A hand struck me viciously awake. My head throbbed sickeningly, and I hurt everywhere, but my first conscious thought was I'm glad I'm not dead.

"Lady Marianne! Wake up!" It was the Sheriff, and by the sound of things, he was none too pleased. I pried my eyes open, wincing as the last rays of sunlight hit my eyes, and struggled to a sitting position. The aching in my head intensified, and I almost resolved to fight through it when I remembered who I was sitting next to. I had to keep up the game, even now, when all I wanted to do was close my eyes and go back to sleep.

So I pitched forward, cradling my head in my hands, and whimpering at the pain. It wasn't hard to do.

"What happened?" The Sheriff's voice cut through my whining, and I flinched a bit. "Lady Marianne, what happened?"

"I—don't know—" I said. Which was true, I supposed. I had no idea why he had struck me twice, for example, and after I had been knocked unconscious, I really had no knowledge of what had happened. I thanked Hood momentarily, because it would be harder to lie now that I was doubled over in pain.

'You don't know?" This was a second voice, gruffer, angrier. I recognized it as Beauforest's. I raised my head from my hands, eyes swimming in the pain, and saw a group of four men clustered around me from my position on the floor. The Sheriff knelt beside me, as of course he had struck me across the cheek. Beauforest and Greasby stood slightly behind him, fanned out, identical stances that bespoke rage and brute strength. Behind them all, over the tops of Greasby's left shoulder, I could see Guisborne, watching everything closely, but saying nothing.

That might have been the end right there. I think I would have given everything away with my eyes when I caught him watching me, but that was when I saw Mary still lying where she had fallen, and real panic surged in my throat, and I pulled myself over to her, hitting her face, calling her name, my voice rising in fear. He had hit her first, what if he'd done it too hard? What if—?

But her eyes fluttered, and she moaned, sounding very much like I felt. I breathed a sigh of relief, and as my face was bent down to hers, I conjured tears to my eyes, not hard as my head was hurting so. I sat back as she sat up, clutching her head much as I had. I wiped away the tears that now streamed down my face, and turned to the Sheriff.

"Did—did you catch him?"

"Catch whom?" The Sheriff's brows were knit together fiercely, his face dark. I stared off into space, as though I was thinking very hard to remember something.

"There was a man. Tall man. He jumped out as we were getting Elizabeth ready, I only saw him for a second. He hit Mary over the head, and when I tried to scream he gave me this." I pointed to my cheek where I could feel a large bruise throbbing. "and knocked me down, too." I looked around at the room, seeing the state it was in, the chairs knocked about, things scattered everywhere, covers torn. And I felt, for the first time, how empty it was.

"But where's Elizabeth?" I said, my voice quiet and high as a child's. There was a heavy silence, and my heart leapt, though my face remained panicked. "Where is she? Is she hurt?"

They stared down at me, and at their clenched fists, and said nothing.

"Sheriff," I said, and the words were tight with fear. "I think you'd better tell me what happened to my friend."

"She's gone," said Guisborne unexpectedly from the back. I had not heard him speak since the day Hood had sat with us at dinner. Now he was looking at me in a very different sort of way than he had before, but I didn't have time to qualify it, being too busy looking from the Sheriff to Elizabeth's father and Greasby.

"Gone?"

"Yes, gone. Beauforest wondered what took so long, and he came upon you when he opened the door. He sent word, we raised the alarm. But Elizabeth, it seems, has vanished without a trace. The Prince is ordering more men to search the area."

"She'll be found, won't she? Brought back safely?" The charged silence hung over the room, and I dared to hope that they knew they could not find her.

"Lady Marian," began Guisborne from the back, and again I was surprised at his voice, though now I supposed I should have been expecting it. I turned my tear-soaked face to him as he said, "Did the lady Elizabeth ever share any plans with you to run away from her marriage?" A growl escaped Beauforest, and Greasby, unnervingly quiet, simply clenched his jaw a little tighter. I was incredulous. Run away? Run away, sire? Surely you must be mistaken," I laughed a bit, breathily, as if the very idea was ridiculous. "Elizabeth was prepared to do her duty to her father and to her betrothed, I am sure of it. She would never have willingly run away from that, for all that she was nervous," I grew more serious, "she is a good daughter, sire. A good Norman girl." And I stared at my hands in my lap, blinking hard.

"Nervous?"

"Yes sir," I said, swallowing and bowing my head to Beauforest. "You must see how much is expected of we daughters to please our fathers. It is natural to be nervous, hoping to live up to your expectations."

All right now, don't over do it. Hold back a bit, there's a girl.

