The tiny figure breaks free again, and this time three of the gathered servants go after it. Over the clopping of the horses’ hooves and the wind stirring the leaves of the great forest they’ve been riding through, Robin hears a delighted shriek as one of the figure’s pursuers makes a grab for the escapee and trips instead.
His mother looks at him, and then at the distant child struggling now to break out of the grasp of a man in stable livery. “That’s Edwinstowe’s daughter. She’s just about your age.”
“She’s a girl?” Robin slumps back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and chafing at the ties of his tunic.
“Daughters usually are,” says his mother, amused, eyes on the house. “Edwinstowe has some lovely land, Robin, and you’ll be a man before you can blink, and looking for a wife.”
Robin makes a choking sound in his throat and slumps lower. The sound of distant laughter comes again, and after glancing at his mother to make sure she’s not watching, Robin lifts his chin enough to look over the edge of the carriage window again. The girl’s being carried off into the house, slung over the stableman’s shoulder, a handful of other well-dressed children watching in horror at their parents’ sides.
“Do you think she can ride a horse?” asks Robin cautiously.
THREE
MARIAN HADN’T QUITE MADE up her mind to ride to Locksley when she swung herself up into Jonquille’s saddle. Her poor horse had been suffering during Marian’s mourning, for Jonquille was a gift from Robin, and the mare had been left to graze and grow fat in the fields while Marian fought off her terrors and her grief. For all Jonquille was a sweet-tempered mount for Marian, she had a stallion’s ferocity whenever anyone else came too near. Only Midge, the head of her father’s stables, could approach, and only to saddle and occasionally groom her if Marian had been neglecting her care.
Elena was the only other person whose presence the dapple gray tolerated. In fair weather Elena often took her mending—or Marian’s mending, as Marian’s attempts to darn stockings were shockingly inept—outside and leaned against the paddock fence. She had a tendency to hum while she worked, and Jonquille liked the sound of her voice. Marian would often emerge from the manor house to find Elena bent over a hemline with Jonquille just behind her, head dipping over the edge of the fence, as if about to lip at Elena’s immaculate braids.
Marian, having seen the stable boys’ attempts to entice Jonquille with apples and oatcakes, rather thought Jonquille preferred Elena’s company because she didn’t try to win the mare over.
Her horse had a mind of her own, and Marian preferred it that way. Like the barn cats, Jonquille could not be bidden except in extreme circumstances, when her mistress’s urgency convinced her it was necessary. So when Marian mounted her outside the stables, some weeks after the news of Robin’s death, a part of Marian’s mind must have known where Jonquille would want to go.
Jonquille wanted to run, and Marian let her, for a little while. But the few weeks she’d been indoors had weakened Marian’s muscles, and her legs grew tired quickly, and she eased Jonquille—with some difficulty, for the mare still wanted to gallop—back down into a brisk trot, and then a walk. When they reached the fork in the road, the turning that would take them either toward Locksley town or deeper into the forest toward the King’s Road to Nottingham Castle, Jonquille paused.
How many times had Marian met Robin here, at this fork, to let their horses wander deeper and deeper still into Sherwood Forest, so close that their riders’ legs would sometimes touch? How many times had her father begged her to keep to the paths close to Edwinstowe, citing bandits and adders and the deceptive nature of Sherwood’s winding paths?
What would Robin want for me?
Marian nudged at Jonquille with her right knee. Jonquille disliked the bit of her reins, and Marian had learned early that guiding her horse with her legs was easier for them both. She’d never seen anyone else ride in quite the same way, but it left her hands free for her bow when she practiced archery on horseback.
Her eyes stung and she gasped a breath. Robin had taught her archery. Or else, she had taught him—they were well matched, and though he was the only one to receive formal lessons, he passed along every tidbit he learned. She