by Mimi Riser
Chapter 2
The soldiers shoved them out of the trees onto an open ribbon of road cut through the forest. Marian’s heart lurched. Her stomach quickly followed suit. All around them clanked men in mail shirts rounding up skittish horses, wiping gore off sword and dagger blades. Very businesslike, all in a day’s work. While their day’s work itself—the slashed corpses of several fat friars and a skinny old woman in nun’s garb—lay strewn about the forest road like so much deadwood. Already ravens gathered in the nearby branches, their beady eyes glowing like coals in the leafy shadows, their calls ringing hungry and hoarse. An evil stench of sweat and blood hung heavy in the air.
“Ew, gross,” Orlando said as they were hauled across the road to a mismatched pair on the opposite side. One of the men, big and broad as a bear, paced back and forth, barking orders. The other, sleek and dark as a weasel, stood silently at ease. A sardonic grin played about his lips as he surveyed the carnage. Both turned and stared when the two prisoners were pulled to a rocky halt before them.
“Here she be, m’lords!” Marian’s captor released her and stepped away. She was almost sorry to see him go, since it was largely his grip that had been holding her on her feet. She locked her knees to stay upright.
Orlando’s guard let go of the boy’s tunic and pushed him forward to stand beside her.
“Didn’t get far, she didn’t,” the man reported. “Horse must have thrown her, but she seems hale.”
“Indeed.” The weasely man studied Marian. “She seems, also, to have changed her gown.” His gaze shifted to Orlando. “And acquired a new companion. A Saracen, by the look of him. Most interesting.” He turned to the bearlike figure who stood glowering alongside him. “Do you not agree, Sir Guy?”
“Sara what? I thought I was supposed to be a page. I wish you jerk-shits would make up your minds.”
“Orlando—” Marian grabbed for him. Not fast enough.
Sir Guy of Gisbourne’s hand lashed out, bloodying the boy’s lip and knocking him into her. “Silence, Saracen! We’ll have no infidel oaths here.”
“All right, already. Sheesh. You want me to be a Saracen, I’ll be a Saracen,” Orlando grumbled. “Mind tellin’ me what the hell a Saracen is?” he asked Marian over his shoulder.
“Shhh. It means he thinks you’re an Arab. Just be quiet. Don’t make this any worse.” Her arms tightened protectively around him.
Orlando mopped the blood off his mouth with the heel of his hand. “How can it be any worse?” He glared up at the burly form of Sir Guy looming over them. “Hey, man, ain’t toothbrushes been invented yet? I ain’t smelled anything like your breath since the sewer line busted. Sonofabitch—”
We’re dead. Who knew if the man understood all those terms? He obviously recognized an insult when he heard one. Hardly surprising. Looking and smelling like he did, he probably heard a lot. Marian squealed as Orlando was jerked out of her arms.
Sir Guy’s hand arced out with a dagger. “Filthy little dog! I’ll have your tongue for that—”
“No!” She lunged forward, only to be caught by an arm about her waist. Umph. Weasel-man was stronger than he looked.
“Gently, Gisbourne, gently. All in good time.” He deflected the dagger with a swiftly drawn sword. “Your impatience has already sailed you into treacherous waters, I fear. But happily”—he grinned—“you have me to steer you out of them.”
“Happily, Nottingham?” Sir Guy threw Orlando aside. “With you for my helmsman, good Sheriff, ’tis a wonder I’ve not yet been foundered on the rocks.”
“That is still a possibility. Though if you sink now ’twill be your own doing and none of mine.” The sheriff chuckled. “Poor fellow. Pay him no heed, my sweet,” he whispered in Marian’s ear. “His temper always sours in direct proportion to the increase of his debts. And he happens to be extremely indebted to me at present. Sir Guy’s luck at dice stinks worse than his breath.” With another chuckle he released her.
She stumbled back a pace, her thoughts whirling.
Nottingham? Sheriff? No! This wasn’t fair.
The sheriff sheathed his sword. “Can I trust you to stay here, my lady, whilst I speak with Sir Guy?”
Do I have a choice? Too dazed to care, she nodded.
“Good. Then we shan’t have to bind you.” Motioning Sir Guy to follow, he strode off several yards.
Orlando picked himself up out of the dirt and scurried to her side.
