Who were the French Isabelle? I wanted to know, but it didn’t seem wise to ask.
“You see, you think you’re so very special for your marriage without love. So tortured and martyred. But we all marry without love, Marian. You aren’t special at all.”
I frowned. “Did I ever say different?”
Isabel stopped. “Just tell me. I don’t like not knowing, and even Guy clearly knows something and won’t tell me. I won’t have it.”
“I don’t know what you’re about, Isabel,” I told her.
“Eleanor!” she near shouted, and looked around like it might summon the white lady. “What interest does Eleanor have in you, your parents, the lot of it?”
“My parents?”
She folded her arms. “Eleanor of Aquitaine saw the lord and lady Leaford off from the courtyard this morning. In the snow. Alone. I saw her embrace Lady Leaford,” she told me, her nose raised higher than ever. “Tell me what that is about this moment.”
My face folded into a scowl. “Your Highness, you should ask Eleanor. Or my husband, it seems, but I don’t know a damn thing about it.” She started to speak again and I shook my head. “I intend to find a fire,” I told her.
She crossed her arms and frowned at me, but she let me go.
I skirted round the edge of things, looking for Eleanor. I saw her standing near one of the great bonfires built on the edge of the nobles’ area—I reckoned much to keep the common sort out. Whether or not she were wearing one, she always looked like she should have a great crown upon her head. Her skin were wrinkled over again and again, in a way that made her look lived-in and world-wise. She were small, but she had brought England and France to their knees, with every man in between begging for her. She had crumbled old kings and raised up new ones.
She were everything a woman could ever dare to be, and my heart felt such a kinship for her. Yet I didn’t move much forward, staying back, knowing if I went to her I couldn’t help but ask all my questions.
Like she felt me watching her, she turned and looked to me, folding her hands in front of her. She met my eyes and nodded once.
I stepped forward.
The horn blew, calling out for the next round, and we went back to the dais.
The next round seemed awful slow. Now the archers had to shoot three arrows from the increased distance, one in each of the three different circles. It were a feat of skill what would narrow the field down sharp, but rather than understand this and allow themselves to be picked off, the louts went about it slow and deliberate, like waiting and licking their lips would help them strike a target.
My hand set to aching besides. It hadn’t been bad; I kept it out from the blankets so it never got too warm, and that had worked for the first two rounds. By the end of the third, I were breathing harder and could bare sit still as the pain mounted.
The third round narrowed to Rob and Gisbourne, and as the crowd cheered and jumped and waved, there were only one still body in the lot, and he were looking at me. Allan nodded slowly and my heart jumped.
The horn sounded, and I leapt from my chair. Skirting wide around the bonfires, I moved quick to get to the stands and through the crowd. The people swallowed me up, bodies pressing and pushing on every side, and I yelped as someone knocked into my hurt hand. The fellow turned and gave me a dirty look.
A big body stepped in front of my path, and a warm arm came around my shoulders. “Need a hand?” Much asked, keeping me behind the shield of John’s back.
He raised his stump with a grin and I frowned. “Terrible humor, Much.”
He shrugged, his grin fixed still. “Nobody thinks I’m very funny.”
John started moving, forcing people out of the way like a wave. “I need to find Allan,” I told Much.
“I know. He was asking for you.”
“Did you find anything?” I asked him. “Did he?”
“Find anything about what?” John asked.
“I asked the monks,” Much said. “They remember when Leaford announced his second child, but they didn’t attend lady Leaford.”
“Had they for Joanna?” I asked.
He nodded.
“What’s this about?” John asked. “What about your parents?”
I sighed and shook my head, and John craned round to glimpse me do it. “I’ll tell you later, John,” Much said.
John scowled. “Just because I’m out doesn’t mean I want to be kept out,” he grumbled.
“Allan!” I yelled, seeing the red of his hat. It ducked and bobbed and reappeared a moment later by me.
“My lady thief,” he said, taking my good hand and kissing it. His eyes fell on my arm, tucked in the sling, and his head lowered. “Yesterday—I didn’t know what had happened.”
John looked at me, fury clouding over his mug.
“John, it’s done,” I said quick. “You don’t need to fuss.”
“What happened, Scar?”
My shoulders lifted. “The prince punished me,” I said, trying to say it like it were nothing. “He cut off two of my fingers.”
“Your—” His nostrils flared and he turned away from me, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground.
I stared at his back for a long moment before looking to Allan. “What word, Allan?”
“About your parents, none.”
“Allan! Why—” I started, but he shook his head.
“They switched the arrows.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Who switched them?”
“Rob’s arrows?”
“For this round?” John, Much, and I all spoke at once.
“The prince’s men.” Allan looked at me, answering my question. “I don’t know what they did, but Gisbourne has the same arrows he did for the last three rounds. Robin’s are different.”
“So?” John asked. I scowled at him, but he shrugged. “Bow’s not really my weapon, is it?”
“If the spine is even slightly different, it will be damn near impossible for Rob to get a perfect shot, which he’ll need. And Gisbourne will win, and it will be very hard to prove they cheated,” Much explained.
