that, but when he looked back at Marian again, his eyes were harder. This time Marian did take a step back—she’d never received a look quite like that from anyone, much less Alan. Marian knew she cut a dashing figure in her tunic and her cloak, the mask that suited her strong features. And that flicker of heat in Alan’s gaze—it was jealousy.
“You can’t go yet.” Will was oblivious to the new tension in the air. “What about the archery contest?”
“It’s a trap,” Little John’s voice rumbled. He remained on his feet, respectful and stiff, hands clasped behind his back. Elena might have been dressed as a boy, but only to fool strangers and avoid attention while she traveled—Robin’s gang knew she was a girl.
“But he could win,” Will protested. “He would win.”
“Yes,” said John patiently. “And it’s a trap.”
“Most of Nottingham thinks it’s a trap,” Elena said, watching “Robin” curiously, either unaware or unconcerned that the longer she gazed at the band’s leader, the darker Alan’s face grew. “But they’re also almost all certain that Robin will appear to compete anyway. Evidently, it’s a matter of honor. The Sheriff said he’d be a coward if he didn’t show himself.”
Honor. Cowardice. Marian’s lip almost curled. “I’ll think about it,” she said finally. “For now, I must get to town, and you three must make use of the day’s earnings, and your beloved must get back to her lady.”
Alan was hardly mollified by Marian’s choice of words. He drew Elena aside, and while the rest of them talked and pretended not to notice, the two spoke quietly together at the edge of the thicket. Marian tried to concentrate on John and Will, but she could not. The words the couple exchanged were too soft and low to hear, but out of the corner of her eye, Marian saw Alan draw Elena closer and reach up to touch her face.
His fingers slid across her cheek, thumb running along the edge of her lip as it curved into a little smile. They moved together, her smile, his caress, until Marian could not tell whether it was her smile that made him want to touch her, or his touch that made her smile—either way, he tilted his face as though he’d like to kiss her, and her cheeks flushed, and they stood basking in each other.
Marian felt a stab of jealousy so pure and unrelenting that she let out her breath and turned away. Not of Alan, not of Elena, but of both of them. Of what she’d had with Robin, and lost. Of what she’d never have again.
Jonquille was inspecting Elena with interest—her horse had always tolerated her maid, even sought out her attention. Marian let them get reacquainted, but when she would’ve mounted in preparation for helping Elena up behind her, Alan took Marian’s elbow and drew her off a few paces.
“Keep her safe,” he said in a low voice.
Marian raised an eyebrow. “I thought she could take care of herself.”
“She can,” Alan said, weight shifting from foot to foot. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t worry. She already risks everything every time she comes to see me. I can’t tell her not to—I wish I could, sometimes. But I’d be asking her to be someone she’s not.”
Marian’s heart thudded, and she glanced up toward the canopy in what she hoped was an idle way. Her eyes burned tellingly. “You’re a rare man then,” she said quietly. “Most people cannot help asking those they love to be something different from what they are.”
Alan’s grip on her elbow tightened a fraction. “I mean it, Robin. Danger follows you like a loyal hound. Don’t let it catch her scent.”
Marian’s eyes fell back to his face. “My oath, Alan.” She smiled. “I’ll look after her the way I do the rest of you.”
Alan snorted but let her go. Marian swung herself into Jonquille’s saddle and let Alan help Elena up behind her. There was no pillion pad for riding double, and Marian hoped Elena had fashioned some sort of undergarment for her man’s leggings. Her first outing on Jonquille, riding astride without skirts, had taught her that lesson painfully enough.
The others were already discussing the archery contest as they rode out of the clearing—or Will and Little John were. Marian could feel Alan’s gaze on her back as she went.
Marian urged Elena to hold on and nudged Jonquille up into a trot. The gait was more uncomfortable with two, but she could not wait—now that