“Marian,” Alys said. “My goodness, the sun is high. I trow I’ve missed Mass again, haven’t I?”
“Aye, but what were you doing in there?”
“ ’ Tis the herbary, and I had prepared a draught in the night and came to see if it had taken for its patient.”
Marian fell into step next to her friend, noticing the dark circles under her eyes. “You look weary, Alys. Did your maid’s sister call you out again in the night?”
She shook her head, smiling a bit sadly. “Nay. I could not sleep and went to the chapel. There I came upon the one in need of my assistance. But now he is gone.”
At that moment, Marian realized what her friend had said, and a sudden thought . . . a wonderfully brilliant idea . . . settled into her mind. “A sleeping draught?”
“Aye.”
“Could you make one for me? One that would put a man to sleep?”
Alys looked at her shrewdly and at first, Marian thought she might decline. But then her friend nodded and said, “I could do such a thing. But mayhap you will tell me about its purpose whilst I brew it?”
Marian nodded. “I will.”
Inside the herbary, Marian found herself intrigued by the long wide table covered with neat stacks of wooden and clay bowls. Clay jars sat on shelf after shelf with markings on them, and a variety of utensils, buckets, platters, bowls, mortars, and pestles arrayed the table and another counter behind it. In a smaller room beyond, she caught sight of a narrow bed. A black cauldron hung over a happy blaze in the fireplace, steam coming from within.
“We are alone,” Alys said. “The alewife comes in to build the fire in the morning, but she has gone back to her house to check on her brew. The leechman and midwife who use these stores are busy in the village. Now tell me who it is you wish to put to sleep . . . and why.”
Marian considered for a moment whether to tell Alys the entire truth. After all, putting medicinals in the prince’s drink could be considered treason, even if it wasn’t meant to harm him.
“Mayhap I should tell you my great secret first,” said Alys. “And then you will know you can trust me.”
Marian looked at her with interest, but remained silent as her friend spoke again.
“There are few who know that I am the queen’s half niece. As such, we have a rather close relationship, as she appreciates the fact that we are secretly bound by blood . . . and that she can trust me. She oft speaks-or writes, as the case may be-of you,” Alys said, crushing dried leaves into a small pot of water drawn from the steaming cauldron. “You are well-thought-of in her mind.”
And the queen was well aware of the propensities of her youngest son. Marian considered, but in the end decided to be safe. “ ’ Tis a suitor of mine who is more than a bit too . . . ardent,” she explained. “I do not wish to offend him, but nor do I wish to spend the night in his bed. I thought mayhap to find a delicate way to deny him.”
Alys placed the small pot over the fire, removing the larger cauldron, and glanced at Marian sidewise. “The prince?”
Marian let out a small huff of surprised laughter. “What do you mean?”
The little blond woman spewed out her own puff of air, blowing up the wisps of hair that had fallen into her eyes from her braid. Her sky blue eyes rolled. “I may appear young and naive, Marian, but I am not. ’Tis obvious by the way he looks at you that he lusts for you . . . and if I had not suspected, the conversation yester-morrow in regards to the prince’s festivities would have told me so. The expression on your face made it known to me that you did not welcome his advances.”
“ ‘Advance’ is a weak word to describe the truth,” Marian admitted. “ ’ Tis well near force.”
“Then use this well,” Alys told her, turning to strain the infusion into a small bottle. “There is little taste to it, so he will not notice if you add it to his wine. But it takes some time to work, so you must administer it early and be patient.” She continued and gave Marian instructions for dosage. “It will cause him no harm, so you may use it without fear.”
“I cannot thank you enough,” Marian said, hoping she had not been wrong to trust the woman.
“You are loyal to the queen, and that is all the gratitude I need. She has been very kind to me and I owe her much more than simple fealty.” Alys looked at her steadily. “I know why you are here, Marian. If there is aught I can do to assist, you have only to ask.”
Did she know of her mission for Eleanor, then? Marian looked at her and their eyes met again. Aye. She knew of it. Or something.
“In fact, I have received word that she expects to arrive within the next sennight. Or sooner,” Alys added, looking at her meaningfully. “I’ve journeyed with her often enough to know how quickly she travels.”
“Indeed,” Marian said. “I’ve heard that even her men cry for rest before she does.”
“She will allow for little delay; of that you can be certain.”
Marian nodded, feeling more optimistic. She thanked her again and sent for Bruse to have her palfrey saddled. While he did that, she took the tisane, secreting it in her chamber.