“Like the prince would do anything about a cheat he helped with,” John grunted, half turning back to us. His eyes fell on my hand and his shoulders rolled.
The horn sounded and I whipped my head over to see pages walking onto the field with the arrows, filling two of the standing quivers. Rob and Gisbourne set out onto the field, walking toward the marks.
“Allan, please tell me you’re better at sneaking than wagging your chin,” I said, nodding him forward and pushing through the crowd to the edge.
“Scarlet, what are you doing?” John yelled.
“John,” I said, turning to him. “Stay here—we have to switch the arrows back.” He stepped forward, but I shook my head. “You’re one of the people we protect now. And that’s a good thing.”
He looked at me, and he looked less sure and cocky than I’d ever known him. He nodded once, and I took off.
The first steps jangled pain through my hand and stole my breath, but I kept moving, desperate to get to them before a shot were flown. My dress and cloak dragged over the snow like a horse’s harness, hauling me backward, but I kept going, Allan keeping pace at my side. We weren’t close. We weren’t going to make it.
The herald raised his horn and I cut onto the field, running through the snow.
My head and hand were pulsing. My feet were awful heavy to lift and I were going slower.
Slower still. I twisted my arm out from the sling—I couldn’t much run like that, hobbled by the awkward weight on my chest.
“Scarlet!” Allan yelled. Had he stopped running with me?
I turned and Winchester were there, catching me about the waist and bodily pulling me off the field. “Let me go!” I howled. “I have to warn him! The prince switched the arrows!”
Winchester gripped me, holding me still to watch from the fencing. “The only thing you will accomplish is getting yourself??
?or possibly Robin—hurt,” he told me. “Robin knew he was always going to cheat somehow, Lady Marian.”
I pushed him off. “You don’t know what you’ve done,” I told him, slumping against the fencing. My heart felt heavier than any of my injuries or snow-soaked clothing. My chest were trembling for breath. “If he loses—this is the only chance for the people.” For Rob.
“Have a little faith, my lady.”
Marshal strode out onto the field. “Three shots,” he yelled, and I could bare hear him from where I were—I doubted the common folk could hear him at all. “Best single shot of the three is the winner.”
With this he raised his arm, and lowered it. Gisbourne and Robin both let their arrows fly at the same moment.
From the second it left his fingers, I saw Rob could tell something were wrong. The arrow flew wide, lodging in the outermost ring. The stands went silent, and I heard chuckles and laughs from the nobles.
Gisbourne’s arrow were within the innermost black circle, but it weren’t dead on. His shot drew cheers from the nobles, and quiet from the stands as the people looked to each other, wondering what had happened, wondering how they were being cheated of their hero.
Rob’s chest were rising hard and fast, pluming white steam into the air from his breath like magic were circling him, giving him power. Rob’s feet drew together, and he raised his chin. He were staring down the target, running his fingers over the arrow.
He were the best shot I’d ever seen. He could do this. He could do this.
Marshal’s arm raised again, and they notched their arrows and drew. Gisbourne let his arrow fly first, singing in a careful line. It bit deep into the target. It were to the other edge of the inner black circle.
A good shot. An excellent shot, to any other archer. But it still left that small circle of hope, the size of my fist. A chance.
Rob’s stance were wide and comfortable, and he shook the tension out of his shoulders. His elegant, long arms raised again with the bow and arrow, and he let the arrow fly after a moment more.
It struck the outside of the second ring, and though it weren’t enough even to compete with Gisbourne’s strikes, the common folk leapt to their feet, cheering and shouting.
Gisbourne glared at Robin, but Rob paid no mind. He were in his world, speaking to his bow like it were his heart. My skin ran over with gooseflesh.
Marshal raised his arm again.
I shut my eyes. I had done as much as I could, and this bit weren’t for my heart to decide. I shut my eyes and I made the sign of the cross and I prayed. I prayed for hope, for fortitude, for something that could defend my heart from breaking if Rob lost this. Something that could find a way to help him forgive himself if he couldn’t do it. Something that could stem the tide of blood that would flood out onto the people if we had to suffer another cruel sheriff. Something to keep warm the feeble hope that fluttered in me, that awful cruelty of hope that would never go out, no matter what I did.
No matter if Gisbourne won and I had to spend the rest of my life suffering and watching as those I loved suffered, I would still hope. I would hope for another chance like this, another day like this one.
Please, God. Defend my heart. Defend my hope.
A low gasp ran through the crowd, and I opened my eyes. Rob still had his arrow notched and ready; Gisbourne’s bow were lowered. Gisbourne’s shot were in the black, a thumb closer to center than his other shots. Rob’s target had narrowed to the size of a peach at eighty paces.
Shivers ran over my skin. I knew too well that the world were meant for cheaters to prosper in, that those who took advantage of the weak and defenseless sat comfy and warm in guarded castles. There weren’t no natural justice. There weren’t no way for Rob to win this, to scrape back from the switch of the arrows.
