She turned to give a playful swirl of her cloak, its heavy furred edges making havoc of a bed of broken leaves. Two weeks ago Robin never would have allowed Marion to accompany them on a robbery, but now there were spectators from their camp on every adventure. There was an aging woman named Amelia who always brought one of her three children for the day’s entertainment, and a young brunette named Malory who was constantly trying to catch Alan’s eye. The fact that Much was allowed to participate in today’s robbery was a testament to the ease of their task. Friar Tuck had long given up on using believable excuses to stop the travelers, instead concocting increasingly preposterous tales of woe.

“It’s the travelers, too,” Robin added after some thought. “Not what I expected.”

Marion scrutinized him. “How so?”

“Well, don’t forget who my father was,” Robin said, knowing she would understand. “Growing up with the unfortunate circumstances of being Lord Walter’s son, I developed a slightly skewed impression of landowners.”

Her lips pursed into a smile. “Did you think all noblemen were as kindhearted as Walter?”

“No,” he scoffed. “And yes. My father would have fed hay to a dead horse. So my impression of anyone who fell outside of that generosity was appropriately wretched. If a lord kicked some poor sod out,” he fumbled for words, “he must have really, truly deserved it, yes?”

“For your father, yes.” Marion pulled a single arrow from his quiver and absently inspected its fletching. “But many lords were not so discerning. When it comes to hoarding their coin, one fewer head to count was all they cared about.”

“But that’s just it.” Robin cocked his head meaningfully. “The people we stop, they attribute no weight to the coin we steal. They don’t feel its absence.”

“Because they’re spending it,” she said. “On entertainment. They’d rather pay for the fleeting thrill of an adventure in the forest than give it to the county as a tax.”

“Or to someone in need.”

“And you didn’t expect that.”

He shrugged it off. “There are still plenty of honest lords, and plenty of greedy villagers. But it’s not … it’s not the ratio I would have expected.”

She slid the arrow back into his quiver, and her hand found the nape of his neck. Her hands were cold. He remembered that about her, how they’d laugh about her irrationally cold fingers. “Don’t worry, Robin. It’s not the first time you’ve been wrong about things. You should be getting better at it any time now.”