A TALL stone wall circled Nottingham Castle, separating the castle, the marketplace, and the upper town from the lower. Guards were stationed at each gate, and it was there Marian met Robin every morning when Marian wasn’t occupied with dancing, drawing, or embroidery lessons.
There was an old beggar named Gilbert who sat each day in the shade of the wall with a tin cup and a pitiful expression. Marian wasn’t supposed to be seen in Gilbert’s company—he was disreputable and far too fond of drink—but he told stories that made Marian breathless with laughter, so she couldn’t stay away from him altogether. Whenever word of it got back to Kitterly, she scowled so hard her face nearly caved in, which Marian frankly enjoyed more than was reasonable.
“Meeting that red-haired girl of yours?” Gilbert asked when Marian stationed herself as far away from him as she could bring herself to.
“I am,” she said. “You haven’t seen her come past, have you? How long have you been out here?”
“Ah, must be near a decade now.”
Marian bit her lip. “I meant today, Gilbert.”
“Time has little meaning to a man without task.”
“I thought your task was holding up that wall.”
Gilbert grinned his wide, toothless grin. “Then His Majesty owes me quite the purse, doesn’t he? Been holding up this wall near ten years now.”
“I’ll have my father see to it,” Marian said with a smile as she scanned the faces of the people tricking through the lower gate.
“Ah, love, you do that, little maiden. You tell Sir Erik old Gilbert here has been in service to the king, God rest him, without any wages.”
“And shall I make a suggestion as to what those wages should be?”
“Clever girl like you—ah, bless you, sir,” Gilbert said, dipping his head as a passing man dropped a coin into his cup. “Clever girl like you, you’ll think of something.”
The clomping of hooves drew Marian’s attention. She looked over her shoulder to see two horses drawing near, Lady Lillian and Lady Charlotte seated upon them.
“Heaven and earth,” Marian muttered.
“Spare a coin, my lady?”
“So you can pour it down your throat? I think not,” Lady Charlotte said. She looked away from him quickly, cutting her eyes as if she expected him to leap onto the horse and tackle her to the dirt.
“Lady Mother,” Lillian said as she pointed at Marian in what Marian felt a most unladylike fashion. “Isn’t that Sir Erik’s daughter?”
Lady Charlotte’s eyes skated over her. “Like a common peasant. Her father would die of shame. How shocking that King John, God save him, would offer to let her play at his table. A gracious man indeed, our king, indulging the likes of her.”
Lillian’s mouth curved into a half smile. She caught Marian’s eye and bowed her head mockingly.
They trotted away slowly, their laughter ringing out over the courtyard. Marian watched them go, her face burning. Would Papa truly be ashamed of her? She couldn’t bear the thought.
“Maiden, you mustn’t listen to the likes of them.”
Marian turned on her heel and walked quickly away. Gilbert called after her, but Marian didn’t slow. She was no fit company for anyone. All she wanted was to go back to Abyglen, away from the likes of Charlotte and Lillian, away from this place that made her feel farther from Papa than she had even when he was traveling for King John. But that was an impossibility. Abyglen was lost—or at least it was lost to Marian.
“Marian!”
Marian paused and looked over her shoulder to see Robin jogging toward her. Marian’s unhappy heart stirred.
“Where are you going? I thought we were going to see if Alisa would let us—” She came to a stop beside Marian and looked at her in concern. “Marian? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Marian said. “I don’t feel well.”
“Are you ill?” Robin laid her palm on Marian’s forehead. “It’s not the fever, is it?”
Marian looked at her sharply. “There’s fever in Nottingham?”
“Oh yes, dreadfully so,” Robin said. “Mother says with the heat and the drought, it’ll be a bad one. Father won’t say it in front of me, but I know he’s worried about the crop. It won’t fetch what it has in years past.”
“Is it as bad as all that?”
“Have you really not noticed?”
“You needn’t chide me, Robin.”
“Oh, needn’t I?” Robin said, nudging Marian with her foot.
“Hush,” Marian said, smiling in spite of herself. “My mother died of childbed fever. I don’t like to think about it.”
Robin pulled a face. “Oh heavens, I do have a way of putting my foot in it.”
Marian sighed and tucked her arm into Robin’s. “Unfortunate, that.”
