Fallout - Chapter Fourteen
Marian lasts three days before she writes down the directions. When she finally gives in, she convinces herself that it is because of Robin. If he decides to follow Guy then she will need to follow Guy, and it would be better to know where she is going. And, after all, scribbling a few things on parchment is hardly breaking her word. Even so, the prickles of guilt that come from stretching her promise are unfamiliar and uninvited.
She begins to spy on Robin, half hoping that he will lose his head again and give her an excuse to leave this dusty, draining camp. At first she worries that William will be a problem, but he is content to follow her wherever she goes without questioning their many stops “to rest” behind large objects.
For the first two days, it seems like Marian will get her wish. She watches Robin question men about Guy’s preparations. Did he mention where he was going or any particulars about his task? What was his demeanor? The men only shake their heads before returning to their lazy conversations. Robin grows increasingly frustrated, and Marian begins to wonder why he does not just ask Richard directly. She used to think that she knew him better than anyone; now she cannot even call his next move.
If they brush Robin aside, the men pay her and her questions even less mind. She misses England, where everyone knew who she was and what side she fought for. There, the people would answer her questions and thank her for her help. Now, other than the few soldiers who watch her like she has three heads, she might as well be invisible. She spends most of her time chatting with William-or the army’s horses. Perhaps this is why the men look at her strangely.
When Allan sticks his head into her tent after what feels like a century of solitude, she is so happy that she could tackle him to the ground and kiss him just for visiting her. Thankfully, she restrains herself. No need to appear desperate.
“Has Robin sent you to spy on me?” Marian asks as he enters, using all of her willpower to keep her voice cool and detached instead of hopeful. She does not know what answer she wants, although for someone determined to win her back, Robin has kept a surprising amount of distance.
“Er, no,” Allan says and takes a seat on the end of her pallet. He appears leaner than normal, and his skin is tan from the Holy Land, causing his blue eyes to shine even brighter. Not for the first time, she thinks that it is strange seeing these different versions of people she has known for years.
“Then why are you here?” she asks, not quite believing him. “I fear I do not have any information for you, if that is what you are after.”
Allan holds up his hands, mimicking innocence. “Can’t a friend visit another friend too see how they are doing?”
“I suppose,” she says cautiously. “If we are friends.”
If he hears that, he doesn’t give any indication. “Can’t a friend visit another friend,” Allan continues, “and ask if they have any secret trips on the horizon?”
“What?”
“You’ve been following Robin. You’re planning something.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been following you.”
Embarrassed at her cluelessness, she can only ask why.
He shrugs. “There are people who want to make sure that you stay put.”
“What people?” Marian asks. “Guy?”
“He might be one of them.”
And so it begins. “I told him I would stay here,” she snaps and then begins to pace. “He did not need to assign me a watchdog. I gave him my word.”
“Well, that’s about as good as a third nipple, innit?” Allan says and then folds his arms across his chest. “So let me get this straight. Robin spying on you is right as rain; Guy spying on you is like spitting on your dead grandmother?”
She ignores that question and its implication. “I am staying put,” she says, and the last two words come out like a curse. “I only followed Robin to make sure that he is staying put. Is he?” she challenges.
“As far as I can tell,” Allan huffs and then studies his knees. “He’s not sharing much these days.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, one day he’s avoiding the King like the pox, and the next they’re taking long secret walks together.”
That explains why she has not been able to find him lately. She tries to avoid the King-the closer she gets to him, the more pairs of eyes who are likely to notice her skulking about.
“What do you think they are discussing?” she asks.
Allan squints, looks up. “Who knows?” he says, and then sniffs. “It smells horrible in here, Marian. Like something wet curled up and died,” he adds, lifting his boots and checking the bottoms of his soles before casting a disgruntled look about the tent with a wrinkled nose.
“You can leave if you find it so offensive,” she snaps.
“Alright then,” he says and makes to leave before Marian beseeches him to wait.
“Have you heard from Guy?” she asks, hating the note of desperation that hangs on the end of it. It has been far longer than a week, and there has been no message, causing her emotions to swing wildly between annoyance and a twittering worry. A part of her wants this Holy Land saga to be over, while another dreads his return, and still another wishes that she would at least receive news that he is alive. She wonders if she will ever have a whole feeling again.
Allan raises his eyebrows. “Why would I hear from Guy?”
“I thought you might be reporting my actions. He’s paying you, I presume.”
“Nah, this is just a favor,” he says, waving it off. “You know as much as I do.”
“I know nothing.”
“Exactly.” Allan studies her with a quizzical expression. When he refuses to stop, she looks away. “You don’t need to be worried,” he says after a bit. “Guy can take care of himself. He’s smart when it comes to protecting his neck.”
“I’m not worried,” she says quickly. “Although we are speaking of the man who did not know I was the Nightwatchman for three years.”
“We all have our blind spots,” Allan shrugs. “You happen to be his.”
Marian frowns; time to swim for safer waters. “And what are yours?”
Allan thinks for a moment. “Redheads.”
“I thought you liked nuns.”
“Redheaded nuns.”
The grin comes before Marian can catch it. Back in the castle she had been angry at Allan, her sometimes collaborator, sometimes enemy. But now he feels like the only person in whose presence she feels completely relaxed. It used to be Robin.
