A/N: Yay chapter 5! And yay great reviewers! (Like you guys!) :-)

I yawned obnoxiously, finishing up my clumsy portrait of Saint Agnes on the altar cloth. My three ladies blinked in surprise at my uncouth behavior, glancing back and forth at one another suggestively. I wanted to snap that they were damn right about my coming life as a spinster, but something sharp and pointed came flying through the air and ripped straight through Lady Agustine's perfectly stitched primrose.

For once in my life, I REALLY loved Robert.

Augustine (which is indeed a man's name), Peony (a name which suits her mind), and Edwina (need I say more?) screamed frantically in chipmunk unison and scurried out of the room. I frowned as Peony screeched that I had shot an arrow at them and was trying to kill the entire manor, because I didn't think she'd caught onto my plan so quickly. (Or at least that was what I would tell the little bugger once I got my hands round her thick neck)

Sighing irritably, I dropped the altar cloth with GREAT CARE out the window and seated myself on the sill to read a message undoubtedly sent by Robert. Ah, yes. It smelled of the forest and flowers. The writing was more feminine than mine. There was a veritable bouquet wrapped round the shaft.

Most assuredly Robert.

He wasted nearly half the parchment repeating his usual proclamations of love, which I read EVER so carefully in exactly two moments. He then requested my "angelic presence" in his "mystic abode" that very afternoon. Oh, yes, Robin (my nickname for him when he talks too fast; reminds me of a bird chirping), I've nothing better to do than prance off to bloody Sherwood and frolick the day away with my good friends among the wild boars and insects. What a romantic day the two of us shall have, wallowing in the idealistic bogs and snogging in the center of tender mires. Did I mention the bloodthirsty outlaw choir?

Well, I suppose the little fool deserved a reward for the lovely scare he gave the ladies. Watching out for our poor guard sleeping below me (it was high time for his noonday nap), I dropped onto the ground. Sweet, sweet slumbering Wat. Were it not for him, I'd have no fun.

I could hear the outlaws before I saw them, a bad sign in Sherwood. Robert was reciting some ridiculous ballad about me, and Will was trying to shut him up.

I stepped into the clearing, smiling brightly and tenderly. William of Gamwell can kiss my boots. There is no better play-actor in England.

Robert, now in Robin mode, whirled around and grinned like he'd won the Most Romantic Sot in Britain contest third year running. "Marian!" he cried, and flung both arms tightly round my waist, forcing all the air from me. He kissed my hand (until it was soaked with spit), my face (concentrating on the lower half), my ear (don't ask), my eye (hope it was an accident), and everywhere else where it was possible without indecency.

As Robert set about my left hand, having found my right sufficiently dripping, I surveyed his new friends. A willowy blonde girl scowled at me with her gray eyes and hoisted a threatening shepherd's crook into both slender hands. Beside her sat a plain sort of man with dirty blonde locks falling into his green eyes. He was intent on fletching the perfect arrow as again and again he made minor corrections to a flawless shaft.

Removing my hand from under Robert's lips, I said, "Dearest, you have yet to introduce me to your new companions in hardship." His head shot up and he grinned adoringly. "How could I have forgotten, love?"

Will snarled at him. "Aye, she's all you ever bloody talk about." Robert's smile froze on his face, and his gentle hold on my hand become clinging and protective. "Will…" he asked cautiously, guiding me away from the handsome nobleman, "What's your name?" I arched an eyebrow, staring at William. What was wrong with---?

"Will Stutely," he snapped. Robert screamed, very much like a young kitchen maid, and ducked, shielding me with his body. I blinked in surprise and jerked my head up just in time to see Will knock Robin onto his back and begin furiously punching him.

The man with the arrow sighed nonchalantly and grabbed the nape of Will's neck. Without so much as a grunt he lifted him bodily and flung him across the camp into a cave. Then he quickly drew a makeshift wooden door across the cave entrance. "I'm Gilbert."

Robert sat up, holding his nose and FIGHTING TEARS. I sighed and knelt beside him. He smiled lovingly at me as I held my sleeve against his bleeding nose. Stupid little moron. "What was that?" I cried, tilting Robert's head, only a wee bit too harshly, back to stop the blood flow.

