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I chuckled and brought the mug up to my lips—
And hesitated. My nostrils flared while my laugh ended.
A smell.
My brow furrowed.
I couldn’t place it—couldn’t name it. But something was off. Though I wasn’t a connoisseur by any means, I’d had enough mead in my life to know.
Powder.
The single word flashed in my mind. Followed by Wulfric, a handful of leather bags, and a deceitful baron.
I pretended like something had come to my attention and placed the mug in my lap without drinking. Offhandedly, to make sure I didn’t give myself away, I said, “What were your plans with Emma?”
“Had none. Beyond my station. And yours. I was just told to hold onto her and wait for the carriage”—The carriage?—“and make sure she’s comfortable in a place she’s accustomed to.”
Just as I’d thought.
Marian stood from her chair, still drinking, and my eyes followed her closely as she paced from one side of the room to the other.
“Told by whom?” I asked.
She faced me. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”
I narrowed my eyes on her.
She paused, pumping out her hip, and looked at me curiously. “You know, Robin . . . with you dead, I could have this entire estate to myself. No questions of succession or battles between heirs.”
“You think the Sheriff of Nottingham would actually let you do that? Keep Wilford?”
Her smirk lifted over the rim of her mug as she took another long draw. “You’d be surprised by what I can make him do.”
My brow shot up. “That may be true. I know you have greater ambitions than my simple estate, though. Nice as it may be.” I threw my arms out, gesturing at the shelves and tapestries. “This is just a stepping stone for the cunning Maid Marian.”
She chuckled and hummed to herself. “I suppose you’re right.”
I paused, suppressing a shudder, and reached out to put the mug back on the tray. Trying to act nonchalant.
Marian, standing to my side, put her palm on my forearm. “You’re not going to drink it? After I went through the trouble to bring it out for you? That’s not very gracious, Robin of Loxley.”
My fingers tightened around the mug. With a shrug, staring at the concoction I was near certain was poisoned, I said, “Want to keep my wits about me.”
She moved further to my side, just within my peripheral vision. Her tongue clicked. “Then you’re going to hate this next part.”
I looked up and over, saying, “What part—”
Just as she smashed her clay mug across my face, and darkness took hold.
Chapter 42
Robin
“Good morning, little mouse.”
The voice filtered in like a nightmare, waking me and seizing my heart. My grimy eyes opened and I found my chin drooped forward.
I was staring down at my own naked body and breasts.