“Assholes,” he muttered, scowling at the two men.
Marian scarcely heard him. She gazed off into the forest, seeing it through new eyes, its power hitting her in the gut, stealing her breath. Raw primeval force. A place of shadows and secrets, green gold and pulsing in the last rays of light. Rich and vivid—more beautiful than it had been in her dreams—bigger and better than she’d ever imagined it to be.
Which made things all the worse.
“I know where we are,” she said. “Sherwood.” Her voice cracked on the word.
“Sherwood?” Orlando’s brow furrowed, then his eyes widened. A broad grin split his face. “You mean Sherwood Forest like in Robin Hood? Kewl! Maybe he’ll rescue us.”
Marian winced. No, just Sherwood. No rescue, no hooded hero with a bow. No way. The forest was real, but its mythical outlaw was not. They couldn’t hope to find him lurking behind any of these trees. So close, yet so far. This was too damned ironic.
“Uh-oh. Look.” Orlando touched her arm. “If Robin’s gonna show, now would be a real good time.”
“What?” She turned, followed the boy’s gaze to the road. Her breath stuck in her throat. A grim-faced young soldier had just ridden in with a slender, auburn haired girl in a crimson gown slumped motionless before him in the saddle. Poor Elaine. Marian hadn’t seen her face before, couldn’t see it now. She didn’t have to. That gown was a dead giveaway. Too dead.
“Hey, that’s the guy we met before,” Orlando whispered. “And that’s—” He broke off as the man dismounted and eased his burden to the ground.
All activity stopped. A hush fell over the group as everyone stood and stared. Orlando sucked in his breath and let it out with a whoosh. He looked from Elaine’s pale face to Marian’s and back again. “Holy shit.”
Marian knew exactly how he felt. She stood rooted in place, unable to move, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. For a moment she was sure her heart had stopped. Then she felt it again, hammering against her ribs like a wild thing trying to escape.
Oh no, don’t faint. She gulped in air and fought back the panic. Elaine lay only a few paces away, the crimson gown rippling around her like a puddle of blood. She couldn’t bear to look, couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“Too weird.” Orlando touched her hand. “You and her could almost be twins.”
The sheriff glanced over his shoulder at them and grinned. “An excellent idea. We shall discuss it anon.” He turned back to Sir Guy. “Well?”
Sir Guy glowered down at Elaine. “What would you have me say, Nottingham? That you were right?”
“I am always right.” The sheriff chuckled. “You can see for yourself now that yonder maid is not Lady Elaine.” He flashed another grin over his shoulder at Marian.
She was beginning to hate that grin.
“Aye,” Sir Guy growled. “I see.” He leveled a scathing look at the young man who’d delivered the lady.
“The horse threw her, my lord. There was naught I could do.” With obvious effort the soldier tore his gaze away from the body. He sounded more than sorry. He sounded devastated.
“You may spare us the details, Allan,” the sheriff said, his voice both smooth and edged, a dagger voice in a silken sheath. “I only hope, for your sake, you in no way hastened the lady’s demise. Hmm?”
Allan’s clean-shaven cheeks flamed scarlet. “You know I did not, sire. You saw how her horse bolted. ’Tis why I gave chase—I could see she’d lost the reins. I was trying to save her life, not take it. I…I’m no killer of women.” His gaze fell o
n the crumpled form of the old nun, then slanted to a thickset, pig-jowled fellow slouched a few feet away.
The piggy fellow smiled, showing two rows of rotting teeth. “’Twere self-defense, that were. Old witch pulled a dirk on me.”
“But of course. I thought myself she looked the most formidable of the lady’s escort.” The sheriff ended the confrontation with a flick of his fingers. He turned back to Sir Guy. “Knowing Mother Jennet’s staunch character, ’tis certain she would ne’er have willingly released her charge to you. She had to be…eliminated.” The flick of his hand broadened to include the rest of the bodies. “They all had to be eliminated.”
Sir Guy glowered down at Elaine. “Aye, Nottingham, that much was agreed at the start of this. But Elaine was not to be ‘eliminated’ till our marriage was sealed and her dowry mine.” He kicked her frail figure in the side. “Blast the ninny wench for not sticking her saddle!”
