Marian walked innocently into her bedchamber to fetch a comb for Ellen's hair, but was completely taken by surprise to find her husband there, wearing nothing but a pair of snug fitting trousers and a torso covered in bruises.
"What happened to you?" she gasped, forgetting all about the tangles in her first born child's hair, and unknowingly interrupting one of Robin's "Hail Mary's."
"Creature by the name of 'Little John,' " he informed her, proudly. "Deceptive name! Truth is, he's not so little!"
Marian rolled her eyes. Her Robin may have lost his memory, but he still found it enjoyable to brawl for pleasure with Little John in the forest. Men! They never grew up, she was thinking.
"Don't move," she told him. "I'll apply salve to your 'war wounds.' "
"Thank you."
Stepping out into the passageway, Marian requested a passing servant to bring her some fresh butter while she went in search of the family medicine chest. Before Robin had time to complete his "Our Father," she returned with the balm to ease his aches and pains.
"Here it is," she announced. "A mixture of common comfrey, St. John's wort, and lady's mantle, applied with Locksley's own butter, and you'll be good as new."
"Fit to be roasted and served up for supper, more like," he grinned.
"Just don't get too close to the fire," she teased.
She tried to steady her hands to keep them from trembling as her fingertips touched his body, applying the salve. He was obviously affected by her touch, and not because his bruises ached, and it affected her as well.
"There!" she said, relieved when she had finished.
"May I ask you a question?" he said politely.
"Of course."
Tilting his head to indicate the large scar on his left side, he asked her, "How did I come by this?"
She busied herself tidying the medicine chest while she answered his question. "You were stabbed protecting the King in the Holy Land. It nearly killed you, so I've been told. That and the ensuing fever. You don't remember any of it?"
"I remember you, lying in the sand, with a sword through your belly. I was sure you were dead."
His voice caught in his throat, and her own throat felt tight because of his emotion.
"That was another time, but it happened in the Holy Land as well. Actually, the same man stabbed us both."
"Did I kill him?"
She didn't answer immediately. She had detected an edge to his voice, that same edge she had heard in the past, whenever he spoke of Gisbourne. A chill went through her.
"Not for lack of trying. But he's dead now, at any rate. I shot him," she admitted, with a mixture of pride and unhappiness at having taken a life. Even Gisbourne's.
His eyes bored into her so intensely, she didn't think she could hold up under their searching vivid blue gaze. But she didn't look away. She held his gaze, even though the air seemed to grow thick, making it difficult to breathe.
He wanted her, that much was clear. And she wanted him every bit as much.
Why was this so difficult, she wondered? They were married! They were lovers who trusted one another...well practiced lovers who found joy and pleasure in each others' kisses and embraces.
"Robin," she uttered, in a small voice choked with passion.
"You are the most incredible woman," he breathed.
"I am your wife."
"I don't deserve you."
"I think you do."
Three short raps on their door interrupted the scene. Much stood framed in their doorway, eyes popping at the sight of Robin's bruises.
"What happened?" he cried frantically.
"Little John," Marian almost snapped, irritated by Much's timing.
"Ah! He got you good, Robin! Put a shirt on; it's time for supper! Odd thing is, I think I can smell it better up here in your room than down below, closer to the kitchen! Hmm! Funny thing, that! Smells all nice and savory, like herbs and butter!"
"That would be me," Robin grinned, pulling a shirt over his head.