I didn’t shut my eyes again. I raised my chin and watched as Rob’s arm went tense and then loose as the arrow shot out from his bow, making its graceful arch over the snow-covered field. I lost it for a moment, a thin shot of black against the backdrop of trees, and then the thunk of it hitting the target drew my eye.
The first arrow wide. The next in the second ring.
And the last so close to center there were no question that it had to be the winning shot.
I ran, and Winchester didn’t stop me this time. I picked up my skirts with my one hand and flew over the snow, the Archangel’s own wings carrying me forward. People were breaking through the fencing and flooding the field, but I made it to Rob before any of them.
He dropped his bow and picked me up as I threw my arms around him. I were careful to keep my hurt arm up, but it hurt anyway and I couldn’t much care. Tears were overrunning my face and I buried it in his neck, my whole body shaking, though I weren’t sure if it were tears or joy or running what caused it.
“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you.”
“You did it,” I told him. “You won. You did it, my love.”
He rubbed his face into my neck too, and I felt him shudder.
“Guards!” the prince roared, and we broke apart to see him flinging his arm this way and that. “Stop the rabble!”
Guards flooded forward, but Rob turned and spread his hands wide, and the people stopped running but started cheering. Rob raised his hands and lowered them, and the people grew quiet slow. “Please retake your seats,” Rob yelled when they were quiet enough. “I believe I have an oath to take!”
This drew cheers and whoops and unending clapping, but the people, with the prodding of the guards, took their seats again. Turning back to the nobles, I realized Gisbourne were gone from the field.
“Your champion!” the prince yelled.
I laughed, unable to keep it in as the happiness bubbled up in me. The people were cheering themselves hoarse.
“Kneel!” the prince called.
Robin knelt.
“Repeat this oath,” the prince said. The people went silent.
“By the Lord, I will to King Richard and the office of sheriff be faithful and true, and love all that he loves, and shun all that he shuns, according to God’s law, and according to the world’s principles, and never, by will nor by force, by word nor by work, do ought of what is loathful to him; on condition that he keep me as I am willing to deserve when I to him submitted and chose his will.”
Robin repeated it, his voice strong and powerful in the quiet. Snow drifted down on him, crowning his head and anointing his shoulders like holy blessings.
“Stand,” the prince commanded. Isabel came forward and presented a golden arrow on a velvet cushion, and Robin bowed low to her.
“Sheriff,” she greeted, nodding her head. “Collect your prize.”
Rob straightened up. His eyes met mine, hungry and wanting in a way that made my skin rush over with red. He took the arrow but looked the whole time at me. I could see it, then—our future together. That it could happen. That one day soon he might be able to look at me like that and I could kiss it right off his face, in front of all these people, the wife of Robin Hood—a true wife. A loved wife.
Rob broke our gaze and turned to the crowd, holding up his prize. The prince said something further about congratulations or some such, but it were lost.
Nottingham had its hero.
The prince announced that there were to be a feast that night, and the whole castle and courtyard would be open to the common folk. They had their sheriff, and he didn’t want there to be any more mistakes with his orders and generosity. I saw Eleanor nod slow while he said it, and I suspected his true motive were pleasing his mother.
The sun began to set, and I fair floated back up to the castle proper, going to the chambers I shared with Gisbourne eager, for once, to wear a dress. I wanted to try and look well for Rob that night; I wanted to dance with him and bask in the strangeness of this single happy moment.
The first of many happy moments, perhaps.
I opened the door and much of my mood changed. Gisbourne were there, bent over in a chair by the
fire, his shirt off, looking broken. I stopped in the doorway and didn’t move farther in.
“Marian, close the door,” he grunted.
I nudged it shut with my foot, coming closer to him. I sat in the other chair, drawing up my feet, resting the hand that had set to aching.
“How did you do it?” he asked, his voice low and rumbling like a dog’s.
Scowling, I asked, “Do what?”
“Switch the arrows back. How did you even figure it out?”
“I didn’t switch anything.”
“I don’t believe you.”
My shoulders lifted. “As a rule, you shouldn’t.”
He sneered. “Of course. Thief, liar, all that. Only you aren’t any of those things, are you? You’re honest, and honorable. Good.” He stood and never looked to me, leaning over the fireplace instead. His body were bruised from the days of abuse. “You knew I’d cheat. And you still believed in him. Believed he’d win.”
“I thought the prince would cheat for you,” I said. “But yes.”
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” he said to the fire. “You were mine, Marian, long before you even knew he existed. Your unassailable loyalty and unshakeable belief should have been for me.”
That stole my breath, and I stared at him as he turned, his face broken open and wide, like a hurt little boy instead of the evil warrior of a man I knew. He came closer to me and knelt before my chair, pulling me closer to the edge of it. “What are you—” I started.
“Hush,” he said, and he leaned forward and kissed me. Even if I saw a hurt soul, it weren’t in his kiss; it were forceful and hard and strong, overpowering. I tried to pull away and he held me still.
My breath started rushing faster and my heart fluttered with fear. I curled my nails into his face, digging at the flesh as I tried to cry out.