Lady Marian

Chapter 7

I lay awake in bed, tracing the impression of Robin's dagger on my arm by the dying light of my fire. The blade itself was secreted under my pillow, freshly stuffed with feathers from last week's goose. There was a time when the only secrets I kept were how uneasy I felt alone in both my father's household and the ever-present gaze of the sheriff. It was like treading over the river in November, the raging currents always threatening to rip through thin ice and pull you under.

Now I kept a secret so big that for the last fortnight, I slept with a misericord beneath my pillow and kept it hidden on my person in daylight. I practiced stabbing at shadows in dark corners, plotting how I would join Robin in Sherwood Forest.

I pulled the damask coverlet over my head as Sir Guy's rough voice drifted up through the floorboards. The echo of that voice haunted me in nightmares. At supper, as the sheriff sat across from me at Father's table, boasting about the upcoming tournament, I felt an urge for the first time: the raw desire to rip the misericord out of its sheath, leap across the table, and drive it into his chest.

And if I satisfied that urge, which would soon become as familiar to me as my own skin, I would be burnt as a witch. Father would see to that. Murder is the simplest sorcery.

I wondered if the sheriff knew I had been in the hayloft the whole time, or that I had met Robin at Locksley Church. If he did, why was I laying in my bed unscathed, not in prison or the torturer's chamber?

Perhaps Father had another torture set aside for me now that Robin was completely out of the way. Perhaps it involved Sir Guy. Perhaps Prince John. He would yoke me to either one, or another, as the winds of fortune and war blew.

Barely discernable, the laughter of my father and the sheriff drifted through the manor. I shook my head and covered my ears. I had a choice to make. I could start keeping secrets from Robin now as well, hiding the information I had gleaned over supper, or I could follow his instructions, ride out and meet him in the forest. Surely by now my solitary rides went unnoticed. I would tell him in confidence what I had heard over the gravy, of the sudden influx of gold and silver in the wake of the tournament. Robin and his men could pay the taxes of a whole village for a year after just half a day of marauding on the King's Highway, if all Sir Guy's boasting were true.

I closed my eyes and pulled the covers closer around me. It was settled then—I would set out on the morrow.

* * *

I left directions with Sarah that I had gone to market in Nottingham, anxious to find some ribbons and baubles to refresh my wardrobe for the tournament. If Father asked, he would be pleased I seemed so anxious to set myself off in front of some of the best nobility. Nudging Shadowcrest into a walking pace, I set my course for a narrow trail through Sherwood Forest. It was a cool day, the sky overcast with clouds and a north wind blowing. The breeze flung its chilly arms at my back, as if to force me faster into the dark reaches of the forest. Still, I was hot with anticipation under my cape and hood. The knowledge I was a rebellious daughter off to meet a band of outlaws leant me an air of courage. I sat tall in the saddle, my chin raised high.

The green arms of the oaks met high overhead as I entered the forest. Here and there a bird sung; a rabbit hopped across the trail. In the cool shadows of Sherwood Forest, the wind only dared to rustle through the trees as it lifted my cape ever so slightly. What sunlight drifted through the brush cast strange shadows darting about the underbrush. Shadowcrest hesitated in her walk, sidestepping at each unfamiliar sound. I nudged her sides, determined to complete my mission as quickly as possible.

"You should go no further, my lady," a voice cracked between the trees.

Shadowcrest came to a shuddering halt, trampling young dogwoods as she stepped off the trail. From between two sturdy oaks stumbled a grizzled old man, his hose ripped and his dirty tunic unlaced.