Author's note: Profuse thanks again to my beta, bookishy, whose saint-like wisdom and patience is worthy of no-less than a Nobel prize. I've edited this story since her last review, so any and all problems are my fault.

October 1193

The candle's light danced along the stone walls as though in celebration, bathing the room in a weak glow. Marian cupped her hands around the flame, borrowing its warmth. Wax pooled thickly around the wick, threatening to engulf it. Only the eleventh and twelfth marks still remained on the stem. She would soon be out her reading light.

Guy had locked her in this room ten hours ago, and she hadn't seen a soul since. When hunger pangs had struck, she wondered if this was punishment or if he had just forgotten her. Even if she could leave the room, she would not. Guy had promised her that he would save her friends from death and other harm, under condition that she wait for him to return. Once he was back, she would marry him. Now that she had time to consider the arrangement, she decided that it was deeply flawed. She couldn't get out, so her promise to wait was pointless. Guy could easily have changed his mind about following through, or he could have been lying when he agreed and thus left her here to rot.

She tried distracting herself, but her fears continued to coalesce. Each time she glanced at the candle, with its numbered marks disappearing as the day gave into night, she thought of Robin, and she worried. It should not take so long to save a man's life; Guy should have returned by now.

An icy wind escaped from beneath the window curtain, and snapped at her limbs. She drew her cloak around her. Winter was closing fast this year. She thought of the chilly nights spent in the forest, and the cloak she was secretly embroidering for Robin as a birthday present. She'd throw it to the dogs before she saw it on Guy, if Robin was dead. Surely God would not force her to weather Robin's death this year too. At least until Spring, she prayed silently. Let me have that long. She picked up the small figure she kept on her desk of her father's patron saint, St. Edward, but her fingers shrank from its painted smile.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, scattering her thoughts. It must be Guy – he had finally returned for her. When she heard pounding on the door, she felt certain. Her heart rose to her throat as she frantically checked her hair in a small hand-mirror, racing to finish before he finished wrestling with the lock. If Guy had failed to save Robin, or if something else had gone wrong, he might blame her. Could she manage him? The man had such a terrible, stupid temper, and she didn't have another house for him to burn. After a moment's hesitation, she twisted her hair upwards, securing the knot with her dagger-pin. He could kill her now, she realized, and a cold shiver scratched down her spine. There was no one around who would defend her, and Vasey would probably reward Guy for her blood.

When the door burst open behind her, she was half-surprised not to die on the spot. Tentatively, she peeked over her shoulder to see Guy of Gisborne, his long figure looming in the doorway. He stared at her like a wolf that had cornered a rabbit. A fresh cut stretched over his forehead from his left eye to his hairline. She could only guess who'd grazed him.

Swallowing her fear, she rose to her feet, facing him at her full height. What he did next, she did not expect.

In two long strides he covered the space between them, enfolded her in his arms and hugged her close. His face burrowed into the space between her neck and her shoulder; the warm breath from his nose tickled her skin. Her surprise gave way quickly. Soon she found herself relaxing in his grip and wrapping her arms around his back. With his warm body against her, all of her buried emotions started to resurface – her worry over Robin and her friends, her hatred of the sheriff, of Allan's betrayal, her fear for the king, even her grief for her father. Overwhelmed, she crushed herself into Guy's yielding shoulder, squeezing her eyes against tears for as long as she could. Eventually, she gave way to deep sobs. Guy held her and rocked her softly.

She had no idea how long they stayed melded that way. If he could stay this way forever, she thought, she would not mind marrying him. The man holding her now was entirely different from the man who had threatened her earlier. Eventually, her face itched from tears, and she drew a few inches away. She felt Guy's lips on her forehead and her stomach clenched.

"You're cold," he said finally, and she would have smiled at his simplicity except that her chill was partially his fault. Of course she was cold – her firewood had run out hours ago, and her room was sealed. He withdrew his long coat and pulled it around her shoulders. She looked up at him and again saw the cut on his brow. Feeling adventurous, she ghosted her fingertips over the scratch, testing to see how tender the skin was. He pushed her hand away.

"Tell me what has happened today," she ordered.

