Despite his compassionate, kind nature and the nobility of his heart, darkness is a part of Robin Hood which he usually keeps on a tight leash, and he loathes to reveal even a shred of it to others. Memories of holy war and a tangle of darkness and pain constitute his inner hidden realm, but there are beams of light in Robin's dark world.
A canon extension from 2x06 which are written from Robin and Marian's POVs.
This story is a New Year gift for all fans of the Robin Hood legend and the show
Co-Authors are: Penelope Clemence and Lady of Knights.
Disclaimer: We don't own BBC's Robin Hood or any of the show's characters. We have no rights to the canonical plots and storylines.
This is the eleventh story in a series of one-shots. The one-shots can be found at the author profiles for Lady of Knights, Penelope Clemence, and Coleen561.
1. Love is Disguised (Robin & Marian, episode 1x13, by Lady of Knights and Penelope Clemence)
2. The Reign of Love (Robin & Marian, episode 1x13, by Lady of Knights and Penelope Clemence)
3. The Wind of Freedom (Robin & Marian, episode 2x01, by Lady of Knights and Penelope Clemence)
4. Fuel For the Fire (Guy and Marian who is in a relationship with Robin, episode 2x01, by Coleen561 and Penelope Clemence)
5. The Poisonous Abyss (Guy and Robin who is in a relationship with Marian, episode 2x01, by Lady of Knights and Penelope Clemence)
6. Are you jealous? (Robin & Marian, episode 2x02, by Lady of Knights and Penelope Clemence)
7. A Glimmer of Embarrassment (Robin & Marian, episode 2x03, by Lady of Knights and Penelope Clemence)
8. No Longer Friends (Robin and Allan, episode 2x05, by Lady of Knights and Penelope Clemence)
9. Through the Waters of Purgatory (Guy and Marian who is in a relationship with Robin, episode 2x06, by Lady of Knights and Penelope Clemence)
10. Girls and Hairpins (Robin & Marian, episode 2x06, by Lady of Knights and Penelope Clemence)
Beams of Light in a Dark World
Evening, Nottingham, Trip to Jerusalem Inn
Always wary, ever alert, Robin had selected a table that was strategically positioned near the tavern's rear door, where he could sit with his back against the wall as he closely observed the activity around him. He rarely visited drinking establishments these days, and Robin questioned his decision to spend the evening in this place where he was so well known. All he really wanted was to drink wine and wallow in his misery – not socialize with others.
Robin was aware that a number of people had recognized him; they were gawking at him and trying to catch his eye. However, Robin steadfastly glowered at his goblet, avoiding their entreaties and deterring them with the tautly set muscles of his normally cheerful visage. Comprehending his somber mood, no one dared approach him.
Regretfully, Robin realized that he was too well known in this place; the peace and solace of anonymity would elude him here. He decided that as long as the others did not try to engage him in conversation, they could stare all they wanted. In truth, his mind was already buzzing and filled with words, as he chastised himself for his many failures on this damnable day. First, he had been unable to prevent the signing of the Pact of Nottingham, and then he had failed to steal the pact from the sheriff after it had been signed.
In his desperation to thwart Vaisey, Robin had reluctantly released the darkness that existed within his soul – a dreadful facet of his nature that was ready to kill without mercy or hesitation. One way to recover his better nature was to drown the darkness in wine.
He took his goblet and tilted it towards his mouth as he anticipated the bitter warmth of the strong drink. But as he gazed into the depths of his cup, the light from a nearby torch illuminated the wine, highlighting the crimson liquid and conjuring thoughts of blood. Robin had been so ready to spill blood earlier, and he had seen so much blood and death in his years on Crusade, that he was momentarily convinced that he had been given a cup of blood as a punishment. Nearly groaning with despair, he told himself that the glimmering drink in his goblet was just wine, and that he must come to his senses.
Robin's brief disorientation was interrupted by the roaring laughter of drunken men and the high-pitched squeals of tavern girls. Lifting his eyes from his cup, he felt reassured to find himself surrounded by the usual sights and sounds of a busy tavern filled with normal, everyday people who did not imagine blood in their ale; people who were not battling a darkness that eagerly enshrouded their souls like a thick, damp fog. Robin tried to find some comfort in the cheerful glow of the tavern's roaring hearth and the warm, inviting gazes of the serving girls.
He heaved a morbid sigh, audible and long and heavy, but he didn't feel any of his many anxieties rise up out of his body and drift away. Wild emotions were swirling through him so hard that he felt as though he were going to erupt – pain, anger, sorrow, and fear. The mere remembrance of the events in the castle was weighing him down: the Earl of Winchester's betrayal and him almost losing Marian to the vile man, his attempt to get rid of all of the Black Knights, his unfortunate capture by the sheriff's men, his dangerous fight with treacherous Allan for his life, and, finally, his daring escape.
A sense of unreality and a fear of impending doom seized Robin in their cruel-hearted grip at the thought of all these things, but more at the thought of what might have happened today. He had narrowly escaped death again, and only now he realized that he had plunged himself into this adventure without a sufficient scrutiny of detail and could have paid with his life. Robin could have lost Marian to Winchester who would have forced himself on her and trampled her dignity. He could have become a cold-blooded murderer of unarmed men, which was terrible in the very essence of this violent act, even though they all were traitors. So many things could have gone differently.
