"Marian," Much exclaimed between bites of pork, seated beside Robin at Locksley Manor's dining table, "did you hear? Robin thinks we're brothers! Well, not you and me, Marian! That wouldn't make sense! He thinks he and I are brothers! Unbelievable! Amazing!"
Marian gave a little shrug of her shoulders, a gesture she'd seen the French ladies use when she and Robin had been prisoners in King Philip of France's new castle, the Louvre.
"What's so amazing about it?" Robin asked, affectionately ruffling Much's hair. "The girls call you 'Uncle Much,' and you live at Bonchurch, which you told me was one of my family's holdings."
"Key word," Much explained pompously, "is 'was.' You own it no longer, though my wife frequently complains you think you do, the way you strut in and out, and prop your feet up on the table!"
"I don't recall your wife, but I doubt I'd be so rude as to put my feet on her furniture."
"You do, though. You still think of Bonchurch as your hunting lodge, even though you gave it to me years ago."
"That was awfully generous of me! What's wrong with the place? Is it haunted?"
"Only by you, when you're in the mood to hunt."
"Ah!" Robin exclaimed. "Rather like Locksley's haunted by you, whenever meals are being served!"
Robin laughed good naturedly at Much's expense, and his little girls laughed along with him, even though they didn't understand the jest.
"Very funny! Very funny!" Lord Bonchurch said, biting into a baked apple.
Marian watched the interactions between her two oldest and dearest friends, fighting back a twinge of jealousy for the easy comraderie between the two men. Even with Robin's loss of memory, he seemed completely at ease with Much, whereas he acted as though he was afraid to touch her!
It was simply the nature of their relationships, she hastened to assure herself. Robin could relax and be himself with Much because their relationship was simple, friendship in its truest form. His relationship with her was far more complicated, and always had been. There were depths and layers that didn't exist in his feelings for Much, no matter how deeply they ran.
She was tired of the obstacles blocking the sense of oneness she had achieved with Robin through years of their happy, loving marriage. Matilda had told her to sit back and wait...that his memory would come rushing back, but Marian was never good at sitting back and waiting for anything. She decided to take action.
While Much and Robin joked back and forth, she leaned back and summoned Thornton to her side.
"Untap a new casket of ale," she instructed the servant. "Lord Bonchurch is thirsty."
A fair amount of ale would do wonders to loosen up her husband, and help him drop that formal guardedness he wore in her presence. That and a small touch of perfume on her body, and the absence of her nightdress. That last detail of her plan would be so convincing, she probably wouldn't need the perfume after all. Maybe not even the ale! But it was too late. Thornton had already handed foaming tankards to the two lords sitting merrily at her table, and she watched Robin drain his in one gulp.
...
Marian had been so convincing, encouraging Robin to refill his tankard again and again, she was afraid she had destroyed her chances with him tonight. He and Much sat up after the girls and the baby were put to bed, laughing and talking, and even singing together, which was a sure sign Robin was drunk.
"Oh well," she sighed. "I did keep insisting he have another. And another! I hope his head won't hurt in the morning."
She said her prayers and climbed into her bed, alone. Before long, however, Robin pushed open their door, swayed slightly on his feet, then entered the chamber, believing she was already asleep.
"Every hour on the hour," she heard him mutter quietly to himself. "I think I missed some hours."
Marian watched as her husband opened a small wooden casket and lifted out his rosary beads.
"I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth," he began, "and in Jesus Christ, His only son, our Lord..."
Was he going to recite the entire rosary, she wondered? That would take forever!
As soon as he finished The Apostles Creed, she interrupted him.
"Robin," she said, sitting up in bed, "what are you doing?"
"Every hour on the hour," he repeated.
"Every hour on the hour what?"
"Penance," he responded.
"Penance? What have you done?"
"That, milady, is between me, God, and Tire F#*k, I mean, Friar Tuck. Pardon me. Did I swear?"
"Not intentionally. But don't worry, I won't tell. 'Every hour on the hour' sounds like stiff enough penance."
"For six days. But not stiff enough, Marian. Not nearly stiff enough for cheating on you."
Marian froze under the bedclothes. Cheating on her? No! No! He hadn't! And then she remembered the witch.
The witch had seduced him, while he'd been drugged and imprisoned in her cave. Climbing from the bed, she dropped to her knees beside her kneeling husband, and clasped him in her arms.
"Oh, my darling! Oh, Robin! It doesn't matter! Whatever she did to you, you couldn't help yourself!"
"You sure are an understanding wife," he commented. "Better than any man deserves. And I swear to you, Marian, I'll never be unfaithful again."
"I should hope not." She began to feel uncomfortable. What if he weren't meaning the witch? What if he had been untrue since he lost his memory, for some odd reason? He'd certainly not made love to her since he'd come home!
"We are talking about the witch, aren't we?" she asked, uncomfortably.
"Well, Kate's no beauty, but I don't think I'd go as far as to call her a witch. 'Dog,' definitely. 'Witch?' No."
"Kate? Why do you say you were unfaithful with Kate?"
"She said she was my girlfriend," Robin explained.
Marian collapsed on the floor, laughing. "Oh, Robin! Kate's not your 'girlfriend!' That's just what she claims, wishing it were so!" Marian continued to laugh, even as tears ran down her cheeks.
"So I earned these bruises from Little Jack for nothing?" he asked, amazed.
"John. Little John. But what does he have to do with Kate?"
"Nothing, if he's smart. But fighting him was a big part of my penance."
"Was it? Well, I'll just have to have a word with Tire...never mind, come morning."
"Better catch him early. He and I are off to Kirklees Abbey at first light, to meet with the Abbess."
Marian rose and Robin stood as well, on slightly unsteady legs. She took his arm and led him to the bed.
She felt her laughter and his drunken confession had somehow cleared the air. At any rate, her heart felt lighter than it had since he'd been brought home from the witch's cave.
"Come to bed, Sweetheart," she coaxed, pulling his boots off his feet.
He lay back on the bed, watching her with that same intense fire his eyes had worn before supper, voicing no objection when she continued removing pieces of his clothing, one by one.
"You're enchanting, Marian," he confessed to her, not sounding nearly as drunk as he had just a few short moments before. "I want you, but I'm nervous. I feel as if I've never touched you before."
"It's always like the first time for us," she told him softly, "only better. So very, very much better."
"Really?"
"Really."
Trembling, she slipped her nightdress off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, then found her way into his arms.