“Tsk, tsk.” The sheriff clucked his tongue. “Better to blast yourself for your temper that blinds you to our ready solution. We may have lost one bride, but providence has miraculously afforded us another.” He grinned. “Your luck may be improving, Sir Guy.”
All eyes turned to Marian.
She paled.
“Aw shit,” Orlando said.
Marian heard him through a pounding in her head, the noise of her heart laboring to pump oxygen to her brain. Typical, just typical. Nothing ever changed, did it? Not even here, thousands of miles and hundreds of years away. Some people were born to be commodities, used. She was one of them.
“Marian, are these guys thinking what I think they’re thinking?”
Through a gray fog she gazed at Orlando’s face. A beautiful face, if boys were allowed to be called beautiful. Classic Greco-Roman features topped by thick, glossy dark curls. Eyes such a deep luminous brown they were almost black. He looked like a Byzantine angel—an angel with a heart-stopping, devil’s grin.
Except he wasn’t grinning now. The tension on that perfect face hit her like a slap, shocking her into action. Not action for herself—she’d looked in enough mirrors to know a lost cause when she saw one. Orlando, however, was another story. With no family but an older cousin who was never home, who couldn’t be bothered with him, the boy had been surviving independently in the streets. He was everything she hadn’t been. From her perch in the store she’d watched him like a caged canary admiring a young eagle. She was damned if she’d let that beautiful eagle be shot down now.
“Never mind what they’re thinking,” she whispered. “Just be ready to run. When they come for me, I’ll try to keep them busy long enough for you to get away.”
His eyes widened. “Run, hell. It’s probably my fault we’re here. I’m the one who was flappin’ my big mouth ’bout knocks on the head sending people back through time. And I’m the one who got us knocked out.” He paused, chewing his lip. “But I was only trying to help. You knew that, right? That jerk in the store wasn’t looking for books. I saw a gun in his jacket…I think.” He blew out his breath. “Shit, if I couldn’t let him hurt you, I damn sure ain’t gonna leave you alone with these creeps.”
Marian’s chest constricted. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He didn’t really blame himself for this, did he? That was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. Also the bravest. She wanted to shake him and hug him at the same time. She couldn’t do anything for a moment but stare. A large lump filled her throat. She swallowed it down by reminding herself that she was the adult and he was the child. His safety was her responsibility, not the other way around.
“Orlando, it’s all right. Honest. I don’t know how we ended up here, but I know it’s not your fault.” He started to interrupt, but she shushed him. “No, listen. The only way you can help is to get yourself out of danger. Okay? Now, promise me you’ll run the second you can.” She gave him her sternest glare, the one she used to frighten shoplifters. It worked as well in Sherwood as it had in Philadelphia.
“Okay, I promise,” he agreed.
Marian breathed out in relief—then almost choked when Orlando’s promise was followed by that incorrigible grin of his.
“But I get to pick which second that is,” he said.
God, he was maddening.
“Aw, come on, Marian, don’t give up so easy. No one can hurt you unless you let them. These guys may think they’re tough, but they ain’t half as bad as some of the pimps and pushers I’ve had to deal with. We can bluff our way outta this.”
She clenched her teeth. “No, we can’t. I am lousy at bluffing.”
Orlando snorted. “You think I don’t know that? After all those books you been lettin’ me steal? Don’t be so dumb. You just shut up and let me do all the talking.”
“Both of you, hold your tongues,” the sheriff said over his shoulder, “or I shall have someone hold them for you.” He turned back to Sir Guy. “Now then, you were saying, Gisbourne? Come, come, tell me what you have against”—his gaze slanted to Marian and back—“the Lady Elaine’s fair sister.”
“Sister?” Orlando shouted.
Marian gulped and clapped a hand over his mouth.
“What sister? ’Tis the first I’ve heard of this.” Sir Guy shot Marian a wary look. “How do you know Elaine had a sister?”
The sheriff’s brows raised. “How can you be sure she did not? Look at her, man. What more proof do you need than your own eyes? ’Tis clear she is Elaine’s twin.”
“A demon more likely, a devil sent to taunt us.” Sir Guy glanced from side to side as though expecting attack from the shadows of the trees. “This stinks of witchcraft.”