"Everything has happened," he murmured teasingly and led her backwards into the candlelight, where his gaze swept over her, slowly. She could see the tiny veins in his eyes, whispering around the edges like threads of smoke. The corners of his mouth held the hint of a smile. "I kept my promise," he informed her, and her heart thudded.

"But how…"

Guy put a gloved finger to her lips and spoke in a hushed tone, as though they might be heard. "The Sheriff and I made a deal. It's complicated, but for now, Hood is alive."

Her knees shook as she went dizzy with relief, and she willed herself to stand upright. Robin, John, Much, Will, Djaq – no, they were not dead yet. A small voice at the back of her mind shrieked, asking for proof, but after the angst of waiting, Guy's answer was enough. Joy had been absent from her life for so long that she welcomed even its phantom. For a moment, she could barely hear anything beyond the rush of blood in her ears, barely think past her joy that Robin was alive, would live, and so she did not resist when Guy, mumbling something about Portsmouth, put his lips to hers.

She could almost pretend that she was kissing Robin. The stubble on his jaw was almost the same, the heights weren't so different, and they both smelled sweet, like horses. She wondered briefly how long she could stay comfortable, lying to herself like this.

As soon as she felt Guy's hand on her breast, the spell broke.

With a sudden chill, she realized that he could have her now, in this room, and no man would challenge his right. The thought put iron in her heart. Seemingly oblivious, Guy removed her dagger hairpin and dropped it to the floor. He wound her loose hair tight around one hand and pressed the fingers of his other hand into ridges of her spine. She pressed the heel of her hand into his chest to push him off of her. Their mouths separated with a soft pop. He groaned and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, swooping in for a deeper kiss. With effort, she finally managed to disentangle herself from his embrace, but stopped herself from running out the door screaming. She was desperate for freedom, but she was also conscious of her limits.

"Marian," he pleaded in a voice full of danger and honey, and brushed her hair behind her ear. "Look at me." His calloused fingers were rough against her hot skin.

Marriage would be the end of their friendship. Their dangerous flirtation had gone on for so long that she didn't even believe it would end, but end it would – and tonight - but it would be his victory, not hers. She lifted her face towards him, pulled her lips into a quick smile and walked a few steps away, wringing her hands over her wrists.

He coughed. "I am sorry if I am not pleasing to you, Marian," he said carefully.

"You are pleasing," she whispered, and hated the taste of the lie. Sorrow was settling in on her like a new-fallen snow, blanketing the effervescent joy of moments past. She would belong to him, no longer be a Fitzwalter, and never Robin's countess. She would be the pet and possession of a man who was willing to kill his own son for the crime of being born to the wrong mother. Marian moved towards a window but Guy gripped her bicep, holding her still.

"I find that impossible to believe," he said, fully returned to his usual arrogance. "Especially when you won't look at me."

"I'm just a little overwhelmed, that's all, and I needed some room to think," She said quickly, trying to divert his anger. "It's been such a long day."

"There's still some day left, my lady."

"Yes," she said, her eyes following the pattern of stones in the ceiling. "So, did you have any trouble?"

Guy's bewilderment shone on his face. "Sorry?"

"I mean, was anyone hurt today? Anyone besides Allan, that is?" She added a small laugh for effect.

Guy's eyes narrowed. "Allan got along fine, no thanks to you, but you don't need to worry about the rest."

"Then what about this?" She lifted her hand to where his brow was grazed. "I doubt you did that to yourself."

"You don't have to worry, now." He drew her wrist down, speaking firmly, as if scolding a child, but his eyes were soft. "I will protect you."

Marian clenched her teeth and gave a false smile. He at least pretended to be convinced.

"Now, what were you going to show me as proof that you kept your promise?" she demanded, trying to conceal her interest.

"About the outlaws?"

"Yes, of course. You said that you found a way to spare them, but you didn't tell me how, or give me any proof."

"Then you're saying my word isn't good enough for you."

"You locked me in a tower," she snapped. "You have everything to gain by killing Hood and his men and then lying to me about it. You could leave me here to rot forever."

"I have half a mind to do just that." He said, crossing his arms and perching to one side, and then he sniffed, as he did whenever he was annoyed. The action was as ridiculous as it was loud and ugly. There were times when she thought she could marry him, when he was just handsome enough and just rarely brave enough that she could look past all his other…faults. And then there were times like these.