Although he was a calm man and naturally maintained a composed demeanor, at the moment, he was a bubble of emotions. Robin was extremely angry at himself for his recklessness and for allowing Winchester to trick him so easily; he was incensed at the sheriff and Gisborne for constantly setting traps for him and attempting to dethrone King Richard in all possible ways. Red-hot ire was leaking through his skin, and Robin restrained a cry of hate, gripping his goblet so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He hated all traitors and their miserable souls with all his heart; his hate for all these faceless creatures would never fade away, even if he trudged wearily from one place to another until his dying day. Treason had no justification and no shades – it was still treason.
Robin was also furious at himself for letting the undercurrent darkness resurface in his heart and consume him like a closing glove, probably one of Gisborne's black leather gloves. Like a rabbit being flashed in the dead of night by a hunter, he was blind in his overpowering desire to annihilate all the Black Knights at once, without giving a second thought to the consequences – his own death, Marian's abduction by Winchester, and the destruction of Nottingham by Prince John's troops after Vaisey's death. He could only explain his temporary blindness that was more like torpor by his worry about Marian's fate after Edward had informed him about Winchester's deceit.
As he set his goblet at the table, he swallowed heavily again and then cleared his throat. A sense of shame swept over him as he recalled how he had thrown knives at the weaponless Black Knights. Did I really come so close to murdering Vaisey, Gisborne, and all their friends from their treacherous gang? I'm in England, not in Acre, and I'm bound by honor to forget all the efficient methods of killing I learned and used. At this, Robin gulped more wine, although he found the flavor of it rather unpleasant.
Robin was glad that all servant girls who usually fawned over him when he came to Jerusalem Inn or to any other tavern had already realized that he was barely holding onto his temper. He couldn't tell anyone what he experienced – the pain and shame were too much to share, and his scars were too deep. I coveted to kill the Black Knights today. I wanted their blood, and I would have enjoyed the bloodbath which I hastily planned for them. But I would have relished in my brutal deed only until I realized that I became a pitiless murderer who desecrated the noble principles of my no-killing policy. A virulent guilt cascaded through Robin, and a numbing black bile clawed up his throat.
Robin groaned in frustration, and drained the goblet of wine. A servant girl rushed to him and immediately refilled it, and he smiled at her gratefully. He then extracted a coin and threw it to the girl who giggled and flirted with him, but he dismissed her with a wave of his hand, completely ignoring her lewd stares at him. Robin then took a swig of wine, and as he swallowed, it burned his throat, and he suppressed the urge to spew it out. English wine was not as good as wine from Poitou, which he had become accustomed to drinking in the Holy Land thanks to being in the king's closest entourage.
He looked around as he regarded the guests of the tavern disdainfully, for it was full of the cheats, knaves, and rascals of society. Many of them were palpitating with excitement to make their acquaintance with the illustrious Robin Hood and to talk to him about his adventures and his merry men. Robin's barely suppressed rage was too close to the surface, preventing him from engaging in even simple conversation with others. If any of them approached him, Robin would have exploded and overturned his table and all the barrels of ale and wine in the tavern, dumping all that his hands found to the floor. The fact that he had exposed Allan as a traitor in this very tavern was adding to his gloomy disposition.
Robin risked a lot for England, his king, and his people; he would sacrifice himself for the most humble souls so that they could see another sunset and sunrise. Risks were too great, and stakes were too high, while it seemed a sheer mockery to say that he could avoid risking his own life to save others. Nevertheless, Robin was still alive, and he could see the goblet clasped in his hands, which was his somber reality for tonight.
His today's escapades seemed to him incredible and unbelievable. Yet, they were real, like the fact that he was trying to drink himself to a stupor to wash away all his shame and pain with rivers of consumed wine. Robin felt as if there were a huge hole in his heart, through which all sorts of weaknesses were free to enter – foolishness, shame, ire, indignation, fears – could enter into his being. The wine was not helping him at all.
It was dark outside, and it was time to leave the tavern. Robin raised his goblet again and drank a little but spewed it on the floor. He then leaped to his feet and staggered towards the exit but paused in the middle. He stumbled into a nearby table and then wandered aimlessly about the room for a few moments, amidst the amazed glances of others. In the next moment, an anxious Much entered the tavern and dashed to his inebriated master, his countenance shocked. In a heartbeat, Robin's world became a blur, and all he knew was the hot breath of his friend on his skin and his concerned chatter.
A loud, jeering voice of a visitor pierced Robin's hazed mind. "The great Robin Hood seems to have had a bad day! Has he failed to rob the sheriff?"
"For the love of God, shut up!" Much murmured, supporting the hero with his arms.
As Much scolded him like a caring mother chastises her child, Robin smiled kindly at his friend. Moved by Much's sincere words laced with worry and love for him, he expressed his gratitude in some mysterious terms of special significance which Much didn't decipher. Robin was too drunk, confused, and floppy, his speech slurred; there was not a gleam of light in the darkness that was enveloping Robin. The last thing he heard distinctly was Much's shriek of shock, which resembled a cry of someone witnessing the end of the world, as Robin fell forward and tumbled to the floor in a heap.