The sheriff chuckled. “Nonsense. The only stink here is yours. The boy was right, you know. You smell like a pigsty.”
Sir Guy grabbed for the hilt of his sword. “Better men than you have lost their ears for less.”
Watching, Marian held her breath.
The sheriff let out his in a harsh laugh. “Oh, please do not force me to arrest you for the murder of Elaine and her escort.” With a flick of his hand, half the company on the road flanked him, their weapons at the ready.
The other half—Sir Guy’s, Marian assumed—did nothing. Interesting. Guy of Gisbourne was not a leader who inspired loyalty in his followers. Why didn’t that surprise her?
He reluctantly let go of his sword. “Will you arrest yourself as well, Nottingham? Do you think King John will thank you for plotting to kidnap his ward? This game was not my idea. ’Twas all your doing and you know it.”
“Perhaps.” The sheriff shrugged. “But you’ll ne’er prove it.” He waved his hand in a gesture that included the entire company. “My people are devoted to me.” A grin curled his lips. “So are yours. They know who’s been providing for them. And it has not been you.”
“Elaine’s dowry would have solved that,” Sir Guy grumbled.
“And so it still shall,” the sheriff said. “’Twill be even better this way.”
Sir Guy sneered. “How so?”
“Yeah, that’s what I wanna know,” Orlando called out.
Marian clapped her hand over his mouth again.
The sheriff shot them a look. “Thank you, my lady,” he said through clenched teeth.
“You’re welcome,” she murmured, feeling greener than her gown.
“Now then, where was I?” The sheriff turned back to Sir Guy. “Ah, yes, the difficulty with our original plan, that His Majesty had promised his ward to another. Or had you forgotten?”
“That coward Hunterdon? Bah!” Sir Guy snorted. “He wanted her not. If he had, he’d not have delayed the wedding. The man’s more suited to a monastery than a marriage bed.”
“No doubt,” the sheriff conceded. “Nevertheless, he has gold enough to have bought difficulties for you should he have pressed his claim. With Elaine dead, however, he has no claim.”
“Aye, and we’ve both lost her dowry. ’Twill go to the crown now, I’ll wager.”
“You know, Gisbourne, you really shou
ld stop wagering.” The sheriff shook his head. “You’ve no talent for it. ’Tis why your coffers are empty. Without another heir, Elaine’s dowry will likely go to her cousin in Paris—out of John’s hands. Given the choice, I’d say he’d rather award it to one here than chance losing sight of it completely. Trust me, he’ll be the last to dispute our story.”
“I do not trust you. I do not trust her,” Sir Guy said with a glower at Marian. “And I know not what story you mean.”
“The story of the twins—the ones separated at birth.” The sheriff sounded like he thought that was obvious.
“Twins? Separated?” Sir Guy sounded like he didn’t understand a word the sheriff said.
“Aye. Twin girls. In the Holy Land, where their father fought and died. Elaine was born in the Holy Land, and her parents did die there—her mother in childbirth and her father in battle the same night. That much everyone knows.” The sheriff folded his arms and raised one hand to rest his chin in it. He drummed his fingers against his jaw, thinking. “What is not so widely known is that Elaine had a twin. When Saracens attacked shortly after the birth, her father managed to save one babe ere he died, but Elaine’s sister was carried off in retribution by a Saracen warrior who’d lost his own daughter in an English raid. He raised the child as his own till a knight who once served her father, recognized the girl and returned her to her native country with the lad who’d been her servant in the Saracen’s household. What say you to that?”
“Bullshit. He just made that whole thing up,” Orlando said.
“Aye.” Sir Guy looked like he hated having to agree with the boy.
The sheriff chuckled, not kindly. “Well, I may have to adjust some of the details, but I think ’twill suit our purpose. We can forge a few letters for proof, pay a witness or two to add weight to the tale. You must admit, Gisbourne, it explains the evidence of our own eyes. By the saints, man, if ’tis not the truth, it ought to be! Now, take your new bride and let us be off. We tarry here over long.”
Sir Guy hesitated, his expression a battleground of greed warring with fear. Marian froze as he eyed her up and down like he couldn’t decide whether she was a godsend or a curse.
