could have told him the truth. She could have explained, could have sat through the endless rounds of questions—but you’re a woman, and you handled a sword—but you’re a girl, and you risked your life—but you’re nobility, and you helped an outlaw—and maybe he’d see what she was doing. Or maybe he’d just say, But you’re a woman.
“Yes,” Marian said, feeling empty. “It was Robin. I can get a message to him as soon as you’re free, and he can make sure no harm comes to Little John or Alan. Tell me exactly where they are—anything that can help Robin find the spot before Gisborne.”
Will’s face cleared and then filled with such hope that Marian felt breathless to look at him. “My Lady,” he repeated, and reached out to take her hand. The gesture was clumsy as he bowed over it and pressed his lips to her ring, but he did it with such heart that Marian couldn’t fault him for his lack of gentility. He described the camp’s location in detail, as much as he could.
“Go,” she said.
And with one last look at her, Will hitched up the basket against his hip, ducked his head, and went.
Marian listened as she slipped her dagger back into the binding on her leg and adjusted her skirts. Her heart pounded on and on, until she thought it might burst—at any moment she expected to hear shouts and thuds and the scrape of a sword being drawn. But there was only quiet, and the distant sounds of life in the castle, and somewhere behind her, the squeak of a rat.
She took a few moments to work herself up into a state of agitation, and then rushed out into the corridor. The guard was so surprised that he drew his sword halfway, realized the “threat” was a woman, and a noblewoman at that, and tried to sheathe it again. She sobbed and wailed about being lost in the caverns and so frightened, babbling over the guard’s confused questions. He shouted for assistance. Another servant appeared around the corner, saw the situation, and vanished again, presumably to fetch someone capable of dealing with her.
The guard tried to calm her down, and Marian was starting to feel a bit light-headed from all her gasping and carrying on, so she let him. But then he asked, for the fourth or fifth time, “How’d you get yourself down there, m’Lady?”
So, Marian fainted.
At least, she gave a theatrical sigh and let herself drop, anticipating that he’d catch her, and be so preoccupied with carrying her someplace more comfortable that he’d forget that rather vital piece of missing information. Instead, he jumped back in surprise, and Marian hit the floor rather harder than she’d planned. She banged her elbow quite hard on the stone, and all her effort went into keeping herself still and silent, eyes closed, instead of writhing around clutching at her arm.
I can see why you never spent much time in a faint before, Robin remarked. Everyone is terribly inefficient at solving the problem.
Servants and guards came and went until, eventually, they found someone high enough in the hierarchy worthy of laying hands on a noblewoman to carry her. She was nearly to her quarters when Elena arrived—Marian recognized her voice, her cry of alarm upon seeing her mistress in an apparent swoon, her agitated footsteps as she hurried on ahead to open up Marian’s door and fold back her sheets. She took charge instantly, ordering the footman—for that was who they’d summoned to carry Marian—out of the room immediately.
As soon as the door closed, Marian risked opening one eye. She and her maid were alone.
She rose from the bed, limping a little, for the man had been gripping her legs rather too tightly, and her feet were tingling. Elena turned from the door and uttered another cry, this one of surprise.
“I’m fine,” Marian said, forestalling her questions. “And Will’s escaped.”
Elena grasped at the door handle, the only thing nearby she could use to support herself. “Will?” she echoed. “Will’s safe?”
Marian nodded. “I don’t know how safe—but he’s out of the jail, and if he did as I said, out of the castle by now.”
Elena pressed her hands to her mouth, tears tracking down her cheeks and onto her fingers. Then she flew at Marian, stopped, hesitated, and glanced down. Ordinarily she’d stoop, kiss the hem of Marian’s dress, clutch at her ankles as she thanked her. But Marian was tired—exhausted, really—and she could not stop yet,