"Will somebody shut this leper up?"

Leper...? Marian wondered what the new Sheriff was implying. There were no lepers here!

She felt angry and confused...outraged, to be more exact, by the behavior of the Sheriff and his big, looming black shadow, Sir Guy of Gisbourne. For almost no reason at all, Gisbourne had drawn his sword on a frail old man, Sir Lawrence of Lincoln! And no one, not one person in the Great Hall, save herself, had voiced an objection! Why hadn't her father spoken out? Why hadn't Martin?

"My Lord Sheriff," Sir Lawrence was saying, as Gisbourne's cold blade teased his throat, "forgive me. I bow down and respect your absolute authority."

"You had better," Vaisey threatened, "or next time, I won't hold Gisbourne back. Next time...what will you do to him, Gisbourne, should he defy me again, hmm?"

Guy of Gisbourne didn't use words to answer the question. Instead, he allowed his sword to slice into the old man's throat...not a deep, fatal wound...merely a shallow scratch. All the same, blood oozed from the cut, causing Lincoln to grow pale and sway dizzily.

Gisbourne withdrew his blade, sneering as he wiped it clean.

"Very good, Gisbourne!" Sheriff Vaisey ran to the top of the steps to make his next announcement.

"Let that be a warning to you all! Your one and only warning, I might add! The honeymoon is officially over, my friends! From now on, I will show no mercy! Mercy is weakness...mercy is for mothers and men in holy orders! And I ask you...do I look like anyone's mother, hmm? Do you see a man of the cloth before you? A clue...no." He stroked his bird on its head before delivering his final statement to the crowd.

"Council of Nobles meets here tomorrow. Ten o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

...

Marian and her father accompanied Sir Lawrence to his chambers, each one supporting him on either side. Once they arrived and saw him safely seated, Marian filled a bowl with water and found a clean cloth, to wash his wound. Blood was staining the collar of his shirt, and so Edward helped his friend remove it.

"No, Milady," Lawrence protested softly, as Marian gently dabbed the cloth to his throat, "you need not bother yourself. I will call a servant to do that."

"It's no bother, Sir," Marian stated firmly. "I have already begun. I am merely returning the favor from the time you washed my six-year-old skinned elbow."

Lawrence smiled weakly. He wished she could not see him at this disadvantage, yet he was strangely moved by her proximity, and her gentle touch. He renewed his desire to make her his own.

Marian's thoughts were flying as she cleaned his wound. The new Sheriff was mad, and his cohort, the fiendish Guy of Gisbourne, was worse! They were cruel and inhumane men, and they had been chosen to replace her wonderful father? What would happen to the people of the shire now?

As she carefully cleaned the wound on Sir Lawrence's neck, she couldn't help but glance at his naked torso. Old age was so cruel, she thought. It was hard to imagine that this old man had once been a Crusader, like...! Would the flesh on Robin's gorgeous chest and arms one day, too, sag loosely and be freckled with brown spots? Would the hair on his body turn salt and pepper? She shuddered to think of it.

She let her thoughts play with the memory of a shirtless Robin. Whenever the day had been hot and she had watched him practice his swordplay, he had removed his shirt, the show off. She had so enjoyed seeing that, though she would rather die than let him know how very much. And, near the end of their relationship, sometimes when they kissed, he would grow overwarm and remove his shirt then, too. It was daring, and tempting, and highly stimulating, and wonderful and romantic, as well. There had really been no harm, since they were going to marry soon, anyway. Except, of course, they didn't.

"Is something wrong, Marian?" her father asked.

"No," she replied, conquering the sadness welling up in her again, "I'm fine. I believe the wound is clean. The blood flow has stopped. Perhaps you won't mind if I go now."

"Of course not." Sir Lawrence took her hand and pressed his lips gallantly to it. "Farewell, Marian. Thank you. You are a ministering angel."

"Goodnight," she said.

...

Upon leaving the room, she was surprised to see Martin lurking in the corridor. Oh, dear! What did he want? She really wanted to be alone right now.

"What were you doing in that old man's rooms?" Martin demanded.

"Pardon?"

"I asked you what you were doing, alone with Lincoln, in his chambers."

"We weren't alone, not that it's any business of yours. For your information, my father was with us."

Martin breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, I'm glad to hear it, because that old man has designs on you, Marian."

" 'Designs?' Don't be ridiculous!"

"It's true. You need to tell him you're mine."

Marian's eyebrows shot up. "I don't need to do anything! At least not anything you say! And... I'm not yours!"

She turned to walk away, furious at his presumption. For his part, he was dismayed by her temper. He couldn't let her go, angry at him like this. He ran after her.

"Marian! Marian! Wait!"

"What?" she said coldly, stopping to glare at him.

"I thought we had an understanding!"

"Why? Because I let you kiss me? What sort of understanding?"

"I thought...I thought we were in love!"

She breathed an impatient sigh. "Martin, we barely know one another. If I misled you, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for kissing you. It won't happen again."

"What...what do you mean it won't happen again? Marian!" He tried to grab her and kiss her into submission, but only disgraced himself in her eyes. She easily pushed him away.

"Goodnight, Martin. I think we need to talk when you can behave like a rational person. I'll see you tomorrow at the Council of Nobles. Perhaps you will have calmed down by then."

She walked away, leaving Martin alone with his agony.