eventually to someone. She could forsake her father and her lands and enter a convent, but Marian’s life would still be one of quiet and obedience. She couldn’t change that. Marian’s life had been ordained when she was born a girl.
But Robin Hood’s life . . .
She found Jonquille dozing by a meadow full of wildflowers and whistled softly to wake her. The flowers growing clustered about the glen were half-closed now, huddled against the autumn night’s chill, but Marian paused to breathe in the faint, ghostly echo of their perfume. She stroked Jonquille’s nose, fingertips lingering against the warm, velvety skin, and laughed as the horse examined her hand. The agile lips moved past her fingers and explored her palm, searching for the treat Marian usually had for her upon greeting. Jonquille whickered a protest when she found nothing, and Marian moved closer so she could run her hands along the horse’s neck.
Robin Hood wasn’t just a man, or the ghost of one. He was a hero. A symbol.
Marian stood stroking Jonquille’s neck, her movements automatic, her eyes seeing not the moonlit glade but rather flashes of a strange other life. A vision of herself, hooded, armed with her bow, leading Alan and Will and John and a faceless crew of others to take back what the Prince, through the Sheriff, had stolen from this land. The freedom of abandoning her life at Edwinstowe, the relief of never being forced to marry, of never speaking to Gisborne again except in battle.
She’d get a message to her father somehow, so he’d know she was alive. Elena would marry Alan and join their band. They’d set up a permanent camp, deep in the caves or else hidden in the treetops. Someday Marian would reveal her identity, and the weight of what she’d already achieved would be all the men needed to acknowledge her as an equal.
A wet, hot puff of air on her neck shattered the vision, and Marian jumped. Jonquille chuckled at her, horsey lips fluttering, then gusted another grassy sigh in her face.
Marian swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. She might as well have been dreaming, for all the reality the idea had. Every moment she spent with the others risked discovery, and when they found she was a woman, she’d be their nominal leader no longer. Her father would be heartbroken if Marian went missing, and if her identity under Robin’s hood became known, most likely he’d be hanged as a coconspirator. There would be no one after her father to care for Edwinstowe, and the lands would be given to one of the Prince’s devotees, like he’d given Locksley to Gisborne.
And Gisborne . . . Gisborne would not rest if Marian simply disappeared. He’d assume it was the work of Robin Hood and commit himself to the man’s capture all the more.
Marian hesitated, an idea seeding itself in her mind. She was already too late to get back to Nottingham without raising the alarm of her absence. And in her mind’s eye, the storeroom full of grain bound for trade taunted her, sitting behind the walls of stone that separated it from the people gathered in the streets of Nottingham. People who needed it to fill their bellies.
Her lips curved into a smile. She reached for Jonquille’s saddlebag and got to work.
By the time she reached the camp where she’d left the others, the sky above the treetops was beginning to lighten. Marian could tell they were awake before she could see them. The intermittent rustle of leaves told her someone was pacing, and the low murmur of voices sounded agitated.
“We have the pearls,” Alan was saying. “If he doesn’t come back, we do what we said. We give them out at Nottingham’s gates. We tell them it’s a gift from Robin Hood. And we worry about Robin later. He can take care of himself.”
“And if the guards try to stop us?” That was Will, his pacing footsteps halting as he spoke.
“We fight.” John’s voice was heavy.
Will let out a sharp bark of humorless laughter and started pacing again.
Marian, astride Jonquille, took a long, slow breath and made her way into the camp.
Alan and Will were already standing, backs toward her, but John leaped to his feet and let out an oath that signaled to the others that they had company. They stared, for the figure atop the horse was not the one they’d expected to see.
Marian reached up and self-consciously smoothed a hand over her