“Who? Who took them?”
They got him settled near the hearth, but the chill remained. Joan appeared with water and linen and a knife to cut off his shirt. John seemed dazed and hardly noticed.
“In the forest. Not outlaws. They had swords.”
“And at least one of them was pretty good with a bow.”
“No, I think he aimed for my head.” He laughed, but softly. Not the old booming laugh. “I think . . . I think they were some lord’s men. They followed orders.”
“They could be outlaws, holding the children for ransom—”
He shook his head. “To threaten Robin. Where is Robin?”
“He’ll be here soon.”
“He won’t want to see me . . .”
“But you came anyway.” Someone handed Marian a cup of wine, which she offered to John. “Drink lots. We’ve got to get that arrow out.”
“You must be out of practice, getting arrows out of stupid men.”
“Not so much. Drink, John.” Between her and Joan, they worked the arrow out, and John only groaned a little, keeping a tight grip on the edge of the chair. She had not seen Little John in sixteen years. Right after they learned of the death of Richard Lionheart. Right before Mary was born. He was right: she’d lost the knack of getting arrows out of stupid reckless men. This one had gone nearly all the way through, but it missed heart and lungs. If they could get the wound staunched and sewn up, it would heal.
When the arrow was out, she studied the bloody tip of it by the fire. It was slim, tapered to a graceful point.
“That’s a bodkin point, my lady,” Joan said softly.
Which meant the men who’d attacked John and her children were not hunters or outlaws taken unawares; they were armed for war. A lord’s men, as he’d said.
He seemed to fall unconscious, then started awake again. “Robin, I must speak to Robin!”
“He’s coming,” she reassured him. He nodded, resting back against the chair.
There was a commotion, and now Robin stood at the front of the hall, staring as if he saw a ghost. “John. My God.” Will and Much both came in behind him, wearing similar poleaxed expressions.
“Well met, m’lord,” John said tiredly.
Marian finished putting stitches in the wound, and John was growing more alert after the drink, not less, as the pain dimmed. Good. He needed to explain himself. Robin rushed over, then hesitated, and Marian had never seen such a look of hurt and joy and confusion on him. She had never seen him speechless.
She said, “John, you must tell him about the children. Please. Robin, he says men took the children.”
“I tried to stop them, but—” Marian laid a hand on his shoulder. Obviously, he tried to stop them. Did he think he could succeed against well-armed soldiers? Did he believe his own legends? “Seven men in the forest with swords and bows. They ambushed them, carried them all off. Mary and John made a go of fighting, but they were no match. And Eleanor—Mary told her to run but she would not leave them.”
Marian’s heart fluttered, and she nearly fainted. Dear, sweet Eleanor, what were they doing to her? Robin leaned on Marian’s shoulder. His hand was shaking.
“They wore good armor and tunics, they were not outlaws,” John said. “They went southwest, along the deer trail that runs near the road, where the stream branches near that stand of alders.”
“Then we go,” said Will, who was always the one to leap to action without plan or forethought or anything. He looked around, as if searching for a weapon, but there were none readily to hand. How the pattern went in the old days: Will would immediately demand some action, Much would advise caution, and Robin would laugh at them both and choose some middle, sensible road. And John would follow Robin.
Now Much was silent, and Robin sank onto a bench, shaking his head.
“My enemies have done this. The king—I did not think he would bend so low, to take such revenge. I knew I had made enemies, but I did not think . . . I did not think. Marian, you were right. I should never have let them wander off, I should never have let them go off alone—”
As if he had had any say in the matter. “I never said that.”
“They were always safe in the woods, Rob,” John said. “I was always looking after them.”
“I know,” he said softly.
“I think in the old days, I would have been able to lay out all seven of them—”
“In the old days, you had all of us with you. No matter. We’ll go after them now. They have brought their doom upon themselves. Will, Much, gather everyone you can, with every weapon to be had.”
“Night is falling,” Much said. “I’ll get Giles. He’s the best tracker we have.”
“Yes, good. Send him ahead to catch them out. Will, you and I will follow and see what these scoundrels are made of—”
“And me, I’m going too,” Marian said.
“Marian—” She gave Robin such a look that he drew back. “I think I may pity these fellows when you find them, my dear.”
“We can make jokes later, when they’re safe.”
“Yes. Marian—” His voice caught, and she nearly burst into tears at that. Instead, she threw herself into his arms and clung there. He pressed his face against her neck, and they drew all the comfort they could from one another, their arguments forgotten.
In scant minutes they were ready, a troop of a dozen or so with weapons and shuttered lanterns, and strict instructions from Much to stay back until called. Still, it was too long, and Marian’s thoughts kept slipping to what such men might do to children, and all to get at their father. She had changed into a tunic and leggings, pinned up her hair, donned an old wool hood. Looked just like a forester.
She returned to the hall to tell Robin it was time to go and found him sitting with Little John. The injured man was bundled with blankets, fast and warm, and finally seemed to be close to sleep. She might have told Robin to let him be, but they were speaking quietly. Smiling, as if no time had passed. And oh, please let this be a reconciliation between them. Robin was a stronger man with Little John beside him.
Quietly, she drew close and listened.
“Rob, why did you name the boy John? I understand why Mary and Eleanor. But why would you name the boy after that horrible man?”
Robin chuckled, and the sound came out harsh. “He’s named for you, you brute.”
John stared as if such a thing had never occurred to him. “Oh.”
“Why did you never come home, my friend? You’d have been welcome any time. You should have come home.”
“You should not have gone to Westminster.” Robin gave him a look, and John ducked his gaze. “Sherwood is the only place I fit. The trees are bigger than I am.”
Marian scuffed her feet to make a sound. “Robin, we’re ready.” She held his bow and quiver to him. He approached to take them from her, and in his gaze she saw both rage and delight. He had once made a career of revenge.
He marched out. John gazed longingly after.
“Stay there,” Marian commanded. “Don’t try to follow, you’ll bleed out.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“We’ll return shortly. And—thank you for looking after my children.”