his hands from behind his back. “Indeed. Apologies, Lady Marian. I have been in council with the Sheriff since our ride. This way.”
She fell into step behind him, thoughtful, mind turning over. “You seem distressed.”
Gisborne’s stride faltered, and he disguised the misstep as a pause to let her catch him up and walk at his side. “I beg your pardon,” he said finally, but made no effort to explain his behavior.
He led them past the armory, which seemed to double as a break room for the guards during daytime hours, for a burst of raucous laughter muffled by the thick door trailed them as they passed. “You’ve known the Sheriff since you were children, haven’t you?” Marian asked over the laughter.
“The Sheriff’s father raised me after my own father died,” Gisborne answered after the sounds of revelry from the armory had faded behind them. His voice was cool—Marian could not imagine speaking of her own father’s death so calmly.
“I should think it would be nice to have a brother,” Marian commented.
Gisborne turned a corner, his profile visible long enough for Marian to see his jaw tighten. “Indeed. This way.”
Marian gave up, listening to the sounds of their steps. The air felt chill and damp, yielding only to the heat of the torches they passed. The only people present were other guardsmen, and as a few of them turned to watch their progress, Marian began to understand why Gisborne had insisted on accompanying her.
She wasn’t the only woman present, though. Another turn revealed the stooped, ragged form of a servant on her knees, scrubbing at the stone beneath her. The floors were sloped down to one side, and the woman was moving watery sludge down the corridor with long strokes of a bristled scrubbing brush. The stench of rot and excrement assailed Marian’s nose—she must have made some sound, for Gisborne paused as they reached a heavy, iron-bound door at the end of the hall.
“I can bring you back,” he offered, unaffected by the smell. “If you wish, I will pass along a message to the prisoner.”
Marian drew up her chin. “It’s worth it, if he will tell us anything about the man who helped him.”
Gisborne inclined his head. “As you wish,” he replied, and opened the door.
Marian had never been in the caves beneath Nottingham Castle, though stories about their dark, labyrinthine tunnels ran rampant through the nobility and commoners alike. They were said to be endless, that if a man didn’t know where he was headed, he could wander through the stone passageways until he died of thirst and cold. The very air in the caves was different, carrying an empty, bone-deep chill that seemed to slither straight through Marian’s cloak and gown to her skin.
Passages broke off right and left as they walked, some lit by torches, others no more than gaping maws of darkness. It was down a lighted passage that Gisborne led her before coming to a halt as they reached a sharply sloping section of sandstone worn smooth by the traffic of booted feet.
“The cells are just beyond.” Gisborne spoke quietly. “Scarlet will not know I am listening, but I will be within earshot if you require my assistance. You are certain you wish to continue?”
Marian forced herself to meet his eyes but could not suppress a shiver. In such darkness, so far from any source of comfort or safety, with nothing but stone above and below and all around, the effect of his cold stare was potent.
When she didn’t answer immediately, Gisborne took a step toward her. “My Lady, I can—”
“No,” said Marian quickly, stepping back in response, wrapping her arms around herself. “I will do as I promised. Thank you, Sir Guy.”
She turned and hurried down the slope, half sliding on the slick stone. She’d intended to come up with some way to require privacy with Will, if only for a few moments, but her courage had failed her in that dark, cold atmosphere.
Marian reached the bottom of the slope and paused to shake herself, the gesture as much a shudder as anything else. She would hear Gisborne if he tried to follow her. And despite the overwhelming isolation the caves forced on the senses, there were guards and soldiers and any number of others down here who would hear her if she screamed.
She drove Gisborne’s cold, invasive eyes out of her thoughts. Ahead the corridor swelled wider, with roughly hewn rectangles at uneven intervals on either side. Iron grates covered most of