The sheriff clenched his jaw. “You play at caution? Now? With a cartload of bodies on our hands, and you still with a mountain of debt? To me, I might add. ’Tis a bit late for caution, is it not? There are times to tread softly and times to dig in your spurs and charge. And your great paradox, Gisbourne, is that you never seem to know which is which!”
Sir Guy’s ruddy complexion darkened. “What I want to know is who she is—and how she came here.”
“What difference does it make?” The sheriff exploded. “She could be the daughter of the devil himself! If she comes with a rich dowry, what the hell do you care? Just grab the wench and her Saracen whelp and come. We can question them at the castle, you fool. This discussion will continue better with a joint of meat and some good ale in our bellies.” He snapped his fingers and the men around him began readying for departure.
“Best news I’ve heard all day,” the soldier with the pig face grumbled. “Bleedin’ saints, me gut’s so empty it thinks me throat’s been cut.”
“That can be easily arranged,” said the young man called Allan, the one who’d carried in Elaine.
Marian had almost forgotten about him. She glanced up to see him clutching his sword hilt like a cross in front of himself. His gaze met hers for a moment, then lowered while his lips moved in silent prayer. Odd man.
Beside her, Orlando tensed. Sir Guy gave up his argument with the sheriff and strode toward them, scowling. Marian winced as his fingers bit into her arm, then staggered back as the hold abruptly broke. Before she could stop him, Orlando jumped in front of her and slammed upward, the heel of his hand connecting with Sir Guy’s nose. A sickening crunch sounded and blood gushed out over the man’s lips and chin.
Sir Guy roared. One hand flew to his face, the other lashed out and closed around Orlando’s throat, lifting him straight off his feet. Gasping and gagging, the boy clawed at the hand holding him aloft, his legs kicking empty air.
“No! Stop it! You’re choking him!” Without thinking, Marian tore into Sir Guy, pushing and pulling at him, pummeling his chest, none of it making a dent. She felt like an insect attacking an armored tank. Useless.
“Careful, Gisbourne,” the sheriff warned. “She may damage herself, and we have need of her.”
A light flashed in Marian’s head. In one move, she snatched the dagger out of Sir Guy’s belt and stumbled back, pressing the point of the blade to her own breast. A voice rang out. Hers, amazingly enough. The sound of it shocked her.
“Let him go. Now. Or I’ll kill myself.”
Everything stopped.
Sir Guy’s eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets, but his grip released. Orlando fell to the ground in a heap. Coughing, he picked himself up and scrambled to Marian’s side.
“Cool move,” he rasped out, rubbing his neck. “I didn’t know you could bluff like that.
She shook her head. “I can’t. It was no bluff.”
On that thought, her legs buckled and she sat down hard in the dirt. The dagger dropped harmlessly into her lap. Gasping, she fumbled for it, only to find her hands shaking so badly she could no longer hold the hilt. It flew out of her fingers and landed several feet away. Crap, now what? Her gaze darted to Sir Guy, expecting to see him charging forward, but he stood still and staring where she’d left him.
Then she realized he wasn’t staring at her.
“You had best release these two, my lord. Swiftly! Or I shall more swiftly release you to the devil.”
The voice came from behind her. Allan? Marian struggled to her feet and turned to see him a few paces off, pulling taut the string of a weapon that at this range could drive arrows through armor like a knife slicing cheese. The legendary English longbow. Sometimes she really hated knowing things like that.
“Sonofabitch, I wanted Robin Hood to rescue us,” Orlando muttered.
Marian groaned. No one was rescuing anyone. Allan was one man against twenty. He had to know he couldn’t win. Those prayers she’d seen him uttering must have been for his own soul, his last confession. He was expecting to die. Damn it.
“For shame, Allan,” the sheriff said. “What will your poor family say? They sent you to us with such high hopes you would distinguish yourself and return to them knighted. And you dishonor them by threatening your own lord. You know that if we take you alive, we shall have to give you a slow…very slow and very painful traitor’s death.”
“Better I be a dead ‘traitor’ than a live murderer,” Allan bit out. “I’ve been full willing to fight in honest combat, but ’twould seem there is no honest combat to be found here—only bullying and thieving. And this business today is the worst. It dishonors us all.” His biceps bulged as he drew the bowstring a notch tighter. “Kill me if you can, but we’ll see how many of you I’ll carry to Hell with me—”
He went down like a sack of over threshed grain as a stack of sweaty mail and muscle landed on him at a flick-of-the-hand signal from the sheriff.