"But I'm sure she would not have deserted her duty. We were—are, we are friends, she and I. Very good friends," I looked down at my hands, miserable, "she would have confided in me." More tears, some of them genuine, spilled down my face, and I let small sobs shake my body, pressing my head pitifully with my hands. By God, it hurt.

The Sheriff sighed, and helped me to my feet. Mary struggled to stand on her own, for I could not seem overly concerned for her. He lead me down the hallways to the Prince's chambers, where another questioning was waiting for us.

Beauforest and Greasby followed closely behind, and I almost walked more quickly, as I felt their violent rage pressing behind me.

Be careful Marianne. Oh, please be careful.

That night, I lay on my bed, eyes open and staring up at the canopy of my bed. I was so exhausted, I might have slept where I lay, but my heart was racing, and I could not stop myself from going over everything that had happened, over and over, hoping, praying that I had made no mistakes, that I had given nothing away.

Hood had been right: the first part of the meeting with the Prince had been rife with accusations against Robin Hood and his men, and threats for compensation. They seemed to forget, for a while, that Mary and I sat among them, wretched in our pain and nausea. Then the Prince directed a volley of questions at us, and I answered them as best I could, Mary nodding and agreeing with me as she should.

Hood had given me a specific list of things I should say about the mythic attacker, but I had already said I had seen him for a moment before he hit me, so I could not give a full description without arousing suspicion. I hoped it was enough to confuse them, for all of the qualities together did not resemble one of Hood's men in particular. In all other things, I was vague where it was necessary, weepy when pressed too far, and thoroughly no help. The most I did was to beg for my friend's safe return, and by the time we were allowed to leave, I thought I had thoroughly annoyed all the men so much with my whimpering that they were extremely glad to let me go.

It was close to night then, and I had sent Mary to bed and stumbled off on my own to find my own room. There, I pressed my head up against the cool stones, careful of the egg-sized lump the man had raised, and it did calm the ache a bit. Still, I thought I could not wait to fall asleep so I could escape, but now I lay awake, staring at the patch of blue that was my window, barely distinguished from the black of my room. I snuggled down farther underneath my blankets, enjoying the sensation of my body and shoulders being warmer than the air around me. I sighed in wonder of this simple pleasure, allowing my thoughts to turn finally to what I would do when I returned home to the Manor, of what the crops would be like this year, of how we would manage to pay the taxes. My mind seemed to skip over the quite possible disasters that could happen, reveling instead in the idyllic picture of what I wanted to happen, and I felt warmer with the thought of going home. I let my mind drift, and time drifted with it, and I felt a bit better.

t was only a light thud, but it startled me out of my reverie. I sat up, gazing at the patch that was the window, waiting for another sound. It came in the form of a small hushing noise to my left.

"You really do want to die, don't you?" I hissed. "After all the hard work I did to lead them astray, you come back here on the same day, doing what you'd sworn to me you wouldn't do, and putting yourself in danger again by returning here. Is it your poor diet in the forest? Is that why you wish to die? Or maybe it's the cold? That is why we live in houses now. You should try that, it may help."

"You enjoy the sound of your own voice." He might have been amused, I thought, if could have seen his face.

"I do," I said, crossing my legs underneath my covers. And you thought the last meeting was improper Marianne…What happened to your feminine modesty, for Lord's Sake? "But I'd rather hear yours telling me what actually happened."

"Ah, I thought you might," the bed creaked slightly as he settled himself down next to me. "And I wanted to make sure our new ally was still alive. How is your head?"

"It hurts," I said pointedly. "But that, I think, was the point. Your man—"

"—Will—"

"—Will, was not very merciful with us. But it did help our story, as I said it would—"

"—you were right on that—"

"—Thank you. And I told the story the best I could. I couldn't stop them from accusing you," I said apologetically, "but I told the story, and I cried a little, and pleaded with them to bring her back, and all in all I think that they were more than happy to see the last of me for today."

"Well done," there was a note of respect in his voice that I had not heard before. I felt myself begin to blush, but even here, in the dark, I forced myself to stop. It did no one any good to harbor impossible infatuations and ridiculous behavior.

"So what happened?"

"Well…" he trailed off for a moment, and we sat there in the dark, staring at the spot in which we thought the other's eyes lay. Then I sighed in frustration and leaned over to the table next to my bed. He heard my movements and said warily, "What are you doing?"

"I'm lighting a candle." I said, reaching for a long, thin taper. His hands shot out, found my shoulders, my arms, my hands, and tried to restrain me. "Are you insane? Anyone could see us!" he pulled my hands back between us to rest on my lap, and kept them there.

"Ah, yes, but I am wracked with guilt tonight about what I have done. I tried to sleep, but could not, and so I lit my candle to keep me company in this my darkest hour so could you please let go of my hands?" I shook his grip off me and turned to light the candle. He did nothing to stop me. When the flame engulfed the wick, the room corner of the room in which we sat was kissed with light, and I turned back to him, sitting next to me on my bed.

