“HOW CAN you have accumulated so much in just a month?” Papa asked, heaving another bag of dresses into the cart he’d hired to move their things from Kitterly’s inn to their new rooms. “There seem to be no end to your things.”
Marian shoved another bundle of fabric into the cart and glared at Papa. He’d been waiting on her the night before when she’d gotten in from her evening haunts with Robin, bursting with excitement to tell her they would be taking up their rooms in the castle the next day. She’d tried to use his good mood to leverage him on the subject of going to Loxley with Robin at the end of the summer, but again he would have none of it. Marian couldn’t understand it. He was hardly around, so why did he care where she was or who she was with? Autumn was coming, and they ought to have been in Abyglen with their neighbors, settling in for the cooler nights. But Abyglen scarcely existed anymore, and if Marian allowed herself to think too much about it, she would curl up in a ball and never stop crying. Instead she thought of Robin, of bundling up with her in front of a fire, tucking her cold toes under Robin’s legs, watching the firelight play tricks with the shades in her hair.
She simply had to go to Loxley with Robin when the time came. She couldn’t lose another person. Not now. Not so soon after Laura and Johnny and everyone else.
The sun rose high, then slid down again as Marian sat in her new room, watching a woman called Lucy—her new companion, apparently—unpack Marian’s dresses and examine each of them in turn. Papa had gone again, to dine at the king’s table. Marian had claimed a headache and exhaustion from the move, not giving Papa a chance to request that she join him.
King John was where she and Robin parted ways. Robin still wanted to be his knight one day. To Marian, he was the man who had taken nearly everything from her.
As evening fell, Lucy retired to her room after making sure to turn back Marian’s covers, as if she were a toddler. Marian thanked her with clenched teeth, waited for the door to close behind her, then rumpled the covers just for the sake of it.
Then, of course, she realized she had to sort them out before she could sleep under them. With a roll of her eyes, she set about making her bed again. She was halfway to strangling herself with the enormous embroidered quilt when a feeble knock sounded at the door.
Marian froze. Who could possibly be calling this time of night?
“Maiden?”
A shiver ran up Marian’s spine. The only person in the world who called her maiden was Gilbert, and there could be no reason for him to come looking for Marian in the dead of night. But again at the door came the voice. “Maiden, can you hear me?”
“Gilbert?” Marian hastened across the floor and unlatched the door. “Is that you?” She cracked the door open and found Gilbert huddled there beneath his old cloak. The slanting moonlight coming through the windows cast his face in dark shadow.
“Oh maiden,” Gilbert said. He slumped, his thin shoulders curving inward.
“Gilbert,” Marian whispered. She blushed furiously and tried not to notice how she was nearly in public in nothing more than her nightgown. “Heaven and earth, it’s the middle of the night.”
“Begging your forgiveness, maiden. I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Are you hurt?” Marian raked her eyes over Gilbert’s body. “Are you injured somewhere?”
Gilbert shook his head. His eyes were fever-bright and his cheeks flushed. “It’s my niece, maiden. My sister’s baby.”
“Is she hurt?”
“It’s the fever. It’s that damnable fever, see? And she’s just—” He choked and pulled on his matted hair with his good hand. “She’s only tiny.”
“Oh no.” Marian’s heart sank. “Oh, Gilbert, I’m so sorry.”
“And she’s only getting worse, see? I don’t know what to do.”
“Is there anything to be done for her?”
Gilbert swayed on his feet. He was so drunk it was a wonder he was still upright. “There’s a medicine. Some say there is, anyway. Some medicine the king, God save him, has been taking. They say the physician has stores of it.”
Marian nodded. “Is it money you need?”
“He says he’s out. Says he’s gone out days ago, but it’s just… it’s ’cause we’re poor, see? They’re keeping it all for the likes of the lords, ’cause what use is one poor beggar child?”
Marian ran a shaking hand over her face. “Is that true? Gilbert, how drunk are you?”
“Terribly so, maiden. So very terribly.”
“Right.” Marian’s mind was racing twice as fast as her heart. “Go around the corner, Gilbert, and hide yourself in the dark of the hallway, all right? I’ll be right back.”
