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Gritting his teeth, Will turned his attention from those unpleasant thoughts and looked around the stands, and at his men-at-arms, who’d been stationed about. Some of them wore their hauberks of mail and carried swords, but others had been dressed in the garb of villeins or freemen. Their swords were hidden beneath long, rough tunics. Will had even bidden three of his men to hide up in the trees at the edge of the wood, near the row of archery targets. They would not only keep watch for members of Robin’s band but also be there to stop the man if he tried to escape.

But the golden arrow would be awarded in the center of the open field, given by Prince John to the winner. And there would be nowhere for Robin to run or hide when he came forward to receive it.

Will moved down past the stands, ignoring the heavy gaze from Pauletta as well as the curious one of Alys of Wentworth. He should thank the little blond woman for the chamomile draught, for it had helped him to sleep well for several hours yester-morrow . . . but he had avoided doing so, for he didn’t want a repeat of their last meeting. The hurt look in her eyes still haunted him, while her kiss did not.

The cloaked archer had stepped forward, still awkward . . . but when he nocked his arrow, he seemed to straighten fully. He was definitely tall enough to be Locksley, and the arrow flew true, slamming into the target just left of center.

Will nodded to himself and eased Cauchemar closer, the damp from the grass having long soaked the destrier’s hocks. The man-at-arms shot next, and missed the center of his target by the width of his own broad thumb. Next was the dark-haired man, who’d remained apart from the other two archers. Will saw that he wore a tunic that was too large for him, and it made him look bulkier from a distance. The real man beneath, Will realized, was too slender to be Locksley at any rate, and mayhap too short.

Having confirmed the identity of his target as the cloaked longbowman, Will watched the remainder of the proceedings idly. He himself was fairly skilled with the bow, and John had at first suggested that he compete as the king’s champion. If he won, then the prize would not have to be awarded, and John would have not only drawn Robin Hood from the forest but also kept his golden arrow. But Will had declined, explaining that he would prefer to be free to trap the outlaw, and so now he merely watched.

The dark-haired man’s arrow flew, arching gracefully across the field, and found its mark, true. It was the only arrow to hit the center of the target.

Will straightened and looked at him again more sharply. Nay, it could not be Locksley. The man was too slender. And not tall enough.

And then he moved, sidling away as the cloaked man stepped up for his second shot. Will froze as he caught a better glimpse of the dark-haired man’s profile.

By the saints, that was no man. That was Marian!

Will blinked and looked again. Was he mistaken?

Nay, indeed. He’d forgotten how enamored she’d been of the bow when he knew her at Mead’s Vale-although he could never have imagined she’d become so skilled as to compete thus with Locksley. But now that he suspected the true identity of the dark-haired “man,” he saw the confirmation in the way she moved, the way she raised her bow, and the fact that she was not tall enough. She stood on a bit of an incline that made her appear to be closer in height to her competitors. That explained why she’d stood at a distance for nearly the whole of the match.

He almost smiled at her cleverness, but caught himself in time. There was naught to smile about. She was here with Locksley-unless it had been a carefully planted lie that she’d gone to him in the wood-and it appeared one of them would win the golden arrow. If he’d thought Locksley was foolish before, now he was furious with him. How dare he bring her and flaunt their relationship in full view of the prince?

The prince, who had demanded to know where she was.

Tension rose within him, and Will realized his fingers had closed into tight fists. By the bloody cross, he did not need this to contend with. ’Twas bad enough trying to keep John from sniffing between Marian’s legs. Now he would seek to punish her for consorting with England’s most wanted outlaw. He could not even fathom what John would inflict upon her. And there would be naught he could do to stop him that would not involve treason.

The second round of arrows flew. Locksley’s hit his target squarely in the center and then the man-at-arms’s bolt lodged closer to the center than his last effort. Will watched as Marian stepped up to let her second arrow go, and he realized he was holding his breath.

He made himself release it, but watched the bolt whiz through the air. It lodged nearly atop the previous one, in the dead center of the target.

By the rood, not only was Marian in the final three; she was winning. Was that Locksley’s plan? Or did he mean only for her to be a distraction?