“Will you be spying on me again any time soon?” she asks, willing her thoughts away from further reflection down that road.
“I told you, it’s not spying-it’s dropping in on a troublesome friend.”
She should be offended by his cheek, but she is just relieved to be talking to someone who is not a horse.
“Fine,” she says graciously. “Will you be dropping in again?”
“Depends how often Will and Djaq are making cow eyes at each other,” he mutters, but snaps to attention when he sees her surprised look. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Marian. Stay out of trouble, will you?” he finishes and slips out of sight.
There is no sane reason for her to continue following Robin, although boredom is slowly starting to seem like a valid excuse to do anything. In fact, when he does come to visit, she hides. She and William return from a morning walk to find him lounging in front of her tent as though it were the most common thing in the world, and she is gripped by a sudden panic. She retreats before Robin can notice her, dragging her confused guard by the arm. The next time they return, he is gone. Disappointment mingles with relief.
And yet one afternoon, in the middle courtyard of the camp, Marian spots Robin deep in conversation with the King. They are surrounded by a smattering of official guards, but Robin’s expression is dark, the kind that she is only used to seeing when a scheme did not end his way. Marian notices that a few of the men have begun to look toward them nervously. Richard notices as well. Clapping a hand on Robin’s shoulder, the King steers him away from the crowd, taking their conversation somewhere more private.
“Let’s walk this way,” Marian tells William, who is standing at her elbow staring longingly toward a group of soldiers who appear to be his own age. They are laughing, and trading jokes, and for the first time she realizes how wearying it must be for him to play nursemaid. Perhaps his repeated queries about the date of Guy’s arrival are not just the world’s way of reminding her that the future will be returning at any second.
“Or perhaps you can join them,” Marian suggests, inspired. “I do not mind. We have walked around this entire camp and I have never once felt unsafe.”
Marian can tell that her suggestion is a welcome one by the way that William’s eyes light up, but he only says, “I should not.”
“I will not go far,” she insists.
“Are you sure?”
“I am positive. See your friends,” Marian urges, and then smiles when he beams. She smiles more when his happy trot changes to a manly stride at the last second, and then turns to hurry after Robin and the King.
She is beginning to learn the camp’s patterns, which helps her in her mission. Now that it is midday, most of the men are sure to be socializing in the public areas, exchanging battle stories and talking of home. The area through which she is walking now appears to be deserted, so it is easy to pick out Robin’s voice above the caws of a few solitary birds and the sift of sand displaced by the occasional ripples of breeze. Peeking around a corner, she finds them still in conversation. Robin’s back is to her, and Richard’s hand still rests on his shoulder. Instead of meeting the King’s eyes, however, he studies the ground.
“Robin, you are one of my most loyal servants,” Richard says to bowed head. “You must trust me that this business need not be of concern to you. If you cannot believe me as your friend, then believe me as your King. I did not send you because I thought it beneath you. There is no need to speak of it in front of others.”
Robin looks up, and Marian can tell that he is unconvinced. “My lord,” he says, “while I appreciate your high regard for me, I still do not understand why you sent Gisborne. He is a known traitor. I have told you of what was done in Nottingham.”
Marian is not prepared for the anger that gathers in her throat, thick and real. She still harbors her own doubts about Guy’s mission, but it galls her that after all that she has begged and pleaded, Robin refuses to let this go. They have enough to deal with right now without Robin tattling on Guy to the ruler of England.
Richard is equally displeased. Up until now, his tone has been warm-friendly even-but now a coolness descends. Marian can hear it plainly, even from her hiding spot. “Gisborne is also my known savior,” he says in a voice that is clipped and measured. “And as for your shire, I have done my best to rectify any past errors on my part. More than enough. I will hear no more about it.”
A swift wind drowns out Robin’s response. Marian leans forward, trying to stretch her ears as far as they will go, but before she can catch anything new a grunt from behind startles her. Turning, she finds herself face to face with a large man whose bristling black beard appears large enough to drown a small child.
“What are you doing here?” he barks, stepping forward.
Flustered, Marian can only snap back, “What are you doing here?”
“This is my tent,” he says gruffly before his voice turns sickly sweet. “Not that I don’t mind a visit from a lady…”
Marian steps away quickly, not realizing until it’s too late that she’s now left standing out in the open. A glance to the right reveals that this has not escaped Robin and The King’s notice. The former is grinning at her with a knowing sparkle in his eye, the way he used to do when they were caught in some sort of mischief-mischief that he would always talk himself out of and for which she would always end up punished. The King, however, is not nearly so amused.
“Lady Marian, where is your escort?” he asks with very little intonation, looking beyond her shoulders to the man who interrupted. The giant grumbles under the King’s gaze and then ducks into his tent.
She gives a hasty curtsy. “My lord, I thought that William deserved a break from me. I told him that I could return to my tent alone, but I seem to have lost the way.” She smiles as brightly as her cheeks will allow.
“As considerate as that is, it is not your place to decide who deserves what.”
The King’s light-blue eyes search her face, making Marian feel as though she is being weighed and measured. A quirk of wry amusement plays at the corner of his lips, but the calculation in his gaze is cold. A sense of déjà vu hits her like a fist, and yet she can not figure out why; other than the first day they arrived, she has never been allowed into his presence. If he only knew who is truly responsible for the fact that he is standing here now, alive.
