Taller, aye, and broad of shoulder . . . but he had not lost the sharp edges of his cheeks and jaw, and the reserved chill of his gaze. A handsome man he might be if the tension and reserve left his face and stance. But that had always been his way. While Robin had the lighter hair and dancing sapphire eyes, and personality to match, Will had been the quieter, more thoughtful, and, at times, gloomier of the pair.

And as their personalities tended to clash like oil and water, so had the two young men. Competitive and intense, they’d been rivals serving the same master, with their differences buried beneath civility and honor.

Will bowed again, peremptorily but correctly. “It is I.”

“The Sheriff of Nottinghamshire?” Marian supposed she could be forgiven for the note of surprise in her voice. The last she’d known of Will, he’d been knighted and under service to old King Henry’s confidant William Marshal, but no other news had reached her ears in Morlaix, across the Channel. Will had been a landless youth, the son of one of Marshal’s seneschals. For him to have risen as high as sheriff of a shire was surprising, as was his ability to pay the fees that were required to buy such a post. She wondered what he’d done to deserve such an honor, and whereby he’d acquired the funds.

“And Robin of the Hood’s sworn enemy,” he said briskly. “Shall we be on our way?” Before she could reply, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her into the saddle. The destrier, unused to such insubstantial weight on its back, shuddered and pranced. But before his ire could rise dangerously, Will launched into the saddle behind Marian.

The horse quieted and Marian looked down, horrified to see how far she was from the trampled grass below. Her own palfrey was much smaller and milder than this beast, and Marian was not fond of being very high off the ground.