until Gisborne wheeled him around in front of Marian, forcing Jonquille to stop with an abrupt snort of protest.
“My Lady,” he said, as coolly as if he were passing her in the castle hall—only a rebellious bit of black hair curling at his temple showed any hint of disarray. “The forest is not safe.”
“Nonsense,” said Marian lightly. “I’ve lived in Sherwood Forest all my life and have never come to any grief.” She leaned forward, but Gisborne cut in before she could signal to Jonquille to continue.
“My Lady.” This time, the words were not a request.
When Marian looked up, Gisborne was watching her intently, one hand on his reins, the other at his belt, where he wore his sword. For a moment she saw double—Gisborne there on his horse, duty bound to protect her from outlaws and brigands—and Gisborne in the bowels of Nottingham Castle, ready to draw his sword and kill her in the name of the law.
“Sherwood is not safe,” he echoed. “We shall return to the ring road. And, perhaps, we ought to let the horses walk.”
Jonquille danced beneath her, uncertain, responding to the tension in Marian’s legs. “Perhaps,” she agreed.
After they’d emerged back into the sunlight, and the guards were behind them once more, Gisborne glanced her way. “You ride well, my Lady.”
“My horse was a gift from Robin—we rode together often.”
Gisborne’s eyes left her. “I see.” He ran his glove over his hair, that untidy curl restored to its place. “My Lady, I must ask. Has anyone come to you regarding the man seen in the forest and in Nottingham Castle?”
“Man?” Marian echoed.
“My Lady, please do not insult my intelligence by pretending to have none of your own.”
Marian shot a glance at Gisborne in surprise. His marred features twisted in a grimace.
“Forgive me,” he muttered. “I had a trying night, but that is no excuse to abandon manners. I am certain, though, that you know of whom I speak.”
“I have heard the rumors,” she said slowly. “They are too painful to consider. I dismiss them.”
She could feel his eyes on her again. “He has never spoken with you. Are you certain?” he said quietly.
“It would hardly be logical for a man impersonating Robin of Locksley to visit me, would it?” Marian gazed ahead, at the curve of trees beside the road, stretching away across the fields. “I’d know him instantly for a fraud.”
Gisborne was slow to respond. “I suppose so.”
“And why should he? If he’s some common thief, there are far richer targets than I for him to seek.”
Gisborne made a sound in his throat, rather like a suppressed cough. “I cannot admit to any intimate knowledge of the motives of someone who masquerades as a dead man by night.”
Jonquille was creeping out ahead of Gisborne’s mount, and Marian pulled her in a fraction. “What do you mean?”
But Gisborne only shrugged, and they walked on, sinking once more into that dreadful stiff silence as punishing as the sun overhead.
It was as much to break that silence as anything else that Marian spoke. “Will Scarlet—the man you arrested in Locksley. He is in the dungeon at Nottingham, isn’t he?”
Gisborne grimaced again. “You should not think about men like him, my Lady.”
“He’s Robin’s man, Sir Guy. I’m only doing what Robin would, if he were here.”
Gisborne exhaled audibly. This time, when his eyes flicked over toward Marian, there was a hint of annoyance. “The man is guilty, my Lady. Even if Locksley had returned, there would be no recourse for him. No man is above the law.”
He spoke with such finality that Marian felt a chill, as though an errant cloud had leached away the sun’s warmth. “Still,” she said, voice quiet but steady. “I would . . . I would speak with him, if I could.”
Gisborne’s jaw worked a moment. “Why?”
“He’s brother to my personal maid. If nothing else, I would give him her love, and bring his sister whatever regards and words he might have for her.” And see where, and in what manner, he’s being held. Surely no prison is unbreakable.
Gisborne was quiet so long, Marian half feared that he would never reply, that he would let silence itself be her answer. “Your loyalty is admirable, Lady.”
“She’s been with me for years, I’m fond of—”
“Your loyalty to Robert of Locksley.”
Marian’s words stuck in her throat. “I’m not—that is to say, I don’t know what Will—”
“Demur if you must,” Gisborne said, and though his voice was calm, the chill in it overrode her own voice