down, and life carried on without Elena’s voice there to carry, too. They stuck together after that, and then came here to Nottingham. No one has looked twice at Alan.”
“It’s easier to go about as a man,” Robin said slowly. “They’re not questioned. They’re accepted. So Elena became Alan.”
Alan snapped his fingers and went slowly through some motions. He then pointed to Lia and nodded.
“I am both. I am both Elena and Alan.”
An odd, heady silence descended, and Robin had to remember to breathe normally as she felt as though she were waiting for something.
Kitty promptly burst into huge, shoulder-shaking sobs. Maggie startled so bad she fell backward.
Alan recovered first out of all of them, motioning for Will and Jemma to stay seated. He walked round the fire, knelt next to the log Kitty sat on, and took her hands in his own.
“I’m—I’m sorry!” she hiccupped. “I—we didn’t—that’s awful.”
He nudged her gently with his shoulder. She moved enough to let him sit next to her, going willingly against his chest when he put his arms around her. Robin leaned forward and watched intently as Alan’s hands moved slow and sure.
“You want to try?” Lia asked Robin quietly.
“It—it is awful.” The corners of Robin’s mouth twitched when Alan caught her eye and nodded. “But it’s in the past. It’s there, and can’t—can’t hurt me where I am now.”
“But your sister…” Maggie trailed off as she struggled to right herself.
Alan made more motions.
“She is with me always,” Robin translated. “I carry her in my… heart?”
“Soul,” Lia corrected softly. “That motion is soul.”
Jemma freed her hands from where she had them tucked under her thighs for warmth, cupped them one in the other, and brought it toward her. “That’s heart, isn’t it?”
Rocking Kitty back and forth with a gentle motion, Alan hummed, approval written on his features. Kitty sucked in ragged gulps of air, though she was much calmer.
“Yes.” Lia made that motion, followed by the one Robin had stumbled on. “The first is heart, and the second is soul.”
“Ana lives in your heart, too, no doubt,” Tuck said sagely.
“My father always…” Will stuttered to a halt as everyone turned as one to look at him. He cleared his thro
at, visibly gathered himself, and carried on. “My father always said my mother was all around me. Her spirit was in the trees and the birds—that she’d never left me.” He smiled sadly. “She died in childbirth. I never knew her.”
“Mine left.” Much, sat on the ground with her shoulder against Robin’s leg, drew her knees up to her chest. “Didn’t much like being a miller’s wife. I was… eight. I think.”
Maggie reached for Kitty’s hand, unclenching her fist in order to wrap her fingers around the other girl’s. “I didn’t know my parents. My aunt wasn’t my aunt, either. Took me as far as Lockesly, and then left me there. Jemma and Robin took me in, gave me a job in the manor. Did that for Kitty and Ginny, too.” She smiled at Kitty, relaxed and pleased when the other girl returned it.
Robin hooked her arm through Jemma’s and waited. No matter how many times she heard Jemma talk about it, it still made her insides go cold at the thought of someone owning another person like property.
“My mother was a slave,” Jemma said quietly. “I don’t remember much of her, but I know she loved me. All the other washerwomen called me a bastard child, but she called me her gem.”
“And I call you my friend,” Robin said firmly. “As I always have.”
“Robin and Jemma, Jemma and Robin,” Kitty singsonged from the safety of Alan’s arms. “Where one is, the other’s not far behind.”
Jemma giggled. “That’s us. Ever since I came to live at the manor.”
“You were sold to us.” Robin’s tone was flatter than hammered metal. “To appease a debt.”
“Are you—?” Will swallowed thickly.
“No.” Jemma reached over and tucked a stray strand of Robin’s hair behind her ear. “Robin promised me, when she was Lady of Lockesly, she’d free me. She kept that promise. I am neither servant nor slave to anyone.”
“Damn right you aren’t,” Robin muttered, dropping her head onto Jemma’s sturdy shoulder.
Lady of Sherwood Page 13