The arrow, released just a fraction too soon, whizzed past Sir Guy’s shoulder and stuck in the piggy fellow’s as he lumbered forward to join the pile on top of Allan—who was thrashing like he was an entire pile of men himself.
“Man, that was dumb,” Orlando said. Disgusted, he viewed the fight from beside a shell-shocked Marian. “Any fool should’ve knowed that asshole was just talkin’ to buy time for his apes to sneak up.” He kicked at a loose clod of dirt. “Where’s Robin Hood when you need him, huh?”
Ouch. The name snapped Marian back to her senses. “Never mind Robin Hood. Just run.” Grabbing the boy by his shoulders, she spun him around and shoved him to the edge of the forest.
“Whoa, wait a minute.” Orlando dug in his heels. He strained over his shoulder to look at her. “You gonna run, too?”
Marian drew a deep breath. “Yes,”
she told him, while telling herself it was no lie. “Now go!” She watched a tense moment until he’d disappeared into the trees, and then she did run—in the opposite direction and straight for Sir Guy’s dagger, which was still lying on the ground a short distance away. Somehow she had to help Allan.
The pig-faced man lurched about the road, squealing and clawing at the shaft in his shoulder. Marian dodged around him and landed by the dagger in a crouch. She grabbed its hilt and raised the blade point out in front of herself just as he tripped over the old nun’s corpse and went flying. He crashed headlong into Marian, bowling her backward and pinning her flat while he gurgled, twitched, then suddenly stiffened and rolled off. The dagger went with him, wrenched out of her hands.
Struggling to her knees, she stared at the red oozing through the links of his mail. His own weight coupled with the force of his fall had driven the blade clean through his armor and deep into his heart. Her own heart twisted at the sight. So did her stomach. “Eeuuhh…”
I think I’m going to be sick.
“Clumsy oaf.” A pair of legs moved into her view along with the voice. A toe stretched forward to nudge the body. “Fret not, my sweet, I shan’t hold you responsible for this. ’Twas his own fault entirely. The man had two left feet.”
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to see the sheriff peering down at her. He grinned. She felt sicker.
“I should move away from him though, if I were you. The fool also had an extraordinary number of lice. As his blood cools, they’ll be seeking new territory.” Chuckling, he pulled her to her feet and drew her clear of the body.
The man’s touch sent chills down her spine. She twisted away and turned to see Allan, bound and gagged, being lashed belly down over a horse. He looked in one piece, at least, which was more than she could say for some of his opponents. Moans and groans filled the air.
“Gads, what a stout fighter he is. A pity we shall have to spit and roast him.” The sheriff turned to Sir Guy who stood nursing his nose and supervising Allan’s binding. “I know not about you, Gisbourne, but I shall be sore sorry to lose him.”
Sir Guy grunted.
Marian suddenly felt like lead. “No, I’m the sorry one.”
She choked back a whimper. Dear God, how had she come to this? Stuck in the past, captured by cutthroats, and a man was going to be tortured to death simply because he’d tried to help her. She was so sorry she wanted to shrivel up and blow away.
The only bright spot was knowing Orlando had escaped. What he’d do now, she had no idea. But he’d survived life in a large urban ghetto, so he could probably handle thirteenth century agrarian England.
Hell, with his skills, he’ll probably end up king and turn history upside down.
“Sorry, my sweet?” The sheriff interrupted her brooding. “Why should you be sorry? Elaine’s dowry will make you a wealthy woman. I shall personally speak to the king about it and arrange everything. His Highness is en route to Nottingham now, in fact. We can settle this matter in mere days. All you need do is marry Sir Guy of Gisbourne.”
“Hey, man, don’t make me puke. Marian and ol’ Guy of Heartburn? That’s why she’s sorry,” called a voice from the edge of the forest. “But she ain’t half as sorry as you’re gonna be.”
Marian’s heart sank as the voice’s owner strode out of the trees. “Orlando, why did you come back?”