She looks to Robin, who is still smiling at her and watching her from beneath his bangs. He could chime in any time, really. When it becomes plain that he will not, she says, “I apologize. It was not my wish to be presumptuous.”
Richard’s mouth thins as he continues to stare at her, and Marian begins to feel unsettled. Even if he suspects her of eavesdropping, does it really merit such annoyance?
“I am happy to escort you back to your tent, Marian,” Robin says before she can excuse herself. He is still amused as he walks to her and gallantly offers his arm.
She ignores it. “That is not necessary.”
“Oh, but I insist.”
Marian looks to Richard, who is still waiting for her next move with great interest. Her heart begins to pound. She does not want to be on the wrong side of the King of England. Grudgingly, she takes Robin’s arm with a muttered phrase of gratitude, and they begin to walk after Robin makes his pardons to the King.
“Tell me,” Robin says when they have escaped Richard’s sight, “is spying on me harder than spying on Gisborne?”
She looks at him sharply. His face is cheery, relaxed. “I have not been spying.”
It sounds weak, even to her, but it seems to be the answer that Robin expects. He stops walking and turns to face her, dipping his head to meet her eyes. The sun has bleached his hair, the blond streaks competing for dominance with the brown. He looks happy and healthy. That should not upset her.
“Then you must miss me,” he counters, and then drops his voice as a hand comes up to touch her cheek. “I have missed you.”
She moves backward, out of his reach. “You have come to see me once. It must not be too overpowering a feeling.”
“How do you know . . . ,” Robin starts before his eyes widen. “I thought I caught a glimpse of your back that day,” he says proudly, and Marian curses her oversight. “You are avoiding me. Am I so great a temptation?”
The teasing is light-hearted, but it sits uneasily on her skin. There are so many secrets between them now that this banter only scratches the surface and reveals the dark spots beneath. She does not want to do this; she just wants to escape.
“A few weeks ago you ordered me to leave you be,” she says flatly, moving forward in the direction of her tent without looking to see if he follows.
She weaves through the trickle of men who are returning to their sleeping places for a late afternoon nap. Behind her, Robin makes excuses to the soldiers as he rushes to catch-up. He steps in front of her, and she wants to scream. She is tired of men trying to corral her as though she were a flighty mare. She is about to tell him so when his face goes solemn.
“Marian, I am sorry for the things I said to you. It was just a shock.” He squints and studies the bustle of people around them. “Things are still a bit of a shock, to be honest.”
She feels her defenses begin to crack; lately it seems like the tiniest bit of kindness will turn her into a sobbing mess. “Thank you for that,” she says quietly after a few moments.
He must find that encouraging because he leans forward and says, “Come to our camp tonight.”
Marian panics. She has given too much, let down her defenses. “I am grateful for your apology, but it does not change anything,” she says. “I am still marrying Guy.”
“Of course you are,” he says as though she had just told him she plans to oust Berengeria and become Queen of England. Thankfully, it means that she is back to wanting to choke him.
“There are things that you do not know,” she tells him.
He grows serious. “Like that you still love me?”
“Stop it, Robin.”
“It is the truth.”
She looks away in a huff, wishing that she could wholly refute it even while the feelings in question surge up and stick in her throat. She does love him, but it is no longer uncomplicated or pure. Even now it is beginning to be overtaken by guilt; she should not be here talking to him. It is not fair to Guy or to herself.
Looking directly into his green eyes, she says, “I believe that I know the way from here. Thank you for your assistance.” She starts to walk away, willing herself all the while not look back.
“The invitation for tonight still stands. It will not feel right if you are not there to celebrate with us,” he calls from behind her.
Damn him and damn her curiosity. “Celebrate what?” she asks, pausing but remaining facing away.
“You will have to come and see.”
She turns around to press him for more information, but he only holds up his hands and walks away.
She tries to resist, but the thought of one more evening alone in her tent-coupled with the mystery of what could possibly merit celebration in such a tangled situation-eventually pushes her over the edge. Her mind is strong, she assures herself. And if that fails, all she needs to do is imagine explaining to Robin the fact that she is no longer a maid due to a fit of insanity; that should help her keep her distance.
Grapping a wrap, she steps out into the cool night air only to come face to face with Carter. He is eating seeds, and the shells surround his feet in a halo. He has been here for awhile.
“You startled me,” she says. “Why are you here? Where is William?” She has not seen her young guard since she left him in the courtyard this afternoon. Now she begins to worry.
“He’s been reassigned,” Carter says.
“Reassigned? Why?” Marian cries. William was the sole reason that she has been able to hold onto even a tiny sliver of freedom. She is puzzled. Guy was obviously not exaggerating when he said that Richard wanted her to stay here, but Marian can’t for the life of her decipher the reason.
“The King didn’t say,” Carter says. “Where are you going, Lady Marian?”
“To see Robin. I was invited,” she insists, still uneasy, but Carter nods and then tilts his head in the direction of Robin’s camp.
They make their way to the outlaws’ tents-or former outlaws’ tents, really. As they get closer, as she hears familiar laughter floating toward her, her heart begins to lift. She wants to see Djaq and Will and Little John and even Much, as long as he is no longer scowling at her. By the time they reach the roaring campfire and she sees the gang’s surprised smiles, she is bouncing inside. Robin, however, is nowhere to be seen.
