Author's Note: Once again I must apologize, dear readers, for the long delay. I've been dealing with serious illness, which forced me to put story writing on the shelf for a while. However, I'm still committed to finishing this story, so don't give up on me, please! This chapter continues where the last one left off, and then skips ahead a bit, as you'll see. I'm hoping to wind things up in the next few chapters. Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

A DISASTER AVERTED

Neither his daughter nor Robert could come up with a sensible answer to Robin's question. In fact, all of them were rendered momentarily mute. The only sounds to be heard were the low wind in the trees, the horses champing their bits, and the fast and labored breaths of guilty and innocent alike.

Robin and Marian, and Guy and Archer, stared at Eleanor. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she stared back. Robert still had his hand clamped on her arm. When both Robin and Sir Henry fixed the would-be seducer with furious glares, however, Robert gulped hard, released his hold on Eleanor, and unconsciously gave her a shove away from him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rodger saw Peter, half-hidden in the shadows of the trees. He sat his horse with a pleased grin on his face at the awkward tableau. When he spied Rodger, his grin changed to a churlish sneer. Rodger looked away, but his face burned, and his fists and jaw were clenched as tight as Guy's.

Suddenly, the tense silence cracked open like melting spring ice, and a torrent of shouts spewed forth.

"Eleanor, what were you thinking?"

"Robert, how dare you! You're coming home this instant!"

"No! You can't make me marry that girl! I won't!"

"You will do as I say, and there will be no argument, do you understand me?"

"Eleanor, you're just as much at fault. We trusted you, and you lied to us!"

"Mama, no, it's not like that—"

"Peter? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Eleanor, why are you here with him? Answer me!"

"I-I needed a ride, and Peter—"

"You rode here with him? After what he did to Rodger? How could you?"

"It's not what you think, Papa!"

"No more, Eleanor. Don't say another word. I'm ashamed of you!"

"Peter, I thought I told you I didn't want you around my son! What's the meaning of this?"

The angry tirade rang out for several more minutes, and then, just as suddenly, silence descended again. Marian was the first one to break it.

"I think it's time we all went home," she said through her teeth. "I bid you goodnight, Sir Henry. Thank you for your help in finding our children. Eleanor, let's go."

"Mama—"

"You heard your mother," Robin said. "Get on my horse."

Eleanor had never heard such a tone in her father's voice before. She obeyed without further protest, but didn't look at Robert, so she would not be enticed again by his appealing eyes and lying lips.

"On your horse, too," Sir Henry ordered his son. "Peter, leave, now."

"Certainly, Sir Henry," said Peter, with an elaborate salute of his hand. "Ladies, gentlemen, I wish you all a very pleasant evening."

With a final smirk, Peter turned his horse and cantered off. Archer caught a glimpse of Guy's face, and reached over to grip his arm.

"Easy, brother. Don't. Just let him go."

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The ride home was a silent one. Even Archer knew better than to make jokes at such a time. After they reached Locksley, only a few, short, necessary words were spoken, before they went to their respective homes for what little remained of a night's sleep. None of them got much sleep except Archer, who considered the disaster as averted and the matter settled. Eleanor knew the matter was far from over, however. The romantic elopement of only a few hours past had ended in utter shame and degradation. She was to drink deeply of that shame in the days that followed.

On her father's orders she was restricted to the house, but she didn't mind, for she had no wish to walk about in the village. No one was aware of the business except her family, but she did not know this, and morbidly imagined that she was the subject of gossip in every peasant's cottage.

She, the daughter of Robin of Locksley and Lady Marian, had eloped with a weak and foolish young man devoid of moral fiber and integrity. Other girls in Locksley had these silly love affairs, of course, and many a time she had laughed heartily at their expense. But she had always believed herself above such feminine stupidity. She had prided herself on her good judgment when it came to the opposite sex. No decent young man would ever get the better of her, let alone one like Robert!

