will rise. And the more the Sheriff loses to this Robin Hood, the faster they’ll do so.”
Marian, sickened, had lost interest in the roasted apple. She longed to toss it aside, for the smell now turned her stomach, but her father had been so pleased to hand it to her, as if she were still a child delighted by fairs and festivals and he a doting papa. “Father . . . has no one tried to contact the King? If he knew the suffering of his people, if he could return for a few months . . .”
“You want him to pardon this Robin Hood of yours.” Her father sighed. “Marian . . . I know the people seem to think that King Richard would approve of these schemes, but I don’t know that the King would pardon Robin Hood if he did return.”
“But—”
He drew her aside, out of the flow of people walking up and down the street. Warm fingers touched her chin, prompted her to lift it. “Marian, my dear. No one will ever know you helped him, I swear it on my life. And I don’t blame you for it. I might have helped him myself, in your place.”
Marian could tell from the timbre of his voice that it wasn’t true—but the words were a comfort regardless, and she blinked hard to clear her swimming eyes.
Her father kissed her brow. He had to lift his own head to do so, but she felt like a child again, wrapped in safety and warmth. “Take heart, my dear. We did earn extra time between collection and punishment for debt, and we’ve established some instances in which failure to pay by the poorest of our people will be forgiven. There will always be more discussions. More opportunities to change.”
Discussion.
The word rested cold and uncomfortable in the pit of Marian’s stomach. Her jaw ached with the effort of not bursting out with the words she longed to say: that they’d been here all this time discussing, and nothing had changed. An entire castle full of lords telling the Sheriff their lands could not bear an increase in taxation had done nothing to help the people. Except for a few instances in which debt would be pardoned.
“May I stroll awhile on my own?” Marian spoke softly, one hand still clutching the stick with her apple.
“Of course. Shall we meet for the archery contest this afternoon?”
Marian glanced upward, surprised to see that the sun was higher than she’d realized. She and her father had been walking for hours. “I don’t think I’m going to go,” she said carefully.
Her father’s eyes widened. “But, my dear, it’s archery. How can you, of all people, miss it?”
“Women aren’t allowed to participate.” Marian let bitterness sharpen her voice, for that rule was unfair, and in any other circumstance she would have been wrenchingly disappointed. “I think watching, and knowing I could win if I were allowed to compete, would hold no pleasure for me.”
Her father’s lips curved, though the smile was as rueful as it was fond. “I cannot think where you learned to be so competitive, my dear. You must have learned it from Robin. Winning isn’t the only joy in life.”
Robin learned it from me, Marian thought, but she felt an answering smile haunting her lips as she leaned forward to embrace her father and bid him farewell. And it’s joy enough if it will bring happiness to Alan and Elena.
Pavilions had been erected behind and along either side of the archery range, which had been set up across one of the flatter sections of grass outside Nottingham. A number of vendors and merchants had abandoned the town in order to haunt the temporary lanes and alleys in and among the tents, and if anything the excitement of the crowd had only heightened as the time for the contest approached.
Marian had relied upon Elena to get her costume and her bow from her room to a prearranged spot in a limestone alcove in the rocky outcropping that formed the foundation of the castle. Moving her gear had always been one of the hardest things about being Robin Hood, for a lady did not carry bundles of fabric—and certainly not weapons—about the castle with her. But servants did so all the time, and Elena assured her she’d have no difficulty in doing as Marian had asked.
And though Marian had arrived at the spot a good hour before they’d agreed upon, too nervous to wait, a neatly