Allan calls her name and stands up from where he had been sitting by Little John, stopping what seems to have been a very one-sided conversation. His face is flushed, and his eyes are bright. She looks down to see that his hand clutches a dark green bottle made of thick glass.
“Allan! Where did you get that?”
“I won it!” he crows, clapping her on the back so hard that it knocks the breath out of her. “I won it from a very stupid man with a very large gambling problem. And I have three more!”
“Well I suppose since it is a celebration,” she says when she recovers, and begins to feel a bit giddy herself. “Do you know what the news is?”
“Nah, Robin hasn’t told us. He probably was named best archer in the whole world or something like that.” Allan looks behind him. “Who knows and who cares? Come. Sit. Have a drink.”
Marian refuses at first-she has not drunk wine in ages as it dulled the senses that she needed to stay alert in the castle-but the mood is so infectious that she eventually takes a cup and lets the liquid warm her insides, from head to toe. Across from her Much fusses with a pot of what appears to be a bubbling stew, exclaiming loudly to no one in particular that this was short notice and he should not be held accountable for the result. When he catches her watching, he smiles bashfully, and she realizes that he is just returning her own.
Djaq and Will have been sitting quietly to one side, heads bowed as they whisper intimately to one another. Their hands are resting side-by-side in between them, and Marian can see the tips of their fingers. After watching their pinkies flirt for a good three minutes, it suddenly strikes her that something has changed. Her head snaps up to study Djaq’s face, and it does not take Djaq long to feel the weight of her gaze. She stops whispering with Will and scoots toward Marian, who, in a moment of boldness and good cheer, nods at the carpenter as she leans forward.
“Are you two . . .?” Marian begins, but then falters. Her own relationships are so convoluted that it’s affecting her ability to even define others. Djaq, however, understands her meaning immediately. Marian is surprised to see the normally reserved Saracen woman blush.
“We are.”
“When did this happen?”
“When we thought that we would die the next day,” Djaq says with a wry quirk of her mouth. “It is good. I am happy.”
Marian smiles, knowing that those words are perhaps the most effusive ones she will ever hear coming from Djaq’s mouth.
“Will you marry in Nottingham?” she asks idly as she watches the bright oranges of the fire. She is beginning to feel a tad bit light-headed. It is only when Djaq does not respond that Marian turns to study her.
“I believe that we will stay in the Holy Land,” Djaq says quietly after a few moments. “We have not told anyone else yet. I do not want to ruin Robin’s surprise, but we have been making plans.”
Marian blinks, not knowing what to say. “That is . . . well . . . congratulations,” she finishes lamely. Plans, she thinks with some amazement. Did she and Robin ever make plans? She tries to think back to all of their discussions, but she never remembers discussing anything past the shining day of the King’s return. She had never even thought about the wedding. When Allan offers to refill her cup, she accepts.
“And how are you?” Djaq says, startling Marian from her thoughts. “I am glad to see that you are on speaking terms with Robin again. I knew that he could not maintain such a high level of stupidity for so long. Perhaps there is still a way for you to reconcile,” she says with a friendly nudge.
It is a gentle prodding, but it is prodding nonetheless. For the first time this evening, Marian’s bonhomie wavers. She does not want to discuss Robin; she knows that is ridiculous, considering she is sitting here with his friends in his camp at his behest, but that is how she feels. She does not want to reconcile. Why does no one understand that she is proud of her decision to see her promise through, proud of her commitment? The loneliness that has plagued her for this past month returns with a vengeance.
“I am fine,” Marian says shortly, causing the other woman’s brow to drop into a concerned vee. Before she can smooth the waters with a diverting question or an explanation of why she is fine, a familiar voice rings out from across the fire.
“Will, pour me a cup of wine!” Robin orders, hands on his hips as he surveys the party scene before him. “I am in the mood to celebrate.”
“Tell us the news first!” Will replies while lifting his own cup, which Djaq eyes with resigned amusement.
“A hard bargain,” Robin says, acting wounded, “but one that I will take.” His eyes travel around the circle, and when they find Marian his already large smile grows. “Will, Allan, Djaq, Little John, Much, and my lovely lady Marian, you are looking at the new Sheriff of Nottingham and restored Lord of Locksley.”
At first there is stunned silence, and then Marian is surrounded by excited cheers and burbling conversation. Much goes to clap Robin on the back, Djaq has rejoined Will to hug, and Allan drains another cup of wine while giving a hearty toast that no one listens to. Even Little John stands and smiles, although he leaves the most boisterous celebrating to the others.
Marian, however, cannot move. At first she is just overwhelmed by a glow of success and gratitude. It worked-after years of watching the people around her suffer and starve, there will finally be justice again in Nottingham. Robin will be a good sheriff, a fair sheriff. His vanity will mean that there are numerous feasts and festivals, if only to provide more opportunity for the people to admire him, but she doubts that anyone will complain.
Even with her foggy brain, however, she can tell that something does not add up. Guy is on a mission for the King; Guy said that Richard had intimated that he would have Nottingham. Marian knows that she remembers this clearly, because of what a spectacularly horrible idea it was. Now it has been given to Robin while Guy is away. No, something is not right. She looks to Robin, who meets her eyes over the shoulders of well-wishers. He crosses to sit by her, splashing a bit of wine as he lands.