“Why the hell do you think?” He jerked to a halt in front of her. “Damn it, Marian, don’t you ever do that to me again. I thought you were right behind me—nearly peed myself when I looked ’round and saw you weren’t. It’s just a lucky thing for you somebody else was.” His frown flipped into a broad grin. “Guess who I just met.”
She was afraid to.
Orlando told her anyway. “Robin Hood! Ran smack into him and some of his boys—this big dude named Little, and a little guy named Much, which makes no sense to me, but who cares, ’cause they were real interested when I told them what’s been happening. They’ll be here in a sec. I was supposed to stay hid with this fat baldhead dude in a bathrobe, but I gave him the slip and ran on ahead. I wanna see the look on old Guy’s face when he gets an arrow up his tin-plate ass.” He shot a wicked smirk at Sir Guy, who cursed and charged straight for him.
Ack! Marian’s heart skipped several beats. God, what a stupid bluff. That boy’s mouth would be the death of him yet. Quickly, she tried to put herself between him and Sir Guy—
Who lunged past with remarkable speed for a man of his bulk. “Out of the way!”
It took Marian several seconds to register the fact he was lunging for his horse and not her and Orlando.
“Hold, you fools! They’re no demons, but men like yourselves. Stand and fight and you’ll see their blood is as red as your own!” the sheriff shouted. But he was already astride his own mount, and a brittle edge underscored his voice.
The activity on the road erupted into a frenzy of yells, whinnying, pawing hooves and pounding feet. Mail clanked and scabbards slapped against thighs as men leapt into saddles and grabbed reins. The wounded groaned and cursed as they were hoisted and thrown across their mounts.
“Ouch. I’ll bet that hurt,” Orlando said when one of the battered was tossed too hard, overshot the mark, and landed in a heap at his feet. “Need a hand, bro?” Amiably, the boy offered him one.
The man shrieked and scrabbled backward. “Keep away, devil’s imp!” Boosted by terror, he clawed his way into the saddle, swung the horse’s head around, and galloped up the road on the heels of his comrades.
“Okay, be that way. See if I care,” Orlando called after him. He let out a whoop and laughed. “Damn, did you see those suckers haul ass? Gotta be a record. I wish we could watch it again on instant replay.”
I wish I knew what just happened. Why did they run? Marian sat down where she stood, dizzy and weak all over, her legs too shaky to hold her. Around them, the forest had gone still as a stone, an eerie, waiting silence as if the very trees held their breath. She glanced from one side to the other, expecting… What? There was nothing to see but the empty road and the trees. The men had taken everything else with them. All that remained was trampled earth and a few dark splotches in the dirt where the dead had lain. Very creepy. Weird.
“Why would they take the bodies?” she wondered aloud. Her voice echoed oddly in the shadowy stillness.
“Who knows? Probably trying to get rid of the evidence. Won’t do ’em no good. Robin’ll—”
“Don’t say it.” She stopped him with a look. One more mention of Robin Hood and she’d scream. That wound had been picked raw. It made no sense anyway. They wouldn’t have run because of that. She shivered with a growing chill. The shadows lengthened; it would be night soon. What now? They were stranded in a strange time, a strange forest…no food, no shelter, no idea what to do next…and definitely no hooded hero to save the day for them. She’d always known that, but this situation proved it with a vengeance. Damn.
And what if Sir Guy or the sheriff came back? Cripes.
With a groan, she pulled to her feet. “Come on, we better get out of here while we can.”
She looked up and down the road, then scanned the trees on both sides. Which direction? If they took to the forest, they’d be lost in no time—if they weren’t eaten by wolves first. Not that they knew where they were going, in any case, but it was the principle of the thing, right? A road had to lead somewhere. Of course, a road also put them out in the open, at the mercy of outlaws besides Sir Guy. There were tons of outlaws in these times. The blasted woods were probably crawling with them—even if none of them were Robin Hood. Darn shame, that.
Oh, hell, now she was doing it. Why couldn’t she get Robin out of her head?
Because he’s stuck in your heart, that’s why. Because he’s always fascinated you. Because when you were little you needed a hero and you thought being named Marian gave you some kind of personal claim on him. Stupid girl.
And, on top of everything else, because she’d somehow
gotten herself stuck in the Middle Ages, in Sherwood Forest, of all times and places to be. Which had to be the most warped joke of anytime, anywhere. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Get over it, Maid Marian!