Gilbert shook his head and propped himself against the wall. Marian gave him one more lingering look, then pushed the door shut. She ran to the cupboard on quiet feet and dragged on the first dress she found. She threw on her hooded cloak, jammed a few loose coins into her pocket, then shoved her feet into her boots and hastened back to the door.
Gilbert was just as she’d left him, listing against the wall. Marian carefully latched the door behind her and pulled Gilbert upright. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”
It took a long moment for Gilbert to find his footing. Once he did, he shook his head slowly. “Where, maiden?”
“To the physician’s rooms,” she said. “If he won’t give the medicines to you, perhaps he’ll give them to me.”
“He won’t,” Gilbert said. “If he sees me there, he’ll know.”
“Then he won’t see you, will he? Where do you live? Tell me where to find you once I get the medicines.”
“You mustn’t—” Gilbert shook his head again, his eyes clearing. “You mustn’t come there. It wouldn’t be seemly.”
Marian laughed, strangely exhilarated. “Gilbert, I’m out of doors with a strange man in the middle of the night. I think we’ve left propriety far behind us.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Gilbert said. “You’ve always been very kind to me.”
There wasn’t anything Marian could say to that. Kindness wasn’t enough, not anymore. Gilbert might be a drunk, but he wanted to help his sister’s baby, and there was such a lot of honor in that, Marian hardly knew what to do with herself. “Tell me where to find you,” she said again. “Your sister’s house. Where does she live?”
“The farthest lane from the well pump. Down past the butcher. It’ll be the one with the lantern on the stoop.”
“All right.” That was much farther than Marian was allowed to go unaccompanied, but it made no difference now. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“I’ll wait for you at the well.”
Marian shook her head. “See to your sister. I’ll be all right.” With that she turned and made her way across the courtyard, drawing her cloak around her. The night air was chilly and her nightdress thin. But the way her blood was racing around in her body made her feel as if she were she was going to burn up from the inside out. Her sweaty hands shook as her feet slipped in her boots.
The physician’s quarters were built against the wall that separated the upper town from the lower. The windows were dark, and when Marian knocked, there was no answer. She swore softly and knocked again, trying not to remember the desperation set in every crevice of Gilbert’s face.
After another few moments of silence, it became apparent no answer was coming. Marian huddled farther into her cloak and tried to think of what to do. Going back empty-handed wasn’t an option. She could always go in search of the physician, but she couldn’t even begin to think of where to start.
“Blast,” Marian muttered. She shoved her hand into her hair and dislodged a pin. She and Johnny had spent the entire summer she’d turned eleven picking every single lock they could find. It had been ages, but as Marian slide the pin into the door lock, it came flooding back. She twisted the pin until she heard the tumblers shift and catch. Then she unfastened the latch and pushed the door open.
“Hullo?” she called softly, stepping into the dim room. There was no answer. Marian stepped farther into the room, pulling the door shut behind her. She’d been in the physician’s chambers before, but never on her own and never in the dark. But the moonlight filtering in through the small windows was enough for Marian to see enough by. She shuffled over to the cabinets where the physician kept his poultices and herbs.
Some of the bottles were labeled, but most of them weren’t. Marian shuffled through the familiar jars, setting aside the ones she knew to be for common ailments like scrapes and stomach troubles. As she was moving a large bundle of peppermint, she caught the latch of a tiny, hidden door.
A grin spread across Marian’s face. She unhooked the door and peered inside the compartment behind it.
Perfect. A dozen identical glass bottles filled with a thick, green liquid. That had to be it. Marian grabbed two of the bottles, then relatched the compartment and shoved the peppermint back in front of it. She replaced all the other bottles and jars and then, as a last thought, lifted the bottle of fever reducer and slid it into the pocket of her cloak.
After locking the door behind her, Marian glanced around the lane. It was still deserted. She put her hands in her pockets to keep the bottles from clanging into one another. She clutched at her cloak and hurried through the city, heart beating like a drum.
Gilbert was waiting for her by the well.
“I thought I told you to go down to your sister’s,” Marian whispered, drawing close to him and pulling the bottles from her cloak.
“I didn’t want anyone to see you down that lane,” Gilbert replied. His eyes were still red, but his words were less slurred. “You’ve no call being down there.”
