They spent what seemed a very long time, the returning party and the would-be departing party, regarding one another.
“So, no rescue needed?” Robin finally asked.
Mary had no idea how to answer that.
“What’s he doing here?” John exclaimed, looking past the company to a spot by the fire. A staff had been driven into the ground, and a man was sitting there tied to it with ropes around his arms and legs, a gag in his mouth and tears running down his face and into his beard.
“Ranulf FitzHugh,” she said coldly. What had he done now?
“Ah, yes, Lord Ranulf is enjoying some of the old traditional Sherwood hospitality,” Robin said merrily, but his gaze was steel.
Marian’s look had an edge to it as well, reminding them that she had grown up amidst the cutthroat rivalries of the Norman court. No one could underestimate her when she was like this. “Dav and Grace caught him sneaking around back. He said there was a matter of honor he intended to talk to you two about. I’m sure I don’t know what he means.”
“I’d rather swim to France than talk to him,” Mary said. What had the man intended? Her thoughts would not dwell on the question.
Robin said, “We still haven’t quite decided what to do with him.”
It seemed like rather a lot had been done with him already. The man didn’t have a mark on him, but his face was drawn with a look of fear and anguish. And what idiot decided it was a good idea to try to sneak into Locksley’s camp?
“Put him in the river,” John said, glaring. “Give him a cooling-off.”
“An awfully long walk to the river,” Grace said.
Will answered, “Set him backward on one of the horses and see how long he stays on—”
The talk went on like this, back and forth, and Mary’s patience ended abruptly. She couldn’t listen to another word, the night had already lasted far longer than it should have, and none of this was funny.
“Hold this,” Mary said, handing Daisy’s reins to John. She went to the rack of weapons by the main tent and fetched a bow and quiver. Strung it right there, where Ranulf was tied up and the rest of them were bantering. The laughter faded until all stared at her.
“Father,” she said. “Set him loose. Make him run. I’ll show him how well I shoot at a moving target.” She chose an arrow.
Robin hesitated, glancing at Ranulf, returning his gaze to his daughter, and she wondered what her father saw in her eyes. Robin’s smile fell.
It was Marian who finally spoke. “Do it.”
For a moment, Mary thought Robin would refuse. Maybe he ought to have refused. But he looked at his wife, his daughter, and nodded.
“As my lady commands. Dav, set him loose,” Robin said, and Dav drew a knife and cut the ropes.
Ranulf scrambled to hands and knees, looking around wildly. His hands came together, as if he meant to beg at Robin’s feet. He looked at Mary and her bow, and his eyes grew wide.
“You’d better run,” the baron of Locksley said. “I’m not going to stop her.”
Mary nocked her arrow.
With a choked cry, Ranulf ran, out of the camp, straight across the field. He glanced back once. Mary drew the string to her chin. He ran on, managing to go even faster.
Sighing, she lowered the bow and let out the tension. And that was that.
Robin blew out a breath and put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled weakly.
The rigid silence of all who had been watching broke. Dav and Grace bent over each other’s shoulders, laughing hard, along with the rest of Robin’s troop. Will Scarlet continued watching the fleeing Ranulf and seemed very satisfied.
“Did you see the look on his face?” John asked wonderingly.
“I only saw the back of him,” Dav said, laughing.
Marian turned on the children. “Now, where have you been all night!”