Women in the Woods

by Harriet Vane

Marian and Djaq disappear. M/R, D/W

"You wanted to see me, Sheriff," Sir Guy said gruffly

The story is set between the first and second season (or series, for the British). I realize that there isn't really any time between the first and second season but . . . well, it just worked best there.

Otherwise, many thanks to Colourful-Mess for the beta read; to the BBC for making fantastic shows, and to you, kind reader, for your indulgence.

The Sheriff's Plan

"You wanted to see me, Sheriff," Sir Guy said gruffly. But then, he did everything gruffly – from mounting his horse, to stringing a bow, to sipping fine wine. It seemed likely that he even kissed and made love gruffly, which would go a ways in explaining why Lady Marian had chosen to leave Gisborne at the altar. The prospect of a lifetime filled with gruff, passionless kisses must have seemed far more terrible then a lifetime spent as a hunted outlaw.

It was unusual that Lady Marian and her motivations were on the Sheriff's mind. But he had plans involving her and, throughout the day, she kept creeping into his thoughts in the most unusual ways. It was like being in love, only better – because he was in absolute control. While lovers pine for their loved one, the Sheriff was free. Any indifference on his part gave him more control, and was, therefore, sweeter to him then the most romantic of sonnets.

"Yes, Gisborne," the Sheriff said, "Have you seen Lady Marian recently?"

Sir Guy winced at her name. His wounds were still fresh. The Sheriff couldn't help but giggle at the knight's obvious weakness. "No my lord," Gisborne said flatly. "I believe I noticed her in Nottingham last market day, not yesterday, but the one before – last week. I have not since."

"I see," the Sheriff said, unable to contain his wicked smile. "And that doesn't strike you as odd?"

"I no longer seek her company."

"Yes, but you do remember every time you see her. And it's been over a week. Does that not seem a conspicuous absence?"

The knight had to think about it. "I suppose that's true."

The Sheriff sighed. "Ah, poor, slow, Gisborne. No wonder she didn't marry you. She disappears for a week and you barely notice."

"I've taken pains to avoid her," Sir Guy said, his temper rising at the mention of the failed nuptials.

The Sheriff chuckled. "A clue? No!"

"My Lord?" Gisborne said, clearly confused.

"What is the one thing that keeps most men from acting too rashly, hum? From crossing the line between human being and feral beast? What makes your breed, strong and violent, think before they hit, or wait when they could strike? Hum?"

Gisborne sighed, "I do not know, my lord. Money?"

"Money may be shiny, and it may buy things – but do you really crave it?"

"I suppose not . . ." Gisborne admitted.

"What you crave, what most men crave, what most men will castrate their natural instincts for is very simple. Women."

"I see," Gisborne said curtly. "My lord, I don't see what this has to do with Marian."

"It's quite simple, for clear thinking men," the Sheriff said. "Men like you and like our dear friend Robin Hood are beasts inside – worse than beasts, actually. You hunt your fellow creatures and kill them for very little gain."

"Robin Hood does not kill, my lord."

"Correction Gisborne, Robin Hood does not kill now. He certainly did his fair share of slaughtering the infidels in the Holy Land."

Gisborne was silent.

"So, what has changed?"

"He grew sick of it, my Lord."

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" the Sheriff insisted. "I thought so too, once, but a leopard does not change its spots, and a lion does not grow weary of the kill. No. What has changed, you dolt, is Marian. Now he is near Marian. Now he wants to impress her, charm her, entice her and, no doubt, bed her."

Sir Guy squirmed uncomfortably at the Sheriff's last statement.

"So he is 'peaceful' and doesn't kill – which necessitates him to have elaborate plans and a band of loyal followers. Without a woman, I guarantee he will lose his will to spare the life of every castle guard and bystander. That will make him daring, foolish even, and then we shall catch him."

"I see," Sir Guy said. "But, there is the other woman . . ."

"The Saracen. Yes, I thought of her too. I took a little longer to catch that feisty lady – but whatever civilising affect that barbarian had is gone now. Robin Hood and his merry men are just men now. We'll see how long they can stay merry."

"It is a cunning plan, my lord," Sir Guy said. His voice sounded uncertain. "May I ask, did you . . ."

"Did I kill the women? Have them stabbed, slit their throats, burn them at the stake, chop of their heads? Hum? What if I did?"

"I was merely curious, my lord."

"And you will remain curious, Gisborne, until Lady Marian, or what's left of her, appears again."

There was a silence as Sir Guy considered that statement.

"Does this bother you, Gisborne?"

The knight set his face into an immutable expression and shook his head. "Why should it, my lord, if it will help us kill Robin Hood?" Still, it was obvious that Marian's kidnapping and potential death hurt Gisborne very much.

"Very good, Gisborne," the Sheriff said. "You may return to your post."

"Thank you, Sheriff," Gisborne said, bowing gruffly before he exited the room.

Once he was alone, the Sheriff broke into a large smile and laughed. Honestly, he didn't know what Marian's disappearance would do to Robin Hood. And he didn't think snatching away the Saracen girl would affect Hood at all, though it would probably make his merry men a little less merry and, therefore, a little less loyal. But, even if this whole plan flopped spectacularly, the Sheriff considered it worth the sixty-pound investment. It was a treat to see Sir Guy so deeply bothered. It was a treat to think of prudish and self-righteous Marian at his mercy. But, mostly, it was a treat to think of the strikingly heroic Robin Hood beside himself with worry over a simple woman.

The empty chair

"Master," Much said. "You have to eat. Please."

"How many times to I have to tell you?" Robin said tersely. "I'm not hungry."

"Will brought back some lovely bread from the Market," Much continued to prattle. "And my pigeon trap finally trapped pigeons instead of crows. I've got enough that we can have a whole bird each."

"Enough because Djaq is gone?" Robin demanded, his voice rising in anger.

"No!" Much screeched. "Enough for all of us. I know that, when the others come back, they'll have found Djaq - or, at very least, have word of her."

"Word isn't good enough. Searching isn't good enough! We have to have her back!"

"Well," Much said, matching his master in tone and temper. "Yelling at me isn't good enough either. Do you think I have her in my pocket?"

"I'm sorry," Robin said, calming slightly, though his voice was still boiling over with anger, "But when Marian disappeared we looked for word and we searched the villages but she has not been seen for over a week . . ."

"And you have not had a proper meal or a good night's rest in over a week," Much added.

" ...now Djaq is gone too. It has to be a plan of the Sheriff's. He's taking the women because they're helpless. He wants to draw us out – drive us mad."

"Firstly, master," Much said. "The only thing driving you mad is a lack of food and sleep. If you took better care of yourself, you'd be able to think clearly and find them. Secondly, neither Lady Marian nor Djaq is helpless. All of me put together is more helpless then half of either of them. True, something devious is afoot. But starving yourself will not help anyone – except maybe the Sheriff."

"You're right," Robin said, collapsing into the nook in the side of the wall, where he usually ate his dinner.

"And beer," Much ordered. "You need something hearty to renew your spirits."

Robin didn't answer. His eyes were set on Djaq's chair, which Will had made especially for her. It was carved all over with beautiful and mysterious Arabic letters. Djaq had written the words on one of the trees by their old camp. She said they were a traditional prayer for protection – anyone who touched the tree before leaving the camp would be watched over by a special angel. Will had carefully recreated the prayer on Djaq's chair, so that she would be touching it all the time – she would always be safe. But, the special angel seemed to be off-duty. Robin didn't know where Djaq was, or where Marian was. But he was fairly sure they were together. And he was certain that they were not safe.

The silent lady in the cave

Marian was awakened by a slap in the face.

"Do you think you can sleep all day, you whore?" the man yelled at her. Marian didn't answer. She'd learned days ago, or weeks ago, or maybe months ago, maybe . . . that one should not answer the man unless he told you to speak.

At first, she'd been feisty. She'd tried to escape, until they broke her right wrist and left ankle, so she could neither punch nor run. Then she'd tried to match them, verbal abuse for verbal abuse. But that took effort, and energy, and wit – all of which were being drained out of her by the sunless days, moonless nights, lack of sleep, appalling food, degrading treatment, and frequent beatings.

Marian didn't know how she'd gotten to this position. The last bit of her normal life she could remember was being stopped in the market by the castle guard and told that the Sheriff wanted a word with her. She didn't remember speaking with the Sheriff – but she had no doubt he'd put her here. At the beginning, she had no doubt that Robin would come and save her. But hope was hard to cling to in the cold, dark, damp cave. It took all her sprit just to hold on to her sense of self, to remember that she was Lady Marian, daughter of Edward of Knighton Hall. Though they treated her like a slave, and though she acted like one, deep down, in her heart, she kept the knowledge that she was a Lady of the Realm. And, by holding onto that one golden nugget of truth, she was able to stay sane. For the time being, at least.

"The boss wants you," the man told her. "And he wants you pretty."

The man threw a wad of fabric at her and Marian flinched, despite herself. It hit her softly and fell to the ground. In the dim light of the man's torch, she could see that it was a dark colour, maybe black, or dark green, or a rich purple. She felt for the edges and discovered it was a long cape made of soft wool and trimmed with white fur, probably from a hair.

"Well, get it on!" the man demanded.

Marian obliged, pulling the cape up onto her shoulders.

"Not like that!" the man said, kicking her hard in the side so that she lost her balance and stumbled against the wall. "Who wants to see rags under a pretty cape like that?"

"But there is no gown," Marian said, a brief flair of anger overriding her better judgment. She was kicked again. This time, she hit her head against the rock wall. There was a flash of pure white light and the sensation that she was falling. But these things quickly faded, and she found that the man was talking – though she was too dizzy to understand most of the verbal tirade. She did, however, understand the last bit.

". . . so get them rags off now, 'fore I have to tell the boss you was uncooperative."

Marian nodded and complied, striping off the tattered and filthy dress they'd given her. She'd been told to change clothes so often, that the indignity of being naked in front of her captors barely bothered her anymore. She'd cried on the first night, when the whole group, some eight men, had ripped her gown off her in the middle of their well lit hall. But now she had nothing to hide. They'd all seen her naked. Most, if not all (she could hardly keep track) had done more than just look. So any demands for her right to modesty, as a Christian woman and a Lady, were ridiculed.