“I’m not sure I’ve got the right thing. I think it is, but—well. I brought two bottles. There were a dozen. I don’t think he’ll miss two of them. And something for her fever as well.”
“You’re a saint, you are.”
Marian shook her head. “I’m nothing of the sort.”
“You are, maiden. I can’t believe you—I never should have come to you. Stealing from the king is treason.”
Marian shook her head. “They’re not going to hang Sir Erik’s daughter. And he had a dozen bottles, Gilbert. There’s no call for someone to have so much when someone else has absolutely nothing.”
Gilbert clutched the bottles to his chest. “You can get home all right?”
“I can get home perfectly fine. Just….” Marian wrapped her hand around Gilbert’s wrist. “Be safe. Be quick.”
“Fast as the wind, maiden, I swear it.”
With a spryness that did not suit him, Gilbert hustled down the lane. Marian waited until he had disappeared into the darkness before she turned and headed home.
THE NEXT morning, Marian awoke to find all of Lucy’s careful unpacking was wasted, for Papa was standing beside her bed, clutching an armload of dresses and shaking Marian’s shoulder.
“Marian,” he said urgently. “Marian, wake up.”
“Wha—?” Marian bolted upright, her mouth going dry at the look on Papa’s face. “Papa, what’s wrong?”
“The fever,” Papa said tersely.
“Where? You? Are you ill? Come here,” Marian demanded, launching herself out of bed. “Let me feel your forehead.”
“No,” Papa said, and he smiled, but it was feeble and gone as quickly as it had come. “Not me, thankfully. And not you, if I have anything to say about it. Get dressed; you’re going to Loxley.”
“I’m… what?”
“Loxley.” Papa tossed a dress at Marian and shoved the rest of his armload into a bag. “I’ve already spoken to your friend Robin’s father. You ride within the hour.”
“The hour…. Papa, how long have you been awake?”
“I haven’t slept. Seven people died from the fever last night, four of them children. King John is leaving for his home in the south, and I will ride with him.”
“You’re sending me to Loxley,” Marian said slowly. She shook her head, then dragged a hand down her face. Maybe it was her midnight break-in to the physician’s office, but she was having a hard time making her brain function properly. Then Marian realized what Papa was saying, and she leaped to her feet and started casting around for her boots. Seven dead, four of them children. She had to get to Gilbert, had to make sure….
“Marian,” Papa said, his voice sharp. “You can’t go out in your nightgown. Get dressed.”
“I have to go. I have to go… check on something.”
“Oh no,” Papa said, and he caught Marian’s arm, propelling her toward her dressing screen. “You need to change right now.”
“But—”
“Now,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Within half an hour, Marian had a bag slung over each shoulder as Papa marched her down to the city gate. Her head was still reeling. She clutched Papa’s arm, her head swiveling as she looked desperately for the sight of Gilbert’s faded cloak.
They reached the gate, and Papa stopped, still gripping Marian’s hand. He turned to her, raked his gaze over her face, then pulled her into a hug.
“You’ll take care.”
“Of course I will.” Marian wrapped her arms around him, one of her bags squashed between their chests. “And I’ll write. My letters are much better now.”
“Lady Charlotte says you’ve fine penmanship indeed.”
Marian did not scowl at the mention of Lady Charlotte’s name. She was too busy squeezing Papa so tightly she feared she’d bruise him. “And you’ll take care as well, won’t you? Don’t get caught by any arrows on your ride south.”
Papa exhaled a laugh into her hair. “I’ll be perfectly fine. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself, and write when you reach Loxley. Robin’s father will know how to get a letter to me.”
“All right.” Marian squeezed him one last time. Down the way she could see Robin standing atop a cart, unraveling a rope from a tree branch.
“There they are,” Papa said with a nod. “We must go. King John, God save him, must not be kept waiting.”
The Hoods had nearly finished packing the last odds and ends of their camp. They were as eager to leave the city as Papa was to see Marian gone, now that the fever had taken such a deadly turn. Robin gave Marian a quick hug and helped her toss the last of her belongings into the cart before climbing up onto the seat beside her father.
“See that you mind Cleon and Neale.” Papa pulled Marian into a hug. “Help as best you can, and don’t make any more trouble than is absolutely necessary.”
