"Ah, Gisbourne! If it isn't our Leper Friend, and the messenger from the Holy Land, come to pay us a little visit!"

Marian hid her scowl of disapproval at the Sheriff's ridiculous and completely baffling insistence on calling her a "leper," and boldly approached Guy of Gisbourne.

"Sir Guy, may I have a word with you...in private?"

Gisbourne didn't reveal his surprise. He simply looked to the Sheriff.

"Go on, Gisbourne. I have business to attend to anyway. Tomorrow's hanging should prove most entertaining!"

...

Marian and Roger followed Guy of Gisbourne to a small nearby chamber. Once inside, with the door closed, Gisbourne turned to Marian and said, "I thought you said, 'alone.' "

Gisbourne's looming presence seemed to fill the small chamber. His deep breathy voice, coupled with his piercing gaze, disconcerted Marian. Although she considered herself brave, she was extremely grateful for Roger's company at this moment.

"Sir Roger and I have just come from Locksley," Marian began, ignoring Gisbourne's statement, and his ominous aura. "Sir Guy, are you aware one of the peasants has died, due to starvation?"

He lifted his chin and sniffed. "I recall hearing something of the matter."

"It is a travesty," Marian continued, passionate in her grief. "Jane Scarlet has always been a hearty woman, hale and strong! For her, of all people, to starve! Sir Guy, how could this have happened?"

Gisbourne cast a superior look her direction. "The woman did not eat. Isn't that the usual reason?"

"Sir," Roger interjected, "what I believe the lady is trying to ask you, is why this was allowed to take place. How could conditions get to the point where a strong woman dies from not having enough food to sustain her?"

Marian felt a twinge of annoyance. She was perfectly capable of making her own point. She pushed it aside, however, realizing that Roger was only trying to help.

"Am I to blame if her man did not provide for her? The Sheriff will not coddle those who chose not to work. It's time the peasants stood on their own two feet."

Marian's jaw dropped. "Sir Guy, you are mistaken! Dan Scarlet is one of the hardest workers in the shire. He is a skilled carpenter, who loves his work! For you to imply his wife died because he was lazy or incompetent is outrageous!"

Gisbourne's gaze intensified, nearly wilting Marian's resolve. "I handle conditions in Locksley as I see fit. The Sheriff has placed me in charge. It is up to the peasants to do their work, pay their taxes, and feed their families. If they refuse, they will suffer consequences. Is there anything else...milady?"

Marian nearly shuddered. The way he said "milady" sent shivers up and down her spine. But she could see she was getting nowhere with him today.

Gisbourne didn't seem human to her. Surely there was more to the man than the deep dark persona he projected! If Marian was to help the village, she would have to spend time with him, and break down his steely wall, find his weakness, and bring forth his humanity, what there was of it. But she wasn't going to succeed by being honest and forthright, she could see that. So much for being a "straight shooter!" Well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Nothing else, Sir Guy."

Gisbourne opened the door to show them out. As Roger passed him, he asked, meaningfully, "I assume you will soon return to the Holy Land?"

"I have business in Staffordshire first," Roger answered.

Gisbourne sneered. "Well then, I suggest you see to it." He turned, and made his way back to the Sheriff.

When he had gone, Roger said, "I'm afraid you won't get any help from him."

Marian turned her eyes on Roger. "You underestimate me," she said cooly. Then, suddenly, she surprised him by asking, her voice thick with passion, "How did he very nearly die at Jaffa?"

...

That night, Marian slept fitfully, her dreams filled with jumbled memories.

She was furious with Robin, for her father had complained of his daring insolence during the Council of Nobles, and she rode to Locksley to tell him so. Upon arriving, she spied him outdoors, holding his bow, surrounded by adoring village children. He appeared to be teaching Matthew, an shy, overweight twelve-year-old the other children picked on, how to shoot.

"Alright, Matthew," Robin said brightly, "now that I've explained how it's done, let's see you give it a try."

"He won't be able to do it!" another boy mocked. "He can't do anything right!"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that!" Much gloated. "You just watch and see, Smartie Mouth!"

Marian saw Robin wink at Matthew, and give him an encoraging grin. Matthew took the bow nervously, but seemed to steady as he raised it, aimed, and shot. His arrow hit the target near the center, and the children gasped in unison.

"Lucky shot!" they cried. Matthew looked crushed by their jeers.

"Now, I grant you," Robin explained, "one shot might be luck. But two? That takes skill! Matthew, if you can hit the target a second time, I'd say we have a future champion in our midst! What do you think, children? Should we see if he can do it again?"

Marian saw Robin greet her with a smile. As she joined the group, the children bobbed in quick bows and curtseys.

"Let him try. He won't be able to do it!"

"If he can," Robin lied, "he's a better shot than I was at his age."

Matthew gulped, raised the bow, aimed, and hit the target a second time. After a brief silence, the children cheered.

"Hurray for Matthew!" they cried. Chubby Matthew's face was surprised by their approval, and he almost cried. Robin tossled his hair as he took back his bow.

"Congratulations, Matthew! I don't believe I've seen such excellent shooting in years! I'd better start practicing, if I expect to beat you in the next archery competition!"

As the children ran off, congratulating Matthew on his marksmanship, Marian turned to a grinning Robin and said, "You've been giving him private lessons, haven't you?"

Much smiled broadly, but Robin gave her a sheepish grin. "Private lessons? Me? Now, Marian, when would I find the time for that? No...he's just a natural!"

Suddenly, she was lying hidden on her belly next to Robin on the top of a hill, ten years younger, watching Kate and some boys taunt a young frightened Much.

"Put an apple on his head," Kate suggested, laughing. "See if Robin can shoot it off!"

The boys laughed, and one of them pushed Much against a tree, placing an apple on top of his head.

"There!" Kate gloated. "When Robin gets here, he's going to shoot that apple right off your head! You're not scared, are you?"

Much, quivering with fear, didn't speak.

Kate picked up an apple to eat. Just as she was about to take a bite, an arrow whizzed out of nowhere, flinging the apple from her hand.

"Robin!" the children cried.

Robin and Marian strode down the hill, furious at Kate and the other bullies.

"You do not use my best friend for target practice, do you understand me?" Robin demanded. Marian noticed how proud Much was at being called Robin's "best friend" in front of the others.

"Robin," Kate whined, "he wanted to eat all the apples for himself."

"I doubt it. But if any of you are hungry, you come see me. You do not resort to meanness. Come on, Much, let's go home."

Marian awoke with a start. "Come home, Robin," she whispered softly. "Your people need you."