The lead

Of all people, Sir Edward was the one to get the tip. He had been well liked as Sheriff, and many of the guards were still loyal to him. Peter Riverside, first lieutenant of the second shift, had particularly looked up to Sir Edward.

The new Sheriff knew this, of course, but Peter was no fool. He was loyal to his job first, and the man second. After all, he did have a wife, two sons, and three daughters. What he thought of the Sheriff didn't have to get in the way of food on the table, a good apprenticeship for the boys, and a lovely dowry for the girls.

But, because he was a father, and his oldest daughter was getting to that age where she was less a little girl and more a young woman, his heart was particularly troubled by what he overheard.

"It's kind of you to see me, Milord," Peter said as he held the mulled wine close to his mouth, so the steam could rise and warm his red face. It was raining outside – unseasonably cold and damp for September – and Peter had trudged through it for three miles in the middle of the forest to get from Nottingham to Knighton Hall.

"My door is always open to you, Peter, you know that," Sir Edward said kindly. "And, if you have come so far on a night like this, I know it must be important."

"Aye, my lord, it is important," Peter said, his eyes downcast. "I just hope it is not too late. I had to wait, you see, until I could get away without drawing attention. I have my own family to think of, sir. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry for caring for your family," Sir Edward said. "Of all things, that is one act for which you should never apologise."

"Maybe, maybe not," Peter said. "For, you see, I think I know what happened to your daughter."

Sir Edward did not respond. He just stared at Peter in horrified silence. Nervously, the guard continued. "I was told, two market-days ago, to fetch the Lady Marian for the Sheriff. I did not think much of it – why should I?"

"Go on," Sir Edward said hoarsely.

"I escorted her up to the Sheriff's office and saw her go in. I thought nothing of it sir, why should I? True, he's not a good man. But she's been called to his office before. I'm sorry sir, but I didn't know the harm I was doing."

"Please, Peter," Sir Edward said. "I know that you're a good man and did not mean to hurt my daughter. But you must tell me what harm was done to her."

Peter sighed. "I cannot say exactly, sir. So far as I can say, I was the last person to see her – except, of course, for the Sheriff."

"Do you think the Sheriff . . ."

"I don't believe she's dead sir, if that's what you were going to ask. And this is why. All that day, there were some men hanging 'round the castle. Gruff, beastly men. They spoke rude to the women – harassing them – and paid little heed to any warnings from the guard. They were guests of the Sheriff, and our orders were to let them do as they wished. I heard that they came in the morning, and I saw them leave by the South gate only an hour or so after I sent Marian to the Sheriff."

"So, you think those men took her?"

"I didn't at the time lord – why would such a thing cross my mind? But I've had time to think on it, and now I'm fair certain."

"But," Sir Edward said, his voice trembling with heartbreak. "Why would they take Marian? What could they possibly want with her?"

As a father, Peter knew that the answers to these questions were probably best not to be thought about too much.

"The men's names were Edson and Burl, both of Saxony, if that helps," Peter said. "Like I told you, I wanted to come sooner, but I had to know I that wasn't being followed. I have daughters too, sir, and . . ."

"No, no," Sir Edward muttered. "Don't be so foolish. It was good of you to risk so much, pneumonia at the very least, to help me find my daughter. I'm sure I can show my gratitude in some meaningful way." He stood up and started looking around the room. Eventually, he found a wooden box in a cupboard. He opened it and Peter could see a cache of gold coins.

"No sir," Peter said quickly. "Thank you, but no. You were kind to me after little Jack was born, and my Kate got so sick."

"I allowed you a few days to care for your family. You've risked everything to come to me. Please, let me give you something."

"I didn't come here to sell you information."

"Please, Peter," Sir Edward said. "You've given me more than information, you've given me hope. Let me do something."

"Find your daughter," Peter said earnestly. "And, if you can, tell no one I was here."

"You have my word, on both matters," Sir Edward said. "And I'll die before I break my word."

"Thank you sir," Peter said, standing up and wrapping his cloak around himself. "I should get going, so I'm back before I'm missed."

"Yes," Sir Edward said. "I'll see you out."

"You're a good man, sir." Peter told him, as Sir Edward opened the door to reveal the angry and wet night. "My Kate will be saying payers for you and Lady Marian."

"Thank you, Peter," Sir Edward replied. "I am forever in your debt. Good luck and Godspeed."

"To you too sir," the guard said with a respectful smile before disappearing into the night.

The lonely lady in the cave

Djaq had been a slave before, so she was not surprised by her treatment. The physical and verbal abuse was par for the course. The lack of food, sleep, and water was only to be expected. Even the humiliation and degradation that the cruel men seemed to enjoy inflicting on her was not unfamiliar.

What she was not used to, what she had not learned to bare with dignity and poise, was being alone. Never in her life had she been so totally, desperately alone. Her childhood had been happily spent by her mother's side in a catty and loving harem. While she was still young, she'd been allowed to go with her father and brother to defend the holy city of Jerusalem. Again, she was sounded by people – but this time, it was a war party. The servants were bolder, the men were crasser, and the well-bred women were few and far between. Still, life was vibrant and she never was lacking of a confidant. After her brother was killed, it became harder. But she could pass for him when need be – and was intelligent enough to know when that was. She could be herself where she was loved, and him among strangers. She was never ostracised, never alone. they were captured by the crusaders, she'd been thrown into a prison. The physical and verbal abuse was part of everyday life, but so was sharing your grief and your fear and your heartache with the other prisoners. It was horrible, of course, but it was not lonely.

It was harder becuase she was a pretending to be a boy. Women understand how to talk, how to say the right things when things needed to be said, and how to sit and listen when things needed to be heard. The men were colder – preferring to discuss philosophy, theology, history, and ethics rather then their own thoughts and feelings. But, at least they were company, and their conversation could be distracting and amusing. She never felt alone.

After Robin had freed her, she'd decided to stay in England, in part because it guaranteed her a group of people to talk to. Back home, she would be ostracised, if not killed, for the horrible crime of living through her misfortunes. But, the men in England, or at least, the men in Sherwood Forrest, were all too happy to keep Djaq company. Robin liked to talk about ideas – big, lofty, and deep. Much liked to talk about simpler things, people and places. Allan liked to tell stories, obviously embellished, but entertaining nonetheless. Will and John didn't talk much – but Will liked to listen. On cold nights, when Djaq felt the weight of her past crushing her, and she felt like she had to choose between being consumed by the bad memories or expelling them with confession, Will would sit and listen to her in a way that was almost sisterly, but, somehow, still very masculine.

But in this dark world, where there was no day and no night, no east and no west; the most terrible thing was that there were no others who could comfort Djaq, or whom she could comfort.

"Where is the dirty Saracen bitch?" one of the men's voice echoed through the hall, cutting through her loneliness with shear dread. Djaq quickly pushed herself off the ground, where she'd been kneeling to pray what she hoped were her evening prayers in a direction that she thought might be east towards Mecca.

When she saw the torch light come around the bend in the cave, she pressed her hands together and bowed, showing respect. She'd found, long ago, that oppressors found it very hard to abuse someone who was prostrating themselves. Coincidentally, she'd also discovered that, when one was prostrate, the oppressors couldn't tell if one was sneering, or crying, or trying not to laugh. The position had several advantages.

"Why were you hiding back here?" the man demanded, grabbing her right wrist, which they'd broken the night they'd kidnapped her, and pulling her forward.

Pain shot up Djaq's arm, and she couldn't stop the scream from escaping her throat and the tears from slipping out of her eyes.

"Don't cry!" the man shouted, as he slapped her hard across the face. Djaq bit her lower lip and swallowed the pain.

The plan

It had been impossible to find the girls. They were far too well hidden. But oafs like Burl and Edson of Saxony were quickly located.

It was generally known in the village of Colwik that a group of men from Saxony had business in the old caves just down the river. They claimed it was the Sheriff's business, and no one was tempted to challenge that claim. Their money was as good as anyone's, and the villagers of Colwik needed all the trade they could get.

So, on a moonless night nearly three weeks after Marian had disappeared, and two weeks after Djaq had gone missing, Robin Hood and his gang crouched outside the old caves. There were three men on guard at the mouth of the cave. They were sitting around a fire and seemed to be wide awake, which was unfortunate. There was an old, run-down, black carriage parked between Robin's gang and the guards. This provided excellent cover and allowed them to review their plan in harsh whispers one last time.

"We go in full force," Robin said. His eyes were bright and sharp, despite the darkness around them. His usual mirth and devil-may-care attitude had evaporated. He treated this attack far more seriously than any number of situations where his own life had been at stake.

"The villagers said that they've seen five or six men from this camp. There are three out on guard, which means we have to assume that there are three more inside. There may be more.

"Once we remove the guards, Much, you will stay here to secure the prisoners and act as lookout. Do you understand?"

"We've only been through this fifteen times already," Much sighed. "Yes, I understand."

"When we're in the caves, we'll split into groups of two. John and Will, you'll go one way, Allan, you're with me. We all have chalk, to mark out the route we took, so we don't waste too much time wandering through endless caves. When we run across someone, it'll probably be close quarter fighting, so everyone, be sure you have your knives. Does everyone have the chalk and the knives?"

They all muttered that they did and then, on realising that Robin would not be satisfied unless he could see for himself that they were prepared, they all produced said items to inspection.

"All right," Robin said. "We comb the caves until we find them. Once we've found them, we will bring Marian and Djaq out here. We will not go back unless we have the girls. Is that clear?"

Will, Much and John all nodded, but Allan, impudent as always, dared to ask a question. "But, Robin, what if they're not there?"

"What do you mean, 'what if they're not there?'" Robin demanded.

"Search the cave, yeah, of course, but . . . what if they're not in the cave? What if this is something else? I mean, two guys from Saxony – it's not a lot to go on."

"We look until we can't look anymore," John said quickly, before Robin could tear into Allan for his lack of faith. "Until we've marked every corner of that cave. Or until we find them."

"All right," Allan said. "But, what do we do if we find their bodies?"

"Well, I should hope we find their bodies," Much muttered. "Otherwise, it'll be very hard to recognise them."

