It was dark when the coach containing Robin and his family neared the convent in Normandy. Not knowing Guy and Isabella were hiding there, the family planned to spend the night in the convent that had hosted them before, then depart for the coast the following morning.

The little girls were both asleep, bundled comfortably on soft pillows. Nurse slept sitting up, her eyes closed...her mouth open. Robin and Marian, both awake, took advantage of the others sleeping to enjoy each other's kisses.

"Mmm, this is nice," Marian murmured between kisses.

"Better than nice," Robin added passionately, savoring her lips.

"Better than kissing that lady acrobat?" she teased.

"She was no lady, Marian, believe me."

"I don't think I like hearing that."

"Listen." Ardently yet gently, he kissed her again, wanting his lips to convey what his heart was saying. Feeling it, she kissed him back, thrilled to her innermost core.

The coach slowed suddenly then jolted to an abrupt stop. The couple pulled apart just as Nurse woke up and asked, "What's happening?"

"I'll find out," Robin answered, while Marian put a comforting hand on Grace's cheek to stop her crying. "Stay here."

Grace was already back asleep by the time Robin, bow in hand, emerged from the coach. Marian, disregarding her husband's order, grabbed the new Spanish bow and stood in the coach's door, half in and half out.

"Robbers, I think, my lord," the driver said, his voice trembling.

It was dark, but Robin could make out a felled tree blocking the road, as well three men standing upon it. One carried a torch illuminating him in his uniform, that of a soldier in King Philip's army.

"State your names and your business," the soldier ordered.

Marian was confused when Robin answered, "My name is this," and saw him raise a hand with only its middle finger extended. "My business is..." With a quick fluid movement, Robin lifted his bow, pointing his arrow at the trio of men.

"You cannot see well enough in this darkness to hit any, not to mention all three of us," another soldier challenged.

"You're probably right," Robin agreed pleasantly, shooting an arrow into the sky which came down a moment later, slicing through the boot of the soldier who had just spoken, just between his toes, pinning him to the fallen tree.

"Locksley?" the third man asked, sounding incredulous.

Robin recognized the voice. "Burgundy?" he asked back.

The man's booming laugh told him Robin he had guessed correctly. "We're lucky we didn't force him to really shoot," the Duke of Burgundy told his two companions. "This is Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntington, the finest archer you will ever meet. We fought together in Acre, and I've never seen him miss a Saracen yet with his bow, whether blinded by night or by the sun, not to mention a sandstorm! Who's that with you, Locksley?" Burgundy asked. "Your squire still trailing your every move? What was his name again? Much?"

"He's Lord Bonchurch now," Robin answered, "but he's home in England. This is my wife." Grinning at Marian over his shoulder he said, "It's alright, you may put down your bow. This is Hugh, Duke of Burgundy." To the duke he added, "May I present my wife, Lady Locksley?"

Torch in hand, Hugh of Burgundy strode forward on heavy feet to look at Marian. Burly and bald headed, with a greying beard, he reminded her of a slightly younger Lord Sheridan, the man who used to train King Richard's knights. Marian knew Burgundy by reputation as one of the highest ranking peers in France and a brave but ruthless soldier, the man King Philip had chosen to lead the French army in Acre after Philip returned home. Although glad the man posed no threat to them, she took an instant dislike to him, chiefly because of the way he was looking her over.

"Very good, Locksley," Burgundy approved. "Beautiful...not an angle on her! All softness and curves, I see. And if I'm not mistaken, enceinte!"

Robin knew Marian did not enjoy being lustfully evaluated by a strange man, nor have her condition discussed, as if she were up for sale. He didn't like it any more than she did. "Don't let her appearance fool you," he said, wanting the duke to give Marian the respect she deserved. "She's plenty sharp, in her mind."

"We would like to continue our journey," Marian coldly added. "Could you have your goons move the tree out of the road, so we may proceed on our way?"

"Sharp tongued, too, I see," Burgundy joked. "Too bad for you, Locksley."

Robin turned deadly serious. "Apologize to my wife," he commanded.

Burgundy looked at Marian and made a courtly bow. "Forgive me, milady," he said, straightening up again. "I have been too long in an army camp, away from the influence of the fair, gentle sex. May I make it up to you by offering my hospitality for the night? I have a house nearby. It would be my honor to receive you under my roof."

Marian saw Robin shake his head to indicate she should refuse. But she didn't need his warning. She planned to refuse anyway.

"Thank you for the offer," she said, "but we have other arrangements."

Burgundy's face looked displeased. "But I insist!" he told her.

"So do we," she answered.

In very little time, the coach began rumbling again along the road toward the convent.

The nurse fell back to sleep, and Marian, tired now, sat with her head on Robin's shoulder with his arm around her. "What was the gesture you first gave them?" she asked, never having seen him show his middle finger to anyone before.

"It's an insult," he told her, his voice quiet. "The king's archers use it against French soldiers. You know how the middle finger is the one we use pull back the bowstring?"

"Yes. Go one."

"The gesture started when the French began chopping off the middle fingers of our archers they had taken prisoner, to disable them from ever shooting again."

"That is barbaric," Marian objected.

"War's barbaric," Robin agreed. "And so, while we're at war with the French, whenever an English archer encounters a French soldier, we flash them a middle finger to prove we're not defeated. It's come to mean more, but you don't need to know about that."

"I think I can guess," Marian said. "I've spent enough time with Allan to be able to figure it out."

Snuggling closer against him, she closed her eyes then opened them and lifted her head from his shoulder to ask, "Robin, why didn't you want to stay at his house? I know he was rude, but he is a duke, after all."

"You didn't want to stay there, did you?"

"No I didn't. But I'd like to know why you didn't."

Amused, Robin smiled tenderly at Marian. "It was a trap, I think. Burgundy's fighting for Philip against our king. He'd put us up in luxury, I'm sure, but we'd be prisoners, Marian. He'd hold us for ransom to try to weaken King Richard, whose funds are already deplorably low. We're much better off heading to the convent."

Marian lay her head back on her husband's shoulder. "I'm glad we escaped then," she said, closing her eyes. Opening them and lifting her head again, she asked, "You don't think he's following us, do you?"

"Shh," Robin soothed, placing her head back on his shoulder. "Don't worry, my love. Burgundy wouldn't dare try to capture me except by trickery, and I'm much too good for that! Go to sleep, Marian. We're safe, and we'll be perfectly so once we reach the convent."

Believing him, Marian drifted happily into a light doze, having no idea how mistaken Robin would prove to be.

...

(What the chapter says really was the origin of giving someone the middle finger.)