to lean sideways to get a better look at her, then stopping when she withdrew behind the tree trunk.
“I’m an outlaw.” Marian smiled, though she knew Alan wouldn’t see it.
“Yes, but I know you’re Robin of Locksley. Why hide your features from me, unless you are not, in fact, who you claim by your dress and your manner?”
Marian bit her lip. Minstrels, she thought sourly. Too clever by half. Aloud, she said briefly, “I have my reasons.”
Alan eyed her for a long moment, as she eyed his bow. How she could convince him to part with it, she didn’t know, but John had teased the man for his poor skill with that weapon—and in Marian’s hands, it could begin to even the odds against the Sheriff’s men.
“You ought to wear a mask.”
Marian’s foot slipped, and she caught herself before she could fall against the branch. “What?”
“The hood is all well and good,” murmured Alan, “but one quick movement—a duck here, a head butt there—and your game’s up.”
Marian blinked, secure in the shadow of her hood, not bothering to hide her surprise.
The suggestion made sense. The only masks she’d ever seen were the ornate, stiff plaster objects worn by jesters and thespians, but with some time and planning, she might be able to procure one.
Shifting his weight, Alan drew a small eating knife from his boot and pierced it through the fabric of his tunic, working slowly to avoid a louder sound of tearing cloth. Carefully he cut a strip of gray linen—Marian did not want to think about what color the tunic had started out—from its edge. Working more quickly now, he cut slits in the strip, widening them by unraveling the fabric until he had two holes—eyeholes, Marian realized.
He held the makeshift mask out, sheathing his dagger. “Go on,” he said. “I won’t look.” He sounded like a lad promising not to watch his ladylove at her bath, and gave her a mocking smile.
Marian took the mask and waited until he’d averted his gaze, then retreated behind the trunk so she could fit the fabric to her face and knot the ends tightly behind her head. It wasn’t perfect—she couldn’t see as much out of the corners of her eyes, but that was already the case with the hood anyway. For once, she was glad she didn’t possess a delicate nose and chin and generous full lips—Robin had always said her eyes were her best feature, and behind a mask, no one would see her long lashes. She drew the green wool back over her hair and peered out.
Alan was still looking away—down at John, who had given up his attempt to feign unconsciousness and was glaring mutely at Gisborne as the latter shot question after question at him. When Alan looked up in response to Marian emerging from behind the trunk, his expression was grim.
“Good,” he said shortly, nodding at her appearance. “I’m not sure how much longer he has before Gisborne starts removing bits of him.”
“I have a plan.”
Alan’s eyes switched between Marian and the tableau below, the crowd of armored men and Marian’s belt, which held no sword. His doubt was clear in his gaze without him having to say a word.
“Did they see you before the two of you fled? Does Gisborne know who you are?”
Alan shook his head. “We heard them approach and fled. But Little John is not so fleet of foot as you might expect.”
Marian tried to imagine the big giant of a man sprinting like a deer and shook her amusement off ruthlessly. “So for all Gisborne knows, the man with John was me.” She paused. “The idea of the mask—you were an actor at one point, were you not?”
Alan’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nodded. “As a lad. Before I was skilled enough to make my way as a minstrel.”
“Then we will stage a little play.”
In low, hushed voices they outlined their plan, and Marian was gratified to see Alan’s expression lightening moment by moment. In her mind, it had seemed a fragile idea at best—but now, hearing it aloud and seeing Alan nodding, it felt possible. And, despite her exhaustion, Marian’s heart was still flickering with the triumph of freeing Will from under Gisborne’s nose.
“You’re sure you won’t hit John?” Alan asked, reluctantly letting Marian take the bow from him and slip the quiver from his shoulder.
Marian tried not to smile, now that he could likely see her mouth. “You’re sure you can move fast enough?”