“Why such a long face, Marian? I thought that you would be happy for me.”
“I am,” she says and manages to muster up a smile. “Congratulations. You will be a good sheriff. The people of Nottingham have just been rewarded for enduring these last five years.”
He studies her for a few moments with an uncertain expression, one that seems out of place on his normally confident face. “You can still be Lady of Locksley,” he says softly, “if that is what bothers you.”
The words are light, teasing, but Marian can hear the very real question beneath them. It scares her, and she blurts out, “Guy believed that the King would give him Nottingham.” That could have been handled with more finesse.
“And you are disappointed that it has gone to me?” Robin asks, angry now.
“No!” Marian says, the words feeling thick and clumsy in her mouth. “That is not what I mean. But how did this come about? When was this decision made?”
“I discussed it with the King a few days ago, and he realized the benefit of bestowing the position on me.”
“Just like that?” she asks. “Seems a bit flighty.”
“You should watch your tongue,” Robin says quickly. “You are criticizing the King of England.”
Marian can only stare at him, slightly aghast. Who is this person?
“Robin of Locksley,” she says in wonderment. “I have never seen you tell anyone to watch their tongue.”
For a second he looks ashamed. He does not respond, just stares moodily into the fire. His whole body appears shuttered, walled off, and then she realizes; this is Robin keeping a secret.
“There is something that you are not telling me,” she says, shifting so that she is facing him directly, a frontal attack. “What did you say to the King?”
“Certain . . . things came to light a few weeks ago. I did not want to believe them, but I finally had to accept that they could be true.”
“What things?” When Robin does not continue, she grows impatient. “You say that you want to win me back, but you do not trust me.”
“Vasey was not sent to Nottingham by Prince John like we thought,” Robin begins. “He bought the position from Richard when he was raising funds for this campaign. Richard was unaware of his loyalty to John, or at least it did not seem important at the time. I confronted him with this, explained the horrible conditions of Vasey’s rule, and argued that if he did not want them to continue, then he would be wise not to institute Gisborne in his place.” Robin looks at her sharply. “You can hardly argue with that.”
Marian ignores the last dig; she is still reeling from what came before. “Richard gave Nottingham to Vasey? But my father was a loyal servant to the crown for over twenty years!”
“Keep your voice down, Marian,” he says, casting a worried glance at the rest of the camp, who, except for a drunken Allan, are still chatting excitedly with one another. “They do not need to know.”
“They do not need to know that their King is a liar?” she asks, unable to restrain herself.
“Marian!”
“He is! I remember when my father stopped receiving regular letters, and the few that did come were riddled with excuses about the taxing nature of the campaign. Eight months later Vasey came with Prince John’s blessing. My father never received another response to his pleas for Richard to intervene. We just thought that they were lost, or that the fighting was too great. But now . . .,” Marian trails off. She does not want to be here any longer. She saved this man who betrayed her father, she traded herself so that he could live.
“I have to go,” she says, stumbling to her feet and dashing off in a random direction. It is not until she reaches the edge of camp and sees the stars stretched out before her in a dazzling blanket that she realizes she has walked in the wrong direction. Exhaustion, bone-deep, overtakes her. She sits on the ground, stares out at the horizon. The moon turns everything silver. Soon a soft shuffle of feet approaches her from behind.
“Go away, Robin.”
“Marian, I know that this is upsetting,” he starts, but she does not want to hear him finish.
“How can you act so happy to serve him?” she interrupts.
“He is the King, Marian! And my friend. He realizes his mistake now, and has rectified it.”
“Still…,”
“What would you have me do?”
Marian turns to face him and her anger crumbles a little to see his face so sympathetic in the moonlight. She knows that she is being childish, but she is so tired of hearing excuses, tired of feeling trapped. It seems that everyone has a master, even carefree Robin.
“You did not agree with Vasey,” she says stubbornly, “and you refused to serve him.”
“This is different. I have done my part to correct a wrong; there is nothing left to do.” He moves forward, takes her hand before she can pull away. “Marian, there is something else. We are leaving in three days, going back to Nottingham. I want you to come with me.”
“You know that I cannot do that.”
“Why? Gisborne is gone, and I can protect you if he returns. We will be wed, and everything will be as it should be.”
She feels woozy, discombobulated. The warmth in her stomach is merely an effect of the wine; the rest of her body feels cold and numb. “No, I won’t do that,” she says, shaking her head. “I made a promise.”
As quickly as he grabbed it, he lets go of her hand. “You chastise me for my loyalty to a King, and yet you are loyal to someone far worse.”
“I am loyal to my word,” she corrects, although at this moment she does not want to marry anyone, especially not this stranger standing before her who looks like Robin but does not act like him.
That Robin sighs. “Marian, now this is just stubbornness. You would resign yourself to a cold marriage to prove a point.”
“Perhaps it will not be a cold marriage!” she snaps without considering the consequences. At first she just wants to prove him wrong, but once they are off their tongue, she does not feel as though she has told a lie.
She has thrown Robin off balance as well. “What?”