"I mean their corpse," Allan said. "What if they're dead?"

"Djaq's not dead," Will hissed through clenched teeth, smacking Allan round the back of the head.

"You didn't have to hit me," Allan muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm just saying . . . what if?"

"The plan's changed," Robin said, his icy voice silencing the younger men. "Much, you go in with me. Allan, you watch outside. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Allan and Much muttered, not quite in unison.

"Right then," Robin said. "Everyone in their positions. I'll give you to the count of fifty, then I'll make my move."

The other outlaws all nodded, and started creping through the shadows to the pre-determined ambush spot. Very quietly, Robin started counting. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven . . . ."

The First Rescue

Marian heard something, but she couldn't tell what it was. The cave had a way of twisting any sound and making it terrifying. Only a few hours ago (or, was it days ago?) she'd heard what sounded like a woman screaming in pain. The sound had been short and sharp, and had cut Marian to the core, like a knife slicing an apple. Marian had spent hours savouring the idea that she was not alone – that there may be another prisoner here, suffering as she was suffering. They would be sisters, of a sort, kindred spirits. Marian was not alone. Then, alternatively, she convinced herself there was no other prisoner. After all, she had seen no one, and the men spoke of no other woman.

Marian agonised over which option she preferred. Would it be better to have a comrade, even if she was not able to see or talk to that person, or would it be better if she suffered alone, and no other soul had to go through her torment? Her lonely, broken heart wanted, even needed, someone to be there with her – even if she'd never meet that person. She needed to know that someone in the world could understand her pain. On the other hand, her good and strong conscience forced her to acknowledge that it was much better for one person to endure hell than for two people to be condemned. At the moment, her conscience was winning the battle – forcing her to believe that she'd dreamed the woman's scream. This also forced her to believe that the grunting and panting sounds in the hallway were just part of another dream.

So, when two forms appeared in the passageway, dark silhouettes against a dark background, she assumed they were not real and would, eventually, go away.

"Marian," a warm familiar voice said. "Marian, is that you?"

"Master," another voice said, this one slightly higher in pitch. "Why don't I light the torch?"

"We're here to help you, if you'll let us," the warm voice said as the larger silhouette grew in size or, perhaps, proximity. "How long have you been held here?"

Marian pressed her lips together and kept silent. She recognised the voices she was hearing – Robin's and Much's – but she didn't dare believe that they had actually come to save her.

"Can you stand?" Robin asked, as he knelt down in front of her. He was very close to her – their faces were almost touching. "Do you need help?"

He extended his hand, and Marian tensed in expectation of the touch. When it came, though, it was surprisingly light and gentle. But its very tenderness was, in a way, shockingly violent. A torrent of pain suddenly flooded her heart. Every terrible event of the last few weeks seemed to come on her all at once. With Robin there, touching her gently, she acutely felt all of her mistreatment. Worse than that, she felt ashamed of it. She wanted to hide in the darkness – to stay in the depths of the cave and let the pitch blackness swallow her whole.

Fortunately for Marian, her body acted even as her heart froze in pain and fear. She sank forward, into Robin's chest, and her soft voice pushed out his name. "Robin . . ."

The unexpected problem

Marian was unnervingly light. By Much's torchlight, she looked thin and wan. I had been, most likely, over a fortnight since she'd had a proper mean, and this was obvious in her frail figure. Moreover, she was not wearing a proper gown, which would have weighed 10 pounds at least. Instead, she wore nothing but a man's shirt; a filthy shirt, that hung off her shoulders and did not preserve her modesty.

Under normal circumstances, Robin would have given his bow hand to see Marian so scantily clad. Her shoulders were creamy white and perfectly delicate. Her legs were long and lovely, well curved and muscled. She was more lovely then all the Roman status of Venus, and, Robin knew, more clever then Minerva. She was Robin's own personal goddess. He didn't worship her, as such, but he would have sacrificed anything for her.

But these were not normal circumstances. Robin was very aware that the only reason he had the pleasure of seeing her shoulders and legs was because another man, probably the man whose stink hung on the shirt, had seen them too. And this man had taken the pleasure of Marian's beauty, not been gifted it. This man, or these men, had defiled and abused his Goddess. And, like any true supplicant, he could not forgive such sacrilege. And, by all the power in him, he would make them feel the Holy wrath that flowed through his veins.

"I think we've reached the head of the cave, Master," Much said excitedly. "It will be good to see the stars again."

"Did you hear that, Marian?" Robin whispered in her velvet ear. "Fresh air, star light, soft ground."

"Don't let me go," Marian muttered, tightening her clutch on his tunic.

"I won't," he promised her.

They reached the mouth of the cave, and walked out into the forest. And, immediately, he realised that everything was wrong.

"Allan!" Robin yelled, running up to the smouldering fire pit. "Allan! Where are you?"

"Over here," Much yelled, as he ran to Allan, who was bound and gagged, stashed under the old cart at the edge of the clearing.

"Get him out," Robin ordered, as he walked over to the cart. Much struggle to haul Allan out – his task made none the easier by Allan's flailing.

"A little help, maybe?" Much asked.

"Marian," Robin said, "I've got to set you down so . . ."

"No, Robin, no," Marian insisted, panic in her clear blue eyes. "Don't let me go. You can't let me go."

Robin hesitated, but quickly gave in to Marian's request. "She can't stand, Much. Can't you do it yourself?"

"This isn't as easy as it looks," Much protested as he and Allan finally manoeuvred the young man out from under the cart. With Much's help, Allan sat up, knocking his head on the cart bed. "Sorry."

"Thanks a lot, mate," Allan said sarcastically as soon as Much removed his gag.

"Well, that is gratitude," Much huffed.

"Allan, what happened?" Robin demanded.

Allan's sarcasm melted away. "They got Djaq," he said. "Three of them came out of the cave – looking wild. One of them had Djaq, a knife to her throat. The others had swords."

"So you just let them take her?!" Robin demanded.

"I didn't just let them do anything!" Allan snapped back, defensively. "Didn't you hear me? They had a knife to her throat!"

"Now stop," Much ordered. "This won't help anything. Which way did they go?"

"Towards the river," Allan mumbled. "They took one of their guards too."

"I thought John knocked them all unconscious," Much said.

"Well the big ugly one woke up."

"Djaq was there?" Marian asked softly. "They had her too?"

"Yes," Robin told her absentmindedly. His mind was racing as he thought about how to proceed. Time was of the essence, a hasty pursuit could be the difference between saving Djaq and recovering her body. But they were currently in a very bad position to rescue anyone. Robin had to think of Marian, who couldn't stand and couldn't fight. Moreover, she insisted on being in his arms at all times. He couldn't leave her alone outside the cave where she'd been tortured – but neither could he bring her with them, she'd just be a liability and they'd risk her being captured again. The only option seemed to be sending Much and Allan after Djaq – but that idea did not set well with him either. They were the weakest fighters in the band, and might not be able to take two men apiece.

"Robin," Much said, breaking Robin's concentration. "What should we do?"

"I'm thinking," Robin insisted. "Marian, we have to save Djaq. Can I leave you here with Much?"

"You're going to leave me?" she asked, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes.

"With Much," Robin said. "And just until we rescue Djaq."

Marian began to weep. It was unnerving for Robin. He'd never seen her cry before. Even at her own mother's funeral, she'd kept a sombre, grave expression. He'd always assumed that she did cry – as a rule, all women cried – but to actually see it shook him to the core. Her resolve, her conviction, her pure and simple reason were his rock. And now that rock was melting away in a shower of tears.

But, as if to prove that she had not lost too much of her reasonable and generous character, she let go of his tunic. "I need you to come back," she through her tears.

"I promise you, I will come back," Robin assured her, as he set her down in front of the fire pit, which had sunk into dim embers, but still emitted waves of warmth.

Marian closed her eyes and nodded. She even managed to produce a small, tight smile, though the charming effect was hampered by the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Robin took a deep breath and prepared to walk away from her – the woman he loved and who needed him so badly. But before he could even stand up, the sound of shouting erupted from the mouth of the cave.

Robin jumped between Marian and the cave, arming and drawing his bow in one quick movement. Much and Allan quickly joined him, both had swords drawn. They waited, tense, ready to spring into battle, until two forms erupted from the cave mouth.

"Where's Djaq?" Will Scarlet yelled, the second as he and John were out of the cave, "Tell me you stopped them!"

"No," Robin said, lowering his bow, "They jumped Allan and got away."

"They didn't jump me," Allan insisted, "They had her hostage."

"No!" Will cried, wiping blood out of his eyes. He and John had obviously just been in a fight. Will's forehead had a nasty gash on it, and both men were panting heavily.

"It couldn't have been more than ten minutes," John said. "We can still get them."

"Right," Robin said. "John, you take the lead. They headed towards the river."

"What about you?" Will asked.

"Someone needs to stay with Marian," Much said, "And she wants that someone to be him."

"There are four of you and four of them," Robin said, "They don't stand a chance."

"There are five of us," Will said.

"Didn't you hear?" Allan said, "Robin's staying with the girl."

"Robin didn't count Djaq," Will insisted, "You don't think she'll fight?"

"She won't have a chance if you don't get going," Robin said. "I'll meet you back at the camp."

The four men ran off towards the river, leaving Robin and Marian alone.

The second rescue

Djaq's hands were bound and tied to the prow of the boat. She could see the river pass behind them, and she could see that no one was in pursuit. The ropes were tight, and put horribly painful pressure on her broken wrist. But, she didn't have time to think about that. The man who had held a knife to her throat as he'd dragged her out of the cave was pointing a knife at her again. It was a very well made knife, with a sharp, gleaming steel blade and silver handle. The other men called him boss.

The boss pressed his blade against her cheek, threatening to take out her eye, and growled "How many are there?"

"I don't know," Djaq said honestly.

"Tell me," the boss said, flicking his wrist so that his blade sliced through Djaq's ear. "How many?"

"I do not know," Djaq insisted. Her ear stung, and she could feel blood streaming down her neck. "We saw three, there may be two more."

"So, five?"

"Maybe," Djaq admitted. "You've kept me for days. How can I know their plan?"

"What weapons?"

"Bow, sword, axe. . ."

