Robin, battle weary and wounded, reined his horse by a stream to give it a chance to drink and himself to wash away some of the blood covering him.
He was on his way back to his family with a new medal on his chest, an arrow wound to his thigh, and a troubled, tortured heart.
"I had to rush in, Marian," he began the argument in his head. "I didn't have a choice."
And then, her expected answer, "Everything is a choice. Everything we do."
She would be right, he knew, if indeed she did say it. He could have remained in the king's tent while the battle raged outside. But what was worse? Remaining there like a coward while Richard risked his life, or joining his battle and slaughtering...how many men today?
Too many, dead or maimed by his hand, in a matter of minutes. Husbands, fathers, brothers...how many wives and children would go to bed tonight, crying because their loved ones would not come home? How many families would eventually starve, because he had taken the lives of their breadwinners? Yet King Richard had pinned a medal on his chest, claiming he saved lives today.
Robin's wound reopened when he crouched down by the pond to splash water on his hands, face, and neck. He could feel it begin to bleed again, and knew he must ask Marian to stitch it closed. It hurt, but it was nothing! He, unlike so many he had met today, was returning to his family. His loved ones would not cry themselves to sleep tonight, but he could not stop feeling sorry for those who would because of his actions.
...
Guy of Gisbourne wondered which would be worse..."shank's mule," or in other words walking, or else riding this sway backed, elderly plow horse he sat saddleless upon now.
He wished he hadn't sold his spurs, though the price they fetched had enabled him to eat. If he had spurs now, he would dig them into the sides of this nag and make it move faster.
He wished too for the horses he used to own when he was Lord of Locksley. Hood had lived very simply before he'd gone to war...simple furnishings, simple clothes, simple food, but the one thing he'd spent money on, besides wasting it on his people, was his stable. Hood had spent extravagantly on his horses, buying and breeding only the finest pedigrees, and Guy had benefitted by "owning" them.
He remembered how lofty and powerful he'd felt sitting high atop the black stallion he'd called "Demon." It was right! He deserved such a horse, not this sorry flea bitten bag of bones!
"Damn you, Hood," Gisbourne seethed, "and damn King Richard."
Richard! That's what he would call this nag. "I'm over you, Richard," he sneered. "I'm after you. I'll ride you 'til you drop."
He meant to kill the king and regain everything he'd lost, but he didn't know how to go about it. He had no plan. But he didn't really mean to let the horse die. He needed it, as much as he felt humiliated astride its back. He realized it was flagging, and might possibly drop down dead if he did not stop and let it drink. There was a stream up ahead. Guy could hear it bubbling, and decided he would stop there now.
He had almost waited too long. The horse stumbled and nearly fell. Guy got down off its back and kicked it in its ribs, cursing at it for failing him. Pulling it by its mane, he urged it toward the stream.
Guy stopped, and his heart seemed to stop beating as well before beginning to pound in his chest. Guy wondered if he were dreaming. For there, beside the stream, was the man Gisbourne dreamed of killing even more than he longed to kill the king. It couldn't be, and yet there was no mistaking that form...that swagger.
And yet the swagger wasn't quite the same. The man moved with a decided limp. It couldn't be Hood!
Guy's horse puffed out its breath, and the man turned his face toward Gisbourne. Guy crouched down behind a bush, his eyes burning like coals when he saw the unmistakable face of his enemy.
What was Hood doing in France? Guy already knew he wasn't part of King Richard's troops!
Guy tried to quiet his breathing, but it came out of him in quick pants through clenched teeth, so greatly did he hate the man. That face of the man who'd been spoiled all his life with his little spoiled mouth, who'd always had everything he wanted, even Marian! The face looked suspiciously around him now, his senses as sharp as they'd ever been when he'd been an outlaw.
Guy's horse stumbled toward the stream, and Guy watched Robin relax when he saw it.
"Hello!" Robin said in friendly surprise, speaking as if the nag were human. "Where did you come from?"
As the horse had no saddle, Robin did not suspect the horse had a rider. His own horse had had plenty to drink, and Robin said to the nag, "Help yourself. It's all yours now."
Gisbourne watched as Robin flung himself onto his saddle. Robin grimaced as his wound pained him, and Gisbourne saw the blood on his thigh.
"Wounded," Guy realized excitedly.
Now was his chance! He could surprise his enemy, ambush and kill him!
And yet...Guy remembered wounding Locksley in the Holy Land, giving him what he believed was a mortal wound that ought to have finished him, yet Locksley had risen as if from the dead and fought against him like one possessed! Guy, disguised as a Saracen on his mission to kill the king, had to flee or be killed. What chance, Guy wondered, did he have to slay Hood now, with Hood on horseback with only a minor wound to his thigh?
And even more...what if Hood wasn't travelling alone? What if he'd brought Marian with him?
If Guy secretly followed his horse's hoof prints, would Hood lead him straight to Marian?
The thought overwhelmed him. His heart began pounding within him.
He didn't want to love her. He'd tried to forget and make all his feelings for her go away, but they always returned, stronger than ever. Love, with a heavy dosage of hatred for her betrayals.
He had to see her again!
He would follow Hood, find out where he was staying, and make plans to slaughter him in his sleep. And then, he would carry Marian away and finally force her to love him!