“Perhaps it will not be a cold marriage,” she repeats quietly, and it feels like a confession. “Perhaps there are feelings involved.”
Robin’s face crumples in disgust. “You love him?”
“No,” she says, “but I do not hate him. I do not know what I feel,” she rambles. “It is complicated.” She closes her eyes; she has said more than she wanted. Things are spinning now, and all she wants to do is forget this entire evening, forget these last few months. “I am going,” she tells him, walking by him on her way back to her tent.
This time, he does not follow.
When Marian wakes up the next morning, her mouth feels like a desert and her tongue its victim. She rolls over and blinks into the bright light as her eyes desperately try to focus. Memories of the evening rush back to haunt her, bringing with them a bout of nausea. Rushing outside, she barely makes it past a surprised Carter before she retches at the side of the tent.
“You are unwell,” Carter says. “I will bring a physician.”
She waves him away. “There is no need. It is just the result of overindulging last night. Please do not mention this to anyone.”
Carter continues to look concerned, but he relents. Allan, however, is not so polite.
“Good show, Marian,” he calls as he walks toward them, sounding impressed. “I woke up feeling like someone dropped rocks in my ear all night, but I didn’t toss it.”
“Congratulations,” she says darkly, but it has no effect on his grin or his stupid sunny face. She is in a foul mood.
“I wanted to make sure that everything was alright. You disappeared.”
“How would you know? You were passed out.”
“Nah, I was just pretending to be passed out.”
With everything that has happened, she does not feel up to unraveling the convoluted motivations of Allan A Dale. “I see,” she says simply and then looks at him hard.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks
“I need to ask you a few questions,” she says. Last night, even in her haze, she had managed to stay awake long enough to determine that there were things worth looking into, inconsistencies with holes, holes with inconsistencies. She will not blindly accept what Richard tells her, King or not, not after the betrayal of her father.
Now she turns to Carter, hating how she must ask permission for everything. “May I walk with Allan?”
Carter shrugs. It is obvious he resents his new assignment. “As long as you’re accompanied, I see no problem.”
She covers her frustration with a smile. “Excellent,” she says and grabs Allan’s arm and drags him behind her, ignoring his surprised protests. Once they are out of Carter’s sight, she pushes him between two tents.
“Hey! What’s with the roughhousing,” he says and then looks at her warily. “Are you going to punch me again?”
“No!”
“Poke me in the eye?”
“Allan, be serious for once,” she huffs and then tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. Her head is pounding, but she manages to ask, “I need you to tell me everything you’ve witnessed in the past month involving King Richard.”
“What is this about?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Well, this morning he came to the camp all friendly like, talking to Robin and asking him when he was leaving. But he was only there for a few seconds before a guard came and told him that someone had arrived with an urgent need to see him.”
“Who?”
“What does it matter?”
“Allan!” she says and pinches his arm before she knows what she is doing.
“God’s balls, Marian, that hurt!”
“I am sorry,” she says. “But I need to know if he had a name.”
“Some chap named Baldrick,” he says, rubbing his arm and muttering. “You really are a nutter, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Baldrick?” she prods, ignoring the slur. “Baldrick was the man that Guy was supposed to see in Jerusalem. Is Guy here?”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“Me either,” she says pointedly and raises her eyebrows. “Allan, I need you to find out what Baldrick is doing here.”
Allan holds his hands up like a shield between them. “Marian, just so you know, this is coming off as a little crazy. I’m thinking that maybe you don’t know when you are acting bonkers, so, from this point on, I am going to start telling you. I think it’ll be a favor to you. A favor to us all.”
She grabs his arm again, but this time refrains from pinching. “Allan, listen to me. There is something going on here. The King sends Guy, a man he knows collaborated against him in the past, on a secret mission with a promise of Nottingham when he returns-that is the first strange thing. He then tells him nothing other than the name of the man he is to meet, and insists that his betrothed stay here, assigning her a different guard when the one she has doesn’t prevent her from listening in on his conversations with Robin, who it turns out has been given Nottingham. The next day the man Guy was to meet shows up here in Acre with an urgent message. Does that not wave a flag?”
Out of breath, she waits for Allan to respond, nervously checking his face for any signs of a response. He is silent. With Allan, that means that he is thinking hard.
Finally, he scratches his head. “It does seem a little strange, perhaps.”
Her heart fills. She loves Allan, even when she wants to hit him.
“Yes,” she agrees, “it does seem strange. I need you to find out what Baldrick is doing here. I would, but Richard has placed Carter on my back. And he is already displeased with me.” When he makes no move, she looks into his eyes. “Please, Allan. You are the only person I can ask.”
Allan deliberates for what feels like an eternity, and when he speaks, he only says, “I’m not risking my neck for this, Marian. The second it seems dangerous, I’m out. I mean it.”
“Just do what you can.”
He nods. “I’ll come tell you if I find something,” he says, and then leaves Marian to sit and wait.
Allan returns later that afternoon, when the sun is high and Marian is about to start counting strands of hair to keep her mind off of what is happening outside. As soon as he enters, he tosses a small packet of letters in her lap and then wiggles his fingers.
“I’ve still got it!” he brags. “Nabbed those off him while he was walking to find his horse. And let me tell you, he is a strange, strange little man. Muttering to himself about the ruination of destiny and all that.”
