Would it make a difference? she asked herself, or Robin. But no answer came.
The monk said, “Will you say a prayer with me, child?”
Marian pressed her fingers and thumb together, feeling the sting of raw skin, the wound from the bowstring that she hadn’t let heal. She took a step backward toward the door. “I’m expected at the festival.”
The monk smiled at her. “Go with God.”
Autumn was in its fullest, richest regalia, smells and colors permeating every corner of Nottingham town. Laughter and music rang through the laneways. Rickety stages had been erected at either end of the main road up to the castle, though when Marian made her way past only one was in use. It featured a pair of puppeteers performing a much-simplified version of a miracle play. An exquisitely decorated fish made of autumn leaves swallowed up a humbly robed figure, drawing hushed gasps from the assembled crowd of all ages as Marian walked by.
Shouts caught Marian’s attention, and she waved away a cluster of sweetmeat vendors as she headed toward the commotion. A wrestling pit had been set up in one of the livestock market pens, and despite the soggy ground after the rain, it was even more popular than the puppet show. Two men—she assumed they were men, she could scarcely see them for the mud that covered them—were staggering around, bare to the waist, trying and mostly failing to get hold of each other. Abruptly one of them rolled, grabbing the legs out from under his opponent, and pinned him down until the fellow cried out and slapped at the mud to be let free.
When the victor stood, Marian nearly swore aloud. Though his height was unmistakable, Marian scarcely would have recognized Little John. He was covered in mud and he had darkened his hair with what looked like ink or soot, turning it unnaturally black. But more startling than that, the bushy beard was gone, revealing a surprisingly well-shaped chin, complete with a little dimple nestled in its center. Marian could see why he’d let the beard grow before—he didn’t seem half so fierce without it now, despite the mud streaking his face like war paint.
He started to look her way, but Marian ducked back into the crowd before he could catch her eye. All three of her men were to be here the day of the archery contest, but that wasn’t until tomorrow. She had not expected them to twice risk being identified and captured by attending both days of the festival, but she could not blame them for coming, either. Alan would be here somewhere too, no doubt, winkling a few coins out of festivalgoers in exchange for a song. She hoped Will had had better sense, so soon after being face-to-face with Gisborne and his guards in the jail, but she could not help but look for his face among those she passed.
Though it wasn’t yet noon, a cluster of people had gathered to dance outside the city gates. Their feet were rapidly turning the grassy slope into a mudslide, but they persisted, despite the fact that Marian saw several people vanish with a yelp only to resurface moments later, muddy and laughing. Marian stared hard at the trio of musicians half-invisible in the crowd, but none of them had Alan’s features or bearing.
Shrieks of laughter blended into the wail of a shawm pipe, leaves swirled about on the wind like soaring flames, and the smells from cooking fires mingled with those coming from a nearby spice merchant. Marian twisted her fingers together, skin still stripped raw by the bowstring’s cut.
Robin would have loved it.
Where are you? Marian thought, her eyes stinging with tears, her heart aching.
She could not look at the dancers without imagining Robin among them, darting out to grab her hand and pull her in. She could not turn toward the vendors without remembering a May fair two years ago where he’d bought her a beautifully carved wooden pendant. And when a little girl, bedecked with a crown of autumn leaves, beckoned her down to offer her an adornment similar to her own from the basket of bright leaves at her side, Marian could only shake her head mutely and back away.
“Marian!” Cecile’s voice blended with the background chaos, but the use of Marian’s name cut through to her ears. “Come, see what we’ve found!”
Marian dug in her pocket until her fingers found a coin, which she offered to the girl with the wreaths. “Later?” she asked