doing it herself—it was a ritual of sorts, a confirmation of the old bond between them. She stood by Jonquille’s head, eyes closed, feeling the mare’s warm, wet breath on her neck.
“Take care, Lady,” Midge said finally, as Marian mounted. “Times like these forge desperate men.”
EIGHT
THE OVERHANG WHERE SHE’D grappled with Will the night before was empty. Marian had worried she wouldn’t be able to find it again, but the area was well trampled by boots and hooves alike, tightening rings of a target centered on the bull’s-eye where Gisborne had dismounted to find his quarry.
She saw no signs of bloodshed, which suggested Will was still alive, but she could not tell whether they’d captured him or he’d escaped. Robin would know, Marian thought bitterly. He had a way with tracking, an imagination that let him re-create the events of the forest as if he’d been watching from the shadows.
Marian left Jonquille nibbling at a blackberry patch and crouched, inspecting the crushed leaf litter. She crept closer to the overhang, scanning for signs of her own boots. If she could find hers, perhaps she could find Will’s, and see if he’d run across the tracks left by Gisborne’s posse. The trees above still held most of their summer leaves, though they’d begun to turn apple red and gold. Most of what lay underfoot was debris from the previous year, creating a thicker, denser soil to hold on to last night’s footprints.
Jonquille whickered anxiously behind her, and Marian hid a smile—no doubt her horse had gotten a thorn in the lip for her eagerness. She shifted her weight, ready to rise and go to her horse.
“By all means,” said a deep, unfamiliar voice, as something hard and blunt pressed in between her shoulder blades. “Keep looking for whatever it is you lost. An earring, perhaps, or some other bauble? We’ll add that to your ransom.”
Marian froze, mind racing. You’ve every right to be here, she told herself. A picnic, a ride through the wood, even a secret tryst—scandalous, but hardly illegal. The Sheriff’s men have no reason to place you here last night, and no proof if they do.
“Turn, my Lady,” said the voice. “Let us see those fair features.” The thing poking into her spine, too blunt to be a sword, prodded at the shoulder she’d wrenched the night before. Unprepared, Marian let out a groan and tipped forward a little, catching herself on her palms. The sound prompted laughter from the man behind her, and her fear flickered over into a sharp glint of anger.
Marian stepped forward and rose to her feet, half-ready for the man to grab her for moving away. She turned—and nearly leaped back in surprise. The man was easily two heads taller than she, taller than any man ought to be. And he was no Sheriff’s man either, dressed as he was in worn linens and leather bindings and boots split front and back to accommodate his large feet. He had brown-black hair but for the bramble thicket of a bright copper beard concealing most of his face. He held no weapons except a long, crooked staff worn shiny with use.
Seeing her shock, the man grinned, teeth appearing briefly in the rat’s nest of hair on his face. “I think we’ve scared her, John,” he called.
From somewhere beyond him, hidden in the foliage, another man’s voice called back, “That’s rather the point, John.”
Marian scanned the trees but could see nothing—she glanced back at her assailant, still reeling. She’d been so focused on finding Will, so afraid of Gisborne’s men spotting her, that she’d let herself be caught by common thieves.
The huge man tucked one hand through his belt, the other gripping the staff. “Calm your fears, little bird,” he said, still grinning. “We’re for gold, not anything more precious. Pay us our due, and we’ll escort you to the edge of the forest before we take your horse.”
Marian had to stifle a snort at the idea of anyone, even this giant of a man, forcing Jonquille anywhere she didn’t wish to go. She could not be certain how many other men this “John” had with him, but he could have easily taken anything of value by assaulting her from the outset. Sherwood was haven to dozens of outlaws, and though they were all sentenced to the gallows if caught, the Sheriff rarely wasted manpower hunting for them unless they perpetrated crimes far worse than highway robbery. Either this man enjoyed toying with his victims or