She unties the rough twine holding them together and opens the top one, reading it furiously. “This is all about the plans of a group of pilgrims, among them the Bishop of Winchester.” She picks up the next. “And this one is about the Abbess of Chelle. They have been detained in Cyprus due to illness in their party” She sorts through the rest of the letters, all of which contain the same brand of information. “He is tracking these people. Why?”
“I dunno.”
“Me either. But I am going to find out.” She crawls over to where she has stashed the directions, pulls them out. “I know where Guy is. It takes three days to get to Jerusalem. Were you able to find out where Baldrick is headed? I need to know if we must head him off.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Marian. Stop. Think about this. You said yourself that you cannot leave; not only do you have a guard, you are one woman in a camp full of men. He will know that you are gone. If it really matters that much that you are here, leaving could make things worse for Giz.” He shakes his head and then begins to mutter. “I knew this was a mistake. Why do I get drawn into these things?”
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”
“But you can’t run off half-prepared either. You leave with the King’s permission, or you don’t leave at all.” He hesitates. “The gang and I are leaving for Nottingham in two days. You have to promise me that you will stay here.
“Fine. I will find a way to leave without breaking any of your rules,” she says firmly, brooking no further argument.
“Marian-,”
“I will.”
Allan opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. When he leaves, she starts to plot.
A plan comes to her immediately, but at first she pushes it away. There has to be something else, something that will not require her to lie to the one person that she has always, always, sworn to tell the truth. Perhaps, she muses, she can convince the King that she is ailing and needs to return to England with an escort. After all, the stress of everything has been getting to her-she wakes up every morning feeling sick at her stomach. It doesn’t take long, however, for her to see the weaknesses of that plan. The escort is likely to turn around and tell Richard the second she disappears, and she doubts that she could even convince the King to let her leave in the first place.
On the day Robin is set to leave, Marian accepts that she has no other choice. As she and Carter walk through the camp, she begins to tremble. It only grows stronger when she arrives to find the gang packing up excitedly.
“Bonchurch,” Much says, rolling up a blanket and throwing it onto a pile of baggage that Little John is managing. “I like the sound of that. It sounds noble, don’t you think?”
“Very noble, Much,” Will says patiently as he sits and sharpens his axe. “And kind, and dignified, and rich, and authoritative, and all the other adjectives you have thrown out today.”
“Well, I have to get your input now, don’t I? Before it’s too late.”
“There are such things as letters, Much. We will not fall out of touch completely.”
“You’ll forget me. Djaq’s forgotten me already-this morning she called me ‘Tuch.’ You laugh, but I heard it,” he says over Will and Little John’s chuckling.
“Is Robin here?” Marian asks even though she is loath to interrupt them. She needs to get this over with before she loses her nerve.
“Marian!” Much says, in good enough cheer that he approaches and speaks to her directly. “What do you think of when I say ‘Much, Earl of Bonchurch.’?”
“I think it sounds very dignified,” she concedes, “but I really need to speak with Robin.”
“He’s in the tent,” Much says before his voice cools. “Come to say goodbye?”
Marian gives a strained smile and then walks away without answering. She pulls back the flap of the tent to find Robin and Djaq discussing what medical supplies they should take with them. Djaq sees her first, and whatever advice she had been giving trails off into nothingness. When Robin turns around to see what has captured Djaq’s attention, he goes completely still.
Djaq’s eyes dart back and forth between them before she says, “I will leave you two alone to talk,” and makes her exit.
“If you have come to say goodbye, I do not want to hear it.”
“I have not.” She takes a deep breath. “I have come to say that I would like to go with you if you will still have me.”
“What about the things that you said the other night?” he says, turning back to study the small sachets of herbs and instruments before him as though they were discussing the weather.
“I was not myself,” Marian says. “I was . . . angry at what I learned about my father and Vasey, and I took it out on you. I am sorry.”
“I understand. It was a shock to me as well,” he adds, and then picks up the nearest pouch and studies its contents. “No feelings for Gisborne, then?” he asks with a forced casualness.
She smothers the small flare of anger that comes with his digging and keeps her voice level. She should give a flat “no,” but instead she says, “None that are strong enough to last me a lifetime.”
At first he does not respond, just pivots and studies her face with an intense concentration. She keeps her eyes wide, innocent. She has done it before, but never with him. A part of her hopes that he will see through this and prove that he still knows her better than anyone else.
But instead of calling her bluff, his face breaks into a smile. “Well, thank God for that. I thought that I was going to have to leave you here.”
“We have to tell the King that I am going with you,” she informs him. That is the second part of this plan. Some might think it the more difficult part, but she knows the truth.
“I can do you one better than that,” Robin says, coming over to take her in his arms. “I will ask him to marry us.”
“No!” she shouts, causing him to look puzzled. Before that puzzlement can turn to suspicion, she says, “I do not want to be married here. I want to be married at Locksley in the sight of all of the people that we helped.”
He smiles. “Fine then,” he says while ushering her outside. “We have all the time in the world.”
Everyone stops what they are doing and looks at them as Robin squeezes her shoulder and tells them that she is coming with them. Little John and Will look pleased, and so does Djaq, although Marian worries that her eyes linger for a little too long on Marian’s forced smile. Much seems a shade disappointed, actually, but he offers up hearty congratulations when Robin’s gaze turns in his direction. Allan’s expression, however, is thunderous. His lips are pursed, and he shakes his head at her as though she were a small child.