She gave herself a mental slap, drew a deep breath, and looked around again. Okay, which way? Choose. Forest or road? God, she hated making decisions. She hated not understanding why the men ran, too. It was like they knew something she didn’t. She hated not knowing things most of all.
A sudden thought struck her. Not a pleasant one. What if…
“Orlando?” She turned to see him standing in the middle of the road, gazing off into the mist-shrouded trees. Expecting someone? Oh, joy. On shaky legs she walked over to him.
He glanced up at her approach. “Whatsa matter? You look worried.”
Worried? She was having visions of them both being ravished and killed by a band of Sherwood outlaws who could be lurking nearby this very moment. “Worried” barely scratched the surface.
The real outlaws had hardly been like Robin’s mythical merrie men. In fact, “merrie” was probably the last thing any of them were. A brutal, bloodthirsty bunch, medieval criminals. They had to be with the penalties for crimes so harsh in this era. Once a man broke the law, he had little left to lose. Those who escaped capture lived like animals in the woods, doing anything to survive. If there were outlaws close by, ones who knew they were here, who watched them even now…
Her stomach knotted as she stared Orlando in the eye. “Just tell me one thing. When you ran off before…um, you didn’t really meet anyone, did you?” She held her breath.
“Nope.”
Her breath whooshed out in relief. Thank God. He had been bluffing. Which still didn’t explain why Sir Guy’s company bolted, but she’d work on that question later. One problem at a time. With a last look around, she made her decision. They’d follow the road, in the opposite direction the men took, but stick to the shadows of the trees. That would give them a little cover. Maybe. Hell, it would be full dark soon and no one would be able to see a damn thing anyway.
“Okay then, let’s get moving.” She grabbed Orlando’s hand and pulled him to the edge of the forest.
He pulled back. “Hang on. We can’t go anywhere yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’ll be here any sec. We gotta wait for them.”
“Who’s ‘them’?” She wanted to shake him. “You just said you didn’t meet anyone.”
“That’s right. Not anyone. Robin Hood and his men.”
A shriek sounded. Marian’s.
“Orlando, there is no Robin Hood.”
“Bullshit. There is, too. He told me who he was. Who do you think chased off Sheriff Sleazeball? You saw what happened. They heard he was coming, and hauled ass.” Orlando paused, his brows pulled together. “Huh. Maybe I shouldn’t have warned them. I didn’t realize what a badass reputation he’s got. He must be cooler even than he is in the movies.”
Marian clenched her teeth to keep from screaming again. Things were becoming too surrealistic. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, then rested her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward. “Orlando, listen to me. Whatever those men were running from, it was not because of anything you said.”
He blinked and stared past her. “You might be right about that.”
“I know I’m right. And you did not meet anyone who told you he was Robin Hood. There’s a good chance no one around here even knows who Robin Hood is. The earliest known legends about him haven’t been written yet. Do you get what I’m saying? He’s not a real person.”
“Does he know that?”
“He doesn’t know anything. Robin is just a myth, a folktale, a literary invention. Understand? Historians have been researching him for years. I’ve researched him myself.” God, how she’d researched him. “But I’ve never found any solid evidence he really existed—not now, not ever.” Only in my dreams. She drew a deep breath.
“Yeah? Well maybe you just never looked for him in the right place.”
Marian stepped back and planted her hands on her hips. “And where would you suggest looking for him, Mr. Know-It-All?”
Orlando grinned. “Right behind you.”
What?
She spun about—froze.
“Shit,” she heard someone say. Herself. Surprising. It wasn’t a word she often used, but she couldn’t think of a better one just then. She couldn’t think at all. The woods were moving, shadows detaching from shadows. Weird shapes materialized in the mists between the trees, figures on two legs, crowned with antlers and horns. Some wore leaves, some feathers, some fur. One had a wolf’s head, one a bear’s. And one…
Her legs went weak. She knew him—the tall one who stood in a tunic of forest green, his bow in hand, his face hidden behind the folds of a deep hood.
A dream, just a dream…
He stepped toward her.
Marian forgot how to breathe. Dizziness swamped her. She swayed, locked her legs to keep from falling—crumpled anyway.
The hooded man caught her, just as he had a thousand times before.