"Then leave me here. If Hood lives, as you say he does, he'll save me. If he's dead, I'll die. You won't have to deal with me. Otherwise, you must show me some proof." It was a risk, but with him, everything was a risk.

"You think he would save you?" Guy scoffed, more bewildered than angered by her suggestion.

"Out of spite," she retorted, hoping he would take the bait. She watched the internal conflict unfold on his face and waited. His jaw worked for a moment, and his arms uncurled.

"You're asking me for proof that the outlaws survived?"

"I think it's only fair, considering what I've promised you."

"You've promised me nothing but a cold marriage. You have no family, no connections - you don't even have a dowry."

She bowed her head, stung by his words. Her reply held no mirth in it. "It is not my fault that my father is dead and that our wealth was taken."

Though he immediately apologized, she did not mutter any acceptance. Guy, she thought to herself, was like a dog that didn't understand when he had done wrong, only that his master was angry. It was in his nature to terrorize smaller, weaker creatures.

"But what about me?" he asked next, with an old darkness in his voice. She knew what he meant, and despite her anger, her body warmed in response.

"I do not want to hate you," she said carefully, paradoxically. "I want us to be friends."

He stepped in close; she could sense his heat through his leather, though he was still inches away from her. "Anything else?"

She steeled herself. "I want to love the man that I marry," she said finally. "And I want to know that I can trust him." She hated him right now. She waited in silence for him to consider this, letting the seconds stretch into a chasm.

"So you want proof."

"Yes."

"What constitutes proof?"

"A trinket, a trifle, something that belongs to one of the outlaws. Something that I would recognize."

"How would you recognize something from someone you don't associate with?"

She swallowed, afraid to be caught. "I grew up with Hood; I'm sure there's something."

He took his time considering her answer, then slapped his thighs and stepped away. "I will be back in one hour," he announced finally, and pivoted to leave.

"What then?" she called after him.

"I'll send you something to eat," he said, pausing at the door. "I have some arrangements to make." She could hear the indecision in his voice.

She breathed without knowing if there was cause for her relief. "You mean that…"

"I will marry you tonight," he promised. "And if you do not believe the proof I give you, you can sleep in the dungeon for all I care."

The door slammed when he closed it. She jumped at the noise, and then cursed herself for being so skittish.

Guy rested his arms on the bars of the cell door, looking down at the prisoner contained within. Robin of Loxley, Earl of Huntingdon, the man who had taught him everything he knew about hate, stared right back.

"I don't know what you're planning, Gisborne, but it won't work. Vasey will see through you, he'll kill you when he finds out what you've done."

"Stop talking like it makes a difference, Hood," Guy retorted, trying to appear calm. He could not believe that he had gone along with Marian's desperate plan. He had caught her breaking the law, breaking her promise to him, and was rightfully in power, yet he had let her manipulate him again and again, until he was at this ridiculous point. As much as he hated to admit it, Hood was right. Vasey would kill Gisborne if he knew about the man's complicity in saving Hood's life. Vasey was already furious that Hood had survived, and sent Gisborne back to Nottingham castle with an ultimatum: Hood had to be dead by the time that Vasey returned from Acre, or Gisborne would be executed.

Killing Hood would have been easy enough, except, of course, that Marian would hate him. He still couldn't figure out why it mattered so much to her. Her whinging earlier this evening about proof and trust had become almost unbearable. He had to remove himself from her presence so that he wouldn't hurt her.

He didn't hurt her, because he wanted his wedding night – he had earned that much, and he would have it before he died. He didn't know why exactly he didn't just take it from her right then. He didn't even need to bolt the door - no one would have heard, apart from the two of them and God, that is. He had some standards, at least. In truth, no matter how awful she treated him, he couldn't pull away. The more embroiled he became in her lies and mysteries, the more enamored he became, and the less he felt like he could pull away. He felt like she was a spider, and he was a fly in her web.

He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to give herself to him, to have that level of control over her.

"Give me something of yours," Gisborne demanded of the prisoner below him.

"What?" Hood looked up from shivering on the floor. He wore a puzzled expression on his face.

