The man himself had dark hair that fell in thick curls onto his forehead and brushed the sides of his neck, and he was clean-shaven but for the shadow that comes late in the day after a morning’s shave. His mouth might have been considered sensual if it weren’t settled and thin-and the same could be said for his face, dark with tan as well as obvious annoyance. As she gazed upon the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Marian was overcome by the sense of expectancy, and indeed, when she looked up into those shaded eyes, she felt set off-balance again, as if she were mistaken about something.

“I trust you are unharmed, Lady Marian,” he said at last. “I apologize for the delay in coming to your aid, but we had heard your caravan was held up and thought to provide an escort at Revelstown.”

“Delayed for a broken wheel, aye, but ’twas fixed readily,” she replied, realizing with a start that he would indeed think she’d been in need of rescue. And, truth be told, if it had been anyone but Robin of Locksley, he would have had the right of it. But Marian had no fear of her childhood friend Robin, outlaw or no. In fact, she’d already decided that she must find a way to enlist the queen to help rid him of the charge of treason.

“Have I changed so much, then?” the sheriff said, sliding abruptly from the saddle. He landed on two steady feet next to her, and the destrier shimmied and snorted at the loss of his master’s weight. “Marian.”

She looked up at him again, closely this time, and recognition washed over her. “Will?” Perhaps it was the way he’d said her name, or that he now stood on the ground next to her-still much taller, but at least not towering so from the saddle.

Aye, indeed it was William de Wendeval before her now. The boy who’d grown up with her and Robin of Locksley on her father’s estate.

But a boy Will was no longer. Just as Robin had grown broader and taller than she remembered from the summer she’d seen them last, nearly ten years ago, so had Will.