Night, the outlaws' camp, Sherwood Forest
An eerie stillness reigned in the woods, and the depressing awareness of what had taken place in the tavern only a few hours ago filled the outlaws with a sickening sensation. They all had been afraid today upon the realization that their leader had set himself on a suicidal mission; they had almost lost their minds while watched Robin and Allan fight over a boiling caldron. Allan's betrayal deeply hurt them, but the potential loss of Robin caused them the heartache that was still pulsing in their chests.
"How is Robin?" Little John asked with profound concern.
Her eyes fastened on Robin's face, Djaq responded quietly, "He is sleeping, this time without nightmares. I don't know how much he drank; probably, just several goblets. But I'm convinced that all the wine he consumed would keep him asleep this night."
Although they were sure that Robin was asleep, they were mistaken. He had slept for a few hours but woke up from the pain in his muscles which were tight from all the other ordeals of the day. He lay still for a while, his eyes tightly shut, and had it not been for his breathing, he could have seemed a dead man. Robin could hear their conversation even in his enfeebled state of mind.
"One day, it all will result in his death!" cried out a still shaken Much. He crossed himself, for the very thought of his beloved former master's death hurt him more than any torture could and seemed blasphemous to him. "Robin is acting in the name of King Richard and is protecting the king's throne in his absence. Today he almost got himself killed when he embarked on that mad mission, of whose success he seemed so firmly convinced. But he takes too many risks, and he can die! And what will I do then…?"
"Much, Robin is alive," Will spoke in most soothing voices.
In a voice layered with the shocked horror that didn't recede yet, Much continued, "If Robin dies, I will die of a broken heart! I confess that my heart has been breaking since that very first battle in Acre when I saw Robin so dark and–" He broke off abruptly, and his hand flew to his mouth. Just then, he recalled that Robin had prohibited him from talking about their service in the Holy Land with the other outlaws. He dragged a deep breath and changed the topic. "Robin was not himself today because of Winchester's betrayal."
The outlaws all nodded in agreement, but a gnawing disquiet lurked in the back of their minds. They were all fascinated by and even envious of Robin's outstanding fighting skills, especially by his uncanny archery skills that saved their lives many times. Robin was a great swordsman as well, but he never uncovered the secrets of his perfect swordsmanship. Their leader had no special superpowers, but he seemed a god of war when he fought with Vaisey's guards, and they all tried to imagine Robin on the battlefield.
They usually discussed everything as they sat around a small campfire in evenings, and no topic was barred, except for the one about the Crusade. Several times, the outlaws asked Robin about war, but he frowned in response and diverted their attention to other matters. As they all lived in the same camp, it took them only a little time to learn that Robin suffered from dreadful nightmares; they heard his moans and laments in the dead of night. Robin trained them with bow and sword, and during all trainings, he avoided the theme of the Holy Land, as if some gloomy emotion could undermine his physical shape.
John corrected, "Robin was traumatized by the betrayals of Winchester and Allan." He was a man of few words, but if he spoke, he said something straight to the point and useful.
Much muttered, "That is all true! And then Marian was saved by Gisborne!"
"At least, Marian is not in danger now, but Robin was upset that she rode on Gisborne's horse back to Nottingham," commented Djaq in a melancholic voice.
Will interposed, "Robin and Marian will sort out their differences, although I don't think that Robin is angry at her. Gisborne saved her, after all!" He lowered his voice. "What worries me a lot is that Robin takes too many risks that are not always well-measured. He is a genius, and none of us can rival him, but he needs to be more careful."
"Robin will never change," lamented Much. "He has already done too many reckless and dumb things to get himself planted in this here hole." He paused and shook his head, wishing to take his words back. In an apologetic voice, he added, "I didn't say anything! I do love Sherwood and our lovely camp, and I love even this kitchen!"
Djaq smiled indulgently at a discomfited Much. "Much, we all know that you want to live in Bonchurch. But we have to live in the forest and keep a low profile until the king's return. But we are fighting for the poor! We are together in this, which makes us strong!"
They would have cheerfully chorused 'We are Robin Hood' if Robin wasn't sleeping. Instead, they inclined their heads in acknowledgment and smiled at each other.
"I pray Robin will be unharmed! I want us all to live!" Much exclaimed in a voice woven of fear and despair. "I am afraid that Robin will be killed! I sometimes imagine him being stabbed in the heart, or being shot by volleys of arrows fired at him. Once I even imagined his head being cut off at Vaisey's order. No, I just cannot talk about it! If he dies, I will die too because he is everything to me!"
"Much, everything will be alright," Djaq allayed him in a gentle voice. "Providence has a special plan for Robin and all of us, and we are not destined to die in the woods!" She was not sure that her words were true, but she wanted to calm Much.
Unbeknownst to them, Robin heard everything, and his heart was somersaulting in the throes of grief at the realization of their deep worry and particularly of Much's sadness. He again felt pangs of guilt for being so selfish in his steel resolve to kill all the Black Knights today, and nothing could obliterate his guilt. Robin should have thought of what his friends would do and fell if he had died and of what could have happened to the people of Nottingham if his plan hadn't been derailed today.
For some time, the hero lay on his bunk quiet like a grave, pretending to be asleep. Once a deep, inarticulate groan came from his throat, but he stifled it straight away. Soon the camp quieted as the outlaws settled in for the night while Robin continued to stay awake. The haze from his mind had evaporated, and he reached full consciousness.
