“He is too clever to capture in the forest. Methinks a trap ought to be set for the man. Something that will lure him from the safety of the trees.”

Will calmly broke a corner of bread from the trencher and chewed on it, trying to keep his mind on John’s words rather than his eyes searching the hall.

“An archery contest, and mayhap a day of jousting, would be in order,” continued the prince. “ ’ Twill draw him out, for Robin Hood is known for his skill with the bow.”

“He is a most skilled archer,” Will agreed. “He did, after all, skewer the cloak of Lord d’Arlande, pinning him betwixt hand and waist against a tree trunk.”

“Drawing nary a drop of blood in the process, the lickspittle. An’ from some perch in a tree,” John added, with a combination of disgust and wonder. “Did he not also pin your man-what was his name?-to a wagon he was robbing?”

Will picked up his goblet of wine. “Aye, three arrows and-”

“God’s blood,” said John suddenly. “And wherever did that vision appear from?”

The note of deep interest . . . almost reverence . . . in John’s voice caught Will’s full attention and he put his cup down and looked at the prince. His mouth parted and lips shiny with grease from the pheasant, John appeared quite taken.

Will’s fingers tightened, though he kept his face blank. He knew without looking what-or, rather, who-had caught the Angevin’s attention. It was inevitable.

And now he had to tread very carefully. “Ah, so you have seen Marian of Morlaix,” Will said casually. He reached for his wine again, the metal of his goblet cool and textured beneath his grip. “She is quite the comely bitch. I had the misfortune of coming upon her in the wood today after Robin Hood had taken her off during the robbery.”

“Is that so?” John said, but his eyes remained fixed on Marian. “Misfortune?”

Will didn’t have to look directly out into the hall to know where she sat now, for he’d seen a glimpse of that brilliant coppery hair shining in the torchlight.