to fetch it for him—and the sword belt that had been hanging beneath it, lending bulk to its outline on the hook.
Marian waited until the door had closed behind Gisborne, then turned to find her father there, his face grave and weary.
“Oh, Marian—I should have warned you.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve been keeping him at bay, but I had no idea he would—”
“Where’s Elena?” Marian interrupted with a shake of her head.
Her father blinked at her. “Elena? Your maid?”
“Has she been gone since before Gisborne arrived?” The pieces were still coming together in Marian’s mind, the explanation for the dread in the pit of her belly.
Her father was frowning. “I . . . I’m not sure. But Marian, what does your maid have to do with Gisborne? I’m not sure you’re—”
“It’s Will.” Marian whirled and ran for her cloak. “Will Scarlet—he’s Elena’s brother. Gisborne was about to execute him the morning I . . .” The morning her world fell apart. She pushed that from her mind, thinking instead of the memory of that badly beaten face, so swollen she barely recognized the boy she’d known from childhood. “If Gisborne knew that Elena was his little sister, he could have planned to use her to draw him out.”
A hand came down over hers as she grasped her cloak on its hook. She turned to meet her father’s gaze, his confusion supplanted by genuine fear. “Marian, you cannot go after them. It’s one thing to ride to Locksley and ask for mercy, but this—a manhunt, at night, in Sherwood Forest? You cannot go, you cannot be seen there. We have time for you to decide what to do about Gisborne’s offer, but if he catches you prowling around the forest at night trying to warn or rescue an outlaw . . .” Her father’s hand squeezed her fingers in a wordless plea. “There are some things we cannot explain away by grief or hysteria or feminine weakness.”
The wry set of her father’s lips was what brought Marian back to herself. He was right—and perhaps if it were only her reputation, only her own neck at risk, Marian would feel differently. But it was her father’s status, lands, home—and life—that could be forfeit were his daughter to be caught aligning herself with outlaws. And the people of Edwinstowe would suffer for having lost him as their lord.
“I must at least go out and look for Elena. She could be lost—she doesn’t know the forest like Robin and I do. She could be hurt.” She took a breath, using the pause to think. In her daze as she’d returned to the house, she’d left the pack with Robin’s cloak on Jonquille’s saddle. No doubt Midge, the stable master, had discovered it—she would have to hope it hadn’t been brought up to her chambers. “I won’t approach Gisborne—I’ll just look for my maid.”
“If he sees you—”
“I promise you, Father.” Marian draped her cloak over one arm. “Gisborne won’t have any reason to think I’m not exactly where I’m supposed to be: here, thinking about marriage, discussing terms with my father.”
Her father scrubbed at his face again. He had a knack for knowing when she was being less than honest, and he had that look now. But she wasn’t lying—the cut of Robin’s cloak clearly denoted its wearer as a man, and her height ought to reinforce the disguise.
If she kept her hood up, and made sure no one saw her face, Gisborne couldn’t recognize her as a woman, much less herself.
“Be careful,” her father said finally.
Marian kissed his cheek, then slipped out the servants’ exit toward the stables.
The girl is supremely disinterested in him. Their parents leave them together under the watchful eye of a hateful old maid, him in his best tunic again, her in a dress that looks almost as uncomfortable. Robin greets her, reciting the words he’s been taught. She returns his greeting, sounding even more bored than he is. She gives him a nosegay of wildflowers and he gives her an ivory comb his mother pushed into his hand. His mother gave his hand a squeeze, the press of her ring a familiar comfort, but now he’s nervous and antsy again.
Then the girl looks out the window and tugs at the neck of her dress. “Do you know how to shoot?” she asks.
Robin stares at her. “Like a bow?”
She eyes him critically. “Yes, like a bow. Father says I’m too little, and anyway they want to