of shattering that, not for these two broken men with their strange sense of honor and their lives of fear and shame. “Keep it,” she repeated, voice softening.
She hurried away, and from behind her came John’s voice, echoing off the trees: “Sing if you ever need us, little bird.”
Jonquille was not far from the overhang where she’d met Will, and where she’d found John and Alan. She was trained to come to Marian’s whistle, and came trotting out of the trees, muzzle stained purple from blackberries, about an hour after Marian set off back in the direction of her father’s lands.
Midge made no comment about Jonquille’s purple war paint, nor Marian’s attire, significantly dirtier than when she’d left. Her father had not returned from Owen’s manor yet, and Marian hurried into the house through the side door, hoping to avoid seeing any of the servants. She could clean up the worst of the leaf grime and dirt on her skin with her morning wash water, and shake out and brush her cloak and skirts, and no one would know where she’d been.
She made it up the back stairs without incident, aiming to duck into her room before anyone could see her—and in her haste ran full tilt into Elena coming out of her own room.
Her maid yelped and fell back. She was half-dressed in her shift, with her plain wool kirtle laid out on her cot. Slung over the clothes press was a pair of man’s leggings, and Elena’s face was flushed, her hair in disarray.
Marian stared at her—lovely Elena, so sweet and gentle, diligent and kind and proper.
“Oh, my Lady, forgive me—I was . . . I was . . .” Her maid’s eyes roved over the tiny room, seeing the leggings, searching for an explanation.
Marian was quicker to recover, all too aware of her own disarray and haste to cover it up. “Elena—stop, breathe. It’s all right.”
“Taking in laundry!” Elena burst out, seizing upon an excuse. “To make a little extra coin, to help my friends back in Locksley town—that’s why I have men’s clothes in my room.”
Marian felt an irrational surge of giddiness. “Elena—stop, there’s no need for excuses, I’m not—”
“Please, my Lady, don’t mention it to your father. I’d hate for him to think I’m ungrateful for my position here, or that room and board and a station isn’t kindness enough in exchange for my service, or—”
“Elena, I met Alan!”
“Or that I’m . . . I’m not . . .” Elena’s voice petered to a gradual stop like a horse coming down out of a gallop. “You what?”
“I went to look for Will.” The name made Marian’s heart seize—how could she tell Elena what she knew of her brother’s fate? “Instead I found Alan and another man. You were there last night, weren’t you? To ask them to help find him?”
Elena’s blue eyes were round and full. “Oh, my Lady—I’m sorry, I couldn’t sit here knowing that he was out there, alone, without anyone to—”
“Me neither.” Marian stepped closer and took her maid’s hands. “How long have you been sneaking out to see Alan?”
“A few months,” Elena whispered. “But only twice before last night, and only to tell him not to come for me. It’s too dangerous—he’s not a bad man, my Lady, he was only hungry, and a poor hunter, and he loves me so that it makes him foolish.”
“Wearing men’s clothing—you’re far cleverer than I.”
“My Lady?”
“Never mind—Elena, you don’t have to worry. I have no intention of mentioning any of this to my father, or to anyone else.”
Elena’s eyes brimmed, and she took a deep breath, squeezing Marian’s hands. “Thank you.” She leaned forward abruptly. “If you met Alan, then you know—you know what happened to Will?”
Marian nodded, finding it difficult to speak. “I’m so sorry. I tried, I swear to you that—”
“Have you seen him?”
“Who—Will?”
Elena’s eyes darkened, her voice losing some of its urgency but gaining in intensity. “Lord Locksley,” she whispered. “Or whoever . . . whoever is pretending to be Lord Locksley.”
Marian released Elena’s hands. “You know about Robin?”
“I went to town on my way back from the forest, hoping for news. There’s word of a reward for information about a man claiming to be Robin of Locksley who was seen last night in Sherwood Forest, wearing his cloak and hood.”
“Reward?”
“From Gisborne’s own coffers. And also—my Lady—Will’s life.”
Marian stepped backward, shoulders hitting the wall behind her. “Will’s alive?”
Elena nodded. “The Sheriff will sign a pardon for Will,” she whispered, eyes filling