"All weapons?"

"I don't know," Djaq said again. "But certainly bow."

"Boss," one of the other men said, fear in his voice. "We're sitting ducks in this boat. We've got to get to land."

"And then what? We walk?" the boss asked. "How will that make us safer?"

"It's Hood," the man insisted, glancing into the woods lining the river as they drifted past. "He's the best archer in all of England."

"Hood will have other things on his mind," the boss said. "We got out with this one, but the other whore is still there. Do you think Hood will bother with this bitch once he gets his lady fair back? We keep going."

The men fell silent as Djaq's mind raced. There had been two captives – two women – in that cave. And they expected Robin Hood to care more about the other captive then he would about her, one of his own gang. It didn't take Djaq long to figure out that Marian had been the other captive. Of course, if it was Marian, and if Marian had been treated as poorly as the men had treated Djaq, there was every reason to believe that Robin would abandon one of his gang in favour of caring for her. Djaq knew she should feel upset about this hypothetical abandonment, any man certainly would, but it only made her feel lonelier. She liked Marian too much to begrudge her a caring lover. And, if things were different, Djaq would have been the first to assure Robin that his place was beside Marian. For a moment, the young Saracen allowed herself to feel the deep ache of self-pity. They would come for her, of course. Not Robin, necessarily, but John and Will and Much and Allan. She would not be abandoned. Still, no one would come for her the way Robin came for Marian.

Djaq took a deep breath, and let the burning pain in her wrist overwhelm any feeling of melancholy. After all, the lack of romance in her life was hardly her biggest problem at the moment.

Suddenly, everything changed.

There was a loud splash behind her, and a huge wave crashed over her, soaking her to the bone. The boat rocked violently, and Djaq's ears were filled with screaming. She thought she heard Will's voice – he was calling her name. She blinked, and shook her head, trying to get the water out of her eyes. In the end, it was a futile effort, because the boat tipped and was capsized, and Djaq was thrown into the river.

While in the boat, the current had seemed calm and almost peaceful. But now that she was underwater, she realised that the river was moving quickly, and full of sharp sticks and fat fish which brushed against her constantly as the capsized boat rushed downstream, dragging her along. Her hands were still tied to the prow, allowing her to grab on to the nose of the boat and pull herself into a pocket of air between the up-turned hull and the water. She gasped for breath, sucking the air in greedily, before forcing herself to calm down and think clearly.

Unfortunately, Djaq quickly realised that no amount of clear thinking would save her. She could not flip the boat back onto its hull, because, at the prow of the boat, she had no leverage. Even if she had leverage, she wasn't strong enough. The wooden boat must have weighed twice as much as she did. And even if she'd had the strength, the boat would probably just fill with water and sink if she succeeded in righting it, dragging her down to the bottom of the river to drown. She briefly considered anchoring herself at the bottom of the river, in the hope that someone would come and help her, but, in most parts, the river was too deep, and the few times she was able to plant her feet, her broken ankle buckled and the current swept her away.

After what seemed like hours of struggling with the boat and the current, Djaq was physically exhausted, chilled to the bone, and crying from frustration and pain. She wanted to do something, anything, to affect her situation – but the only thing she seemed able to affect was the pain in her wrist, and even then, she could only increase it. Her ankle, at least, was not in pain – but that was just because the cold water had numbed it.

Suddenly, the boat shook, causing Djaq's wrist to twist, pain like lightening to rush up her arm, and a scream to erupt from her lungs. Dirty river water splashed into her mouth. She spat it out, feeling like she was going to vomit. Through it all, she hadn't stopped crying.

"Djaq," a voice yelled over the rushing current, echoing oddly against the wood, so that it sounded like the speaker was right next to her, at her ear.

"Will?" Djaq called back, struggling to speak through her sobs. "You have to help me! I'm tied to the boat." She craned her neck trying to see Will, but between the water and the tears, her eyes couldn't find him.

"I'm coming," Will cried, and the boat jarred again. Djaq couldn't hold back a scream of pain.

"I'm here," Will said as he pulled himself up to the prow of the boat. "Are you all right?"

"My wrists," Djaq managed to say between sobs. "Please . . ."

"Yeah," Will said curtly. "I'm going to go back up the boat, to pull my knife. I don't want to stab you."

"I don't care," Djaq snapped, irrationally.

"Right," Will said, slipping one of his hands under water.

He seemed to be moving very slowly, very purposefully, while the pain in Djaq's wrist was only getting worse. "Hurry, please," she sobbed.

"Like I said," Will told her as he pulled the knife out of the water. "I don't want to stab you. Cutting you loose won't mean a thing if you bleed to death. Now," he said, raising the knife blade to the rope, "Hold very still. And don't let go of the boat."

Djaq complied, so much as the river allowed. She also, somehow, managed to refrain from screaming every time her wrist was twisted, pushed, or poked as Will worked away at her heavy rope bonds. Eventually, the rope fell away, dropping into the water and quickly sinking. With her left hand, Djaq held on to the boat, fearful of being swept away from Will if she let the current take her. But she dropped her right hand, with her horribly bruised and swollen wrist, into the cool river water. The pain, which had been so sharp and so consuming for so long, eased away. And, for some reason, that made her want to cry too.

Will, very carefully, sheathed his knife. Then she felt his hand, a warm, solid pressure, on the small of her back. "Are you all right?"

Djaq nodded. "All right enough."

"We're going to have to get out from under this boat," Will said. "I'll count to three, and we'll both let go. We'll hit the bottom, and the boat will float over us. Then we'll be able to push up and see where we are."

"What if the current pulls us apart?" Djaq asked. Now that Will had found her, she felt she'd rather die than face the river alone again.

"I'll hold on to you," Will promised her. "I won't let you go. You just have to trust me."

"I trust you, Will."

"Good," Will said. "One . . ."

"We should take a deep breath after two," Djaq added quickly.

"Right," Will nodded. "One . . . two . . ."

They both took a deep breath.

"Three," Will said, and let go of the boat.

Djaq closed her eyes and released her grip on the boat. She felt herself sinking to the bottom of the river. But, more importantly, she felt Will's arms around her. Though she knew she was only a breath away from drowning, she felt safer in that moment then she had for days.

The bath

The cold night was blossoming into a beautiful pink morning. The light shone through the translucent green canopy, sparkling as if it had come through stained glass. The old horse plodded on at a peaceful walk, each step bringing Robin closer to home. And, best of all, the most beautiful woman in the world, Robin's one true love, was resting in his arms.

Almost as soon as they'd set off on the back of the old mare tied to the kidnappers' wagon, Marian had fallen asleep. She was sitting side saddle, her head resting on Robin's right shoulder, while his left hand held her close to his body, and kept her on the horse. Luckily, the mare was sweet tempered. Robin could steer her with his right hand, with gentle tugs on the reins. Apparently, she did not care where they were going, as long as she could get there in her own time.

The sun was well up in the sky when Robin reached the camp. No one else had arrived yet, but that didn't bother him. They would all have to walk the six miles from Colwik, while he'd ridden. For a moment, Robin worried about Djaq. There was no way to know if his men had found her. And, even if they had, they might not have been able to save her. But now was not the time to dwell on events he could not control. Events that he could control were far more pressing.

"Marian," he said softly as he rocked his shoulder gently to wake her. "We're here. You need to wake up."

"Umm..." the beautiful young woman murmured. "I'm so tired."

"I'm sorry," Robin said. "But if you wake up, I'll be able to draw you a bath, and give you some breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Marian said, pulling her head off his shoulder so she could look him in the eyes.

Robin smiled at her. "As much as you want."

Marian ate three bowls of Much's ham and onion soup and nearly a half a loaf of bread. Robin had never seen her eat any more than one serving. It bothered him a little that she was so unrestrained. He didn't mind losing the food – they could always find more – but he did mind that the Marian he knew, the temperate, calm, self-controlled Marian, kept disappearing. Robin could see the old Marian in the way she talked and moved and looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but some things were off – very, very off. It was as if she was a bow and her string had snapped.

"Thank you," she said genteelly as she put down her wooden cup and spoon. She had returned to her well-bred type.

"It was my pleasure," Robin said with a smile. "Now, how about the bath?"

"Robin," she said, an edge of condescension in her voice. "We are in the middle of the wood. Where will we find a bath?"

"Oh ye of little faith," he said, scooping her off the forest floor. "I am the son of a Baron, remember? I am accustomed to a certain lifestyle."

"Are you?" Marian asked flirtatiously. "Does that lifestyle include sleeping with dried leaves as your pillow?"

"No my lady," Robin said, as he stepped on the slab of limestone that Will had rigged as the trigger for the hide-out's door. The stone sank about an inch, and the forest floor before them opened up like a treasure chest, to reveal the outlaw's charming rustic lodge. "I sleep with them as my roof."

"Robin," Marian said in awe as he carried her into the permanent camp. "This place is amazing. How did you do it?"

"I didn't," he said as he set her down on a pile of bear furs in the corner near the bath tub. "Will did. The boy's a genius."

"He is," Marian agreed as she looked around with wide-eyed wonder. "He built all of this?"

"We all built it, but he designed it." Robin said as he tested the water in the tub, which rested on a metal grate over a hot coal fire. The fire heated the tub and the water in it, but the metal kept everything from catching fire. It was a brilliant contraption, which Djaq particularly enjoyed.

Robin's heart pained him at the thought of Djaq. But he didn't have long to worry over her rescue. Marian quickly stole back his attention.

"Outlaws, living the rough life in the woods, with their own fine hall, complete with table, chairs, furs, and a bath."

"Do you think it's too much?" Robin asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I told Will we needed a simple hiding place, but then everyone else started throwing out ideas and, eventually . . ."

"You got a little paradise in Sherwood forest," Marian finished, "Don't worry – it's not too much."

"Your bath is ready, Milady," Robin said. "Would you like some help getting into it?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't' you?" Marian said with a coy smile. "I'm sure I'll manage."

Robin sighed in mock disappointment. "Then, I'll leave you to it." He said, as he turned and walked to the far side of the camp, where the bath was hidden from view. "Call me if you need me," he told her – but he hoped she didn't call. If the caste and self-reliant Marian needed help getting into a bath, then that would show another crack in her character - another way that her kidnappers had broken her.