When she returned to the bailey, Bruse and another of her men were waiting, and they followed her as she rode out through the portcullis. In the distance, beyond the village, she saw the preparations being made for the next day’s archery contest. Shaded stands were being erected in a large, grassy field for the nobles and ladies in front of an area that had been cleared for the competition.
She had no doubt that this contest was merely a way to entrap Robin Hood, for he simply would not be able to resist the prize of a golden arrow-nor, more importantly, the opportunity to be proclaimed the best archer in Nottinghamshire and beyond. And though she was certain he wouldn’t heed her warning, Marian meant to put a message in the hollow oak advising him of this. But since she expected he would dismiss it, she had her own plans to keep him from being captured and tossed into the gaol.
She and her men rode briskly along the road to the fork where the large boulder sat, and when they were nearly there, she sent them to wait behind her where they would be close enough that she could call for assistance, but far enough away that they would not see what she did. Although she trusted them with her life, she was fully aware that aiding an outlaw was considered treasonous . . . and by keeping them in ignorance, she protected them as well.
Leaving her palfrey tied to a tree near the road, Marian approached the oak, moving quietly into the forest.
She found the place Robin had told her about with no difficulty, and tucked the small piece of foolscap deep inside. Just as she turned to walk back to her horse, she heard a soft rustle and the low murmur of voices deeper in the wood.
Curiosity niggled at her, and Marian could not resist. She moved silently through the forest, taking care to step only on the thick covering of pine needles, which muffled any sound, and to avoid sticks and bushes. The ability to move thus was a skill she’d learned long ago, when she sneaked after the fostering boys at Mead’s Vale and spied upon them. When she heard the voices clearly enough to recognize that they belonged to two men who were speaking in low rumbles, she crouched and peered around a tree.
Will sat atop his massive black horse in the midst of a dark, thick section of the wood. The trees grew so close here that little sunlight reached the ground. Leaves and pine boughs created a canopy above Will’s head, but he stood unfettered and fully in view in the middle of the shadowy forest.
At first, Marian thought he must be alone, and that his companion-or whomever he’d been talking to-had gone. But then she heard a murmured reply filtering from somewhere, and she looked up into the trees.
Robin?
Robin and Will were talking, there in the midst of the forest?
Or had Will chased the outlaw deep into the wood, and now Robin sat high in a tree, taunting the sheriff from his perch?
Marian strained to hear their conversation, but just then, Will gave a loud disgusted sound and wheeled his horse sharply about. He slammed his heels into the destrier’s side, and with a great leap, they began to bound toward her. Heart in her throat, Marian stumbled back, out of the warhorse’s path, and ducked behind a fallen tree. She tripped over the huge trunk, tumbling onto the other side and landing in a pile of gown and kirtle.
Worried that Will had heard her ungainly escape, she pulled herself up and peered over the top of the trunk, half-expecting him to come galloping over to yank her out from her hiding place. But he barreled on past, and she watched him go with another worry; he might not have found her, but if he kept on in that direction, he would see her horse and mayhap her men.
Marian scrambled up and began to run, not back on the route from which she’d come, but at a slightly different angle. Will would certainly come back into the forest, looking for her, and she wanted to be as far from this place where he’d been with Robin as possible.
She also wanted time to think about what she’d seen: Will and Robin, talking in the middle of the wood.
Had they met intentionally, and Robin taken the opportunity to taunt Will from his place in the tree? Or had it been happenstance, and the sheriff had once again allowed the outlaw to slip through his fingers? That hardly seemed to be the case, since Will had left first. But even so, she suspected that the sheriff would be less than pleased to know she’d witnessed their dealings.
She tripped and fell once because she wasn’t watching the ground, so worried was she that Will might come bursting through the wood upon her. Pulling herself back up, Marian realized her veil had been torn from her hair somewhere along the way, and that branches had pulled tendrils from her thick braids. Her skirts were soiled and she was out of breath by the time she heard what she’d been expecting: the bellow of her name, and the dull thud of hooves on the forest floor.
Pausing to catch her breath, she smoothed her hair and her skirt and tried to appear as if she were merely examining a growth of moss on the side of one tree. She’d seen one of the healers use moss to pack a wound once-
“Marian!”
She forced herself to look mildly surprised to see him, but it was difficult when faced with the dangerous black figure before her. The warhorse pawed and pranced as Will drew him up and around, coming toward her.