to the ruse,” Marian countered weakly.
“Yes. You made it very easy.” His temper, now kindled, was brimming—the anger was like a tangible force trying to push her back.
Marian had to force herself to stand her ground, her own temper rising in response. “Your choices are your own, Gisborne.”
His voice, brittle with anger, cracked. “Choices? You’ve left me precious few of those, Lady.”
“You could speak for me.” The words felt hollow, for they were bloodless and weak. “For my father.”
“It would not matter.” His voice was so empty Marian began to doubt she’d ever heard a flicker of warmth in it. “Even if I wanted to spare you now, I could not.”
Even if I wanted to, Marian’s thoughts echoed in a mocking chorus. She drew herself up again, fighting the desire to crumple and let the earth claim her. “Then why am I here?”
“To answer my questions.”
“Ask them, then.”
“That day in the forest, when I captured one of your men. The big one.” Gisborne’s eyes caught a fragment of moonlight, despite the shadow. “The voice I heard, the voice of Robin Hood, was not yours.”
“A decoy,” replied Marian. There was no reason to dissemble or mislead him anymore, but she could not resist adding, “A child could have thought of it.”
The fragment of light vanished again as a tracery of cloud obscured the moon overhead. “The archery contest,” he said, failing to respond to her barb. “It was you, was it not? Your hands held the bow, loosed those arrows. You switched places with the minstrel in the chaos that followed.”
Marian caught herself before her knees could buckle out of weariness and pain. “Why are you asking me questions to which you already know the answers?”
Gisborne took a step forward, leaning toward her so that the moonlight, leaking out from behind its concealing cloud, showed a face taut with focus. “How did you do it? Three arrows, only seconds apart, so exactly placed—it’s impossible. I thought . . . more archers, hidden in the crowd, closer to the target. But the arrows all struck straight, and shots from the crowd would have flown on an angle.” His voice quickened, for all its chilly calm. “No one shoots like that.”
Tricks, Marian thought. That was what Gisborne had said when he came to her that afternoon—he’d spoken of Robin Hood’s tricks, lies that had deceived him and led him on such a merry chase.
Marian drew her chin up. “I do.”
Gisborne shifted his weight, the familiar stiff creak of his leather tunic clashing against the backdrop of singing crickets deep among the trees. “How?”
Marian considered ignoring the question, but some flicker of pride was left in her tattered spirit, for she could not quite bear the thought of dying while Gisborne believed she’d beaten him by trickery alone.
“Surrender,” she whispered. “An archer tries to master his bow, to force the arrow where he wants it to go. He tries with strength and focus and discipline to master it. He uses tougher gloves and stronger bowstrings and stiffer limbs, and restraint.” She drew a shaky breath. “But arrows are winged creatures, and will not be restrained. To shoot like that, one must surrender control.”
“You? Surrender?” The mockery in his tone did not invite a reply.
The clouds had shifted again, and Gisborne stood in full moonlight. They were some distance apart, but she could see his face as he watched her. If he’d hoped to use darkness to hide himself, he had failed. The pale, silvery light drew her eyes to the contours of his face, and she saw his lips twist, and the scarred cheek twitched. His eyes were hooded. “Was any of it real?”
Marian knew he was not speaking of the archery contest anymore. “Would my answer change anything?”
Gisborne’s eyes gleamed. In the treacherous light he looked feverish, as if he’d been the one wounded, and the wound had begun to rot. “Push back your hood.”
Marian pushed back her hood, the chill of approaching winter raising the hair on the back of her neck.
“The mask,” rasped Gisborne. “Take it off.”
Her hands shook so badly she could barely grasp the leather mask to pull it off over her head.
Gisborne’s facade cracked, his lips pressing together. His gaze fled from hers, then slunk back again, a cornered animal forced to fight. Marian, her every ounce of effort and will spent keeping herself upright, nearly swayed at the realization that even now, she’d beaten him. He had discovered her secret, would have the satisfaction of killing her