"Robin," she said, after he heard the satisfying splash of her easing herself into the water. "The water smells of lilacs."

"Yeah," Robin said. "I threw some petals in for you. After all, you are a lady."

"Lilac petals in the bath water," Marian said. "That may be a little too much."

"No, those petals are mine," Robin said, surprised by the forcefulness and conviction in his own voice. "They're from the bushes my mother planted behind the manor."

"Your mother's bushes," Marian said softly. "Of course. How did you get the petals?"

"We took them, at night," Robin said. "Actually, Allan and Will took them at night. It was sort of a dare, to see who could get the most without being seen. They were trying to impress Djaq, I think. Not that they had to worry – Sir Guy has let my mother's garden go to seed. It's so overgrown that an army could match through it without being seen."

"Are you worried about Djaq?" Marian asked. Her voice was soft and sounded, somehow, detached. Though, Robin thought, it might just be that she was relaxed. "Shouldn't they be back by now?"

"Yes to the first and no to the second," he answered. "It's about six miles from here to Colwik. A two-hour walk, if you don't have to dodge guards. We had a mare, so it took us half the time to get back."

"Still," Marian insisted. "We've been here for a while."

"You're forgetting they had to rescue Djaq. That takes time. And she was probably injured, like you. Will would undoubtedly make her a litter or a crutch – which will take time. And, even with the litter and the crutch, they'll be walking slower. I don't expect them for another hour, at least."

"It must be maddening," Marian said. "To not know."

"It is," Robin agreed. "When I have to think about it."

Marian did not acknowledge the Robins hint. "How long was she gone?"

"A week, as of yesterday."

"A week," Marian said in a whispered. "And how long was I gone?"

"You don't know?" Robin asked, surprised.

"I never saw the sun," Marian answered, sadly.

"Three weeks and two days," Robin told her.

"That's all?" Marian asked. "It felt longer. It felt like months."

Robin didn't know what to say to her, so he changed the subject. "I've got a gown for you here. It's one of the ones we grabbed from the Sheriff's sister. We figured it'd be too risky to give it away – he might see it and punish whoever owned it. Much was going to salvage the fabric and make us some new clothes . . . but it's a good thing that he didn't."

"So now I can wear the gown and be punished by the Sheriff?" Marian asked.

"He won't see you between here and Knighton Hall."

"Knighton," Marian muttered. "It will be good to be home."

"Your father is looking forward to seeing you," Robin said. "I told him we'd be there by sunset tonight."

"Why so long?" Marian asked. "We did we not go straight to Knighton?"

"Because, I didn't know how long rescuing you would take," Robin answered. "And I didn't know what shape you'd be in. It's better that you see your father with a clean face and hair, in a fine gown, than . . . well . . . than the way you were."

"Of course," Marian said softly.

Silence filled the room as both of them remembered how bad Marian had been in the cave. Finally, Marian broke the silence. "But what about you? You saw me in that state."

"What about me?" Robin asked.

"It's true I would not want my father to see me so degraded," Marian said, her voice rising out of fear, or frustration, or anger – Robin couldn't tell. "But what of you? Do you think I wanted you to see me like that? I used to be so proud; I used to be so lovely."

"Marian," Robin interjected, "You are lovely still."

"But now you know what . . . you saw . . . I . . . don't tell me you'll forget it, because you won't! For the rest of my life, when you look at me . . . ." her voice trailed off as she started crying.

"No," Robin said, emphatically. His heart screamed at him to run towards her, to look her in the eye, to tell her how beautiful she was, to hold her tightly, to kiss her passionately. But his mind had not forgotten that she was in a bath, naked, and, as a gentleman, he had to respect her privacy.

Marian continued to sob, and Robin stood in the middle of the camp, helpless. He wracked his mind, trying to think of something he could do to make her stop crying. Finally, he blurted out, "I love you, Marian."

For a moment, there was absolute silence. But once Robin had started talking, he found it very hard to stop. "And what happened doesn't change that. When I look at you, I see the little girl wearing a white Easter dress covered in mud. I see the girl daring me to horse races, and winning every time. I see you with that long brown hair, sneaking into the stable loft and hiding in the hay. I see the red dress you wore and the scowl on your face when I told you I was leaving for the Holy Land." He laughed, "I even see the Night Watchman."

"You see a lot," Marian commented.

"I see you," Robin replied. "And nothing will change that. I've known you for too long, and too well, to see anything less than who you are. And I can't help loving who you are."

"Do you mean that?" Marian asked. She sounded like she was about to cry again.

"Yes," Robin said, hoping the conviction in his voice would convince her not to cry. It didn't work.

"Marian," He said, letting his mouth hang open in the hopes that something else, the perfect words, would come out. But they didn't. He'd said everything, told her everything that was in his heart, and it had only made her cry. He didn't know what more he could do.

"Robin, will you marry me?" she suddenly asked.

"What?"

"It's so hard, being in the middle. I'm sick of it. I'm tired. I just want to stay here, in a peaceful hall in a peaceful wood. No scheming, no politics. Just quiet."

The more Marian talked, the more hurt Robin felt. His voice was hard and sharp as he pointed out, "Five men live here, Marian. It is rarely quiet."

"None of those men will be Sir Guy leering at me, or the Sheriff cursing me under his breath," Marian answered dreamily.

"Marian," Robin snapped. "You can't marry me!"

"What?" she asked, finally realising that he was upset. "I thought that's what you wanted."

"Not in this way!" Robin shouted. "I will not be the strong man you hide behind. I will not have that on my conscience."

"Are you saying you won't protect me?" Marian asked. Her voice was trembling again, and Robin realised she could burst into tears at any moment. But he was too upset to care.

"I'll protect you as best I can," Robin insisted. "But sweeping you away from your problems is not protecting you. It's making you weaker. And once your problems disappeared, you'd hate me for it."

"Robin," Marian said. "I could never hate you."

"You barely tolerate me now," Robin scoffed.

"We play a game," Marian insisted. "I thought you knew that."

"I stopped playing when I said 'I love you.' I was deadly serious."

"Robin, please," she begged. She was crying again. "Don't be angry at me."

With that simple request, Robin felt as if Marian had just dropped a thirty stone horse on him. He realised that it was petty, at best, and cruel, at worst, to lash out at her after what she'd been through. She was hardly herself. He should have given her time to rest and readjust to life, before opening up his heart. At the same time, though, he couldn't help but be angry with her for what she'd asked. She said she wanted to marry him – but only to run away from other men. She hadn't said she loved him – she just wanted to use him as a shield. Robin felt as if his deepest feelings, his very soul, had been disregarded, trampled on and abused. As much as his mind told him to give her time, his heart could not tolerate being ignored like that. Then she had added guilt into the mix, so that he no longer knew what to think or feel. The only thing he felt he could do was run away.

"I'm going to go to the lookout," he said, swallowing any emotion in his voice. "I may be able to see something from there."

"Robin, please . . ." Marian gasped. "I'm sorry. Don't leave me."

"I'll be just outside," Robin said. "If you need anything, scream. I'll hear you."

"Robin . . ." she said again. He could hear her splashing in the tub. She was trying to get out and follow him.

"Don't trouble yourself, I'll be right back," he said as he stormed out the small passageway that lead to the forest. Once outside, he took several deep breaths. He'd fought with Marian before – in some ways, he'd done nothing but fight with her since he'd returned from the Holy Land - but they'd never fought like this. He'd never been so honest, and so she'd never been able to hurt him so badly.

The unhappy tasks

Djaq fell again. She pitched forwards, for no apparent reason, and did not even try to catch herself.

"Djaq..." Will said, his voice full of worry as he knelt down to help her to her feet, yet again.

"I'm fine," she assured him before he could ask. "I'm just not used to walking with a crutch."

"This is the fifth time," Will pressed.

"We're close," Djaq insisted. "I can walk the rest of the way."

"You said that last time you fell," Will said. "Not even a hundred yards back."

"I just need to rest for a minute," Djaq proposed, closing her eyes.

"I don't like this," Will said nervously. "Maybe I should carry you."

"I can walk," Djaq insisted, though her voice was fading.

Will looked at the lovely woman, lying helplessly on the ground, before scanning the surrounding trees, hoping for a friendly face to emerge from the forest. He felt conflicted; he couldn't decide if it was better to override Djaq's wishes and carry her for the last mile, or to stand by and wait for her to recover and walk the rest of the way herself, or to run to the camp and try to bring back help.

"If I carry you, it'll only be a few minutes," Will finally said as he positioned himself next to her, ready to scoop her into his arms. "If you try to walk, and keep falling, it could take another hour."

Djaq didn't respond, which Will chose to interpret as consent. He worked his arm under her legs at the knee and under her shoulders by the neck. Very carefully, he stood up, lifting her off the ground in the process. She didn't fight him, but nor did she help him. Djaq just lay in his arms, deathly still.

"Djaq?" Will asked, shaking her gently. She groaned, softly, but didn't open her eyes or wrap her arms around his neck. More troubling still, she felt unnaturally warm – practically feverish. Will swore.

Trying not to panic, he began to sprint back to camp. Slowly, it seemed, the hills that flanked it came into sight, and he could see small wisps of smoke coming out of the old stump they used for a chimney.

Then, suddenly, a voice came out of nowhere. "Halt or I'll shoot!"

"Robin!" Will yelled, not bothering to look to see where his leader had hidden himself, "It's me! Djaq's ill!"

In a heartbeat, Robin appeared beside him. "How ill?"

"She won't wake up," Will said. His voice was strained and he was out of breath.

"I'll go back to camp and get it prepared for her," Robin said, before sprinting ahead.

When Will finally reached the camp several minutes later, he found Robin lying furs in front of the fireplace, and the beginnings of a warm fire on the hearth.

"You can set her here," Robin said, stepping away from the makeshift bed. "What happened?"

"They had her tied to a boat," Will said as he gently laid her in front of the fire. "When we attacked, the boat flipped and started dragging her downriver. Look at what the ropes did to her wrists."

Robin glanced down at Djaq's red and swollen wrists. When he spoke, there was a quiet anger in his voice, "How did you save her?"