The willowy girl sighed, leaning against her crook. "William of Gamwell," she replied, "has serious issues. When he is feeling rather normal, he acts like himself. However, sometimes he'll wake up claiming that he's Will Stutely, and this Stutely character obviously has a desperate grievance against Robert, as he viciously beats him whenever he lays eyes on. Lastly, there's a rather nice creature he occasionally becomes – Will Scathelocke, a simple yeoman with just a few moments of unnecessary angst." She shrugged. "Luckily, his most unpleasant personality usually plagues us for only a few hours at a time." She peered sidelong at the cave, from which I could hear loud yells and punches.

I eyed her slender figure suspiciously. "And who might you be, if you don't mind my question?"

"Clorinda," she snapped, smirking, "queen of the shepherdesses and lady knight of the order of the Crook." The fairly attractive sheep dignitary looked so bloody proud of herself; my morals simply would not allow for comment. Robert grinned at her. "Clorinda, tell Mari the ballad. She'll love it." My mouth fell open and I was about to smack the wannabe minstrel, but then he turned his hopeful, glimmering smile to me. "Would you not, love?"

Bloody right I would NOT.

"If you enjoy it, sweeting, it is assured I will as well." I bat my eyelashes once or twice, coyly brushing his hair behind one ear. Oh, he really was the most delicious feast for eyes I'd ever seen – WHEN HIS MOUTH WAS SHUT.

Clorinda began to recite some sheep-loving poem, gazing romantically upward into the sky as she spouted lyrics of admiration ---- for sheep. Sheep! Baaah. Baaah. Wool. Baaah. Baah. Baaa-------bah humbug! What WAS this? I swear, the simple strangeling was going to marry one of those dimwitted wool balls.

But that torturous preview of the Underworld simple wasn't enough punishment, was it? No, no, no. My vocal foretaste of Satan and all his torments had yet to end. And what a conclusion it was.

ROBERT joined in. And he knew all the words. Were they serious?

Oh, pinnacle of all oddity, they were. Gilbert the arrow boy arched an eyebrow at me and shrugged, rolling his eyes. He then returned to his fletching, attacking another unsuspecting twig with furrowed brow and serious eyes.

Thoroughly bored by twig boy, I turned to watch Robert and Clorinda, who were smiling brightly at one another. Very brightly. Shining star brightness. Lovers in a ballad's glade bright.

I scowled. Nice try, you mooching wannabe.

"Robert, dove," I called in my sweetest maiden voice. He turned around, huge blue eyes bright and merry and ----- oh, he was SO gorgeous. Why did he have to be so irritating? "Robert, love, your singing seems to be disturbing Master Gilbert's work. And I believe it to be rather important that you are in possession of a goodly amount of arrows."

Clorinda snarled visibly at me. That's right, fluff ball child. Keep the sheep's eyes in OFF my Robert and ON the livestock.

Robert turned confusedly to Gilbert, who smiled sheepishly. "It is a wee bit hard to concentrate, Robert," he commented.

The latter turned adoringly to me. "You're so considerate, Marian." I bat my eyes coquettishly and giggled, flicking my wrist in girlish disbelief. Eat your wool-draped heart out, Clorinda.

But she draped her graceful, if callused, hand atop Robert's shoulder. "Ah, Gilbert can handle himself, Rob." She turned quickly to grin wickedly at me.

Oh, bring it on, girlie goat.

Robert turned confused eyes between the three of us; smiling apologetically at Clorinda; making lover's eyes at me; and finally wincing pleadingly at Gilbert. The last of us sighed and jabbed his twig at the wannabe queen. "Clorinda, duck," he snapped, "I can NOT handle myself with all of the singing you and Robert are making, so please stop." Without waiting for the almighty shepherd-woman to open her mouth, he returned to his fletching. Robert nodded his agreement placidly and put an arm around Clorinda's slumped shoulders. "Ah, dear Clorinda, all is fine. Would you like to go fetch some water for us with me? I am sure we can sing by the river." Clorinda smiled sweetly at him and delicately drew some light blonde hair behind her slight ears. "I suppose so, Rob." He grinned at her, and the both of them alighted from the rock.

They turned to leave, Robert's arm still comfortingly round her shoulder. My mouth dropped open. DEAR Clorinda? DEAR?

The shepherdess turned her pretty little head around and smirked evilly at me, latching possessively to Robert's waist.

I arched an eyebrow at her and made a rude gesture with my hand. Pluck yew.

Robert thought HE would walk away from ME? He had quite another thought coming his foppish way. NO man took so much as a step in the direction opposite me. No man even thought of doing such. And no man ever would.

I bloody well planned to remind Robert of that fact.