His thoughts were tumbling and racing through his mind, and he was silently castigating himself. I deserve to be commended for my zeal for the fight with the sheriff, but not all of my plans are workable. I risk my own life and don't think about the consequences. I have to think about my plans carefully before taking action, and I have to make more prudent decisions, but sometimes my thirst for adventure and my reliance on luck guide me away from having plausible assumptions at the heart of my plans. Robin vowed that he would try to assess risks and weaknesses of his plans more carefully.
Robin was relieved that nobody of his friends had seen him today when he had faced the Black Knights. He was fully aware that they all were curious to get to know the dark part of him more, but he wasn't going to let them look into his soul. He himself could not look back because if he did, he would not be able to lead his band. Robin feared that he would break down if he began to think of the Holy Land, and he prayed he would forget a land of death and destruction which had marked him with a taint of darkness forever.
Nevertheless, today, Robin was mentally transported to another life – to the Holy Land where he had learned to kill in the madness of war, taking a life like a trifle. Today he behaved like a Crusader again… Darkness spilled out again. It was a part of himself that he usually kept on a tight leash, and he loathed to reveal it to others. It was a frightening, shadowy echo of himself, and he was never sure just how well he would be able to control it. What if Robin released all his darkness, and it wholly overshadowed him?
Despite all his generosity, compassion, and goodness, Robin Hood was a seasoned warrior, second to no one in the king's private guard in combat: he had discovered darkness in himself while on Crusade, and, sometimes, the impulses of that monstrous darkness got the best of him, making him a soldier focused on battle and bloodshed from morning to night. Even though Robin was no longer a Crusader, that darkness was ingrained in his flesh and bones, in his very being, although he was hiding it masterfully.
Robin forcefully redirected his mind to Marian, and questions ceaselessly circled it. Had the Earl of Winchester tried to violate her in the carriage on the way from Nottingham? What was Marian doing now at the castle? Was she angry at him that it was Gisborne, not him, who had rescued her from the clutches of Winchester?
They didn't have the time to talk after he had gone to Edward's cell today; then Marian had watched him battling with Allan. As she and Gisborne had been riding away from Winchester's carriage, she had been searching for him in the woods, her eyes darting in all directions. Their gazes had locked only for the space of a heartbeat, but it was enough for Robin to distinguish a vivid fire in Marian's eyes – a gleam that wrapped the true longings of her pure soul, the longing for him and for an ideal world they were fighting for.
Another heart-stirring question flashed through Robin's mind like a bolt of lightning generated by the thunderstorm of his emotions. Was his Marian thinking of him right now? Was she waiting for him in her bedroom tonight? Her name echoed through his head like a melody from heaven, and his mind became as peaceful as a lake that had a sense of placidity without ripples across the water. His hunger for Marian was an unquenchable fire in him, but the lovely creature he lusted for was not in his bed.
Exhaustion took its toll on him, and Robin drifted off to sleep. His last coherent thought was about Marian and her possible rape at the hands of Winchester.
As usual, he dreamed of battles and war, of the screaming of wounded, dying, and mutilated men, of bloodshed in the so-called age of chivalry which was chivalry in its true sense, probably, only in the perception of Richard the Lionheart. Gripped in the throes of his powerful nightmare, Robin was navigating through the imaginary deep waters of purgatory where his soul of a former Crusader was burning for the sin of killing the infidels. The images of heinous atrocities and sanguinary battles and massacres, which made up a world of darkness, inundated him, and his body transformed into a demonic form of a nature unknown to this world.
But then, another dream, salutary and vivifying, came to his mind: he saw the thick depths of pristine Sherwood which were as dark as Marian's hair. That dream faded into another, and his mind conjured the image of Marian's stunning face. His body instantly grew hot, and Robin felt as if he were lost in a universe of desire, a desire that consumed him entirely as it had happened to him during their two intimate encounters. He dreamed of going to Marian now, the longing in his heart all the more poignant. In one of his dreams, her face seemed shadowed, which sent a cold shiver running down Robin's spine.
Robin awoke with a loud cry, but the outlaws were deep in sleep, or perhaps they didn't pay attention to his screams, accustomed to his nightmares. He thought briefly that his friends were beams of light in the darkness of his tortured, repentant soul, but Marian, his Marian, was the brightest light in his dark world camouflaged with his cheeky smiles and flamboyant grins, with the veneer of his self-confidence and pomposity.
Shivering in the night air, Robin became aware of the first streaks of dawn touching the tops of nearby trees which he could see from his bunk. The woods were emerging from the dark mass of night. His last dream about Marian unsettled him a great deal, and it was high time he went to Nottingham, sneaked into the castle, and checked on her.
Robin quickly left his bunk, moving as noiselessly as he could. As he was leaving the camp, his quiet footsteps disturbed a small lizard that emitted a plaintive note and scurried away through the grass. Was it a bad omen, wondered Robin, feeling his anxiety mount to a point of panic. In a few moments, he was already on his way to Nottingham.
Dawn, the Castle of Nottingham, Marian's bedchamber
A crestfallen Marian stood near the window, gazing out, her tear-stained eyes taking in the outlines of the distant Sherwood Forest. She didn't wish to be at the castle, and she felt a void in her heart calling out to her to go find Robin in the woods and ensure that he was alive. Since she had found Robin's farewell letter in her room, she was at the threshold of agony. Her heart was quivering with dread that some new calamitous troubles had beset her beloved. Marian craved only one thing – to see Robin.