He'll hurt you, Eleanor, and some day you'll be sorry for it.

She hadn't listened to Rodger's warning, or given heed to her parents' disapproval, and she had no one to blame but herself. Oh, the look Rodger had given her! He hadn't said anything, not a word, but there was no mistaking the deep disappointment in his eyes. She had sunk in his estimation, and somehow that hurt more than any mocking triumph might have.

Rodger was everything that Robert wasn't—and she had rejected him. Rodger was loyal and honest, noble and courageous—and she had slapped his face when he'd told her he loved her. Rodger could have any girl he wanted—and he had wanted her. But he would never want her back now, not after what she had done.

One part of the whole regrettable affair roused her deepest shame, and the irony of it did not escape Eleanor. She was in Peter's debt! She owed Peter, who had treated Rodger so cruelly, for the knowledge of Robert's duplicity. To have to feel grateful to him for sparing her from a fate almost worse than death—marriage to a lying, weak-willed cheat—was more humiliation than she could bear.

It was no less dreadful for her family, since they also were in Peter's debt for saving Eleanor from further disgrace. They had to endure Peter's knowing smirks when they chanced to encounter him in town. This was particularly irksome to Guy, since he could not confront the lad or his father without causing more trouble. All they could do was hope that Peter would not broadcast the story all over Nottingham.

One night, Eleanor sat down and re-read Robert's letters, and was appalled to think she could ever have imagined herself in love with him. His courtship and his professed love for her were nothing more than a scheme to seduce her into marrying him so that he could get her inheritance, and not have to marry the young woman he'd left with child. The beautifully written letters contained nothing but lies. She tore them to pieces and threw them into the fireplace.

The following week she heard that Robert had married his pregnant lover. The new couple had been sent away to the north of England to live with his uncle, and Robert's inheritance had been given to a more promising younger brother. Eleanor never saw him again.

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Archer and Rodger left for London. Eleanor's punishment ended soon after, but she remained quiet and withdrawn. Robin and Marian decided the best thing for their high-spirited daughter would be to have some work to do.

"I remember how frustrated I felt with nothing useful to do," Marian said to Robin. "That's why I became the Nightwatchman. It was better than just waiting around for a husband."

"Or trying to decide which potential husband you wanted most," Robin teased.

"Robin, you know what I mean. Let her get involved in something worthwhile, and she'll get her mind off Robert."

They went to Eleanor with a proposal. "You're not a little girl, Eleanor," they said to her, "so we're not going to treat you like one anymore."

The very next day Eleanor joined her mother and Meg on their weekly rounds of Locksley, Clun and Nettlestone, carrying supplies of food and clothing to needy peasants.

They met up with Matilda, who was nursing a sick villager in Clun, and Eleanor got her first lesson in grinding and mixing herbs for medicines. She rolled her eyes and groaned outwardly at first, but inwardly she became quite interested in Matilda's art, and asked to accompany them the following week. Robin and Marian were relieved to see her complaining attitude gradually diminish, to be replaced with a spirit of cooperation.

Eleanor learned something as she worked alongside her father and mother. The present was not as exciting as the adventures of the past—no daring escapes and thrilling last-minute rescues. But the past was not as glamorous as she had once believed, either. Her parents' young lives had been fraught with real danger, cruelty, and heartache. They and their friends had fought hard for the freedom of the people of Nottingham, but it had come at a heavy price. Now all they wanted was to live in peace and care for the villagers under their authority.

Eleanor began to view Aunt Meg in a different light as well. She had always seen Meg as rather weak because she was gentle and nurturing. But now she perceived the strength behind the kindness. Caring for others as Meg did was not weakness, any more than her parents were weak. Strength of character took many forms and had many faces.

As Eleanor became more and more involved in her work, she began to experience the joy that comes from unselfish giving, and as the days and months passed, a wonderful thing happened to her. Eleanor grew up.

