attack again, grim and unyielding despite the glitter of his eyes, and this time she nearly fell from the force of the blows. Fury, or pride, would only carry her so far. The exhaustion and the weakness were waiting for her, and desperation gave her anger an edge. She parried another swing and then raised her sword to bring it down with all the strength she had in one arm. He met it, holding their crossed blades an inch away from his face.
“Why won’t you stop toying with me and fight?” she shouted, gasping.
He grimaced and shoved her back before blurting, “Why won’t you give up?”
Their swords clashed again—the crickets had gone silent, listening to the staccato of battle, or else frightened off into the shadows. All Marian could hear was the clamor of steel on steel, and her own harsh breathing.
She swung at him, and he blocked—and this time he didn’t counter the attack. She swung again, and again, until her hand gave out and the sword clattered against his and fell to the ground. Marian’s legs trembled, buckled, and the moon vanished.
“Give up, damn it.” Gisborne caught her as she began to fall, his own sword clanging against hers among the leaves.
Her eyes had failed, but she felt him lower her to the ground. He wasted not a moment—as soon as she went limp, she felt his hand at the clasp of Robin’s cloak, and the weight of it fell away. His fingers tugged at the laces of her tunic with ruthless efficiency, but when Marian went to push his hand away, in her confusion, she tried to use the wounded arm. Pain erupted across her shoulder, radiating down her arm and through her ribs. Marian moaned and sank into moonless black.
FORTY-THREE
THE SMELL WOKE HER. She was huddled in the corner, face turned to the wall, but she knew without opening her eyes where she was. The stench of human waste and decay assailed her nose, and she tried to curl up more tightly against it.
The limestone walls of the cell were smooth, a natural cave before barred doors had been added to create a prison. She could not tell if it was the same one Will had occupied, although there were comforts in hers that he had not been given. A coarse rug covered the worst of the filth on the stone floor. A lamp burned steadily in the corner. A wineskin and a plate of bread and cold meat rested on a small wooden stool opposite her.
At that sight, realization burst in her mind that she was desperately, ravenously hungry. She scrambled across the rug and tore into the bread, drinking from the wineskin when her throat was too dry to swallow. She had nearly finished the meal, which was generous by any standards, let alone for a prisoner, before her hunger was sated enough for rational thought to return.
There were no windows, so she could not tell how much time had passed. She smelled of horse and sweat, but that told her nothing, since her last memory was of riding to meet Gisborne, and . . .
Her stomach lurched, and Marian’s hand went to her throat. The tunic he’d been untying was gone. All her clothes were gone—in their stead she wore a plain, undyed gray woolen kirtle over a coarse-spun shift. Heart thudding, Marian tried to remember those last few moments before she lost consciousness.
Gisborne catching her, lowering her gently to the ground. His hand on the cloak, his fingers at her tunic. But while his manner had been urgent, he was icy calm rather than molten. His anger had fled the moment she began to fall, and he’d shown no sign of the passion he’d displayed the last time he held her.
Marian’s fingers twisted in the rough fabric of the dress. He hadn’t been trying to undress her—he’d been transforming her from Robin Hood to Marian again. If Gisborne had brought her to her cell as Marian, then he hadn’t told the Sheriff yet the depth of her treason. She would hang regardless, whether as Robin Hood or his accomplice, and she could not think why Gisborne had bothered to keep her identity secret.
Perhaps his pride has so overtaken sense that he can’t bear anyone knowing his great opponent was a woman.
Marian drank again from the skin, which made her head spin but helped warm her limbs. She was cradling it against her when she realized she’d lifted it with her right arm.