She still found it difficult to believe that Robin had decided to annihilate all of the Black Knights at once, and that he had been ready to sacrifice himself for King Richard and England without thinking of her. He had even dared write her the letter that had broken her heart! He had again placed his love for her below his love for the country and the king! Marian was bitter that Robin hadn't paused to think about her and her future without him, which would have been an impervious, endless world of gloom and affliction. Without him, her heart would have become the emptiest and most melancholic place on earth.
Her life would have been a gloom without Robin, Marian mused. The gloom of his making! If Robin had died today, there would have been no light in her life at all.
As fresh tears sprang into her eyes and slid down her cheeks, Marian clenched her fists into tight balls as she sensed something flowing inside her and melting into a cascade of anger. She was furious at Robin for being so foolish and so vain; for being so loyal to England, probably more loyal than he was to her. In the space of a few heartbeats, however, guilt swept over her, and she thought that she was a wicked creature who forgot about their duty to England for a moment. To her astonishment, Marian then discovered that she could reorient her priorities when Robin's life and their future were at stake.
Straightening her slim shoulders, she roughly scrubbed her tears away, feeling incensed at herself for giving way like that, for being so vulnerable at the moment. But as the image of a Robin stabbed by numerous daggers or boiling alive in the hot water passed through her mind, Marian was caught once again in a web of pain, suffering, and anxiety, and she could not get out. A small sob came out as she stared dumbly about the room, her mind convulsing within her skull under the assault of visions of a wounded or dead Robin.
Hearing the sound of the opening door and of someone moving in the room, Marian instantly recognized the footfall of the very mad who had such an influence on her life and emotions. It was the influence of sunshine on a field of ripened wheat that was ready to harvest – she was also ready to do anything for Robin Hood, even though she didn't tell him that in order not to feed his big ego. But this very man could also send her over the edge by his foolishness, arrogance, and his unlimited need to be loved. Robin's death could destroy Marian's faith in justice and even in God; it could dry-rot the soul.
As Marian spun around to face the hero, she couldn't utter a word at first, simply staring at him with wide eyes filled with shock, bewilderment, amazement, fear, concern, and relief, all of these feelings alternating. She was frantically seeking a way to get control over the powerful emotions that clashed within her, but there was no escape.
Robin grinned at her flamboyantly and murmured, "Ah, you must have been waiting for me, my lady love. I'm sorry that I have come to you only at dawn." He paused as he made a quick perusal of her. "But as you are wide awake, I can still assist you in undressing. It would be my privilege and pleasure to act as your maidservant."
The tension mounting in her came to the surface, and she glared at him ferociously. "And you dare appear here out of the blue and speak to me as if nothing had happened!"
He was genuinely puzzled. "I have come to check on you. I was worried about you."
She scoffed. "Really, Robin?"
"Yes, of course," assured her Robin as he took a step to her. He was surprised when she backed away from him to a table near the bed.
Her stony resolve to confront him solidified. A decidedly belligerent sparkle in her sapphire blue eyes, Marian gritted, "Don't be ridiculous, Robin! You certainly remember what you did! How could you do this to me?"
His countenance reflected his abashment. "Marian, can you please explain what you mean?" He sighed despondently. "I was worried about you! I'm sorry that I didn't save you from Winchester! But I was following the carriage, hiding in the tree line, and I wanted to attack Winchester when I saw you…" He broke off, searching his mind for a suitable epithet for Gisborne. He then spat, "…riding away with this demon."
"Gisborne saved me," she stressed.
Robin's temper flared up like a fire-breathing dragon. "He killed Winchester!"
"Guy saved me," repeated Marian in a more personal manner.
He claimed in a half-hissing voice, "Gisborne could spare Winchester's life, but he didn't. He wasn't doing this for you: he carried out the sheriff's command."
"And are you better than him?" she fired back. "Today, you were going to kill all of the Black Knights in cold blood! If Winchester hadn't betrayed you, you would have succeeded! You would have become a cruel murderer of weaponless men!"
Robin grinned acridly and said mockingly, "My darling, have you forgotten that these people are traitors? When we were in the scribe's room, you told me that signing the Pact of Nottingham is high treason. You were horrified when you and I read the charter." He narrowed his eyes. "Or were you upset that your dear Gisborne would be robbed of the chance to gain more power and wealth if we fail to steal the pact?"
"I don't deny that they are traitors," she assented as she took another step back.
A deep frown creased his forehead; his ire was gradually abating. But when he spoke, his voice sounded rough. "Then why are you criticizing me, Marian? You so often chastise Robin Hood! Try to understand me sometimes!" His voice rose an octave. "They want to oust King Richard and replace him with Prince John! Their victory over us would have heralded the end of King Richard's reign and of our dreams to live in Locksley! If we allow them to win, I will never be reinstated as Earl of Huntingdon and Lord of Locksley! I will never be able to marry you and give you what you deserve!"
Glowering at him, Marian objurgated him, "I beg of you, stop this, Robin! You were not thinking about me when you decided to murder the Black Knights. You were concerned only about the king and the safety of his throne in his absence."
Robin had the decency to lower his gaze. She was absolutely right: when he had been in the tavern today, he had been actively reprimanding himself for blindly following his mission to safeguard Richard's kingship. "I will not refute your conclusion."
