The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) (27 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“I know him.”

“Shh!”

Robin clapped a cool hand over Marian's mouth. She narrowed her eyes, jaw tingling with the urge to bite him. He glanced over at her, blinked, and quickly removed his hand, sidling away a few inches for good measure.

You better run.

The nerves in her feet buzzed with the threat of falling asleep, the tell-tale pins and needles that said she’d been squatting for too long. Without taking her eyes off their intended target, Marian lowered one leg so her knee was on the ground, shifting her weight off her protesting feet. Damp soil soaked into her pant leg and a twig stabbed at her from its bed of dirt. She shifted again, taking her weight off the pointy stick.

Robin eyed her as though her miniscule movement might give them away and she shook her head in warning. She had not slept well last night, her brain refusing to just accept Robin’s promise that he could get her back her old life if she wanted him to. Thoughts of what her life would become after their three days together had kept her awake well into the early morning, and she was in no mood to be criticized. Especially by him.

With a slight shake of his head, he pointed at the carriage making its way down the road that split the forest. The dirt path was broad and well traveled, packed so tightly that even after this morning's short rain the wheels of the coach had no trouble rolling along. Marian glared at Robin for a heartbeat more, then obligingly looked to the man visible through the carriage window.

Percy O’ Heath was a fat man. Fat enough that he never rode horseback, and was only seen walking when it absolutely couldn’t be avoided. His mustache—such that it was—did nothing to flatter his round countenance, refusing to grow into more than a thin black line that emphasized the bulging curves of his cheeks and triple chins. The carriage that was doing its best to get his weight from one point to another was gilded with enough gold that the tiniest shaft of light on its surface made it shine like a second sun. A perfect target.

He peered out the window of the carriage, cheeks full of some sort of meat he’d torn off a bone still held clutched in his hand. He chewed furiously and swallowed before shouting out the window. “Must you hit every pebble in this damned road?”

Robin drew an arrow, winked at Marian, and sprinted behind the line of trees. He exploded onto the road before the carriage in a hail of leaves, arrow aimed at the surprised driver. The thin man jerked the reins with shaking hands lined with thick veins, bringing the horse to a stuttering halt.

“What the blazes is the matter with you, you incompetent moron!”

Marian gritted her teeth against the wheezing bellow that was Percy’s voice. Part of her wanted to shoot him on principle, but Robin had been very clear that they were not to kill anyone.

Insultingly clear, now that she thought about it.

She leaned against the tree she’d been peering around as Robin puffed out his chest like some strange bird. A regal bird with striking cheekbones and hair that couldn’t possibly be as soft as it looked, but still a bird.

“Your carriage fairly leaves a trail of sparks even on this dirt road, such is the heavy load that it has. Do allow me to be a good neighbor and lighten some of the considerable weight from your coffers?”

Marian arched an eyebrow. “Does he always talk like that when he’s robbing people?”

Will snickered from his place on a tree branch ten feet above her head. The spriggan blended eerily well with the surrounding foliage, his brown pants making his legs look like broken tree limbs, his green shirt a perfect match for the oak’s burgeoning leaves. Little John rumbled his agreement behind her, his voice so deep it sent a vibration down Marian’s spine.

She drummed her fingers against her bow. “Why are we here? He doesn’t need our help with Percy. The man is—”

A sharp crack of wood against gold-bedecked wood interrupted her. Marian straightened as something flew out of the carriage, a rush of rich green, gold, and silver silk. She blinked, recognizing the form as Percy’s wife.

“Tilly?”

The woman was even skinnier than her husband was fat. A splinter of a woman, her entire body nearly the same width as her spindly arms and legs. She bolted out the other door of the carriage like a startled crane, her jewel-encrusted purse clutched to her chest.

“That is why you’re here,” Will pointed out helpfully.

Marian was already running. She’d always hated Tilly Heath. Her parents had forced her to attend several dinners at their ostentatious mansion, and the woman had never failed to slip in a barb at Marian no matter what the subject.

“Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it, Tilly?”

“Yes it is. It’s too bad you don’t get more sun. But then, there’s not much to be had under the forest canopy, is there? Not like in the fields where your parents are.”

