A/N: I'm so sorry that I've been absent! I just got busy, and then got the spark for other fandoms (chiefly Once Upon A Time—I've published about half a dozen one shots on it (Captain Swan!) if that's your thing) but on NO account have I forgotten this story, and I went back and read the whole thing today to get back in the mood! This chapter isn't very long, but I think it's gotten my creative juices flowing again. I hope all of my faithful readers forgive my long tardiness and continue to enjoy this story.

Chapter Thirty-Seven—Rose

She had been a fool.

Oh, thoughtless, witless, reckless girl! When will you learn?

Her thoughts tangled with each other, the despair of another near escape (how many more could she even pretend to afford?) and the hope that his strange request had elicited.

He wanted to talk to her. Just talk. The most innocuous of promises, asked by a man who could have taken everything, and had very nearly done so only the night before.

What changed his mind?

Whatever it was, she had not been able to read his reasoning in those captivating eyes…only his loneliness.

Perhaps that's enough. Perhaps that is his reasoning. Surely, now, there is proof that there is good in him—

And yet, did that not make him all the more dangerous? The flashes of hope, beckoning her onwards, like phantom flames in a world of darkness, drawing her closer and closer to him until she was trapped—bound by her foolish optimism and the hint of goodness in his heart that wasn't strong enough to save him.

Don't wish that fate on yourself. On either of you.

She tipped her head back, letting it rest against a forgiving sack of flour. She had hidden in the storeroom for an hour, Cook's sure retribution for her indolence comparatively docile in light of recent developments. Later, perhaps, when her shirking was punished with a few stinging welts across her shoulders, she would regret this solitary introspection. But now…

It's as hopeless as when Mother tried to teach me weaving. Too many threads, and I'm hopeless with a shuttle. I can't keep ahold of all these stories, all these falsehoods, even for a noble cause…

"Rose?"

The whisper was urgent, and she scrambled to her feet. "Robin? How did you find me here?"

"By looking, lass. I've been all over the castle. We feared…"

"Forgive me." Even in the shadows of the storeroom, she could see the lines of worry traced upon his usually carefree face. "I—I was nearly found out. I was not able to complete the last—"

"The ring?"

Why were her cheeks flushing? "No. I'm sorry."

"It is of small matter, if you are safe." She saw the tense lines of his shoulders ease with relief. "Rose, what of the convoy? Did the Sherriff believe you?"

"Yes. It was a success. I am sorry that you were worried…I was a little disconcerted, that is all." She did not know why, but for some reason she was loath to disclose the details of her near escape.

"I didn't promise it would be easy, milady." He put a reassuring hand on her arm. "But you must tell me if something goes wrong."

She had been getting much better at lying lately. "Other than a slight inconvenience, I'm none the worse for wear." Her bruised ribs might protest that, as might her conflicted thoughts, but she kept her face carefully expressionless. "Please, Robin. What would you have me do next?"

He looked thoughtful. "The upcoming celebration…the banquet…"

She had heard tell of it in the kitchens; Cook was most exercised over the quantities of beef, though it was nearly a month away. "Yes. For unmarried noblewomen." She lifted an eyebrow, finding it easier to inquire than to reveal. "Has the Sherriff turned matchmaker?"

"Something like that." Robin's eyes twinkled, but there was something graver behind them. "For now, Find out what you can about it."

She nodded. "You should go. It's not safe."

He took her hand in his for a brief moment. "You're new to the cause, Rose. Remember you're not in it alone."

She thought on that, after he had gone. Hurrying back to the kitchen, under cook's admonishing eye, she realized that that was just the trouble. She was in many things at the moment, and she was not alone in any of them. A thousand voices and a thousand looks seemed to haunt her every mood…and one voice, rich and dangerous and wanting, and one look, piercing and cold and vulnerable, more than any.