"Tell me what happened," I said, now actually looking him in the eyes, a good three inches to the left of where I had thought him.

The man was named Will. Will Scarlet, actually. I assume you noticed his hair," I nodded, noticing again the calm clarity of his eyes, at the methodic nature with which he spoke. "He and Elizabeth split up to walk through the servants' hallways, and met again outside, where they continued on foot out of the castle walls, and were met by one of my men with a cart. All in all, it took about ten minutes for them to escape."

I smiled with relief, rolling my head back as the stiffness was released from my muscles, letting out a breath I had not been aware I had been holding.

"Perfect," I said. "There was no was of distinguishing them, and they were gone before anyone would suspect something. No theatrics, not derring-do. Perfect."

"I'm glad you approve. The theatrics, I'm afraid, entirely rest with you. You haven't been questioned for the last time, you know." He tilted his head toward me, his face very serious. I nodded, sighing again.

"I know. But I will soon sink deep into my shame and ask to be allowed to go back home. Guillaume will be upset at my dishonoring of my father—"

"Guillaume?"

"Oh. My father's steward."

"Ah." Where had Guillaume been at the wedding? Sitting next to me, I remembered. I had not seen him for the rest of the day, but that meant he was probably bedding some poor servant girl tonight.

"And as I saw very little, I'm not particularly useful to them. The Sheriff and Guisborne are men action. They will waste very little time before sending out search parties for her. They won't want to sit around listening to me blather about how much like a sister Elizabeth has become."

He nodded. "Elizabeth sends word that she wants you to attend her wedding, her read wedding, if you can. She'd like for you to meet Alan, and she says she will miss you." Now I nodded, my throat closing as I thought of how much I would miss her.

He relaxed on my bed and gazed about the part of the room that was in the light giving me some privacy to regain my dignity. "Very nice room you have here."

I looked, too, and saw the grand tapestries hanging from the walls, the expensive bed with its luxurious fur blankets, at the exorbitant amount of beeswax candles I was given to light my room, and felt the bile rise up in my throat. "Yes," was all I said, raising my knees to chest level and resting my arms over them. There was silence for a moment, in which he looked at me and I stared determinedly at my knees.

"You hate it here," it was not a question.

I looked up at him, again filled with the sense that I was constantly underestimating him. He narrowed his eyes and titled his head to examine my face more closely, and I felt the beginnings of a blush creep over my features. I did my best to fight it back down; mortified at the effect this meeting was having on my self-control.

If you were not exhausted and overjoyed about today's victory, you wouldn't be acting like a moonstruck calf. Why did you light the candle? You didn't have to, and you probably shouldn't have. Look what it's done already.

"You hate it here, and you're exhausted," he concluded, now looking concerned. I cleared my throat and crossed my legs again, aware that I looked less vulnerable that way.

"Yes, I do. That's why I'm leaving as soon as possible." I couldn't look at him again; instead I focused on an elaborate hunt scene on a wall tapestry. Three noble huntsmen were chasing after a deer, lead by their vicious, bloodthirsty dog. The trees of the forest encircled them, assuring me that the hunters would be the victorious ones in the end, for there was nowhere else the deer could run. There was again a moment of silence, and when he did not speak I became defensive, much to my own dismay.

"I only came here to help Elizabeth escape, and now that I've done that, I have no reason and no desire to be here anymore, so I will leave and go back to where I am useful. Of course," I said, leaning my head toward Hood but not looking at him, "I still have to answer the Prince's questions, and make all the arrangements for my leaving, so I may be here another week." I trailed off bitterly. I did not want to stay here a second longer than I had to.

"Then I will tell Elizabeth that you cannot come for another week. She wants you at her wedding, and she needs to wait that long anyway, so she will wait. In the meantime," he said, now reaching out to turn my shoulders toward him. I looked at him, and saw no trace of the criticism I had been fearing to find. I looked a him, and felt again the stirrings of the feelings I had had a few nights ago. "In the meantime," he said, "you be careful, and don't get too complacent. There are those who won't let this go easily, and they may look for any reason to suspect you." We remained locked in silent agreement for a moment. The candle light flickered over his face, and for a moment, he looked as tired as I felt. He let his hands drop from my shoulders, and stood.

"Good luck, Lady Marianne. I will see you soon." And he melted back into the night from which he had come. I couldn't tell exactly when he left the room, but suddenly, inexplicably, I knew I was alone. I sat on my bed, the chill night air blowing its way around my thinly clad shoulders. Then I turned over, blew out my candle, and snuggled myself back into the bed, and fell asleep.