"I do know that," she said breathlessly as she took another step back. Nevertheless, despite all her anger and distress, her body was beginning to respond to the nearness of his, and her heart was thumping like an avalanche in her chest.
His gaze slid back to her, and a sigh flew from his lips. He wanted to step to her and engulf her into his arms but didn't, knowing that she would push him away. "There is something else you have to comprehend, my love." He sighed again. "I will not deny that I was acting on impulse, and I'm actually ashamed. But my temerity was caused by the news of Winchester's betrayal! I didn't know what to do!" He stepped to her, but she shook her head; he paused.
"It was madness, Robin!" exclaimed Marian, holding him at arm's length. "It was your idea of dying for the king and getting your glory in death! Your idea of heaven is to become the greatest England's hero ever known!" Her voice rose to a crescendo of defiance and indignation. "You always do everything for the king, not for me!"
His eyes again downcast, Robin muttered, "Marian, I don't want you to think so…"
More censorious words were flowing out of her. "I'm shocked that you chose death without thinking about me, and my father, and your friends."
A flurried Robin started pacing the room back and forth, lost in deep thought. He came to a halt in the middle of the chamber. Looking at her with guilty eyes, he acknowledged meekly, "I should not have acted this way."
As a wave of despair washed over her like a drowning deluge of biblical proportions, a dismayed Marian cried out, "You didn't even admit a thought that we would be heartbroken! Your death would have been the end of my life!" She lapsed into silence and dragged a deep breath. As she went on, her voice was laced with pain. "I would have lived the rest of my life in the quietude of Sherwood, where memories of us are so very alive that they almost breathe. I would have been mourning for you until my dying day."
Robin closed his eyes for a few moments as a strong feeling of tart guilt surged through him, so intense that he longed to crawl away from her chamber and hide himself in the thickest of the woods or in some remote corner of Christendom, but the remorse would have caught up with him in the end.
After his return from the Crusades, Robin's life had been turned topsy-turvy by the sheriff and his diabolical henchman. But in the midst of all horrors and perils in his life, there was his dearest Marian and their most cherished wish to marry. Marian and Robin were two fighters for justice and against oppression, but the bonds of their love didn't outweigh their deep-seated sense of duty to their country, their liege, and their people, which caused their personal situation to be aggravating as they couldn't effectuate their desire to have a life together at the moment and had to postpone it for tomorrow. And for that happiness, probably ephemeral and even impossible on earth if one of them died before the Lionheart's return, Robin had to survive the battle with evil and darkness.
He made an attempt at communicating to her again. "Marian, I am very sorry for distressing you! But I had to do something to stop Vaisey and his thugs; I thought that you would be safe only if I killed Winchester at the castle." He paused and swallowed heavily. "In a saner, less emotional state, I would have dismissed the idea to attack the Black Knights, but I couldn't; not under the circumstances when Winchester betrayed us."
"I'm still struggling to justify your actions." She stilled as a disheartening remembrance flooded her. She stalked towards a table and grabbed a parchment. Turning to him, she showed him his letter. "Reading these words harrowed my very soul."
Robin's heart sank. "I'm sorry, my love. I am so sorry." That was all he could offer her. He thought that he had needed to retrieve the letter from her room after his escape so that she hadn't seen it. "I was not thinking straight, and I do feel very guilty."
She threw the parchment on the floor, and flung her arms up in frustration. Her tears gone, she was still keeping a distance from Robin. She spoke in a trembling voice, like the voice of someone shaken by a deadly cold fit of ague. "You love glory so much, Robin! Is it really so precious to you?" A trail of tears trickled down her cheeks. "The acknowledgment of your guilt hurts me! Sometimes, I think that your need to be loved by others is stronger than your need to be loved by me and to be with me!"
"I have this need to be loved," admitted Robin freely, his voice seemingly nonchalant, which belied the heartache in his gaze. His vivid blue eyes were an abyss of agony, and her heart constricted. In a voice layered with savage pain, he affirmed, "If people love me and admire me for my good deeds, I may pretend that the Robin who returned from the Holy Land is the same Robin who had left for war with dreams of glory."
"Robin–" She began to speak, but he interrupted her.
Robin was catapulted into a morass of pernicious feelings as whispers and rhythms of his days on the Crusade battered his soul. His anguished, yet clear, voice resonated in the room like a bell of truth. "As commander of the king's private guard, I was proud of our first victory in the Holy Land, until I found myself bathing in rivers of blood after the siege of Acre." His voice halted with the force of emotion that had overcome him. Regaining his composure, he continued, "I still remember proudly wearing my Crusader surcoat, bearing a drawn sword, and riding onward as a leader of the king's men. I cannot describe the fierce nature of the darkness that took possession of me in battle. I became war personified, my Crusader cross – an emblem of death. I grew to hate that bloody war, and I was fatigued by the exertions of our subsequent victories in Jaffa and Arsuf."
Marian opened her mouth to speak but was at a loss for words. Robin's solemn demeanor affected her to the very depths of her soul. Her dread arose, not out of shame to feel vulnerable once again or out of timidity, but from her realization that the Holy Land had changed her beloved so profoundly. She feared that she couldn't understand what he had survived through at war, and she was not even aware of some events he had alluded to.
