“In the forest. Not outlaws. They had swords.”
“And at least one of them was pretty good with a bow.”
“No, I think he aimed for my head.” He laughed, but softly. Not the old booming laugh. “I think . . . I think they were some lord’s men. They followed orders.”
“They could be outlaws, holding the children for ransom—”
He shook his head. “To threaten Robin. Where is Robin?”
“He’ll be here soon.”
“He won’t want to see me . . .”
“But you came anyway.” Someone handed Marian a cup of wine, which she offered to John. “Drink lots. We’ve got to get that arrow out.”
“You must be out of practice, getting arrows out of stupid men.”
“Not so much. Drink, John.” Between her and Joan, they worked the arrow out, and John only groaned a little, keeping a tight grip on the edge of the chair. She had not seen Little John in sixteen years. Right after they learned of the death of Richard Lionheart. Right before Mary was born. He was right: she’d lost the knack of getting arrows out of stupid reckless men. This one had gone nearly all the way through, but it missed heart and lungs. If they could get the wound staunched and sewn up, it would heal.
When the arrow was out, she studied the bloody tip of it by the fire. It was slim, tapered to a graceful point.
“That’s a bodkin point, my lady,” Joan said softly.
Which meant the men who’d attacked John and her children were not hunters or outlaws taken unawares; they were armed for war. A lord’s men, as he’d said.
He seemed to fall unconscious, then started awake again. “Robin, I must speak to Robin!”
“He’s coming,” she reassured him. He nodded, resting back against the chair.
There was a commotion, and now Robin stood at the front of the hall, staring as if he saw a ghost. “John. My God.” Will and Much both came in behind him, wearing similar poleaxed expressions.
“Well met, m’lord,” John said tiredly.
Marian finished putting stitches in the wound, and John was growing more alert after the drink, not less, as the pain dimmed. Good. He needed to explain himself. Robin rushed over, then hesitated, and Marian had never seen such a look of hurt and joy and confusion on him. She had never seen him speechless.
She said, “John, you must tell him about the children. Please. Robin, he says men took the children.”
“I tried to stop them, but—” Marian laid a hand on his shoulder. Obviously, he tried to stop them. Did he think he could succeed against well-armed soldiers? Did he believe his own legends? “Seven men in the forest with swords and bows. They ambushed them, carried them all off. Mary and John made a go of fighting, but they were no match. And Eleanor—Mary told her to run but she would not leave them.”
Marian’s heart fluttered, and she nearly fainted. Dear, sweet Eleanor, what were they doing to her? Robin leaned on Marian’s shoulder. His hand was shaking.
“They wore good armor and tunics, they were not outlaws,” John said. “They went southwest, along the deer trail that runs near the road, where the stream branches near that stand of alders.”
“Then we go,” said Will, who was always the one to leap to action without plan or forethought or anything. He looked around, as if searching for a weapon, but there were none readily to hand. How the pattern went in the old days: Will would immediately demand some action, Much would advise caution, and Robin would laugh at them both and choose some middle, sensible road. And John would follow Robin.
Now Much was silent, and Robin sank onto a bench, shaking his head.
“My enemies have done this. The king—I did not think he would bend so low, to take such revenge. I knew I had made enemies, but I did not think . . . I did not think. Marian, you were right. I should never have let them wander off, I should never have let them go off alone—”
As if he had had any say in the matter. “I never said that.”
“They were always safe in the woods, Rob,” John said. “I was always looking after them.”
“I know,” he said softly.
“I think in the old days, I would have been able to lay out all seven of them—”
“In the old days, you had all of us with you. No matter. We’ll go after them now. They have brought their doom upon themselves. Will, Much, gather everyone you can, with every weapon to be had.”