“This food is delicious, Tilly.”

“Why thank you, Marian, my cook made it from ingredients your parents grew and gifted me with. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, though, since you never see the food till after it’s been prepared.”

“Insufferable wench,” she muttered.

Tilly ran, faster than Marian ever would have given her credit for. Fleet-footed as a deer—with a body that provided next to no wind resistance—she sprinted up the road as gracefully as if she had fey blood herself.

“Enough of this.” Marian ceased her mad dash and planted her feet firmly on the dirt road. Tilly made good use of the lead, though she wasn’t so brave as to venture off the dirt path and into the woods. Unfortunately for her, the road ran nearly straight for a good while. Marian had all the time in the world to raise her bow and nock an arrow. She peered down the shaft at her thin target, a smile curling the corners of her mouth. Tilly reached a part of the road with a slight curve and Marian seized the opportunity. The warning shot flew from her grip, sailed through the air with the grace of a falcon, and buried itself in the road a mere foot in front of the fleeing noblewoman.

Tilly leapt over the arrow and kept going without slowing down.

Well, well, well. Lady Tilly, you have more nerve than I gave you credit for.

In an instant, Marian was running again. Sunlight sliced through the canopy, lighting up the shining jewels that covered her quarry’s purse until it shone like a multi-colored beacon of wealth. A smile spread over her lips, adrenaline pouring through her blood in a cocktail headier than any glass of spirits.

She took a deep breath, drawing air to the very bottom of her lungs. Sweat, the metallic odor of gold, and wine-flavored breath.

Drunk and still running like a champion. Impressive, Tilly.
Her smile widened.
But not enough.

This time when Marian let an arrow fly, she aimed closer to Tilly’s path. The arrow hit an inch in front of the woman’s foot, catching her just as she was raising it for another running leap. Her silver toned shoe caught the tip of the arrow, and the noblewoman screamed as she tumbled head first onto the dirt road.

In an instant, Marian had closed the distance between them. She stood over Tilly’s body, another arrow nocked and ready. “Your money or your life.”

The noblewoman raised a face contorted with fury and bloodied by what looked to be a broken nose. Dirt mingled with the blood to form a hideous mask of black mud, and with her short blonde hair in disarray, she looked very much like a decaying corpse crawling from a den beneath the dirt road. Or a black-eyed Susan.

“Who are you? I’ll have your head for this!”

Her voice had a hoarse, screeching quality not unlike the sound of an upended drawer of silverware. It took Marian a moment to parse out the words and when she did, she blinked in surprise before she remembered Robin’s glamour. The fey still seemed confident that if Marian decided to return to her old life, he could have that arranged. Out of respect for that possibility, he’d promised to keep a glamour over her during their escapades so that there would be no future witnesses to her temporary abdication from polite society.

Emboldened by the thought of anonymity, Marian grinned at Tilly. “As far as you’re concerned,
milady,
I’m hardly more than a twitchy finger on a very pointy arrow.” She nodded at the noblewoman’s purse. “Your choice.”

For several long seconds, it seemed like Tilly would choose the arrow. She cuddled the purse against her flat chest as though it were a child and she its protective mother. A humorous thought considering the hatred the skinny wench had for children. Then she pressed her lips together so that they fairly disappeared and flung the purse at Marian.

Marian had to un-nock the arrow to catch the money, nearly dropping her bow to open her hand for the bag. Tilly shrieked and dove at her, aiming for the center of her body. Marian let the purse fall, pivoting back on one leg and bringing the bottom of her recurve bow down sharply on the back of the woman’s head. Consciousness winked out, and Tilly hit the ground in a limp heap of flesh and silks.

Adrenaline infused Marian’s muscles, sending her spirit soaring so high she felt she might take flight.
Goddess, that felt good. I should have done this years ago. I wonder if Robin takes suggestions? What I wouldn’t give to run down that foul-mouthed Lady Ann.
She scooped up the purse, barely resisting a childish urge to kick the unconscious woman in celebration. With one last satisfied glance at her fallen prey, she marched back to the carriage with the bounty.