“Quite,” Robin said. She led them over to a grassy spot just inside the king’s orchards. They sank down beneath a sprawling apple tree, its fruit ripening sweetly above their heads. “Of course you know childbed fever isn’t the same as the other fever.”
“It seems I know very little.” Marian picked at a loose thread at the hem of her dress. “Robin, I hate it here.”
Robin stiffened. “You hate it?”
“No, not here with you. You’re lovely.” It unnerved Marian how deeply she meant it. Had it really only been a few weeks since Robin had come crashing into her life with her fiery hair and her bright eyes? It seemed so much longer. In a lot of ways, Marian felt as though she’d known Robin for her whole life. There was something elemental in her, something about her that fit Marian like a key in a lock. “But I’m not meant for Nottingham. I don’t like it here.”
“You miss Abyglen.”
Hot tears pricked Marian’s eyes. She nodded.
“Maybe….” Robin bit her lip and cleared her throat. “I wonder if your father would let you come to Loxley with me at summer’s end. It’s not the same as Abyglen, obviously, but I thought… well.”
Marian’s head snapped up. “What?”
“If you truly hate it here, maybe you could come to Loxley.” She looked away, staring at the bark of the tree nearest them. “I shouldn’t like to leave you in a few weeks.”
“Oh, shouldn’t you?”
Robin’s eyes flicked away from the tree and over to Marian’s. “I’m serious,” she said. “Don’t tease me.”
“Are you truly serious?” Marian took Robin’s hand in hers. “Because I can’t think of anything I would like more.”
“As serious as I am about archery,” Robin said, which was very serious indeed. She had joined Marian for her archery lesson every day and was an absolute natural at it. Sir James had even given Robin her own bow and quiver. Marian wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she slept with it under her pillow. “I could ask Mother and Father?”
“Really?”
“You’ll have to help with the fall harvest.”
“I’ll rise with the chickens every day.”
Robin’s careful smile exploded into a full-blown grin. “Will you ask your father?”
“As soon as I see him, though there’s no telling when that will be.”
Robin whooped and tackled Marian back onto the grass. Joy—pure, undiluted joy—unfurled under Marian’s skin, bursting through her and arching up toward the burning summer sun.
THE DAY of the Coronation Feast was a fine one, all bright sunshine and palpable excitement that permeated every inch of Nottingham. Though only the nobles and gentry would attend the king’s table that night, plenty of festivities were planned for the rest of the city. Magicians and fortune-tellers roamed the streets with outstretched hands, and music lifted from every corner of the courtyard. There was to be dancing and feasting and fireworks to top the whole thing off. Robin had sworn she’d even seen a fire-eater.
It was also the first time Marian would dine at the court. Tonight Marian would dine like a lady and dance like a lady as her father was appointed His Majesty’s personal guard.
Kitterly had spent the whole morning dashing back and forth between the kitchen and Marian’s small room, drilling Marian on the dance steps she’d been practicing under Lady Charlotte’s disdainful gaze. Marian thought her feet would fall off before she even got to the feast.
“I simply cannot dance anymore,” Marian told her finally, sitting down on her bed. “My feet ache something terrible.”
“All eyes will be on you tonight, Marian.”
“I rather thought they’d be on King John.”
“God save him.”
“Yes, of course, God save him.”
“They’ll be on you too. Your father’s position has been much elevated; you know that. Word is he’ll be seated at His Majesty’s side tonight, and that improves your prospects greatly. Your future husband may be at the feast tonight, and you—”
“My what?” Marian squawked.
“Your husband, child. You’ll want to marry someday.”
Marian’s mouth curled into a scowl. “I certainly will not.”
“You will,” Kitterly said with a laugh. “And if you’re to marry a man of the court—a knight, perhaps, or a lord—”
“Heaven and earth, why the devil would I marry a lord?”
“Because that’s what’s available to you now, Marian.”
“I don’t give two figs about marrying some stuffy old shirt—”
“There are plenty of knights and lords who aren’t stuffy old shirts, Marian. And if you want to do your father proud—”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you’ll show me the steps to the carole again.”
She clapped out a rhythm as Marian rolled her eyes and started the dance all over again. When she finished, Kitterly harrumphed and frowned.
“I can’t believe Lady Charlotte canceled your lesson this morning,” she said. “You need the practice.”