"I jumped into the river," Will said. "Got under the boat and cut her loose."

"You jumped into the river?" Robin asked.

"Yeah," Will nodded.

"Will, you can't swim!"

"There wasn't time," Will insisted. "She was floating away."

"Much can swim why didn't he . . .?"

"There wasn't time," Will said again. "We were fighting. I don't think anyone else saw."

Robin sighed with a mix of vexation and relief. "Well, thank God you got her, at least. Know when the others will be back?"

"The river was fast – carried us miles upstream," Will said. "They could be a while."

Robin nodded, and looked grave. "Will, I need you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Marian's gone. She took the horse we commandeered from the bandits. I'm sure she's going to her father's house. Can you follow her, make sure she gets there?"

Will looked up at his leader, confused. "But, wouldn't you want . . .?"

"Will, please," Robin insisted, cutting off all protests.

"Right," Will nodded, as he pushed himself off the ground. He allowed himself one last look at Djaq. She looked beautifully peaceful with the fire casting its golden glow on her skin. Then he turned and left.

The Slave's Philosophy

Djaq opened her eyes and, to her great relief, saw Robin.

He was sitting in front of a fire fletching an arrow. His eyes were sharp and focused, his brow furrowed with concentration. The tip of his tongue stuck out of his mouth.

Djaq had seen Robin fletching arrows hundreds of times. It was what he did to keep his hands busy during any time of relative peace. But, even though it was a difficult task, she had never seen him concentrate on it before. His fingers knew what they were doing, and they did it very well. Robin's arrows always flew true, partly because he had fletched them himself.

But now he wasn't letting his fingers do the work. He was focusing all his concentration on sliding a feather into the notch on the end of the shaft and, as a result, the feather bent and broke. Sighing deeply, Robin pulled it out and cut another piece of feather.

Djaq watched this process for several minutes. Seeing Robin, even though he was uncharacteristically frustrated, made her feel safe. And for the first time in weeks, she was close enough to a fire to feel its comforting warmth.

Djaq's pedestrian paradise was interrupted when Robin glanced over and that she was awake.

"Hello," he said, smiling down at her with the same patronising affection that her grandfather had lavished on her when she was just a child. "Welcome back to the world."

She opened her mouth to speak, only to start coughing. Her body jerked violently, as her throat tried to expel something, though she didn't know what. Her lungs burned, her head ached, and her eyes watered with the force of the convulsions. She could feel Robin gently lifting her torso up until she was in a sitting position. The coughing improved. Once she'd finally caught her breath and managed to stop coughing, she realised that Robin had put a warm goblet in her hand.

"What's this?" she asked, her voice rasping.

"Water, with elderberry cordial mixed in," Robin said. "It's good medicine."

Djaq took a drink. The warm, thick liquid slid down her throat, smothering the pain and leaving a sweet aftertaste. "Thank you," she said, handing the goblet back to Robin once it was empty, "I feel better."

Robin smiled at her as he took the cup. "Good enough to eat something? I've got some bread here, and fish broth."

Suddenly, it seemed, Djaq's stomach ached and her head spun with hunger pains. When Robin handed her the bowl, it was all she could do to keep from lapping it up like a dog. After two bowls of broth and six slices of bread, the painful hunger finally gave way to a comfortable fullness. "Thank you," she said again. "It's been a long time since I've had enough to eat."

Robin nodded and smiled at her, though his eyes looked sad. "I'm sorry Djaq," he said earnestly. "We should have found you sooner."

"I know you did your best," Djaq told him. "What more could you do?"

"We could have done better," Robin insisted. "What happened to you . . ."

"Where is Will?" Djaq asked, before she was forced to reflect on what had happened to her.

"I sent him to look after Marian," Robin said. "She wanted to go home."

"Why didn't you go with her?" Djaq asked.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," Robin said.

Djaq smiled, and shook her head. "I believe that is true. But I also believe that nothing could keep you from protecting Marian. You knew I was safe, yet you didn't stay with her. Why?"

"I should let you rest," Robin said. His voice was kind but firm, making it clear that he didn't want to talk about it.

"Robin, I have been alone in silence for days upon days," Djaq said. "If you want to do something for me, talk to me."

Robin took a deep breath and nodded. "I wish Much had fished you out of the river," he said. "Then you'd have someone up to the task."

Djaq smiled. "At least it was not John – for then I'd be even worse off than I am now."

This small slight made Robin smile. "What shall we talk about then?" he asked. "I wish there was interesting news from Nottingham, but things have been quiet. Mostly because we've been too busy looking for you to cause any trouble."

"Then the Sheriff's plan worked," Djaq said. "I suppose there must be a first time for everything."

"You think the Sheriff's behind this?"

"Who else would hurt you so cruelly?" Djaq asked.

Robin laughed nervously, "It wasn't me they hurt. Not mostly, anyway"

Djaq's eyes drifted to the fire, "Perhaps not," she said softly. "Not like they hurt us. But it wasn't about hurting us. It was about hurting you."

"Djaq . . . I'm sorry."

"You are not to blame," she said.

"I put you in danger. Horrible danger. This never would have happened if . . ."

"If you had not saved me from the slave trader?" Djaq offered, turning to look at Robin. "True. It wouldn't have."

"Maybe you should have gone home after that," Robin said with a sigh. "Maybe . . ."

"Then Marian would have died from the wound Gisborne gave to the Night Watchman," Djaq insisted. "I chose to be with you, despite the risks. Marian chose you over Gisborne, despite the risks . . ."

"You say that as if these attacks were your fault. They are not."

"They are not your fault either, Robin," Djaq said.

"I know . . ." Robin said. "I know. It's just . . ."

"Tell me."

He glanced at her, the fire light twinkling in his eyes, and smiled kindly. "No. You've had trouble enough, without me adding my own heartaches."

"Please," Djaq said. "I'd far rather think of your troubles than my own."

"Well," Robin said hesitantly. "I suppose . . ."

"It's about Marian?" Djaq asked, though she knew the answer. "Why she left with Will instead of you?"

"She didn't leave with Will," Robin explained. "She left, and I sent Will after her, to make sure she arrived safely at Knighton."

"Losing her again would kill you," Djaq noted.

"I don't know that it matters," Robin said. "She ran away from here, from me, after I said I wouldn't marry her."

"Robin!" Djaq gasped. "You love Marian. Surely you are not so cold as to refuse marriage because other men . . ."

"No!" Robin said, defensively. "I mean, I don't think so. It wasn't what happened in that cave . . . at least, I haven't changed because of what happened in that cave."

"But Marian has." Djaq concluded for him.

"I still love her," Robin said. "I'll love her always. But when she asked me to marry her, she wasn't herself. She was still frightened, still running away. She wanted me to shield her, to protect her from the forces in Nottingham."

"And you didn't want to?"

"Yes!" Robin said, vehemently. "I wanted to. If I ever thought she'd listen, I'd beg her to come away with me! But this is Marian we're talking about. If I took her away from life in Nottingham, I'd be taking away her heart.

"True, she might be happy for a while to have me as her husband and protector. But how long would that last? How long until she remembers how much power she had in that castle? How long until she starts pining for the freedom?"

"You think she regret her choice?"

"I think she will grow to hate me," Robin admitted. "And I'd rather see her suffer alone, then see her suffer and know that I'm the cause of it."

"So," Djaq said, a thin smile creeping onto her mouth. "You are, in fact, protecting her."

Robin laughed bitterly. "She doesn't see it that way."

"You should explain it."

"How?" Robin asked. "She ran away."

"Well, you could start by following her," Djaq said.

Robin didn't respond. Instead, he turned back to the fire and stared into the hot red embers.

After a heavy silence, Djaq started talking. She didn't dare look at Robin, for fear that his clear blue eyes would fill her with shame. Her eyes stayed focused on the fire, even as her story delved into the deepest places of her heart.

"It is hard, being a captive," she started. "I think, in some ways, we are all born into captivity. Our parents have control over us. They have the power to see us starve, or freeze, or be beaten. But even those mothers who do let their children starve and freeze are beloved. They are needed. And need and love are very close indeed."

"I don't understand," Robin said.

"I have been a captive in one way or other for most of my life," Djaq said. "Childhood is cheerful captivity. When I was allowed to accompany my brother to war, I thought I was free – but I was not. I was indulged. When the crusaders captured me, I learned how cruel captivity could be. But I also learned how to survive it."

"How?"

"When you are a child, it's called obedience," Djaq said. "When you are an adult, it is compliance."

Robin inhaled sharply. "That is a terrible price."

"Perhaps," Djaq said. "Or, perhaps it's a cunning plan. When I was captured in the Holy Land, I convinced the slavers that I was a male. It made them happy, and it kept me safe."

"How safe?"

"Safe enough," Djaq insisted. "They wanted brutish barbarians, so I pretended not to know English, French, or Latin. Again, it kept me safe."

"Do you think Marian could do that, though?" Robin asked. "Hide herself away in that way?"

"She hides herself away all the time, from most of the people in her life," Djaq pointed out. "Just because you saw through her, doesn't mean that others do."

"I understand that it helps to make your captor happy," Robin said. "But, I don't see what that has to do with..."

"I think she was trying to make you happy," Djaq said. "Once you train yourself to be compliant, it is hard to stop. After weeks of doing everything a man tells you to do realising that you can, once again, do anything, absolutely anything, is too much. You seek structure, confinement. You want someone to tell you what to do. But, at the same time, you need to trust them to only ask you to do things you would want to do anyway."

"That's why you stayed with us?" Robin asked. "Because you wanted me to tell you what to do?"

"I don't know . . ." Djaq admitted. "Maybe. Sometimes, freedom is terrifying."

"You are not my slave," Robin said vehemently. "I will never make you do anything."

"That's not what I'm saying," Djaq insisted. "I'm simply pointing out that Marian is certainly hurting and probably confused. She cannot be who she was – not yet anyway."

"So what should I do?"

"Be who you are," Djaq said. "You are a good man who does not keep slaves. When I am in your company, I can learn how not to be a slave, how not to be afraid and compliant. Someday I hope to feel brave enough to leave your company – as a free woman who is subservient to no one."