Robin was a closed-off man who rarely laid his heart bare to her. She knew that he loved her deeply, but she often dreamed of him dropping to one knee, a boyish grin blossoming on his face, and confessing his love for her instead of his innuendos at his feelings. But most of all, Marian coveted to look into Robin's soul and learn more about his life at war. Now, when he was giving her that, she was not sure that she wanted to know everything about the Crusade – her heart was already shrouded in a coffin of terror and pain.
Robin shoved his hand through his hair. "Marian," he called her in a broken voice. "It was a very brutal time, and I was dark too. I killed many people in the Holy Land, and my hands are stained with Saracen blood forever." He laughed bitterly. "Here, in Nottingham, my fighting skills will betoken the deaths of my many enemies if I lose control."
In the silence that stretched on between them, Marian's mind meandered over the days that had followed their parting six years ago. She had been distraught for months, keeping confined to her room at Knighton Hall. For some time, she had hoped that Robin would change his mind and would return to her before his departure to Poitou with the king, but that hadn't happened. All through bright days of summers and springs and through cold days of autumns and winters, she had hurried from one painful sensation to another, fantasizing that Robin had been killed and his body mutilated.
Robin had told her that he had gone to war for glory, and these words had a deleterious impact on Marian. Whenever the reason of her abandonment by him – his quest for glory – had emerged from the haze of her thoughts, she had wished that something had exploded in her brain, bursting her head to pieces, for the pain from being separated from him was too excruciating, even stronger than her wounded hubris. But now, looking into Robin's eyes and contemplating his words, Marian could see that he couldn't have stayed behind when his liege had left to the Holy Land, and it was not only about glory for him.
Robin suddenly seemed to Marian a man who was a thinker, a renegade, and a man of the world in his time. The very man who was stoically sustaining the unbearable burden of their fight. The man whose kind, yet uneasy, soul was tinged with the dark hues of disillusionment, woes, and regrets. The canvas of Robin's life was not embroidered in gold thread. Yet, he was also her Robin who now resembled a man pleading for her love at her feet.
A warm glint in her eyes, Marian strode forward and stopped next to him. "You can contrive any torture for me, Robin, except for starting a new suicidal mission." She swallowed a sob that threatened to escape and managed to say, "If you had died today, I would have remained with an aged father whose days might be numbered as his health is frail. I wouldn't have even had your child who could console me a bit!"
A contrite note in his voice, he breathed softly, "By all that's holy, I swear I'm sorry for what I did today." Slowly, his hands enveloped her waist. "Can you forgive me, my love?"
"I already have," she responded sincerely, feeling a languorous sensation stir in her.
He asked in a deplorable voice, "Don't you think I know what you feel? I could lose you to Winchester today." At the thought of the bastard's hands grabbing Marian, a white-hot fury blazed through Robin, and he sought reassurance. "He did nothing to you?"
"Nothing," confirmed Marian. "I would rather die than allow anyone to rape me."
His face contorted in anger, he asserted, "I would have killed him if he touched you."
Marian flashed a smile. "He is already dead." It would be so sweet and wonderful to relax and let her body cling to his, to have those skilled hands that were holding her now caress her. "You and I are alive. And we are alone."
Robin chuckled at the coaxing note in her voice. "What a shameless offer, my love!"
"There is no shame in love," she repeated the words she had once spoken to him when they had been in a step from making love in Sherwood, stopped only by Robin's respect to her. Her fingers began to search for the fastenings of his shirt. "Or you don't think so?"
His eyes darkened a shade with passion, and he pronounced huskily, "I would far rather sleep for a few hours than rub you the right way in this bed! Euphemism!"
Marian frowned at him. "Your jests might displease me. You are really going to suffer the consequences, Robin Hood!"
His lips stretched into a knowing grin. "I would gladly march into the lion's den to do my penance!" His finger traced her lips until they parted in bliss.
She kissed his fingertips and pressed his hand to her cheek. She then joked, "It is such an innocent gesture of a child reaching eagerly for a toy."
"Your or my gesture of affection?" His grin widened, his gaze heated.
"Both!" she exclaimed, feeling his hand snake around to hold her neck.
"Very good, my love. Now I'm in a very playful mood."
She was entirely enmeshed in his maleness. "Now you are a naughty child."
Robin winked at her. "Always! Not only now!" He was already aroused past reason, due to her and her alone.
As she smelled wine souring on his breath, her expression changed into befuddlement. She had felt it before, but her distress had deterred her from questioning him. Raising a quizzical brow, she asked, "Were you drinking in the middle of the night?"
He looked shamefaced. "Yes, I drank some wine today. But I am sober now."
"Why did you need it?"
Robin confided, "I was shocked with the day; I needed to relax." He heaved a sigh. "In the Holy Land, I sometimes drank the wine that King Richard distributed to his chief generals, including me. It helped me bury my pain for some time, until the next battle. It–"
Marian put a finger to his lips. "Don't speak, Robin."
"Marian," pronounced Robin in a voice laced with reverence. The effect her very name had upon his emotions was both heart-warming and painful. She was the love of his life and his safe haven in the midst of the blackness that constituted Nottingham.
Robin bent his head and lightly kissed her on the mouth. Marian's response delighted him, and his blood thickened in his veins as she ardently returned his kiss, her entire body molding itself to his. The heat of her skin through the thin chemise that separated them drove his carnal desires into a conflagration of vehement passion. With impatient hands, he quickly stripped her off her garments and then undressed himself, giving a moan of satisfaction and anticipation when her naked flesh touched his. Her skin was better and softer than finest silks, and he gently kneaded her full breasts while walking her to the bed.
