Miserably unhappy by their unspoken quarrel, Marian tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Slamming her fist into her pillow for the tenth or eleventh time since Robin had stormed from their room, her mood changed abruptly when she heard their baby crying.
Quickly, Marian rose from her bed and hurried along the upstairs corridor toward Ellen's room.
By the time she reached the nursery, Ellen had stopped crying, and was snuggling safe and secure in her father's strong, protective arms.
The sight of Robin, so capable, selfless, and loving toward their daughter, washed away any anger Marian felt toward him. She also realized the only way he could have reached the nursery before she did, was if he had already been there.
Nurse Mattie, woefully accustomed to the lord and lady of the manor rushing to her charge's bedside on those rare occasions when the child cried during the night, sat up in bed, hiding beneath her bedclothes pulled up to the loose folds of her neck.
"My advice to you, my lord, is to put her down and say goodnight. She's a good bairn, but even the best natured ones can turn rotten, from too much spoiling."
Robin, focused on his daughter, ignored the nurse. "It's my fault, Boo," he said, his back still to Marian. "I'd come in here to watch you sleeping, and stumbled over something."
"My daddy," Ellen cooed back, happily.
Marian, longing to patch up her quarrel with Robin, felt the time was right to make her presence known. "How would you like, Precious, to sleep for awhile in daddy's and my bed?"
"Mama!"
Turning, Robin looked untrusting and defensive, but he softened, relieved, when he read the look in Marian's eyes. Ignoring Nurse Mattie's protests, he reached out a hand to brush back the hair falling over Marian's cheek, and tenderly said, "That sounds like a plan."
...
With Ellen squirming delightedly between them in their bed, Robin and Marian spoke softly to one another, stating their apologies.
"Don't shut me out, Robin," Marian begged him again. "I only want to help you."
"I know you do."
"Then why won't you let me?"
Finding it hard to explain, he breathed a sigh. "I guess because...I need to be strong, Marian, especially for you."
"You are strong. Don't hide your feelings, from me."
"I've never been much good at telling you how I feel, have I?"
She smiled, then gently told their daughter to lie back down. "You've improved over the years. But, Robin, I've said it before. How can you be a real man, if you don't feel?"
"I feel, Marian, too much, I think. That's why I have to put my feelings out of my mind."
"Your mind, or your heart?"
"Both, I suppose."
Marian looked appealingly into his eyes, understanding him. "You were forced to be strong for your village, when you became a lord, orphaned so young! But you don't need to pretend anything with me. I love you."
"And I love you."
"Tell me about your dream."
He hardened perceptively, under her searching eyes.
"Please, Robin," she begged. "You've seen how it helps you."
"I don't need any help."
When she noticeably stiffened, he said, apologetically, "I did not mean that."
For a short while, they occupied themselves smiling at their child, who was struggling to stay awake. Marian softly sang a lullaby, and Ellen, toy horse clutched in her tiny hands, drifted off to sleep.
"I'll put her back in her cradle," Robin volunteered, and Marian realized he was doing so to escape her "prying" again.
There was only so much she could do, Marian decided, with a sigh. He wasn't going to speak any more about it tonight, and she wouldn't pressure him further.
When he returned alone, she flowed willingly into his arms, kissed him tenderly goodnight, and tried to sleep, content at least they'd mended, though not resolved, their quarrel.
...
The next morning, Much stopped scolding Robin for making them late to the Council of Nobles, when his friend suggested, "When the council's over, Much, why don't we pop into the Trip, and say hello to Allan?"
"Oh, no! You're only offering, to make me stop scolding you."
"If you don't want to go..."
"I'm not saying that! I'm not saying anything!"
Dismounting in the castle bailey, Robin chuckled. "Well, then! I might even stand you an ale."
Much, completely appeased, changed the subject, confessing, "I hate this! I hate it! Do you ever get, you know, nervous, coming back here? Because I get nervous. I keep expecting, you know, Gisbourne, to come striding towards us, sword drawn, and spurs jangling."
Robin clenched his teeth at the mention of his enemy's name. "I'd welcome the sight of him. What I hate, Much, is knowing he escaped, scot free. If I saw him coming toward me now, I'd be only too happy to dispense the justice he deserves."
"Well, yes," Much stammered, hurrying with Robin toward the Great Hall. "Sorry I brought him up. We're still on for that ale, right, Robin?"
It was at this point, the herald at the top of the steps announced their late arrival to the Council.
All heads lifted to watch Lords Locksley and Bonchurch disarm and descend the staircase, but no eyes bored into Locksley as intently as those belonging to James Fitzhugh.