"I need something that belongs to you. Something you can't be without."

"You have everything that belongs to me. My house, my servants,"

"And I have Marian, I know. Now, if you want any of your servants to eat tonight, you'll give me something new. Something that you've had for a long time, that one of your parents gave you."

"You're a sick man, Gisborne, did your mother ever tell you that?"

"No, she died while I was still young."

"Oh, isn't that sad. She didn't see her boy grow up into an overdressed bully."

Guy stepped back and nodded to a man standing in the corner. "You're getting tired, Hood, can't even come up with a proper insult anymore."

The man opened the cell door, and Guy strode inside. Hood smiled, the smug bastard. Guy remembered Marian's request that none of the outlaws be harmed, but then he remembered that Marian hadn't included requests for proof in the original terms of their agreement, and that she had been very vague on what constituted harm.

When Guy finally returned, she made no effort to greet him. A servant had brought her a meal and a new candle, and changed her pot. Marian had spent the rest of her time at her desk, using her small ivory-handled mirror to erase the signs of unease from her face.

His spurs clanked against the stone as he moved to stand beside her. She continued to fix herself before her hand-mirror. The desk barely made a noise as he leaned against it, watching in silence as she finished dabbing kohl around her eyes. Snuck glances at his profile, wondering what he was thinking, until finally, she tilted her mirror to catch his reflection in the polished bronze. There was fascination written into his face - his parted lips seemed to hold words back, and his eyes had become pools of black, as though he were stunned. Hurriedly, she returned to her work.

"You don't need that color," he admonished, and she bit her tongue to keep from saying anything.

"Did you bring me something?" she asked.

He nodded, and she held her breath. He took out a soft leather pouch and loosened the strings, then gestured for her to look inside. She hesitated, dipped her hand into the purse and pulled out a small object. It was her engagement ring; she knew it by touch.

She rolled the ring in her fingers, using the diamonds to catch the light, and struggled not to show any emotion. Did he know what this was - was he testing her?

"I was hoping that you would recognize this. I was told that it belonged to his mother."

"Yes, I remember her wearing it when I was a girl," she said quickly, thankful for the opening. "It definitely belongs to Hood - he would not like to be without it. How did you get it?"

Guy coughed. "The same way that you called Hood to the castle – I have my channels of contact."

She accepted his answer, knowing that any further provocation might damn her. It wasn't that she didn't believe Guy in the first place about Robin, but she'd used up her last trick and she couldn't delay the wedding any longer.

"I was just curious, thank you." She returned the ring to the pouch without another word, and turned back to the mirror, as if nothing had happened.

He bent over and traced a finger down one of her cheeks, sending goose bumps under her dress. Her cheeks burned under his gaze.

"You've been crying again," he said softly, and she brushed his hand away.

"It's just my father," she said reflexively.

"Your father?" Guy's voice registered his concern.

"I'm sorry that he can't give me away," she answered quickly, hoping to end the inquiry.

"I'm sorry for that as well. I'm sure Sir Edward would have liked to see us wed."

Her ears and the back of her neck flashed with heat. Her father would have wept to see this turn of events, she thought, but kept silent. Let him think what he would.

"We're both alone, then," Guy said, and she felt more alone than ever.

He waited for her to finish then offered his hand to help her up. She tied a small purse around her wrist before rising to meet him. He clasped her hand in his, and a dull ache welled in her chest.

"Are you sure you're ready?" he asked, and she could see fear haunting his eyes. She tried to smile but failing that, answered by nodding—once, twice—then gave his hand a firm squeeze.

His Adam's apple dipped as he swallowed and ran his tongue over his lips. She watched anxiously, wondering what he was thinking. He leaned closer; she could feel his eyes running patterns over her mouth. The air trembled as she waited for him to kiss her again, but the touch never came. Wordlessly, he withdrew, and she let out the long breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

He turned on his heel and before she knew it, he was leading her out of the room and down the dark stairs. As they climbed down, she glanced out the archers' windows, looking for light. Through thin slits in the stone walls she could see the snow-white moon hanging full in the pitch-black sky.

March, 1194

The young Earl of Huntingdon had not yet touched his lips to the cup; he looked down the goblet as if though it were full of spiders instead of spiced wine. When Robin took a while to answer, Richard continued.