Groaning at his touch, Marian arched her back, unconsciously pushing her upper body against his chest. Her breasts suddenly felt full, and she became instantly conscious of an increasingly burning ache in her belly which was spreading fervently up through her body. Between their locked forms, she felt his hardness pressing intimately against her hip. As they landed on the bed, Marian embraced Robin, and, driven by instincts, she kissed him again, seeking a deeper intimacy, parting her lips for his tongue that was seeking and finding the exciting warmth within her mouth. His kisses and caresses were pleasurable and bold beyond belief, and she twisted under him, demanding more; Robin tried to still her restless movements, but she was too eager to reach completion.
His mouth was lascivious and insistent as it moved across her alluring curves, his teeth arousing Marian even more. Robin was deliberately prolonging the moment until he possessed her, arousing her until she was wild with desire. At first, he was determined to take her gently after the distress of their meeting, but her uninhibited reactions to his caresses and endearments were driving him to the brink. Robin was so hungry for her, so full of an urgent and untamed need to drown in the bottomless ocean of ecstasy he knew would submerge them, that every time Marian writhed beneath him and her hands touched his flesh, he nearly lost control. His whole being on fire as if molten gold were pouring through his veins, Robin shifted slightly until he slid between her thighs, and her body clenched in anticipation.
Marian was lost in a vortex of vertiginous and intense sensations, impatient to have all of him, as Robin entered her and carried her beyond the limits of the flesh. She so lovingly welcomed him that it was the most soul-stirring feeling he had ever experienced in his whole life. Her movements were nearly his undoing, and he stilled for a moment, fighting for control. Marian wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside her, and the marvelous heat of her depths goaded him into action. The demanding ache that was voraciously growing in them intensified with every thrust, and the wildness within them exploded in a glorious rapture as they trembled from the force of the ecstatic pinnacle. Their cries of gratification and pleasure mingled in divine togetherness.
Marian nestled comfortably next to her lover, her head resting on his shoulder. She didn't care that they both were naked and not covered, for it seemed the most natural thing in the world. "Robin," she spelled out his name.
Robin dropped a kiss on her temple. "Not ashamed of your loveliness, my darling?" He laughed outright. Then he said thickly, "Marian, you should never be embarrassed when we are together. Your charms have such a deep effect on me that I cannot describe it."
"Tell me more about the Holy Land," she requested.
He tensed but didn't pull away. "I cannot," he said in a murmur of unconcealed despair. There was something lugubrious in such questions, and the air Robin breathed in and out felt like charged with the chill of doom. "I cannot look back," he clarified.
Marian regretted her question, knowing that she had touched a sour nerve. Gently, she cupped his face and studied his solemn eyes. "Don't do it again to me, Robin," she entreated as she brushed her lips across his. "Don't give me such a scare! And don't die!"
Gazing into her eyes, Robin uttered devotedly, "Marian, you are my light in this dark and cruel world. I need you more than the king, England, and anyone else." His arms encircled her more tightly, safeguarding her sweet captivity. "And although it is past dawn now, I think we can spend some more time in this cozy bed."
She gave him a peck on the cheek. "If you have something on your mind, you can give it a try." She smiled mischievously. "Provided that I will permit you, Robin!"
At this, he broke into a frolicsome laughter. "Oh, you will!" In the next moment, his mouth captured hers, and he drank the passion still wet on her lips.
As Robin made love to Marian again, vigorously and fervently, he thought that she was like a whirling blaze of colored flowers perfect to celebrate the spring's arrival and the bloom of their love. He loved that her passion for him was of the tenderest nature, and that it was not only great but also extremely delicate. Voices of his demons suddenly seemed to him only some part of a hallucination belonging to the weird, dreamlike world of war and darkness which had faded away, giving place to a universe of affaires d'amour.
There is some very exciting news! Penelope and Coleen have been hard at work on a new series which is tentatively titled, The Robin Hood Trilogy. The first novel in the trilogy is almost complete, the second novel is in the editing phase, and they started to work on book 3.
Their upcoming Robin Hood Trilogy is a completely original work that will feature not only the legendary characters from the ballads of Robin Hood but also real historical figures. You can also count on meeting some unforgettable original characters! We anticipate publication of the first book in 2017.
Here is the blurb:
England, 1154-1193
A Kingdom under Assault.
Bold Conspiracies of Unthinkable Malevolence.
A Lone Man Taking a Stand against Tyranny and Evil.
Their lives are shrouded in mystery and controversy – Henry II, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Richard the Lionheart, and John Lackland. The first Plantagenets: a dynasty born of anarchy and nurtured by intrigue. Although they would govern England for over three centuries, no threat to their rule would be greater than the secrets hidden within the tangled family tree of their ancestor, William the Conqueror.
As shadowy forces gather to attack the Plantagenet royal family, there is only one man who can defeat the evil that threatens to destroy the future of a nation.
Bow in hand, Robin Fitzooth, the Earl of Huntingdon, confronts the growing darkness and becomes Robin Hood. He will face deception, betrayal, and the ravages of war as he fights to defend his king, his country, his people, and the woman he loves from a conspiracy so diabolical, so unexpected, that the course of history hangs in the balance.
A battle between good and evil, justice and tyranny, the future and the past.