he could assist her. The man paused, eyeing her coolly with one gloved hand half-extended. His jaw flexed, and he turned back to his own horse. “You have eaten?” he asked, swinging up into his saddle.
Marian had gone to call on Seild before breaking her fast, and her stomach was painfully empty after the night’s exertions. But one look at Gisborne’s face told Marian that all he needed was an excuse to prolong their outing into a picnic. “Yes, Sir Guy.” She settled herself in her saddle and urged Jonquille into a brisk walk.
Silence spread out behind her, broken eventually by a muttered oath and a clatter of hooves. Gisborne’s horse caught up with Jonquille. “You ride ahead without knowing where we are bound.” The pair of guards accompanying them settled into pace some distance behind them.
Marian summoned a smile. “I knew you would catch up and direct us.” She forced herself to meet the man’s eyes, every heartbeat a battle not to look away. She could not shake the fear that he’d recognize her from the night before. His eyes were so shrewd, so coldly calculating, that she finally broke away with a shiver.
Gisborne cleared his throat. “You are well, after your . . . your interrupted night?”
Marian tightened her hands around Jonquille’s reins to make sure they wouldn’t shake. “The bedclothes, you mean?” She laughed, or tried to. “It was foolish of me. I’m quite well today.”
Gisborne shifted, the leather of his saddle creaking noisily. The silence stretched again until he said abruptly, “Your rooms are satisfactory?”
Marian glanced askance at the man, who was staring dead ahead, impassive. “They’re fine. Quite comfortable.”
Gisborne’s head nodded a bit, the cold eyes a bit distant—he looked, for a moment, very much the way her father did when checking his accounts: going through a list, item by item, placing a tick by each one. “Do you enjoy visiting Nottingham?”
Marian felt, for an incredulous instant, like laughing. She’d been so preoccupied with her own horror at the prospect of marrying the Sheriff’s stiff, blank-faced lackey that she hadn’t stopped to consider the obvious—that since his motivation for seeking her hand was to secure his claim to Locksley and Edwinstowe, he might have as little interest in spending time with her as she did with him.
Her failure to respond made him glance her way, and when he found her looking at him, he jerked his eyes ahead again. “Have I said something to offend you, my Lady?” His voice had grown a few degrees colder.
“I was thinking I would like to ride a little faster, once we’re past the gates,” Marian answered. Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she added, “May I?”
She’d turned her gaze forward again, but she felt Gisborne’s eyes on her, a chilly presence that made her want to squirm away. “Of course,” he said.
Once they were clear of Nottingham’s walls, and the crowd of beggars surrounding the gate, Marian sat a little taller and eased her weight onto her heels in the stirrups—she’d barely started to shift her grip on the reins when Jonquille broke into a trot, anticipating her. Her mare was anxious to move, unused to being asked to walk sedately, and it was all Marian could do to keep her from breaking into an all-out run. By the time Gisborne and the guards caught up, they’d settled on a slow canter.
Too quick a pace to talk.
They rode in relative silence for a time, Marian timing her breathing to match Jonquille’s strides. Gisborne’s horse displayed none of her own mount’s irritability, as disciplined and calm as his rider. Though the air was crisp with autumn, the sun was still high and bright, and beat down upon Marian’s dark riding kirtle. They reached the edge of the cultivation, where the ring road curved right to encircle the town’s outskirts. The King’s Road through Sherwood forked off beneath the trees, and without thinking, Marian leaned left. The cool of the shady leaves washed over her, and she let her breath out.
Behind her, she heard a muffled utterance of surprise and a clatter of hooves. She turned in time to see Gisborne hurriedly wheeling his mount around at the fork, the guards milling in confusion. She was half-tempted to let Jonquille run, but she sat back heavily, keeping a tight hand on the reins. She had a smile on her face by the time Gisborne reached her, but instead of falling into step beside hers, his horse galloped on