He faded back to the oak’s shadows and made not a sound. No leaves rustled. There was no smack on the dirt as he dropped to the ground. He might have melted into bark. Not a man at all, then. Except that this was Sherwood and she knew what was possible.
She tried for quiet as she climbed out of her own tree, sliding from bough to bough, leaning against the trunk, dropping to soft earth with bent knees. Mostly, she succeeded, but not as well as the ghost.
Mary of Locksley ran for home to be there when her parents arrived.
ii
Some days prior . . .
ON ONE OF THE best days of Marian’s life, King Richard gave his blessing to her and Robin’s marriage, and brought down his corrupt brother John. On one of the worst, they received news that King Richard had died, that same brother would be crowned as his heir, and Robin decided he had no choice but to swear fealty to a man he hated.
This day was neither best nor worst. No one was in danger of being hanged, so that was good. Robin’s most recent campaign against the king had been successful; he’d gotten the charter he wanted to protect the rights of landholders in England. But this had all become most uncomfortable, the barons who had rebelled and those who had stayed loyal camped on the same plain, eyeing each other with their packs of retinue and too many weapons at hand.
Still, Marian would not have missed seeing the look on the king’s face for anything, when her husband said straight out to him, “Sire, when good people become outlaws, perhaps it is time to change the laws. As you well know.” Robin had gotten nearly everything he’d wanted. He would never lose his holding out of royal spite again. He’d been about to demand an apology on top of everything, when Marian gave him a quelling look across the room, and, at last, Robin fell silent.
Now she only wanted to be home. She had never been away from the children for so long. Time was, she couldn’t have imagined wanting home and quiet, hearth and children. Time was, she couldn’t have imagined growing old at all. And Robin . . . Robin was running out of battles to fight.
Right at this moment, she and Robin were about to face King John, and while nobody was threatening to hang anybody this time, she wished herself elsewhere.
The king, haughty and fine as ever, held court in his pavilion, and the barons came to pay their respects, to show that they were all friends now. This must have been very gratifying to him, especially when Marian and Robin came before him, polite as they could manage. A silence fell, everyone turning to watch. They all knew the stories, knew that every meeting between these two had ended with shouting, and sometimes with dead bodies. Marian donned the courtliest smile she had and curtseyed neatly. She squeezed Robin’s fingers, where her hand rested over his, to remind him to bow. He did so, just enough. King John—and after sixteen years, it was still strange thinking that—was close to fifty and obviously tired. The throne he had coveted so much had worn him down. Ruling was more difficult than wanting, especially when your vassals had had enough of you. When Robin appeared before him, the king seemed to sigh, as if this was one chore he would rather do without. So at least they all agreed on that.
Robin, not so young himself anymore, glared daggers at the man. The Baron of Locksley had a dusting of gray in his light brown hair, but his smile was bright as ever. Bright and cutting like a knife edge. King John’s gaze slipped away from Robin to rest on Marian, and he seemed relieved to let it.
“How very good to see you, Lady Marian,” the king said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“It has, sire,” she said.
“You have children, yes?”
“God has blessed us with three, all strong and healthy.”
The king flashed a smile that might have been genuine—even he brightened at talk of children. He had five of his own, as well as a typically royal assortment of bastards. But then the smile turned sly.
“Are they as difficult to manage as your husband?”
The question stretched the limits of her diplomatic skills. She said, very sweetly, “Happily, they are very much like my husband. No one will ever take advantage of them.”
In the slight pause that followed, Marian wondered if she had undone all of the advantages Robin and the other barons had won here. But King John laughed.
“You were wasted on him, my dear.” He looked Robin up and down in that calculating way he had. Marian put pressure on Robin’s hand again. Be quiet, for just another moment.
“Sire,” she murmured. And then they were dismissed, to let the next baron play out the niceties.
Out of sight of the royal pavilion, she wrapped her arm around Robin’s and leaned into him, to let herself rest a moment. “You did well,” she said. “I didn’t have to gag you.”
He laughed, and she was relieved the sound was genuine and not forced. Polite, forced laughter didn’t suit Robin a bit.
“Just this once, he’s right,” her husband said as they walked on. “About you being wasted on me. You should have married a prince.” His face was still refined despite the wrinkles at his eyes, a touch of gauntness at his cheeks. He’d grown more thoughtful, some of his starry brightness not dimmed, but turned inward.
“You think I would have been happy, doing this sort of thing every day? I’m much happier with you.” He raised her hand and kissed it.
She started back for their camp, but Robin turned a different way.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’ve been speaking with Robert de Ros. I thought you should hear what he has to say.”
Sir Robert de Ros, Baron of Helmsley, one of the rebels from the north, an ally of Robin’s. “I thought the war was done.” What mischief was he planning? Robin will retire from mischief, she vowed.
“This isn’t about the war.” Robin led her to a small encampment that had a celebratory air, streamers fluttering from tent poles, a musician playing lute. Marian found she wasn’t in the mood for music or merriment.
“Locksley!” A polished middle-aged man called out and came over from the gathering in the camp. He was accompanied by a much younger man with a thin beard and careful manner. The young one kept glancing at the older, then at Robin and Marian with an astonished look that suggested he might flee at any moment. She’d seen that look before; Robin frequently inspired it. “My lady,” Helmsley said, bowing cautiously, as if gauging an unknown horse’s temperament.
“Good day, Sir Robert,” she said.
“You did your duty to the king?” Robert de Ros said to Robin, nodding off to the royal pavilion.
“I am not ashamed to say I kept my mouth shut and hid behind my wife’s skirts. His Majesty was much more pleased to speak with Lady Marian, anyway.”
Robert laughed, as he was meant to. “I’m glad you’re here. I would very much like to present to you my eldest son, William. William, this is the Baron of Locksley and his Lady Marian. You might have heard of them.”
William pulled himself together and managed a bow with some poise to it. “My lord, my lady, it’s an honor, truly.” He didn’t even stammer. Perhaps there was some hope for him.
“Well met, young William,” Robin said. “Your father let you in for any excitement this past year?”