a step forward and cleared his throat. His chilly expression had eased somewhat, and he regarded Marian with something that seemed almost like warmth, in contrast. Warmth and, perhaps, surprise.
She’d said the words on purpose—my Lord Gisborne, as if they were already wed—and he had softened. “I choose to stay, Sir Guy.”
Gisborne bowed his head, and Marian thought he was hiding relief. When he raised it again, however, there was nothing to be read there but grim determination. “Very well. While you are here, you must remain isolated. Your father and your servants will return with him today, as planned, to Edwinstowe, with the information that you are being held. No one will know you are not a real prisoner except myself and your father, and we cannot risk anyone else discovering the truth.”
“But my maid—” began Marian.
“—is the sister of a man suspected to be part of Robin Hood’s band,” interrupted Gisborne. “No one, my Lady, except for myself.”
Marian could not help but glance at her father, whose face had gone ashen as the furious color drained from his cheeks. “I have to see her, at least, reassure her . . .”
Gisborne flicked his fingers dismissively. “You must see why that is impossible, my Lady. Any reassurance might alert her to the deception, and even if she is entirely innocent, she might unwittingly betray something to someone who is not.”
Marian looked again at her father. He did not know of Elena’s involvement with Alan, or that Elena knew her identity as Robin Hood. And Elena did not know her father had recognized her at the archery contest. Her heart ached for Elena, who would fear for her every moment, thinking she truly was a captive in Nottingham Castle. She would assume Gisborne suspected Marian, or worse, that he had learned the truth about Robin Hood.
Gisborne must have interpreted her glances as seeking permission, for he turned to her father as well. “My oath, Lord, that nothing will happen to your daughter. Her safety is my greatest concern.”
That Marian did not believe. After she’d said her goodbyes to her father, she stood at the window of her new prison, which was even more comfortably decorated than her old chamber had been. It had been occupied by one of the visiting nobles who had departed following the conclusion of the council meetings. This room had a larger window that overlooked the courtyard, and she watched the tiny toy figurines of her family as they mounted their toy horses and rode away. Gisborne, an equally tiny figure cast in obsidian, stood motionless as he watched them go.
No, she did not believe her safety was chief among Gisborne’s cares. She’d seen the fire in his eyes as he grappled with her in Robin Hood’s guise. He would stride right past her bleeding, broken body without a second glance if it meant capturing Robin Hood.
She was counting on it.
Gisborne brought her meals several times each day, lavish and steaming straight from the kitchens. He brought her messages from her father and candles by which to read them. He caused several tapestries to be moved into the room and placed alongside the others, banishing the chill of deepening autumn. He even sought to give her what freedom he could within their planned deception.
“I asked that your mare be left in the stables here,” he said, lingering inside the door of her chamber as stiffly as if standing at attention. “It has been a few days now, and I think that we might ride together for some fresh air, if you were to go hooded and cloaked—”
“No,” Marian interrupted swiftly, barely remembering to keep her voice soft and gentle. The last thing she wanted was to ride with Gisborne in a costume so similar to the one her life hinged upon. “I really am well, Sir Guy.”
Gisborne hesitated. It was so uncharacteristic of him that Marian found herself staring in something like amusement, helplessly drawn to his anxious manner. For he had more of the air of a nervous servant than the odious lawman she’d come to know. “You cannot be well, stuck here every hour of the day. I wish there was more I could do.” His voice was quiet, and there was regret in his eyes.
No, thought Marian in sudden realization. Not regret; guilt.
For so long she had grappled with the fact that Gisborne’s interest in her was solely due to her connection with Locksley and her father’s lands—for so long she’d had to