being seen . . . not even the real Robin could have managed that alone. And so, for the first time, Marian had to put her trust in other players—and she had to wait.
Gisborne had ridden out before daybreak with a dozen of his men. That much of her plan, at least, had gone off without trouble. Marian had entertained the brief but unlikely hope that the Sheriff’s second-in-command would bring half the castle’s garrison with him in his zeal to capture the hooded impostor who stood between him and Locksley. Still, there were far more guards left manning Nottingham Castle’s entrances, exits, and corridors than had gone to Sherwood Forest.
The next step of Marian’s plan had not gone entirely as she’d expected.
The previous day, when Gisborne had escorted Marian back to her quarters after her visit to Will, she’d found Elena waiting for her. Her maid was brushing at Marian’s riding kirtle with such vigor that she didn’t hear the door open, didn’t notice Marian’s approach, didn’t so much as pause until Marian laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder.
Elena had gasped and dropped the brush, and as soon as her eyes fixed on Marian’s face, they grew wet with unshed tears. “My Lady,” she greeted her in a shaking voice. There was a question in her gaze.
Marian found what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “I spoke with Will. He’s alive, he’s not badly hurt. He—”
But Elena grasped at Marian’s hands, the tears overflowing, and Marian had to give the rest of her account in bits and pieces. By the time she told Elena that she had a plan to free her brother, the tears had slowed. That statement made them stop altogether.
Marian interrupted Elena’s questions by squeezing her hands and saying, “It’s best if you don’t know. If I’m caught, they’re sure to interrogate you. I do need your help, though, with one thing.”
“Anything, my Lady.”
“The washwomen who scrub the floors—do they live here in the servants’ quarters, or do they live in town?”
Elena frowned at her, puzzled. “Some live here,” she said slowly. “Those who are unmarried, or who have outlived their husbands. What do they have to do with Will?”
“I need to . . . to borrow a set of work clothes from one of them. Do you know when they have duties that would keep them away from their belongings?”
“No, my Lady, but I could ask them.” Elena’s eyes were keen, though, and she hesitated only a moment before saying quietly, “I can get what you need.”
“You can’t be involved,” Marian said gently. “Like I said—”
“You can’t go sweeping down into the servants’ quarters in all your finery and expect to walk back out with an armful of rags without anyone noticing.” The words came out in a rush, cutting through Marian’s voice, and Elena shut her mouth with a little gasp of surprise as her cheeks reddened. “P-pardon, my Lady, I didn’t mean to . . .”
But Marian could have laughed at the absurdity of it all, conspiring with a servant, planning disguises and jailbreaks, all the while remaining carefully respectful of the barriers of class and birth. “I choose to risk myself,” she said finally. “If I’m caught, there’s a chance my station will protect me, at least to some extent. I can’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t ask,” Elena said, cutting her off again. This time, she didn’t apologize for it. “I offered.” When Marian would have argued, her maid straightened, lifting her chin. “I’m not offering because I want to help you, my Lady, though I do. I’m offering because between us, I have the better chance of success. If you need a washwoman’s clothes to save Will, I’ll get them for you.”
The plan came together quickly at that point. Marian would leave a basket by her bed full of linens to be washed, which Elena would bring to the servants’ quarters, where she’d add an unwitting washwoman’s habit to the pile of laundry, then leave it all at the junction where the servants’ hall intersected the stair leading down toward the armory and the jail beyond.
“My Lady,” Elena interrupted then, eyeing her curiously. “I won’t ask you again to tell me what you’re planning, but—forgive me for saying so—you’re forgetting that the nobles and the guards aren’t the only people you must deceive.”
“What do you mean?”
“To you, we all look alike.” Her maid lifted her chin again, fingers twisting in the folds of her skirt. “You don’t look at us,