cry of welcome. “Come,” he said, ushering her unresisting form toward the fire.
Alan was sitting next to the owner of the voice, a boy she’d never seen—who lifted his head when Marian appeared. “You won’t guess what’s happening in Nottingham. The Sheriff has announced a festival, with an archery contest as the final attraction. And here’s the best part: the prize is an arrow fashioned from gold, and a legal pardon of any and all past crimes.”
The minstrel was looking at her, and she felt more than saw John’s gaze swing toward her as well. But Marian could not spare a moment’s notice for them, or for the news. She could not stop looking at Alan’s companion, because he—she—was no lad at all. It was Elena. And she was staring straight into Marian’s eyes, her expression rigid with shock.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, my love?” Alan’s hand at the “boy’s” arm slid around her shoulders.
Elena had lurched to her feet and was still staring. The mask fooled these men who barely knew her as Marian, and it fooled the average stranger, and it even fooled Gisborne, who saw what he expected to see. But for Elena, who helped her dress and who did her hair and who shared her life, Marian might as well have been standing there naked. She could not meet Elena’s eyes, not after that first searing moment of recognition. She kept glancing up and then away.
Alan looked between them. “You’ve never met Robin. Our fearless leader.”
Not so fearless right now, said Robin’s voice in her head. He sounded sullen these days, and had ever since he’d told her to run and she’d chosen to face Gisborne instead.
Elena’s face was white with shock. Marian forced herself to move and took a breath as she stepped away from the tree at her back. “My Lady,” she said, in her low voice, and bowed to her maid as she took her hand.
“I’m no Lady.” Elena’s voice was thin and strangled, and her hand in Marian’s was limp. “Only a maid.”
Marian let go of Elena’s hand and straightened. “Nevertheless,” she said softly.
Alan’s grin had hardened a little, brow lowering as he looked between the two of them. “What’s going—”
Elena jerked her eyes from Marian’s face and spoke smoothly, her shock scattering like a flock of birds taking flight. “I came to bring word of the festival,” she announced, glancing around at the others.
“Festival?” asked Will, curiosity all over his face.
“It takes place in a week’s time, as the visiting lords prepare to depart Nottingham. I knew Robin would hear of it eventually, but it seemed safest to bring you the news straightaway. I can’t stay, though. My—my lady will notice I’m gone.”
Elena did not so much as glance at Marian as she spoke.
Marian cleared her throat, making certain her voice would come out low and steady. “I will accompany you back to Nottingham if you wish,” she offered, her heart slamming against her rib cage. She had to get Elena alone, talk to her, before she spoke again to Alan—or to the others. “I have business there.”
Elena did look at her then, and this time her eyes scanned more than Marian’s face. She took in the mask, the cloak, the bow at her side, the sword she wore at her belt. “I made my way here alone in perfect safety,” Elena replied finally, with an air that suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d had to make this argument.
Alan let out a sigh and let go of Elena entirely, lifting his hands to show his lack of involvement. “Here we go,” he muttered.
Elena shot him a dark look, although her gaze was fond, and Alan’s eyes as he watched her in return were soft. The girl, whose hair was tucked up under a bycoket cap, turned her keen eyes on Marian. “I do not require an escort.”
Marian nearly took a step back, but something about the set of Elena’s face stopped her. There was a glint in her blue eyes—she was teasing her. Marian straightened, waving a hand toward Jonquille, who stood, reins down, nosing around in the thicket for the last of the year’s blackberries. “But my horse can travel much more quickly than you can on foot. You said your lady would miss you.”
Elena considered this, or seemed to. “Very well.”
Alan twitched and frowned. “Very w—you’re accepting?”
Elena smiled at him. “Why not? We’re both going to the same place. And my feet are tired.”