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The rest of the winter passed quietly. Much and Eve welcomed a baby boy, and Allan and Cate added a seventh and final child to their lively family.

In June of 1215 A.D., Robin and Guy, and Marian and Meg, met up with Rodger and Archer in London, and joined the many other nobles from Nottinghamshire who were there to witness the signing of the Magna Carta at Runnymede.

There was much rejoicing in Locksley upon their return, and a feast was held to celebrate England's new, more just laws. But peace was not to last. Many anxious days and sleepless nights haunted the residents of Locksley Manor and Gisborne Hall as they waited for word from Archer and Rodger. Every time a letter arrived, it was eagerly read and passed around the family.

In October of the following year, 1216 A.D., they learned of the death of King John, and the succession of his son Henry III.

King John, the man who had tyrannized over them for so many years, was gone. The two families, along with Allan and Much and their wives, held a private celebration of their own at the news, although Meg protested that it was in poor taste to rejoice at a man's death. Eve took a slightly tipsy Much home later in the evening, but for Robin and Guy and Allan, the party lasted until the wee hours. Their wives let them sleep where they lay, draped over the table in Locksley Manor, snoring heavily under the stupefying influence of a great quantity of ale.

Archer and Rodger had survived the months of war in the king's service. There was only one thing left to hope for—that they would be released from young King Henry's service and allowed to return to Locksley.

"Is there any way to bring it about?" Robin wrote to Tuck, and Tuck replied, "I'll see what I can do."

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One morning a loud knock sounded on the front door of Locksley Manor. Marian opened the door, and there stood Archer and Rodger, dirty and disheveled, both of them, their clothes and their cloaks muddy and sweat-stained, swords strapped to their hips and longbows slung across their shoulders.

"You're home!"

"Yes, my dear Marian, we're home," answered Archer, with a twinkle in the eyes that were very blue in his wind-burned face. "For good this time. I've been commissioned as Sheriff William's lieutenant, to begin my new duties immediately."

"Really! Won't your brothers appreciate that! And why didn't you let us know you were coming? You caught us unprepared to welcome you properly."

"My apologies, dear lady. If it's too much bother, then not to worry. Rodger and I can make ourselves quite comfortable in the barn. We've slept in far worse, haven't we, Rodger?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! It won't take a moment to make up your bed for you. Never mind your nonsense and come in here while I find Robin. Have you called at Gisborne Hall?"

"Not yet."

"I'll send a servant over to let them know you're here."

"What I'd really like first is a servant to draw me a bath, a hot bath, with, oh, something that smells nice in it. And find me some clean, soft clothes. No leather, no mail. And food. Anything will do as long as it's not mouldy or crawling with worms. Yes, that's what I want. In that order. For Rodger, too."

"You shall have it," laughed Marian. "You both look like you need some pampering."

She hugged Archer, sweat and dirt and all, and then turned to Rodger. Where was the boy she remembered from London? He was gone, and in his place was a man, a man so much like the youthful Guy she dimly remembered that she had to blink twice to realize it was his son and not him.

This was Guy as he might have been as a young knight—tall and dark and serious-eyed. What was he, nineteen? He looked so much older. There was a maturity in his expression that had not been there before. A faint scar traced across one cheek, and another nicked his chin.

His shy smile flashed up suddenly when he realized she was scrutinizing him. It was Guy's smile, and yet Meg's, too. It softened the stern lines of his face and warmed the ice-pale blue eyes. As Rodger hugged her, Marian remembered the last time Guy had embraced her, so many years ago now. He'd held her gently and kissed her, in gratitude and love, before saying goodbye and going to the waiting Meg.

Rodger's arms felt the same—just as strong, just as safe.

This is where my daughter belongs, in Rodger's loving arms as I once was in Guy's. He's a man now, and she's a woman, and what's to stop them? God willing, someday they will be together, as they were always meant to be.

But all she said to Rodger was, "My, look at you, Rodger, you're all grown up!"