“Let me put the rest of our affairs together,” Robin whispers in her ear, “and then I will talk to Richard.”
“I would like to come, too,” she says quickly. “Please.”
“Marian, Richard does not like-,”
“I want to come,” she says, determined.
Robin relents. “Alright. Stay here,” he says and then hops back into the tent as she goes to sit on a valise that’s full to bursting.
Allan uses the opportunity to approach her. “I know what you’re up to,” he whispers.
“I figured that you would,” she hisses back after making sure that the rest of the gang is otherwise occupied. “I tried to think of another way, but this is the only way to get me out of the camp with the King’s permission. He is unlikely to deny Robin anything.”
“Marian, this is low.”
“There is no other way!” Suddenly she realizes that she may have overlooked a possible setback. She grabs his wrist. “You are not going to tell anyone, are you?”
Allan studies his feet for a few moments. “No,” he says finally. “That’s not what I do.”
“When the time comes, I want you to come with me,” she says. “I will need help.”
Allan says nothing, just looks around the circle at the friends who were his enemies for the past year. He stops when he reaches Will & Djaq and frowns. “I’ll consider it,” he says and then looks her straight in the eyes. “He won’t forgive you for this, you know.”
Marian looks away, and Allan eventually wanders off without waiting for her response. When she finally murmurs that she does know, it’s only to herself.
Richard is not pleased. After Robin tells him of their plans, he does nothing but drum his fingers on the table in an angry rhythm. For the most part, he keeps his gaze fixed on Robin, but ever so often his eyes flicker over to peer at Marian with distaste and suspicion. She realizes now why his scrutiny feels so familiar; it reminds her of Vasey’s.
“She is betrothed to another man,” the King says shortly when he deigns to speak. “We should at least wait for his return to sort this out.”
“Their betrothal was never official,” Robin says, “and Lady Marian no longer desires it. There are no fathers or lands to complicate things.”
“Still, I believe it best to wait.” Richard gives Marian a cold smile. “We do not mind playing host for another few weeks.”
Robin shakes his head. “My Lord, I fear the Nottingham has been without a sheriff for too long already. I am eager to return and right the wrongs that were carried out under Vasey’s thumb.”
Richard shifts his gaze back to Robin, and it warms slightly. There is genuine affection there, Marian notes with surprise. Allan is right; everyone has their weakness.
“And this is what you truly want? Women are fickle, you know,” Richard says, and Marian sucks in an outraged breath. She hates this man.
“This is what I want,” Robin affirms, and turns his head to smile at her. She pretends that she does not notice. If she looks at him, she might crack in two.
Richard tilts his head sardonically, as though realizing he is trapped. “Very well.”
Marian is unable to resist one small test. “My Lord,” she says sweetly, “I would like to send a message informing Sir Guy of my decision and carrying my apologies.”
The King looks at her sharply, but his face remains impassive. “Of course,” he says. “I may not be able to spare a messenger for a few days, but leave it with me and I will see that it is done.”
“Of course,” she matches coolly, knowing that this is one message that will never be sent. “Thank you for your understanding.”
“Speak nothing of it.” He smiles that arch smile once again, although this time she spots the anger running cold beneath it. It makes her shiver.
As he and Robin make their goodbyes, Marian steps outside into the sun. She is leaving the camp, and she will not miss it, not even a bit. It has changed everything. When Robin comes up behind her, she jumps.
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” he says. “Ready?”
Too overcome to speak, she can only nod.
Marian fears that Robin will realize her duplicity as soon as they are away from camp, but if he suspects anything, he hides it well. Most nights are spent joking and laughing with the gang, which soon dwindles to Much, Little John, and Allan when after they say goodbye to Will and Djaq the second day. She is grateful that they do not speak of the future, although it still strikes her as strange.
She waits until they are several days out before she escapes. In Tyre they stop to rest at an inn called the Wandering Rabbit, and she takes that as her cue to leave. She waits for everyone to be asleep to gather up the supplies and money that she’s been hoarding for the past few days and then changes into the clothing she swiped from Much. Praying that this disguise will at least divert some attention, she shoves her hair beneath a skullcap.
Only one more thing to do. She removes a letter from her bag and then, silently, moves down the hall to where Robin is sleeping. The door is locked to prevent thieves, and so she is forced to slide it beneath the door. It is better this way, she tells herself before creeping down the stairs and out to the stable to saddle up her horse.
As she is fixing the harness, she hears the twitch of hay behind her. She reaches for the small dagger she’s stashed in her pockets and whirls around.
“Geez, Marian, watch where you point that thing,” Allan says. The moonlight falling through the slats in the wood illuminates an eye and a hand.
She lowers her dagger, but does not put it away. “I am leaving, Allan,” she says
“I know,” he says, resigned. “And I’m coming with you. I told Guy I’d watch out for you, and I will. I’ve decided it’s easier to join you than fight you.”
She should take offense at that, but it is a relief to know that she will have company, that she will have something to keep her mind off the consequences of what she’s just done.
"Good," she says, throwing the bag at him. "Then let's go."