Robin looked at her dumbly, so Djaq continued. "Be to Marian who you always were – the loving pursuer and faithful protector. It is the only way she can remember who she is."

The Evening

There was much ruckus when the rest of the gang returned. At first, there was an outpouring of joy, as they saw Djaq safe and sound. Then, there was an outpouring of complaints, and they described how they'd had to fight off the bandits, only to have Sir Guy of Gisborne ride by with a garrison, so they all had to jump into the river to escape capture. Then, once safely down-stream, they had to trudge along the river bank looking for Will and Djaq. It had taken them two hours to find the boat. Then, to add insult to injury, another storm had blown up during their trek back from the river, so that they were dripping wet by the time they reached the camp.

Will had also been caught in the storm on his way back from Knighton Hall. However, he was lucky enough to find a roaring fire in the hearth and a full kettle of chicken and leek soup when he returned to the camp. The afternoon was spent pleasantly in front of the fire, the band of outlaws laughing and joking. Much fussed over the Yorkshire pudding he was making for dinner. Will whittled rods for arrows, all notched them, and Robin fletched them with chicken feathers. John sharpened his axe. And Djaq sat soaking it all in.

When darkness fell, the band of merry men quickly went to their beds. It had been a long, exhausting night and day since they last slept. But Robin couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about his conversation with Marian that morning. He couldn't stop hearing her say Sir Guy leering at me, or the Sheriff cursing me under his breath and Robin, please, don't be angry with me. He tried to take comfort in what Djaq had told him, that Marian was probably frightened and that she needed time to find her strength. But the more he considered that, the more he realised that he should have been kinder to her. He should have made every effort to comfort her, instead of taking everything she said so seriously. After lying quietly in bed for what felt like hours, Robin gave up on sleep. He rolled out of his hammock and ventured out into the woods. He had no specific plans, he told himself, he just wanted to walk himself to exhaustion. And, the eastward path, which happened to go towards Knighton hall, was as good a path as any.

The Dream

Djaq woke up with a start. She was breathing heavily, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't remember what she'd been dreaming about, but she knew it had terrified her.

"Y'alright?" a gentle voice asked, very near to her ear.

Djaq blinked several times and looked around. The sky outside was dark, clouds blocking out the moon and stars. But there was just enough light to see Will's unmistakable form sitting next to her.

"You were muttering in your sleep," Will explained. "It didn't sound like a nice dream."

"It wasn't," Djaq answered.

There was a moment of silence, while Djaq calmed her breathing. She was so exhausted, all she wanted to do was sleep, but she dreaded closing her eyes. The feeling of the nightmare still haunted her. She knew that, physically, she could not stay awake, but she didn't dare drift back to sleep. When she was asleep, she was alone. When she was alone, she was vulnerable. And when she was vulnerable, she got hurt. She wanted to ask Will to stay with her, close, all night, to watch over her like a guardian angel, but she didn't have the words.

"Can I get you anything?" Will asked. "Water or something?"

"No," Djaq answered quickly. "Please, just stay here. I feel safer with you here."

There was a moment of silence before Will answered. "All right, I won't move."

"Thank you," Djaq said with a yawn as she eased herself back down onto the bed and quickly surrendered to sleep.

She dreamt again.

The hot sun was beating down on her. It cut through the crystal blue sky and made the sandy ground and sand-coloured buildings glisten as if they were made of amethyst. The dark green of the trees and shrubs in the garden softened the landscape, and the glistening of clear water in the fountain created a sense of luminescent peace.

Djaq was home. Or, to be more precise, she was in her childhood home – her father's house outside of Damascus. This was a safe place. She wanted to rest there.

But then she heard a noise inside the house. It sounded like someone was breaking something – perhaps one of her father's fine Persian vases or expensive glass jars from Italy. She went into the house to investigate, but became afraid. It should have been bustling, full of life. Instead, it was deserted. There were no servants, no brothers or sisters, no other-mothers; no cats, dogs, chickens or goats. There were not even any rugs, tables, draperies or cushions. There was nothing but emptiness. And a crashing, breaking noise that became more frightening the closer she came to it.

Djaq considered turning around and running away, back to the safety of the garden, or perhaps even further, all the way to England. But before could make up her mind to do so, she found herself surrounded by pale-skinned men with bleached blond hair wearing the white and red of the Templers, and brandishing deadly steel blades.

One stepped forward and started tearing off her clothing. The hadjab went first, of course, but he did not stop there. Djaq began to cry, out of fear. The knights only laughed. Finally, she built up the courage to speak. "Why are you doing this to me?" she demanded. "I have never hurt anyone!"

The knights laughed louder, and one answered in the Sheriff's cold, nasally voice. "Because we can."

"Stop, please stop," she sobbed.

Then the earth started to shake.

"Djaq," Will's voice said, echoing from somewhere above her, "You're dreaming. Wake up."

Obediently, Djaq's eyes snapped open. She was surrounded by quiet and darkness, but the horrible memories of her sun-soaked torture still lingered. She gasped and grabbed at the arms that were shaking her, pulling herself towards Will's torso. Once her head reached his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her, she let herself cry. She didn't wail, or sob, but tears flowed out of her eyes as Will, as silent as she, held her tightly.

Eventually, the terror and the pain ebbed, to be replaced by exhaustion. She sank into Will's arms and let the steady percussion of his heartbeat lull her to sleep. The soft rhythmic pounding beat its way into her dreams, where, like war drums, it kept enemies at bay and let her rest.

The Night Watchman

"Take another step and I'll run you through," Marian said. Her voice was as cold and hard as the old sword she had pressed against his chest, right over his heart.

"You wouldn't do that," Robin said, not moving from his precarious perch at her window. One foot was on the sill, while the other was outside, on the little ledge. He couldn't back up, he'd fall off. But he wouldn't have, even if he were on flat ground. Robin had already abandoned her once; he wasn't going to do that again.

"I swear I will," Marian said. "Leave now, Robin. I'll not be hurt again."

"I didn't come here to hurt you," Robin said, his eyes on Marian's wrists, which were starting to tremble under the strain of holding the sword out. "I came to apologise."

"I accept your apology," Marian said. "Now leave."

"So," Robin said conversationally. "Do you plan to skewer everyone who comes to see you from now on?"

"I'm considering it."

"I don't think your great-great-grandfather would approve of you using his sword in that way."

"He brought it from Normandy to kill Englishmen; I don't see why he'd mind."

"He was my great-great-grandfather too," Robin reminded her. Then, changing the subject, "I was always jealous that you had it in your house."

"When we were children?"

"Still," Robin admitted. "It's a magnificent sword."

"You want to distract me so that I lower my guard."

"Not at all," Robin said. "I want you to decide to lower your guard."

"Why should I?"

"Because we're third cousins?"

"Robin."

"Because I love you," Robin said softly. "I always have. I will not hurt you, Marian."

"You're a liar," Marian answered. Her voice was hard. "You've hurt me more than anyone else ever has or could."

Robin stared at her, speechless. Marian, on the other hand, had more than enough to say.

"We were betrothed, and you left me to fight for a god you only grudgingly believe in."

"I needed a fight," Robin said. "You knew me then. You know that to be true."

"You made me wait. You made me see the younger girls married off, and hear them laugh at me behind my back. You made the older women look at me, shaking their heads and muttering 'what a pity, she was such a lovely lass.' You left me unprotected from the desperate, despicable men who assume I will adore them because I am too old to hope for anything better.

"Then, when you come back and I finally have some hope of making you keep your promise, or at least having a friend and ally in the counsel of barons, you abandon me again!"

"They would have hung Will and Allan," Robin protested.

"I know," Marian answered, "Damn you Robin. You do the right thing. You always do the right thing. And it always, always cuts my heart to shreds."

"I'm sorry," Robin said. "I am so sorry."

"Don't," Marian said, shaking her head, as tears slipped out of her eyes and started running down her cheeks. "Apologies change nothing. You can't undo what was done."

"No, I can't," Robin admitted. "And you won't forgive me?"

Marian didn't answer, but she held the sword steadily.

"Aren't you tired?" Robin asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The sword," Robin said, nodding towards the point pressing against his chest. "It weighs over a stone."

The sword wavered, as the tears streaming down her cheek grew in intensity. "I can't put it down," She confessed. "I'm too frightened."

"Frightened of me?"

"Frightened, Robin," she said, truly crying. "I'm so frightened. My enemies are everywhere, I'm fighting losing battles right and left, and my allies are forced to hide in the woods. I am so tired, but when I close my eyes all I see is . . ." she gasped as true sobs overtook her. "I'm frightened," she finally said again. "I cannot put the sword down."

"Then let me take it up," Robin said, grabbing the blade – which had grown dull from years of display. He pulled on it gently and she let go. The hilt fell, knocking loudly on the wooden floor, but neither of them heard it. Marian was sobbing uncontrollably, and Robin was pulling her into a close embrace.

"It's alright," he whispered into her ear as he stroked her silky black hair. "You don't have to fight. You're safe right now. You're safe."

"Oh, Robin," she sobbed as she grabbed his tunic, pulling him closer to her, as close as two people could possibly be. "Don't leave me again."

"I promise to protect you," He said, knowing it fell short of what she'd asked, but unwilling to make promises he couldn't keep and betray her again. "I will not let anything happen to you. I'll fight for you."

"I need you," Marian whimpered as her strength gave way and she started to collapse onto the floor. Robin held her up for a moment, but quickly realised it would be easier to sink down with her. He lowered them both to the floor, bracing his back against the bed, and his left leg against the wall, while one arm wrapped around her shoulder and another around her waist. . Marian nuzzled close to him, resting her head on his chest and lying between his legs. "I can't fight alone anymore," she said. "I just can't. I'm broken -- shattered."

"You'll mend," Robin assured her, kissing her forehead. "Time eases the pain, sews up your heart, and makes you stronger."

"It hurts so much," Marian muttered into the soft suede of his tunic.

"I know," Robin answered. "In the Holy Land bad things happened. Horrible things. And I broke. Much will tell you as much. When I was wounded, it was almost an opportunity. I gave up. I didn't want to fight anymore. I wanted to die. I couldn't bear the thought of living another day. It was so hard, and so pointless."

