never had before, because she’d never let herself look so closely for fear he would notice the secrets hidden in her own eyes. He had long, sweeping eyelashes that matched his dark hair. They lowered under her scrutiny.
“I don’t know what I’ll do,” he admitted, voice a bit less ragged now. “I don’t think the Sheriff can arrest me for treason, but somehow I doubt he will pass along the Prince’s dispensation for Locksley’s lands and title now. And he may find some way to punish me that I haven’t thought of.”
Marian, still distracted by the eyelashes, shook herself. She studied him again, head tilted, forcing herself not to get lost in his features. They sat together, Marian leaning against him with knees drawn up, him with his legs outstretched on the other side of her, arms clasped about her.
“As my husband,” she said slowly, savoring the words and making certain she was repeating them as he’d first spoken them, “you’d be under my protection.” She had to fight to keep from smiling.
His lashes had flown up, and as she went on, his eyes narrowed and fixed on hers.
“I would ask nothing of you. I know your feelings toward me. . . .” He reached for her as she spoke, and she quickened her quivering voice in an effort to finish before he could stop her. “I would not touch you unless you wished me to, and—”
His kiss was gentle, almost fearful, until Marian turned in his arms and leaned against him, hard. As if her response had broken a dam within him, he seized her and his lips turned fierce and possessive. His touch said what he could not—that he feared he had lost her, that he would not lose her again, that he needed nothing else but her. Marian let her tears fall, and they clung to each other, and surrendered.
He was kissing the tears from her cheeks when he realized she was shivering, and not from his touch. He pulled back and took in her bare shoulder, and the dress clinging to her body, and his eyebrows drew in as he realized her cloak was gone. “What of the outlaw who rescued us?”
Marian tore her eyes away and looked upon the river, swollen and swift with rain, and thought of Robin’s ghost as it vanished into the depths. “Drowned,” she said softly.
Gisborne said nothing for a time, watching her. Then he took her hand in both of his and raised it to his lips, bowing his head and lingering with all the chivalrous deliberation of a knight out of legend. “Long live Robin Hood.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
No book is written in a vacuum. This one is very much a product of the time it was written, but also of the people who helped make it happen.
As always, I’m eternally grateful for my agent, Josh Adams, and the team at Adams literary, as well as Kristen Pettit and the exceedingly clever—and exceedingly patient—team at .
I owe a huge thank-you to the various experts who helped weigh in on this book. In particular I’d like to thank Elizabeth Kuhl Nevitt for her expertise on the historical time period, Sarah Brown for her assistance with all things horses, Grimm for getting me started on the path of historical archery all those years ago, and Arjun Anand for his insight into costume, armor, and weaponry of the time period.
On that note, I also owe a fairly substantial apology to these experts, because despite their best efforts, this is not a historically accurate book, nor was it intended to be. The various parts of the Robin Hood legend originated across centuries, making any story that includes all of them anachronistic by necessity. At a certain point, you just embrace the madness. And to my experts—and my more historically inclined readers—all mistakes are mine. I’m hoping most of them were on purpose, and that you can forgive me taking license in favor of a story!
To my parents and sister, and my extended family of supporters: thank you. I’m sure at some point I’ll get the hang of this whole writing thing, and I’ll stop stalling two-thirds of the way through every book so I can question my life choices, but I suspect even then I’m still going to need your help. Thank you for all the years you’ve backed me.
And finally, my biggest thank-you goes to Amie, who never fails to get excited about my stories long after I’ve given up on them.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this book—can’t wait to see you for the next one!