I turned and Winchester were there, catching me about the waist and bodily pulling me off the field. “Let me go!” I howled. “I have to warn him! The prince switched the arrows!”
Winchester gripped me, holding me still to watch from the fencing. “The only thing you will accomplish is getting yourself—or possibly Robin—hurt,” he told me. “Robin knew he was always going to cheat somehow, Lady Marian.”
I pushed him off. “You don’t know what you’ve done,” I told him, slumping against the fencing. My heart felt heavier than any of my injuries or snow-soaked clothing. My chest were trembling for breath. “If he loses—this is the only chance for the people.” For Rob.
“Have a little faith, my lady.”
Marshal strode out onto the field. “Three shots,” he yelled, and I could bare hear him from where I were—I doubted the common folk could hear him at all. “Best single shot of the three is the winner.”
With this he raised his arm, and lowered it. Gisbourne and Robin both let their arrows fly at the same moment.
From the second it left his fingers, I saw Rob could tell something were wrong. The arrow flew wide, lodging in the outermost ring. The stands went silent, and I heard chuckles and laughs from the nobles.
Gisbourne’s arrow were within the innermost black circle, but it weren’t dead on. His shot drew cheers from the nobles, and quiet from the stands as the people looked to each other, wondering what had happened, wondering how they were being cheated of their hero.
Rob’s chest were rising hard and fast, pluming white steam into the air from his breath like magic were circling him, giving him power. Rob’s feet drew together, and he raised his chin. He were staring down the target, running his fingers over the arrow.
He were the best shot I’d ever seen. He could do this. He could do this.
Marshal’s arm raised again, and they notched their arrows and drew. Gisbourne let his arrow fly first, singing in a careful line. It bit deep into the target. It were to the other edge of the inner black circle.
A good shot. An excellent shot, to any other archer. But it still left that small circle of hope, the size of my fist. A chance.
Rob’s stance were wide and comfortable, and he shook the tension out of his shoulders. His elegant, long arms raised again with the bow and arrow, and he let the arrow fly after a moment more.
It struck the outside of the second ring, and though it weren’t enough even to compete with Gisbourne’s strikes, the common folk leapt to their feet, cheering and shouting.
Gisbourne glared at Robin, but Rob paid no mind. He were in his world, speaking to his bow like it were his heart. My skin ran over with gooseflesh.
Marshal raised his arm again.
I shut my eyes. I had done as much as I could, and this bit weren’t for my heart to decide. I shut my eyes and I made the sign of the cross and I prayed. I prayed for hope, for fortitude, for something that could defend my heart from breaking if Rob lost this. Something that could find a way to help him forgive himself if he couldn’t do it. Something that could stem the tide of blood that would flood out onto the people if we had to suffer another cruel sheriff. Something to keep warm the feeble hope that fluttered in me, that awful cruelty of hope that would never go out, no matter what I did.
No matter if Gisbourne won and I had to spend the rest of my life suffering and watching as those I loved suffered, I would still hope. I would hope for another chance like this, another day like this one.
Please, God. Defend my heart. Defend my hope.
A low gasp ran through the crowd, and I opened my eyes. Rob still had his arrow notched and ready; Gisbourne’s bow were lowered. Gisbourne’s shot were in the black, a thumb closer to center than his other shots. Rob’s target had narrowed to the size of a peach at eighty paces.
Shivers ran over my skin. I knew too well that the world were meant for cheaters to prosper in, that those who took advantage of the weak and defenseless sat comfy and warm in guarded castles. There weren’t no natural justice. There weren’t no way for Rob to win this, to scrape back from the switch of the arrows.
I didn’t shut my eyes again. I raised my chin and watched as Rob’s arm went tense and then loose as the arrow shot out from his bow, making its graceful arch over the snow-covered field. I lost it for a moment, a thin shot of black against the backdrop of trees, and then the thunk of it hitting the target drew my eye.
The first arrow wide. The next in the second ring.
And the last so close to center there were no question that it had to be the winning shot.