The Ghosts of Sherwood (The Robin Hood Stories 1)

Or he might have been a ghost.

“Some dust far off but getting closer,” she answered.

“A large party, then?”

“The lord and lady never travel with too large a party. Likely they’re traveling fast.” The lord and lady preferred traveling lightly and at speed, from long habit.

“Returning from meeting the king, yes?”

She took her eyes away from the road a moment, but no, he was still hidden, the shape of a man with no detail revealed. She wondered how he knew, how the gossip of the manor reached him here. Or if he simply knew. “Yes.”

The dust grew, resolved itself into riders. No litters and wagons for her parents and their train—the wagon with their tents and supplies would follow more slowly. Their pace was calm. She could make out the rippling, rose-colored fabric of her mother’s skirt, draped along her horse’s flank.

“Can you tell how the mood is from here? How the journey went?”

“I won’t know how it went until I see Father’s face,” she said.

“

And see if he smiles or frowns?”

“No. And see if his smile is glad or wicked.” Her father would be smiling in any case.

The ghost laughed. “I know that wicked smile. Good luck, then.”

He faded back to the oak’s shadows and made not a sound. No leaves rustled. There was no smack on the dirt as he dropped to the ground. He might have melted into bark. Not a man at all, then. Except that this was Sherwood and she knew what was possible.

She tried for quiet as she climbed out of her own tree, sliding from bough to bough, leaning against the trunk, dropping to soft earth with bent knees. Mostly, she succeeded, but not as well as the ghost.

Mary of Locksley ran for home to be there when her parents arrived.

ii

Some days prior . . .

ON ONE OF THE best days of Marian’s life, King Richard gave his blessing to her and Robin’s marriage, and brought down his corrupt brother John. On one of the worst, they received news that King Richard had died, that same brother would be crowned as his heir, and Robin decided he had no choice but to swear fealty to a man he hated.

This day was neither best nor worst. No one was in danger of being hanged, so that was good. Robin’s most recent campaign against the king had been successful; he’d gotten the charter he wanted to protect the rights of landholders in England. But this had all become most uncomfortable, the barons who had rebelled and those who had stayed loyal camped on the same plain, eyeing each other with their packs of retinue and too many weapons at hand.

Still, Marian would not have missed seeing the look on the king’s face for anything, when her husband said straight out to him, “Sire, when good people become outlaws, perhaps it is time to change the laws. As you well know.” Robin had gotten nearly everything he’d wanted. He would never lose his holding out of royal spite again. He’d been about to demand an apology on top of everything, when Marian gave him a quelling look across the room, and, at last, Robin fell silent.

Now she only wanted to be home. She had never been away from the children for so long. Time was, she couldn’t have imagined wanting home and quiet, hearth and children. Time was, she couldn’t have imagined growing old at all. And Robin . . . Robin was running out of battles to fight.

Right at this moment, she and Robin were about to face King John, and while nobody was threatening to hang anybody this time, she wished herself elsewhere.

The king, haughty and fine as ever, held court in his pavilion, and the barons came to pay their respects, to show that they were all friends now. This must have been very gratifying to him, especially when Marian and Robin came before him, polite as they could manage. A silence fell, everyone turning to watch. They all knew the stories, knew that every meeting between these two had ended with shouting, and sometimes with dead bodies. Marian donned the courtliest smile she had and curtseyed neatly. She squeezed Robin’s fingers, where her hand rested over his, to remind him to bow. He did so, just enough. King John—and after sixteen years, it was still strange thinking that—was close to fifty and obviously tired. The throne he had coveted so much had worn him down. Ruling was more difficult than wanting, especially when your vassals had had enough of you. When Robin appeared before him, the king seemed to sigh, as if this was one chore he would rather do without. So at least they all agreed on that.

Robin, not so young himself anymore, glared daggers at the man. The Baron of Locksley had a dusting of gray in his light brown hair, but his smile was bright as ever. Bright and cutting like a knife edge. King John’s gaze slipped away from Robin to rest on Marian, and he seemed relieved to let it.

“How very good to see you, Lady Marian,” the king said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“It has, sire,” she said.

“You have children, yes?”

“God has blessed us with three, all strong and healthy.”

The king flashed a smile that might have been genuine—even he brightened at talk of children. He had five of his own, as well as a typically royal assortment of bastards. But then the smile turned sly.