She had watched Robin command his men with an interest before this. Now, she was thankful for it. The weight that rested on her shoulders seemed lighter, somehow, knowing that he would take care of it. His French was rather impeccable for a lowly stonemason's son and had she more strength to care, she would have wondered how he'd learned. Not who had taught him, but how he had taken a care to learn.

He was like that, Robin Longstride. If there was something worth doing, he would do it to his full capacity. As he had in her life. He had played the doting husband well - he had allowed her the freedom she had always had but helped where he could and had given her the space to remain, Marion, instead of Robert Loxley's wife.

Her hands were shaking as she tried to calm herself until she heard the tell-tale squeak of the cart wheel behind her. She turned and the bottom dropped out of her world. She watched in horror as James clambered down from the cart, and John, Walter's man, behind him, holding that stupid sword Walter always carried. The background noise from Robin's shouted orders fell away and she stared at John as he offered her Walter's sword.

Foolish old man.

She couldn't look beyond the sword in her hand and somehow, she just knew that Robin was there. She turned, unable to form words and motioned to the sword. She had meant him to take it; he was the man of the house now. But he had held her instead. In front of his men, in front of the enemy, he had curled his arms around her, his fingers in her hair, and held her while she cried. She had no idea how long she had cried against him, but nobody disturbed them. At one point, his rumbling voice had echoed in his chest but she could not hear what was said and she cared even less. The sword pressed against her breast in a way that matched her mood.

She was so tired.

"Come," he said softly against her ear. His lips brushed against it and she shivered and pressed closer. "I will take you home."

Home. Home was Peper Harrow but home was Walter. Who had cared for her better than most. Who had taught her the ways of Lordship, so that she could stand toe-to-toe with the best of them and the worst of them. John had taught her how to wield a sword and shoot an arrow, though none was as good at that as Robin. The world tilted and the scent of him surrounded her as they stepped out of the village and got up onto his horse.

"Marion?"

"Hmm," she said tiredly.

He didn't reply and she didn't care. They rode slowly up to Peper Harrow and he carried her inside. She had no concept of what was happening but it felt desolate somehow, knowing that Walter was not calling for more wine and scheming with Robin in front of the fire. She wept some more.

"I'll get Maggie?"

"No," she muttered. "No."

He paused for a long while before she heard the setting down of his sword.

"My lady," he said softly. "Permit me?"

She looked away as he gently took the sword from her hands. He placed it, lovingly, with his own, and came back around to kneel at her feet. She stared at his head while he undid her boots. His thumb, calloused from his craft, tickled the back of her calf, much in the same way it had when he had fixed her foot in her stirrup when he was newly arrived. She was wearing trews that day. Today she was not and her skin prickled at the foreign feeling.

"I will undo the ties and you may change while I do the same. I will sit with you until you fall asleep."

She offered no argument to his order, though at any other moment she would have rankled at the audacity he had to order her around. Sometimes she wished she was not so in charge. She did not bother with the corsets and the ruffles of court, she wore the same cloth as the women in the village and she did not really need his help with the laces, but she allowed it, because she was tired. And because she wanted not to feel anything.

His fingers were sure as he unlaced her and his fingers were warm against the nape of her neck as he moved her hair out of the way. A vision of Godfrey's man hit her and she shuddered. Robin's arms came around her as she cried, shaking endlessly at what she had been through, though it was so much less than it could have been.

"I am here, Marion. I am here."

She gripped his forearms around her chest and sobbed endlessly against him. She struggled to draw breath and he seemed to notice, so he turned her and held her tightly.

"Listen," he muttered. "Here."

He pressed his big hand against her cheek softly, but enough to hold her and as she wept, she heard it. The steady thump thump of his heart. She pressed her ear against it and followed his steady breathing. She leaned heavier against him until he kissed her hair, making her shudder.

"Marion?" he muttered softly, trying not to disturb her.

"What," she sighed.

"Are you injured in any way?"

"Only in thought and heart," she muttered as she finally had the strength to step away and look at him.

"You should speak of it, when you can," he said gently.

He was a good man. One who knew things that men of his station shouldn't. He stood where he was, looking small, somehow.

"Let's to bed, sleep. We will deal with the rest on the morrow."

"It is barely," she waved absently towards the window.

"Everyone will need to sleep. Sleep, wife."

Those words made her eyelids flutter but she could not smile as she usually would, so she nodded and allowed him to help her to bed.

"Let the servants go home," she muttered. "They will want to be with their families."

"I'll tell 'em," he promised.

He knelt beside her and called the dogs to the bed. They settled on her feet and she sighed at the normality of it. She smiled tremulously and reached out to trace his face. He smiled, in that way he seemed to reserve only for her and captured her hand and pressed a kiss, not to the back as was customed, but to her palm. Her stomach wobbled and she pressed her face into the pillow to stop any more tears.

"Sleep, wife. We will conquer all in the morning."

"You are a good man," she croaked.

He had no answer and he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. She blinked as he let her be and pottered around the room before settling in the chair beside her bed.

"You need not stay," she muttered, already losing the battle of exhaustion.

"I will do so anyway," he replied softly. "Sleep."