Marian could believe it. Lady Charlotte had been nothing but cruel to her since she’d seen her with Gilbert at the city wall three days before. Marian had thought nothing could be worse than the mocking smugness she usually displayed, but she’d been wrong. To be constantly told she was a disappointment to her father was much more terrible.
And Papa. She’d hardly seen him since they’d come to Nottingham, and not at all in the past three days, not since Robin had asked her to come stay at Loxley.
Robin’s parents had barely blinked over the offer. An extra hand was always welcome at harvest time, and they had plenty of room for Marian. Now all Marian had to do was make it through this feast and get Papa to agree to her spending the autumn in Loxley with Robin.
There was no more time for dancing after that. Kitterly brought up a pot of scalding water and bade Marian scrub herself until she was pink. After that she bustled Marian into her gown and dressed her hair.
“Oh, don’t you look a picture,” Kitterly said as she finished doing up Marian’s laces. “So very fine indeed.” She adjusted Marian’s sleeves and stepped back, looking her over. Her eyes were suspiciously bright.
“What?” Marian asked, looking down at herself. “It’s not as bad as all that, is it?”
“Oh hush, child. It’s not bad at all. It’s only… well. I’ve gone and got used to you here, I have. And I’ll miss you when you’ve gone.”
Marian looked at her in confusion. Surely Kitterly hadn’t heard of her plans to leave Nottingham for Loxley. The only person she’d spoken with about it was Robin, and the only people Robin had spoken with were her parents. “Gone? Gone where?”
“Haven’t you spoken with your father?”
Resentment flared up in Marian’s belly, but she shoved it aside. “Not in a few days. Why?”
“King John, God save him, has found lodgings for you in the castle. You’re to move in to them after the feast.” She turned away and began to pack away her brushes and pins. “Of course this was only temporary. You were never going to stay here at the inn; it’s not becoming a family of your station, but I’ll miss you, I will. And I don’t mind saying it.”
“Miss me,” Marian parroted, because she could think of nothing else to say. She couldn’t move into the castle; she absolutely couldn’t. No, she was going to Loxley with Robin after the feast. She wasn’t going to move even further into the king’s gilded world, no matter what Papa’s station was.
“Well you needn’t go on about it,” Kitterly snapped. She swiped at her eyes. “Go on now, your father will be waiting for you.”
“Hang on,” Marian said. “Go back to the bit about me moving into the castle.”
“Well, you didn’t think you were going to stay here forever, did you?”
Marian stared at her blankly. How foolish had she been to not even consider it? Of course she couldn’t live in an inn forever, but with Papa coming and going—going more than coming—Marian had grown comfortable with Kitterly. The idea of losing her now, so soon after losing Laura and Johnny…. And that wasn’t even considering Loxley and Robin.
“Your father has found you a proper companion—”
“I don’t need a companion.”
“—and you’ll have a household there.”
“I’m to live there by myself?”
“Of course not,” Kitterly said. “Sir Erik will live there with you, and your companion—Lucy, I believe she’s called—will live there as well.”
Marian shook her head. “You must be mistaken. Papa would have spoken to me before making such a decision.”
“I believe King John extended the offer, Marian. Your father was honored to take it.”
“King John can—”
Kitterly cut her off with a look. “Mind your tongue, child.”
Marian snapped her mouth shut. She wasn’t moving into the castle, and that was that. King John would just have to make other arrangements. “Papa will be waiting for me.”
“Yes,” Kitterly said, rolling her eyes. “So you’d best be on your way. You know where you’re going? Don’t just stomp into the hall, you remember? You wait for your father, and then the pair of you will be announced.”
“Yes, of course,” Marian snapped. The order of the evening had been drilled into her head. First, she would meet Papa in the courtyard, which was dripping in golden torches. Then he would escort her into the hall, where they would be announced by the king’s herald. Then Papa would formally present her to King John. After that would be dinner and dancing and music galore. In another lifetime Marian would have been excited. But now her gown was heavy and stifling, the tight wind of her braids was making her head ache, and that was only the physical part of it. Her mind was racing, her stomach churning.
She had to speak to Papa at once, put to rest this ridiculous notion of moving into the castle.
“Away with you, then,” Kitterly said. “And see that you leave that sour attitude here.”