Tormented by flashbacks of Acre, Robin was jolted awake and lay gasping for breath, while Marian slept peacefully by his side. His heart was pounding and his body glistened in a cold sweat as he tried to literally shake the images from his mind.
He wanted to reach for Marian and hold her, but he knew if he did, she would awaken. And in her condition, Robin felt she needed sleep more than he needed comfort.
Still panting, he sat up on the side of the bed and slid his feet to the floor.
It had been awhile since he'd suffered such a nightmare, and he'd hoped he might finally be free from his tortured dreams. The last time he'd endured one had been the horrible day he'd received news of King Richard's death.
So why now? Why tonight, after such a nearly perfect day?
Since they'd begun sharing a bed, Marian had persuaded him to confront his dreams, rather than push them aside, as a means to eliminate them. And although he had at first resisted her suggestion, he'd found it really had helped. He'd come to realize there was usually a trigger for bringing on a nightmare, something that had occurred during the day to spark one. But for the life of him at this moment, he couldn't think what it might have been.
He'd been late for mass, but that was nothing unusual. Tuck had merely lifted his eyebrows in warning, as he'd done so many times over the years. And afterwards, he'd enjoyed a picnic with his family, and Much had even joined them. The chancellor's wife had traipsed uninvited through his home, but he'd found that somewhat amusing, other than her breaking things and the alarm it had caused among his servants, still skittish after all this time from their servitude under Gisbourne.
Gisbourne! That was it! Marian had spoken his name aloud, hesitantly, but it had been enough to send his mind reeling back to the dark days when that traitor had dwelt within his home and slept in this very bed.
Fueled by anger at the man who still roamed free, somewhere, Robin rose from his bed and began to pace.
The shifting of the mattress when Robin arose was enough to cause Marian to stir and awaken.
"What is it?" she asked, drowsily.
"Go back to sleep, Marian," he ordered her, his voice cold and metallic.
She knew him well enough to realize he'd been dreaming. He was always hypersensitive about his nightmares, preferring to shove them aside rather than confront them head on, lest he appear vulnerable. But Marian wouldn't let him do that, convincing him it took courage to face his demons, knowing he would never shy away from a courageous act. "I can't very well do that, can I," she said to him now, "with you charging about the room, like a caged animal. Come back to bed, Love, and tell me what's bothering you."
Her tone struck the perfect blend of soothing reassurance and unanswerable command, but Robin, as stubborn as she, refused the comfort she offered.
"Go to sleep," he repeated, before turning on his heel and storming from the room.
Marian, feeling angry and rejected, lay back in their bed, tears prickling her eyes.
She wouldn't cry, and she wouldn't get up and follow him. Just when she'd thought he was willing to open up to her, he shut her out again! Let him deal with his issues himself, if he was so stubborn he rejected her help! Unless he apologized, he'd get a chilly reception from her come morning!
...
Locksley Manor didn't house the only bedchamber engulfed in marital strife this Sunday night. Within the dark stone walls of Nottingham Castle, another couple's marriage faced far more serious troubles than a mere unspoken quarrel.
James Fitzhugh, Chancellor of England, lay silent and unmoving in bed, staring up at the ceiling, while his young wife slept soundly beside him, her long, silvery blond hair fanning out around her.
Fitzhugh was long past the intemperate passions of youth, but tonight, after what had occurred in his marriage bed, he felt his white hot resentment slowly turn to rage.
He knew now why Annora had recently changed.
Until that party at his house in Oxford a few short weeks ago, she had been a submissive but unresponsive bride in bed. But all that changed, the night of the party. Something had awakened the yearnings in her flesh that night...someone...and now, Fitzhugh knew exactly who it was.
Tonight, not even knowing she'd done so, Annora had murmured his name, over and over again, in her sleep. Hell, she'd barely manged to stifle it, in the final moments of passion.
Well, Fitzhugh would face him tomorrow at the Council of Nobles, size up again the bold, smug young noble who'd turned England on its ear, when King John last ruled over its shores as Prince.
The king would be only too pleased, should Locksley be made to pay for all his past thievery.
And so, too, would James Fitzhugh, for he would not abide another man's presence in his marriage bed.
