Page 48 of Robin and Marian
“Nah,” Robin said. “All those years of spitting out sunflower seeds is going to pay off.”
Richard wasn’t convinced.
The next person to sign up was Alan, and his eyes went to Robin’s cast. Robin shrugged at him and Alan didn’t ask, instead pledging his donation. Each player added to the winnings. All of Guy’s houseguests signed up, minus Scarlett, who was happy to watch. A few bow hunters from town also put down their names. Little John was one of them. The elegant bow looked out of place in his meaty hands as he swaggered into the area, wearing all black.
“I thought you’d have a staff,” Robin called out to him as he passed. “Maybe if you used the bow to beat down the target, it’d be more your thing.”
John gave him a grimace that could pass as a smile. “You aren’t using your wrist to get out of competing?” he asked.
“I made a workaround.”
Little John’s eyes drew to Robin’s cast. “For how long you’ve been bandaged up, your arm’s gonna be a shriveled-up, puny thing. It might match with the rest of you.” That was insulting. Robin burst into a laugh. John had won that round.
The sheriff took a step towards them and they scattered in different directions. Robin went back to his bow and overheard Midge pleading his case to Richard behind him. “Please, dad! I’m not going to get hurt. Nobody’s going to get hurt!”
Turning, he saw Midge in his oversized army jacket again, like a little Peter Pan in all that seaweed green, fists on his hips. His stubborn blue eyes met Richard’s equally stubborn ones. Before the patriarch of the family could reject the boy’s arguments, Robin swooped in with his own. He put his arm around the kid. “Give Uncle Midge a chance. We practiced all afternoon yesterday. He’s been responsible the whole time.”
“And he’s really good,” Marian added, coming to Midge’s aid. She was ready to compete in a silky camo shirt that bubbled adorably over her jean shorts. She signed her name in the registrar and pulled out her fee from her pocket, setting it on the table. “Put him in. I’m not afraid of a little competition.”
Richard’s eyes gentled on his son. “You know what all the whistles mean? One is to begin shooting; two means approach the shooting line; three is to collect your arrows. And if the field captain shouts, ‘fast,’ you stop shooting immediately and put your arrows away. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Midge repeated and nodded the whole time.
“Don’t distract other archers when they shoot, or that’s a penalty.” He turned to Robin with a resigned shrug and took out his wallet to pay the boy’s donation. “You’re in charge of him.”
Now Robin was the one to nod and say, “Yeah, yeah.” And after promising everything under the sun, including his firstborn son (it felt like), he shuffled the kid to the shooting line. Robin had better be able to do whatever favor the kid came up with, because this was turning out to be a lot of work—he was half afraid Midge would ask to join his band of thieves and go rob banks.
Marian had come with them, her long legs looking great in those shorts and high-top boots. “Hey!” He put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “You’re not allowed to distract the other archers.” She laughed in embarrassment and took the other side of him as their competitors lined into place.
“Robin!” Scarlett ran forward to give him a long hug. She’d done it every time their paths had crossed that morning. “I’m rooting for you,” she said.
She watched him like he was a hero, and he winced, feeling the anger build, this time at himself. How stupid could he have been? Every sacrifice was for nothing. Of course, if Guy had managed to frame Scarlett perfectly, maybe the results would’ve been the same. Robin still would’ve liked the chance to fight it before surrendering. Four years lost. A reputation lost. A family lost. He was no hero.
“Midge!” Scarlett stumbled over him next. “What are you doing out here? You need to start telling me what you’re up to.”
“You’re not my mother—you’re my niece! I tellyouwhat to do!”
Little John made a disapproving noise at the front of the archers, predictably coming to Scarlett’s aid. Robin’s attention shot to the big man on the other side of Marian, surprised to see that he’d situated himself exactly ten feet from him, almost like he was trying to show a united front. “Mind Scarlett,” Little John told Midge. “She’s been nothing but good to you. She’s got a heart of gold.”
Midge turned sober. “Alan doesn’t think so.”
Robin saw Scarlett’s reddened cheeks and tried to lighten the mood. “You want to take Midge?” Robin asked her. “I think there’s a woodshed out back?”
Midge scoffed at that, but he also looked a little nervous.
“The woodshed’s too good for him,” Scarlett said, and she squeezed Midge’s shoulder. “I’m cheering for you, too. Don’t forget that.”
The boy nodded, his lips tightening like he was afraid of saying anything to provoke her into pulling him out of the competition. She turned to leave before Little John stopped her. “Scarlett!” Her red hair swung around when she faced him. “You know that kid is lucky to have you, right? We all are. Don’t letanyonetell you different.”
Her mouth dropped open and she looked surprised, but in lieu of answering, she nodded with watering eyes that contrasted strangely with the warm smile that flitted over her lips before she returned to the stands. Little John’s hands went to his bow, the muscles of his arms flexing like they were chiseled from solid mahogany—he’d taken her words of “saving this town” to heart.
The event was gathering quite the crowd of townspeople and press. Everything that happened here with Richard’s business affected the bigger cities surrounding them. Once the stands were full, tents were set up with bleachers and chairs. It reminded him of a medieval jousting tournament. Tuck would be impressed.
Guy practiced on the far side of the field in an expensive cream-colored tunic and brown tweed trousers designed for archery. He watched Robin closely with his hollow-eyed stare until finally, as if he could take no more, he gathered his equipment and shoved next to Robin, cutting him off from Marian. “Well, aren’t you the scrapper,” he said in a distinct British lisp. “Only you would have the gall to show up where a bunch of people who hate you have weapons.”
Robin wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take him out with his one good hand. Noticing Marian’s worried expression, he opted for picking up his bow instead and tightening the knots of his mouth tab.
“You think you’ll win?” Guy asked, his voice too pleasant to be believed. “Times have changed since you’ve been here.” Sliding his long hair behind his ear, Guy lifted his bow. He released an arrow to get a shot into the gold center of Robin’s target. He smiled in the face of Robin’s silence. “You’ve really missed out. I prefer bow hunting, of course—to have power over what lives or dies, to watch life drain from the predators that stalked me only moments before…” He flashed a broad smile. “It’s a heady feeling. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, coming from prison.”
