Her door was now bolted as well as locked, so Marianne went to the window. Glancing down, she saw Neville’s and Beatrice’s heads passing below. Appealing as the thought was, Marianne abstained from hurling anything on them. Behind them a hooded figure gestured animatedly. Those crazy guests, thought Marianne, watching closely as they rounded the corner. Probably drunk already.
Now the opportunity was so ripe that it was almost dripping sweet nectar. Nobody was around; Marianne could easily let herself down the wall, snare a horse, and be well on her way before anyone detected that the bride-to-be was missing.
Determined, she stepped onto the ledge. The ground below plummeted. Goodness, it’s never been that far away before, thought Marianne, wiping her brow. Still, if she concentrated, she felt certain—
“Mummy!!! Daddy!!! Marianne’s trying to kill herself!!” Cassandra’s shrill voice fractured the tranquility of the evening with a sharp stab. “Hurry, she’s going to jump!!”
“No! Cassandra, please hush!” Marianne tried to shout and whisper at the same time. “I’m not trying to kill myself. I’m not going to . . . AAAHHH!” Marianne lost her footing as she tried to silence Cassandra. Her hand barely grasped the open shutter, which creaked forebodingly. By this time, Cassandra’s squeals had drawn an audience, which seemed to be growing exponentially as they watched Marianne dangle helplessly.
“Marianne! Don’t be afraid! I’m coming up to help you!” Brantford’s shout came from the crowd. Marianne nodded to him. From her perspective, she saw two black dots break away from the crowd and speed toward the manor’s entrance.
My dream has been crushed by a five-year-old who forgets to put on her shoes, thought Marianne glumly. I’ll be married and I’ll never, ever know anything exciting in life. Just then, the top hinge of the shutter squeaked and detached, swinging Marianne pendulum-like a hundred feet above the earth. Clinging tighter to the rotting wood, Marianne heard the remaining hinge groan. Inside, Brantford tried various keys to open her room. She heard jangling and cursing as each key failed. She felt her glass ball roll out of her pocket and drop toward the ground. Below, there was a clamor coming from the crowd. They know I’m done for. The final hinge broke, and Marianne felt a tingling awareness as her room’s windowsill, with its clinging roses, and the lunging Lord Brantford’s frightened image grew smaller and smaller. I hope it won’t hurt, thought Marianne as the dizzying purple sky filled her eyes.
“Uff!” grunted Marianne. The ground came faster than I’d expected! Hey! Why aren’t I dead? And why does the ground feel scaly? To her amazement, she saw that she had landed atop a gigantic dragon in full flight. Soaring upward, she smiled at Brantford’s disbelieving face. As they flew forward Marianne felt a dip in the dragon’s flight as they passed her room. A shadow had jumped from her window and was clinging desperately to the dragon’s whipping tail. “Don’t be afraid, Lord Brantford, it’s perfectly safe,” she called. But as she said that, the dragon gave a shake to its tail and propelled a yelling man forward onto its back, next to Marianne.
“Have no fear. I’m here to bail you out, Marianne,” he said with conviction, crouching uneasily on the banking dragon.
He removed his hood, and in the dying sunlight Marianne could see pale skin and tousled, black hair. Could it possibly be . . . “Robin!”
Chapter the Sixth
“I must admit, Marianne, there is no better way to travel,” said Robin, grinning broadly as he lay on his back. Above them, luminescent stars and silver clouds moved silently in a timeless ballet with the bright, full moon. “By the way, where do you suppose we are headed?” asked Robin, propping himself up on one hand.
Marianne shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea, and I really don’t care. All I know is that I’ve been blessed with good company,” she said.
“Did you even bring anything?” Robin asked, sitting up. “I’m not all that materialistic, but money has this annoying tendency to be important when you’re traveling.”
“Whatever I packed doesn’t matter now,” said Marianne, righting herself as well. “My belongings are sitting in my bedroom, which is now scores of miles from here.” Marianne looked around at the passing sky. “Thank goodness,” she murmured.
“I take it that your upbringing was similar to mine. Long on demands on their part, short on results on my part. I don’t think anybody’s ever told me that I was good for anything,” said Robin, staring listlessly at his boot.
“Such a departure from the loving, nurturing relationships I’ve experienced,” replied Marianne drolly.
Robin gave a hollow laugh. “The last time I visited Kingbriton Manor, Neville and Beatrice spared no words in expressing their total dissatisfaction with me. This time, their displeasure reached new lows. In two years, I have failed to grow a foot taller, befriend the heir to the throne, court five ladies simultaneously, sprout blond hair, or change my name to Edward II. All told, I’m a failure.”
“In Neville and Beatrice’s opinion, the king himself would not have measured up sufficiently. To me, though, you’re a hero to commandeer a dragon and fly us to safety,” Marianne countered. “You are undoubtedly the most fearless person I’ve ever met. And I’m not saying that because in a flash you could fling me off this dragon.” Marianne gestured dramatically.
“Don’t joke like that,” said Robin seriously. Marianne furrowed her brow. “I’ve always known that you were my only real kin. I won’t ever take you for granted. I guess that comes from nothing in my life ever having been certain. Except criticism, of course. And rain on the days when I want to take a ride,” he added, trying to lighten the mood.
They both sat in silence for a few minutes. Robin’s words hung drearily over their heads until Marianne piped up, “Robin, do you remember what our real parents were like?”
Marianne’s abrupt question caught Robin off guard and before he could restrain himself, pent-up words found their way out. “I don’t recall very much. I’ve always wished I could summon back more than the fuzzy images and scattered voices that come through my head like short flashes of lightning,” said Robin, sadness creeping into his voice. “I sometimes wake up at night with these pictures of Mother and Father that are so realistic, I feel like I can talk to them. But at dawn, they fade away like the dreams they are. I remember that Mother had this lilting voice like mist over flowering fields. She had black hair so long that it came down to her waist, and I could reach up and pull on it when I wanted something.” Robin smiled at the recollection. “Father, on the other hand, always had his light brown hair cut short because of his military service. I can remember him practicing his swordsmanship while dinner was cooking. He’d take me out to the bridge behind our house and I’d sit on the post while he fought with imaginary foes. Once he handed me the sword, and it was so unexpectedly weighted, I fell over backwards and skinned my arm. Mother gathered me up in her arms and doctored my scrape.” Robin carefully stroked his left arm. “There isn’t even a scar.” Robin gave a small laugh.
“I wish I were old enough to remember them,” said Marianne. Robin then pretended to find something remarkably interesting in the night sky so as not to see Marianne wiping away her tears.
Chapter the Seventh
Marianne realized that they had landed when she felt the absence of wind on her face. Opening her eyes, she had to squint against the breaking dawn. All around her, shafts of morning sunlight defeated the fleeing night. Robin slept next to her, his mouth half open and his eyes contently closed. Stretching and yawning, she jumped off the dragon’s back. “My compliments