It took her longer to walk back to the carriage than she’d expected, impressing her again with how far Tilly had actually run. She’d been more of a challenge than Marian had anticipated. A pleasant surprise. When she reached the carriage, she found Robin having a chat with Will and Little John. The bear shifter was still in human form, but the spriggan had changed, swelling up until he was nearly as large as the carriage itself. His skin was stretched so tight that Marian could make out his veins as clearly as roads drawn on an old, yellowed map. It was strange to watch him talk in such a calm, casual manner, every word he spoke giving a flash of razor sharp teeth.

The driver was squatting inside the carriage, a few trickles of blood dripping from his cheek. Will braced his hand on the top of the carriage, tilting it precariously as he leaned in and whispered something she couldn’t make out. The driver nodded and let out a ghastly whimper that trailed into a small shriek of pain. Will gave him a thumbs up and withdrew from the carriage to return to his conversation, the carriage rocking back with a violent sway as he let go. Percy was nowhere to be seen.

Marian stopped next to Robin and held up the purse. “Mission accomplished. Where’s the fat one?”

Robin’s eyes sparkled and he nodded back down the road in the opposite direction Tilly had run. Marian followed the gesture and a laugh burst past her lips.

Percy was running away. Well, sort of running. Not running at all, really. It would be more appropriate to say he was waddling down the road, the effort so much that Marian could hear him huffing and puffing even from where she stood.

He’d gotten about twenty feet.

“It’s sad really.” Will started to cross his arms, but they were too bulky in this form. After a few awkward attempts, he gave up and let them hang at his sides as he gave the retreating lord a dubious look. “You have to admire him for trying to take the gold with him.”

“Aye, that you do,” Robin agreed. He winked at Marian and raised his bow.

Again, as had been the case on every occasion she’d seen him with the bow, she had to appreciate the craftsmanship of the weapon. It was a recurve like hers, but there was a shine to the wood that she didn’t understand, a sort of song vibrating in the sleek lines. It was beautiful.

Robin pulled the arrow back and let it fly. A hole opened up in the sack Percy had been killing himself to take with him, the heavy leather pouch weighted down in gold stolen from the pockets of those who couldn’t afford it. The coins rained down his back and a strangled half moan, half whimper escaped the fleeing noble.

Robin shouldered his bow. “Ten pounds says he stops and tries to pick up some of the coins.”

Will held out a large, clawed hand for Robin to shake. “He’s too scared, he’s not stopping.”

“He’ll stop.” Marian replaced her bow on her back and stood next to Robin, eyeing Percy with her nose wrinkled in distaste.

Little John didn’t participate in the bet, but the corner of his mouth tilted up in amusement and he shook his head and leaned against the carriage.

Sure enough, Percy stumbled to a halt and sank into a wheezing crawl, as he tried to gather up his precious coins. His fingers and palms were too chubby to hold much at once, so he pulled the hat from his head, smashing the lively purple feather into the dirt as he shoveled coins into the garish crushed red velvet.

Will cursed and dug in the pouch at his side for the money he owed. “How did you know he would stop? He doesn’t really need that money and he
is
terrified.”

Robin counted out the ten pounds with exaggerated concentration. “It’s not about the money.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“He wanted to stop running,” Marian answered for Robin. She looked back at Percy. “He hates to run.”

“Well of course he hates to run,” Will grumbled. “Surprised he doesn’t try rolling away. How does one even get that big?” He paused and looked down at himself. “How does a
human
get that big?” he amended.

“By stealing food from the mouths of those who work their fingers to the bone to make sure he has clothes to cover his massive backside.”

The sudden heat in Robin’s tone took Marian by surprise. She eyed him out of her peripheral vision, noting with interest that the amusement had drained away from his face, leaving his green eyes as cold as a frozen clover. The way he was looking at Percy now wasn’t funny anymore. He looked…angry. Really and truly angry.

He caught her watching him, but if it bothered him for her to see his change in demeanor, he didn’t show it. He just stared at her, letting her look her fill, as if his mind were an open book she was welcome to read. Marian’s breath fluttered in her chest. In that moment, she saw it. The image of Robin Hood as a protector of his people. Not a child whose amusement just so happened to benefit others, but a fierce warrior who’d learned how to laugh.