Marian pressed her face into the broad span of Papa’s chest. She liked that no matter how tall she got, Papa was still taller. She squeezed him tightly, then swung herself onto the horse Neale was holding for her.
“I’ll write. Be well.”
“Safe travels.”
MARIAN WAS accustomed to riding. It had become part of her daily routine that summer, fit in between dancing and drawing and archery and any other type of lesson it struck Papa she ought to take part in. She rode every day, but never for such a long period of time or over such distance. By the time they stopped to set up camp and start dinner, Marian’s entire body was achy and sore. Even her teeth hurt. She slid from the saddle with no elegance whatsoever and nearly crumpled to the ground.
“Ahhhh,” she said, wincing at the twist of muscles in her back and legs. “I feel as though I’ve been asleep on a bed of rocks.”
“Poor dear.” Robin came over and gently squeezed Marian’s hand. Perhaps it was her exhaustion playing tricks on her, but it seemed Robin had grown lovelier in the hours since they’d left Nottingham. Perhaps it was the vibrant green of the grass and the way the wind rustling through the trees made them dance, and the way it all made Robin’s eyes alive, as if they were part of the earth itself. It suited her, this wildness.
Marian looked at Robin for a moment and heard the beating of her own heart, the high thud thud thud of it in her ears.
Marian shook herself, embarrassed. What foolish things to think of. Robin would tease her endlessly if she knew how carried away she was.
“Can I help start a fire?” she asked, turning around and finding Neale unhooking his horse from its harness.
“If you like,” Neale replied, apparently unaware Marian was losing her mind feet away from him. “Do you know how to use a flint?”
“Father, I keep telling you Marian is a country girl at heart and by birth. I’m quite sure she knows how to use a flint.”
Marian did. She was out of practice and a bit clumsy, but she had a small fire flickering before Robin and Neale returned from the stream where they’d left the horses to drink. Neale had shot a hare and sat down away from the fire to dress it.
Marian prodded the fire. “It’s good King John, God save him, lets us hunt on his land.”
Robin laughed and sat down beside Marian. She tugged off her boots and lay back on the grass. “I’m surprised you knew that.”
“I’m not ignorant of everything.”
“I never said you were. Just”—her eyes glittered in the firelight—“lacking in curiosity.”
After they ate, Robin and Marian spread their bedrolls near the fire. Neale fetched the horses, tied them under the shelter of the trees, and made his bed near them. Cleon curled into his back and wrapped an arm around his waist. Marian watched them for a moment, then crawled beneath her covers as Robin twitched her blankets nearer the blaze.
“You’re going to catch on fire,” Marian said, pressing her face into the arm she had propped beneath her head.
“I get cold at night,” Robin said. She slid under her covers and tugged them up over her shoulders. “Tired?”
“Exhausted,” Marian replied, because she was. The ride had been harder on her body than she’d been expecting, and she was already dreading getting back on her horse tomorrow. Her bedroll was warm enough, and Robin was a comfortable presence at her side. She ought to have fallen into sleep headlong, but every time her eyes drifted shut, they popped open again. Perhaps she was too tired to sleep.
Gradually she became aware that Robin’s breathing had deepened and evened out. Marian turned her head to look at her and found she’d rolled over onto her side, her back to the fire. She’d kicked her blankets off, and her pale, freckled legs were tangled in them. Her hair was a tousled halo around her head, and Marian wanted to reach out and smooth it off her face, but she didn’t dare. Breathless, Marian slid her hand over the ground between them and traced her finger down the damp flat of Robin’s palm.
It wasn’t a lightning bolt. There was nothing startling about it, nothing sudden and certainly nothing terrifying. As Marian watched Robin shift in her sleep, she wondered if this wasn’t a thing she had always known. She slid her palm against Robin’s and laced their fingers together loosely.
It was lovely. Robin’s hand was small and delicate, and Marian loved the way their fingers fit together. She traced her thumb up the length of Robin’s finger. She thought of doing something silly, like tracing her name in Robin’s palm. There was no one watching, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
In the flickering light of the fire, Marian let out a slow, steady breath and untangled their fingers. With the phantom feel of their hands pressed together, Marian closed her eyes and tried to sleep.