He felt Marian's tense body relax as he spoke. It was from relief, he imagined, relief that someone understood how much she hurt – and had come out of that pain, strong and whole.

"How did you . . ." she whispered.

"I'm not sure," Robin admitted. "Much was there. He was always there. Telling me I was too good to die, that I was needed. I didn't believe him, but I couldn't not listen. Then there were the monks, who knew enough to pray for my soul, instead of my body. They would say things like 'God forgives you, my son,' and I didn't dare believe that, but I couldn't not believe it either. So when the King sent us home so I could recover, I had all these ideas in my head about being needed, and being forgiven. It's not that suddenly I wanted to live and fight another day. Slowly, things stopped hurting so much, and these things that I was told over and over again started to sound like the truth – perhaps I really was needed, perhaps I had been forgiven. And as I started to believe that, I started to act like a person who was good, who had something good to do. And it feels better. It doesn't feel great, I should tell you that. But it feels better."

Marian considered this confession for a minute before she said, "I'm glad you went to the crusades. You did need to fight. And it changed you."

"Is that forgiveness?"

"I suppose so," she said. "You are good, Robin. You are needed."

"So are you, Marian," Robin assured here. "I've never known a person whose heart had more good than yours, more courage or charity. The Sheriff can plot and politic all he wants, but he can't beat you. He's never stopped the Night Watchman. He's not that clever. And he's never banned you from the castle – he has no idea what you're capable of. He can't conceive it."

"I don't know if I can be that person anymore," Marian said.

"I know you can," Robin assured her. "Perhaps not right away, but eventually. I know how good you are, how needed you are, and how strong you are. You're not broken Marian – just bruised. You'll get better. You'll fight again."

"It sounds so hard." Marian's voice wavered, as if she were about to burst into tears again.

"Rest now," he told her, kissing her head again and hugging her tightly. "Gain strength. It'll be easier than you think."

"Hum..." Marian murmured in assent as she closed her eyes. Soon, Robin felt her body go limp as sleep took her away. He hoped it would be to someplace dark and calm where she could rest, not a place of nightmares or memories. But, in either event, he was determined to stay there, protecting her, giving her strength, acting as a night watchman over her fragile spirit.

The road to the Gallows

"Marian!" her father called, and there was a loud pounding on the door.

"Wha...?" the woman muttered as she stumbled out of sleep and into a very confusing reality. One side of her was chilled, while the other was very warm. Her back and neck ached. The room was filled with light, as if it was mid-day, and there were two heavy things entangling her waist and her shoulders.

"Are you well, Marian?" Sir Edward called, pounding on the door again. "Shall I send in Sarah?"

"No," Marian answered as she began to remember her situation. The warmth she felt was Robin, and she was tangled in his arms. She didn't want to lose that warmth, or become untangled. "I'm just . . . I'm quite well. Very tired though."

"Well," Sir Edward said hesitantly. "There is news from Nottingham. An execution is scheduled for today."

"There is an execution scheduled almost every day," Marian said, turning to look at Robin, who was awake and listening. "Why is this news?

"Because," Sir Edward said nervously. "The men they are executing may be the men who captured you."

"What?" Marian asked. She suddenly felt as if the floor had dropped out from under her, and she was falling, plummeting through an endless abyss. She gripped Robin's arms tightly, hoping he could be her anchor, but the feeling didn't go away.

"They're from Saxony, you see," Sir Edward said. "They are to be executed for trying to defraud the Sheriff. He must know you've come home, Marian. I'm sure he did not want that to happen."

"What should I do?" Marian asked, looking at Robin. It was her father that answered.

"While the Sheriff is no friend of Justice, he has found himself on the right side of it in this case. These men deserve death for what they did to you."

"Should I be happy?" Marian wondered aloud. "Or relived?" She looked again at Robin. "Should I go?"

Again, her father answered. "They'll be hanged at sundown. If you want the carriage, it is at your disposal."

"I don't want to go alone," she told both men.

"I will be at your disposal as well," Sir Edward said. "It is almost noon now. Shall I let you rest? Or, if you'd like, Sarah could bring up your dinner."

"I'm not hungry just yet," Marian said. She was still gripping Robin's arms, and she was still falling. "I'll come down for dinner when I'm ready."

"Of course, my dear," Sir Edward said. "Take all the time you need."

The floor boards creaked as he walked away from the door and down the stairs.

"What should I do?" Marian asked, once again resting her head on Robin's chest. "I can't face them."

"You don't have to talk to them, or look them in the eye," Robin said. "You just have to stand in the crowd."

"All those people . . . I couldn't..."

"No one would know why you were there."

She pushed herself away and looked him in the eyes. "Do you want me to go?"

Robin glanced down. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe. If it would exorcise the demons."

"What if I go and they see me? What if I cry, or scream, or faint?"

"Your father would be there."

"People can't know what happened."

He reached down and touched her face, "Don't be afraid," he said softly. "They can't hurt you anymore, not if you're brave. And, if you don't face them today, you'll never get another chance."

"I need more time," Marian begged. "It's too soon."

"Yeah, I know," Robin said compassionately. "But you have to make a decision."

"Will you be there?" Marian asked. "I know you can't come with me. But, please, be there."

"Of course," Robin said, pulling her close to him and kissing her forehead. "I told you last night, I will protect you."

Marian sighed. "Can you really do that?" she asked, "when you're in the woods and I'm here?"

Robin couldn't help but smile. "That's the Marian I love, always nay-saying my plans."

"Did you lie to me last night, just to get me to trust you?" she asked, but her voice wasn't angry and she didn't pull away from his warm embrace.

"No," Robin said. "I told you 'I will not let anything happen to you,' and I meant it. I swear to whatever God is in the heavens that I will be here if you ever need protection. I will fight for you. I will kill for you. If needs be, I'll die for you."

"Don't say that," Marian begged. "If you die, I am alone. I couldn't bear that again, Robin."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The place where it ends

At sunset, Marian walked through the gates of Nottingham castle, trying to be brave and look calm. Following here were a group of hooded figures that appeared to be monks. They weren't, of course.

She'd agreed to meet her father at a nearby tavern after the execution. She needed a reason to leave, she explained, in case someone tried to talk to her and keep her in the courtyard with her tormentors' corpses hanging from the gallows. She needed an escape, next step, a future.

But no amount of future could save her from her past. As she joined the crowd already surrounding the gallows, she heard her name called out by a dark and familiar voice.

"Marian!" Sir Guy yelled, pushing aside people in the crowd, including some of Robin's gang, to reach her.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

She glanced around nervously, until her eyes fell on Robin, who was standing just behind Sir Guy. His eyes seemed to tell her 'you're strong enough', but she knew that, if she asked, he'd do anything to spare her from this frightening situation. Somehow, knowing she could be rescued made her feel like she did not need it.

"I've been in London," she said. "Visiting my Father's Aunt. And avoiding you, I'm sorry to say."

"Your father was looking for you," Sir Guy pressed – not accusing her of a lie, but rather, very confused.

"He didn't know I'd gone," Marian said. "You see, after my shameful behaviour at . . . after I left you . . . . I couldn't face the people here. I ran straight to London, where I knew my aunt would shelter me. I sent word to my father, but I hear it did not reach him for several days."

"I see," Sir Guy said. He was still confused, but he could not comprehend that she would lie. "May I ask why you have returned?"

"I missed home," Marian said, managing to smile sweetly. "No amount of shame is worth leaving Nottinghamshire."

"Why are you here today, may I ask?" Sir Guy said. "You usually frown on hangings."

"My father is meeting a business partner at the Bear and Bowl," She explained. "This is more interesting then listening to them discuss the price of corn."

"Of course," Sir Guy said dryly. "Do you intent to watch with the other nobles, from the castle?"

"No," Marian said, shaking her head. "I'm supposed to meet him at sunset. I shall be late as it is."

"Of course," Sir Guy said again. "Then, if you'll excuse me, I have duties."

"Yes, of course," Marian said, offering him a small curtsy. He nodded in acknowledgement and headed to the stairs, where the Sheriff was waiting.

Once he was out of ear shot, Robin stepped towards her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Fine," Marian said, smiling at him. "A little shaken, but fine."

"You did beautifully," Robin assured her.

"Good," Marian said, her smile melting away. "Because the hard part is just starting."

Robin turned and saw what she'd seen – the men from Saxony were being led up to the gallows.

Marian watched, horrified and entranced, as four of the men who'd terrorised her for over a fortnight stood on the four sides of the gallows. To her distress, the Boss was not one of them.

"There were two more," she whispered, so that only Robin could hear. "The Boss and a younger man."

"The Boss was drowned in the river," Robin said. "If you want to see his body, it washed up just south of town, near Watt Grover's farm."

"How do you know it's him?"

"Will and Djaq went to have a look. It was him."

"I'm glad he's dead," Marian said bluntly, as she stared glassily at the four men, now hooded, who were about to join their leader. "And the other?"

"Gone," Robin said, shaking his head. "Can't be found, alive or dead. But then, we haven't spent much time looking."

Terror thrilled down Marian's spine. One of them was still out there. One had gotten away. She stepped closer to Robin, her protector, and slipped her hand in his. He squeezed it, lovingly, and she felt her anxiety drop.

Then, the trap door opened and the men dropped. Marian gasped, and she squeezed Robin's hand with all her strength. He squeezed back.

"Are you all right?" Robin asked her.

"Yes," She said, turning to look at him. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and sharp determination. "I think I'll be fine."

The Epilogue

"You all right, Djaq?" Will asked, as four of her kidnappers swung by their necks.

"Justice has been done," Djaq said callously, as she turned away from the scaffolding and started towards the castle door. "I am satisfied."

"But there's still that one guy out there," Allan said. "How we gonna find him?"

"There is no need," Djaq said. "His deeds will find him eventually."

"We will find him," Robin said, as he and Marian joined the conversation as it exited the castle walls and started to weave through the narrow streets towards the Bear and Bowl.

"No," Marian said softly. "Djaq's right. There is no need."

"Are you sure?" Robin asked.

"It should end here," Djaq said. "The Boss is dead. Many of his men are dead. To seek out more death would just be petty revenge. It is beneath us."

"I agree," Marian said. "It needs to be over, and it can end here."

The End