Chapter Thirty-Eight—Sherwood

"She did right well, for a first-timer," Alan said, when Robin's narrative was concluded.

The Master of Sherwood expertly nicked a notch in the arrow he was carving. "Aye, she did well. Yet I feel that I may have failed. I asked too much too soon."

"But you just said she did well," Kate reminded him, ladling out the stew—which, since Much had been restored as cook, was subject to many jibes about squirrels and rodents.

"She was nearly caught." Robin shook his head. "Putting others in danger—it's an easy and terrible risk."

"She seems to learn fast on her feet," Alan supplied comfortingly. "She'll be a natural in no time."

"Not everyone has an innate tendency towards rampant thievery," Much remarked, taking a large mouthful of stew. "I agree with Robin. It is unchivalrous to put a maid in peril."

"Has the squirrel gone to your head, mate?" Alan demanded, aggrieved. "Nobody wants to put her in danger. But hard times—"

"This is not squirrel!"

"Lads," Robin said warningly, and the squabble subsided.

"If I may," Marian said, taking the bowl which Will handed to her, "She ought to have a choice in the matter. If she told you not to worry, Robin, and you are so confident in her abilities, then you ought to have a little faith in her. Of course it's dangerous…but saints above, I had enough of being told to sit down and step back. I—"

"But your reassurances were not always satisfactory," said Robin, in a low tone. It was not fair, and certainly not before the company, to pry too far into Marian's reasoning. But the fact remained that she had often concealed the dire nature of circumstances to protect her father, and even to protect Gisb—

He stopped the thought short. "I'll try to trust her," he agreed, more amiably than he felt. "But she has not much experience with any of this, and I fear that she'll dive further in than she can swim if I let her."

"Then don't let her," Marian said, with the softly teasing smile that still made his heartbeat quicken pleasantly. "But don't treat her as though she knew nothing, Robin. She clearly has her wits about her. The Sherriff will try to use their deal to lock her in a gilded cage. The fact that you allow her to be free is what makes you different from him." She gasped suddenly, pressing a hand to her side.

"What is it?" Though the worst of her recovery was over, his breathing still constricted whenever the roses faded from her cheeks, whenever her lips pressed tight with pain. "Is Little Locksley kicking yet?"

"Not yet," she said, with an attempt at a smile. Djaq and Kate were at her side, while the rest of the band sat stock-still, caught between real concern and a sort of terror for any domestic occurrence. "There. I am well again."

The camp bustled with usual activity as day faded into dusk. Tuck and Kate made rounds to the villages, while Will and Allan went off in search of the next day's meal. John and Much remained by the fire, nibbling at the scrapings of supper and talking in low voices.

Robin turned to speak to Marian, but saw that she had fallen asleep. A curious little frown was written across her forehead, and her hand was knotted up in the cloak laid over her.

He reached a tentative hand out , but a soft-spoken voice made him start.

"Let her rest."

It was Djaq. He shifted, turning to face the Saracen, who was crouching at the edge of Marian's makeshift tent. "I thought that she was getting well."

A shrug in the darkness. "It's the child, Robin."

There was something in Djaq's honest dark eyes that ignited a flame of fear within him, burning swiftly through his veins—a sensation he never felt even when facing a dozen armed guards or the Sherriff himself. "What is it?"

"To recover from such a wound is…remarkable. To have a child is difficult. The two combined…"

He set his teeth against his lip, marveling at how steady his hands guided the whittling knife. "A challenge?"

"Near impossible." Her voice was soft, yet that only seemed to heighten his pain. "I will do my best, of course. That you can count on. But I do not know that you can count on anything else."

She left him, after that, and he knelt by Marian's side—unable to join her in sleep. The moonlight, dancing with the fronds of leaves above them, etched shadows across her silken hair. Her face was pale, and he ran a roughened finger lightly against the smoothness of her cheek. She was so perfect, so fragile, so elusive even now…even in sleep.

So easy to lose.

He stayed long awake, begging further aid from the God who had saved her, and cursing anew the man who would have destroyed her.