can’t run anymore,” Marian croaked, voice transformed by the blow to her ribs. “If we survive, we’ll come back for him.”
Gisborne looked from his horse to the riders closing on them and back. His hands were automatically running over the stallion’s legs, feeling for swelling that would tell of a broken bone, or blood from some unseen injury. Gisborne’s eyes met Marian’s over his shoulder and he swore, leaving his horse with a last lingering, agonized glance.
If Marian had not already known her heart, she would have then. Gisborne pulled her to her feet and they ran. The river was close, Marian knew. There were narrow, winding paths worn by sheep and cattle down the sheer embankment on the river’s south side—if they could reach it in time to get a head start, their pursuers would have to dismount to follow them.
A crossbow bolt whizzed by, so close its fletching tore a rent in the side of Marian’s cloak. Her breath was failing her, and her legs—she’d been two weeks in bed, more or less, and was weak with inactivity. Gisborne was tiring too, sweat plastering his hair to his temples and pain beginning to shorten his stride. Marian recognized it now: it was never that his limp was affected to lower his opponent’s guard—he simply ran despite it, when he had to. She had to assume it hurt a great deal to do so.
Marian looked behind them again and her breath caught in fear. Their pursuers were so close she could see the clouds of breath from their lathered mounts and hear the jangle of chain mail and saddle.
Then a hard body collided with hers and slammed her to the ground.
Gasping, dizzy, half-tangled in Gisborne’s limbs, Marian rolled to sit up—and nearly fell, as her hand at her side met empty air. Wheezing, for she’d elbowed him in the ribs on instinct, Gisborne caught her by the cloak and tried to pull her back.
But she’d seen it now, what he had seen while she was watching their pursuers, the reason he’d tackled her. And in fairness, it was the only way he could have stopped her before her momentum carried her over the edge of the cliff.
Far below, the river roiled like a stormy sky. Gisborne’s arms were around her, his panting breath hot on her shoulder, and they leaned on each other as they pulled themselves up. Marian held on to him with her good arm, and he anchored her while she leaned out over the edge, searching for one of the little pathways down. But this spot was an overhang, a sheer drop above the river below. There might be a path out of sight upriver or down, but the earth thundered with the drumming of hooves, and they had no more time.
Gisborne turned and curled his hands around her arms. His eyes were transformed, their black depths full and tempting, inviting her to give in and drown there.
“Marian—I meant it.” The words were a desperate torrent, flowing around gasps for breath and cracked lips. “I love you. I thought I loved you, and then you kissed me, and I thought then that I loved you, and then I found out who you were, and I hated you and loved you even more—I’d die for you. I’d die with you.” He pulled her closer, trying to fold her in his arms.
Marian shoved them away, inching toward the cliff’s edge and looking down again. “Can you swim?” Her voice was high and thin with fear, but sharp—sharp enough to pull Gisborne out of the flood of declarations he was spilling.
He stared at her, bewildered, his arms still half-outstretched.
She met his eyes, trying to shore up her own courage. She’d heard him, what he said—she could not dwell in the words now, but they filled her, rose in her, and when they would have overflowed she found she was a vessel vast enough to keep them safe. “Gisborne!” she shouted, trying to jolt him from his daze. “Can you swim?”
He ducked as a crossbow bolt hummed overhead, and responded instantly: “Yes.”
Marian tried to catch her breath, but there wasn’t time. “I can’t,” she whispered, and took a step back toward the edge. Despite the paper-thin sound of her voice, it was not a plea or a lament. It wasn’t a surrender—it was a challenge.
His eyes flickered an instant’s confusion, then sharpened with dawning realization. “No—wait—” But his hand closed on empty air as Marian whirled away.