It had come to be mid-day by the time Robin and John put the finishing touches on the roof structure of the new cottage and began to lay the thatch down as covering. Robin let John take the lead in such matters: his parents had been crofters in the Lowlands and he had experience in building and the like.
They worked, as men do, in quiet, passing tools between them with a minimum of conversation. Only once they had climbed down off the roof, taking a bit of mead to cool down, did John turn to him, as if he had been waiting for the right moment to speak.
"Can I ask ye something, Robin?"
"What is it?" he replied, leaning in the cool shade of the cottage.
"Well, ah…" John stammered.
"Out with it, man."
"How did ye…well, how did ye know ye wanted to get married?"
Robin gave a half-suppressed laugh.
"I just knew, that's all."
"Aye, but…was there something about her?"
Robin sighed. He knew John was finding this just as uncomfortable as he was.
As he opened his mouth to reply, he found that he couldn't fathom what to say. Was there something about her? Saints in heaven, Marion was a revelation. And not just in his bed, although that was the first thing that came into his mind. He caught flashes of her in his thoughts: her hands, strong and smooth, wrapped tight around a carving knife as she dressed a hare; her laugh, clear as a church bell on a spring morning; the look on her face when she came to tell him they had been ordered to share her chamber, outraged yet somehow slightly amused.
He cleared his throat.
"Is this about Joanna?"
John turned away from him, his face turning red with embarrassment.
"I like her, Robin, I do. More than any other girl…woman…I've known. I just want to know if that means something."
"I think it means whatever you want it to mean."
"How's that?"
"Not everything in life comes with a sign from God. If you can imagine being with her for the rest of your days, and in that imagining, it seems good and right, then you'll know what to do."
John nodded in understanding.
"Thank ye."
"And John…"
"Aye?"
"Talk to her mother first. That always helps."
"Right."
They stood for a while, both men lost in their thoughts.
"D'ye ever think about how we got here?"
"I take it you don't mean 'on horses'?"
John pounded him lightly on the chest.
"No, it's just, there were so many things that had to happen. If we hadn't come across that ambush, if we hadn't all been put in the stocks, if I hadn't doubted that ye were an honest man with your game of luck."
Robin paused, taking a breath.
"Right, John, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."
"Aye?"
He tried to say it quickly, so it would be over sooner.
"I always took out the pea before I started moving the cups around. Just never on the first time someone came to the table."
"And why's that?"
"Even if they won, I could always get them to double their chances."
John nodded.
"Good to know."
Robin didn't even see the punch before it landed on his jaw. There was a ringing sound, a brilliant flash of pain, and then the world seemed to tilt as he hit the ground.
"Thanks for the advice, though," John said cheerily, whistling as he walked away.