"Of course, you don't like him. He has your lands and your betrothed—I understand—but I already told you not to worry about that. I didn't ask if you like him, I asked if he can be manipulated to my advantage and if I should be merciful or make an example. It's a business question, not a personal one."

Richard paced before a tall column, favoring his left side. He was still a little sore from the battle, and the years of handling heavy broadswords were slowly catching up with him.

It was dark where they were; the windows had been boarded shut. About a dozen or so men of the king's private council occupied the room, airing their thoughts about how to deal with the prisoners captured after the siege. The queen sat on bench by the Bishop of Durham, who smiled at her as he poured her wine. This was the room that Vasey used to host the Black Knights, where once upon a time Robin had dangled from a rope and been tortured for entertainment.

Robin didn't bother making a face. "You think Gisborne's worth saving?"

"Well, the resistance he organized to my siege was certainly well organized. He lasted a full month against you and Chester before I arrived."

"It fell, didn't it?"

"Yes, of course it fell," Richard snapped. "But I'm looking at potential."

"What potential? He's a tyrant! The people of Nottingham loathe him – you just heard the testimony of the local nobles out in the great hall! He killed anyone who refused to follow his orders!"

"But the ones who lived followed his orders without question," Richard answered coolly. "This Black Knight ran Nottingham as a disciplined camp and—with mere peasants—he successfully held off my veteran forces for several days. I need good soldiers to reclaim my land from Philip. This man has slighted you, and as my vassal and as my friend, he has slighted me. But if any use can be squeezed out of this man I need it. So tell me, can I trust him?"

Robin whirled his cup by its stem. "My lord, you remember why I had to leave you in Acre."

"You took a dagger defending me against a Saracen attack." Richard hugged Robin's neck with the crook of his arm and nuzzled his face in the young archer's hair. "I will never forget your loyalty to me then." The king's voice was so soft that the other men could not hear him. Robin closed his eyes.

"They weren't Saracens," Robin finally said.

Richard's head jerked up. "What?"

"The men who attempted to kill you in Acre that time, when I was head of your guard, were not Saracens." Robin spoke louder this time so the others could hear.

There was a quiet uproar as some men scoffed and others tried to silence them. The queen rose from her seat and moved to her son's side.

"But their dress—their weapons!" Richard protested, his voice betraying some of the fatigue from the past few months.

"Yes," Robin conceded, "but they were only disguises. They were your subjects."

The jovial light in the king's eyes vanished, and Richard's face was replaced by a hard mask.

Durham, who had fought long and hard against John's men at Tickhill before joining Richard at Nottingham, crowed the loudest dissent. "This Gisborne is just another Gerard of Camville. I don't know why you don't just make an example of him!"

Other men in the room jumped up and gave their own piece, arguing with each other over Camville's disloyalty, until Richard had to shout at them to quiet down. Robin chuckled at the squabbling, then stopped and cleared his throat when Richard nodded at him to continue.

"The men who attacked our camp that day were Christians, Englishmen. They were usurpers of the crown, and they wanted us to think they were from Salah al-Din to upset the peace negotiations. Guy was one of them."

"And how do you know?" Richard's voice rumbled.

"I saw a tattoo of a wolf on his arm; it's marked by my own blade. He even admitted the truth to me. My man, Much, can attest."

"Is that all? You, and your man?" The queen asked sharply.

"There was once another man in town who could bear witness, but Gisborne murdered him." Robin said soberly, then added, quietly, "And the former sheriff, Vasey, of course."

"You think this man was sent by one of my other sons," the queen reflected; it was a statement, not a question.

Robin nodded and shifted his weight languorously. "So when you ask whether you should trust him, I say no."

Silence took over the room for a moment while Richard fumed. When Richard prompted Robin again, there was new warmth in his voice. "You haven't answered my second question, Huntingdon."

"My lord?"

"About mercy. I asked whether you would grant this man any mercy. Any at all, for any reason."

All eyes in the room fell onto the lithe archer with fair, Saxon hair. Robin thought for a moment, and then he gave his answer.

"Mercy, my lord, but not too much."

To be continued