Despite Robin Hood’s presence in the forest and the fact that Will had imprisoned some of the outlaws that attacked her, Marian knew better than to ride out alone. Bruse and the other two men had escorted her on her journey to Ludlow and indeed had been loyal to her since she was but a babe. She knew they would have their tongues cut out before they would wag them in news to others about her business.
Thus, secure that no harm would befall her, yet obviously available for a clandestine meeting . . . should that opportunity arise . . . Marian could enjoy the cool silence of the shadows. It wasn’t often that she rode without purpose, and had the opportunity to admire the variety of nature. And though she had a reason for coming out today, she knew it could be some time before Robin found her.
For she was certain he would.
And she was not disappointed.
The filtering sun had not shifted more than a half candle’s mark, rising to its highest point in the sky, when something streaked past her head. It slammed into the nearest tree trunk, the arrow’s feathers quivering as it settled into place.
Marian smiled to herself, and rode toward the arrow, plucking it from the tree. A serviceable weapon, she thought, smoothing the fluff of goose feathers so that they lay flat. But a trifle crooked in the making, and enough so that the arrow would not fly true. Nevertheless, she slipped it into her quiver and continued to ride along.
Moments later, another arrow whizzed past her, lodging in a tree beyond and to the left, and she veered her palfrey in that direction. Retrieving the bolt, she continued along until the next one guided her path in a slightly different direction.
Each arrow she pulled from the tree and added to her own quiver, knowing that soon she would see Robin. Her heart beat faster in anticipation, and her palms became a bit damp.
After a short time following Robin’s path, she paused and peered back into the forest.
Bruse had ridden closer, and she could see him through the trees. She gestured for him to remain where he was. Aware that Robin was near, she knew she would be safe.
Indeed, it was only moments later that another arrow slammed into the tree near the knees of her horse, necessitating that Marian dismount in order to retrieve the weapon. Glancing up and about, she slid down, holding the reins, and pulled the bolt from its spot in the bark.
As she turned back, arrow in hand, a pair of feet landed silently next to her. The cushion of pine needles covered all but the slightest rustle from his legs as they passed by.
“I do believe you’ve dropped something,” Marian said, offering the arrow to Robin.
His eyes danced, matching her own mischievous smile, and he reached . . . not for the arrow, but for her arm. “I don’t drop arrows,” he said, pulling her close. “An archer with my skill aims true at all times.” His eyes glinted with an entirely different meaning.
Still holding the arrow, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “That may be the case,” she replied, looking up at him, “but ’tis a shame your weapons are of such inferior quality.”
“Inferior?” His brows knit together. Then he laughed, his humor echoing through the forest. “Do you still swear by the bolts made by the mad blind man at Mead’s Vale?”
“He is not mad . . . any more than you, for being so foolish as to wander through the keep at night. And with his skill in casting the heads and trimming the feathers, Tesh creates arrows that fly faster and farther than any others.”
“I would match my skill against the madman’s arrows any day,” Robin said. “And would come forth the winner.”
“I should be pleased to accept your challenge,” Marian said, shifting her shoulder so that her arrows shifted meaningfully in their quiver.
Robin’s grin grew wider. “Ah, so you are still trifling with the longbow, my lady? I do hope you’ve acquired a greater skill than what you had at Mead’s Vale. If I recall correctly, your target then was more like to be the ground or the high branches of a tree rather than the painted circle.”
Marian felt a little rise of temper. “Trifling? I would not say my skill with the bow is a trifle, Robin, and I should be quite pleased to demonstrate how well it shows with Tesh’s arrows. A combination I trow you shall not beat.”
He seemed to realize he’d overstepped, and pulled her hips close to his, where she could feel the evidence that his mind was on other things. “But of course, Marian, it would be an honor to match longbows with you. Yet . . . I had rather hoped you’d come searching for me for a reason other than to decry my arrows and skill.”
Without waiting for her response, he bent his face to hers. At first, she felt petulant, and nearly turned her face away. Trifling with a bow? He knew not whereof he spoke . . . and even when they were younger, she’d shown more than a passing skill.
Mayhap he merely teased . . . but she’d seen no humor in his eyes to indicate that was the case.
