Robin looked distinctly uncomfortable. “As I said, ’twas a mistake. I returned to find Locksley closed to me, and then I went hunting in the woods-my woods-for a meal. Then I was arrested for poaching from the king’s forest.”

Poaching from the king was indeed a serious offense-punishable by hanging, gouging of the eyes, or cutting off of the hands. “But surely once the mistake was found, you were released. Even the cruel Sheriff of Nottinghamshire could not keep an innocent man of the king’s in prison.”

Robin laughed. “Released? Nay, Marian, I made my own escape from the sheriff.”

At that moment, a deep voice interrupted their conversation. “Did you indeed?”

Marian whirled to see a powerful black horse standing at the edge of the clearing. Atop it sat an equally powerful-looking man, dressed in equally dark clothing, holding a sword at his side. She stepped back automatically, but he inclined his head regally to her.

“Lady Marian.” He urged his horse into the grassy clearing.

Robin released her, fairly shoving her away so that she stumbled with the force as he moved quickly away from her, gathering up his reins. “Ah, so to speak of the devil himself,” he said, launching into his saddle. “Sheriff.” He nodded. “I trust you’ll see my lady to the keep.”

These last words floated back behind him as he bolted off into the wood, leaving Marian standing in the center of the grass, suddenly alone, and feeling more than a bit disheveled.

Marian turned to look up at the man who remained astride his mount, edging his horse toward her, but not, thankfully, chasing after Robin. She was grateful for his restraint, for he would have had to fairly run over her to go after the bandit.

The sheriff sheathed his sword, but still held the reins in one gloved hand. The hooves on the majestic animal were larger than the trencher plates at a court dinner, and he was pure coal black from hoof to mane to wild, flaring nose.