Robin and his gang found Marian in a stand off on the Great North Road, pointing an arrow at the driver of a stopped carriage, who in turn was pointing an arrow at her.
Fearing for Marian's life, Robin felt he had no choice. Whipping an arrow onto his bow, he pointed it at the driver, commanding, "Put down your weapon. No one has to die here today."
"Die?" Much cried. "No one dies at an ambush!"
Robin did not want to shoot the driver, but he would to protect the woman he loved.
"Go away," Marian told him. "I've got this."
"With his arrow pointed at your heart? I don't think so. Put down your bow and retreat, Marian. That's an order."
She refused.
"I don't want to shoot you," Robin told the driver. "You're an innocent man, travelling through the forest. You don't even have to pay our toll. Just put down your weapon, and you're free to go."
After a moment, the man agreed, then drove quickly away.
Robin's gang breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Robin!" Marian shouted furiously.
The gang had rarely seen Robin so angry.
"What did you think you were doing?' he shouted. "He might have killed you! And if he had moved a muscle to do so, I would have had to kill him first!"
"I thought that was the idea."
"We do not kill," Little John reminded her.
"Unless it's absolutely necessary," Will added.
"You could have wounded him," Marian suggested.
"Much!" Robin shouted. "Do we still have that cage, we locked Harold in?"
"Master, surely!"
"Cage?" Marian repeated.
"I mean it, Marian. You are out of control."
"You're out of control," she said, turning and bumping his shoulder before running again through the forest.
Robin heaved an angry, exasperated sigh.
"Where is she going?" Much exploded.
"Should I follow her?" asked Little John.
"No," Robin decided. "Let her be. I think I know where she's going. Let's hope her time alone does her good, and she can return calmer, and be the Marian I know and love."
He was sure she would take time in his chapel. Their chapel, he thought now, a warm wave of love rushing through him, in spite of everything.
...
That night in camp, Robin awoke to the sound of Marian crying.
He left his bunk and sat on the ground beside hers, just as she had sat beside him a few nights before. Stroking her cheek, he brushed away her tears.
"I'm angry at you, remember?" she said, sniffling.
"I deserve your anger. And when you're ready, I hope to deserve your forgiveness."
"You're angry at me, too," she reminded him. "You want to lock me in a cage."
He smiled tenderly at her. "I did not mean that. Trust me, I regret saying it."
"And I regret saying...Robin, do you know the last time I spoke with my father, I told him I was ashamed of him? I apologized later, but I don't think he heard me."
Robin took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "That's why this is so hard for you. Remember, my love, he wasn't thinking of that when he died."
"Much told me you refused to leave him, even while Gisbourne and the guards were closing in."
"I couldn't let him die alone."
"Thank you."
Robin saw her eyes well back up with tears, so he told her, "A few rash words spoken in anger can't wipe out a lifetime of love. Your father was always proud of you."
"Not always."
"But mostly. Do you remember your birthday, when you turned six or seven, and he gave you your very first horse?"
"Meadow Dancer! He used to bite."
"That's because you gave a stallion a mare's name." Teasing her, Robin was rewarded with her smile.
"My father wanted me to ride side saddle, but I wanted to ride like you."
"You were jumping fences in no time."
"He thought I'd break my neck."
"He was proud. You were fearless, Marian. And I was impressed."
"Really?"
"Little Wren, astride the mighty, biting Meadow Dancer, jumping fences and galloping wildly across country. You're poetry on horseback, Marian."
"You called me 'Wren,' " she said, touched.
It had been his childhood name for her. She had been small when her father had moved to the shire as sheriff, and Robin had not understood her baby voice when they'd first met and she'd told him her name, believing she had said, "Mary Wren."
Robin could see that reminiscing was helping her, so he continued. "And I remember another time he was especially proud."
"When was that?"
"It must have been the Christmas before I went to war."
"And I presided over the castle festivities. You are right. He was proud of me that night. You were late," she remembered.
"And you were angry." He smiled, delighting in the memory. "I can still see the look you gave me when Much and I arrived. You had on that red velvet gown, with golden stars in your hair."
"You remember my dress? You surprise me, Robin of Locksley."
"You were gorgeous, and I was in love. In fact, the image of you in that gown sustained me, all those lonely nights I spent in the Holy Land."
A shadow crossed her face. Not all those nights were lonely, she sadly believed. "Love was so much simpler then," she sighed, "when life was beautiful."
"It can be...it will be again, Marian."
"When the king returns."
"Yes, but even now. You're grieving, but one day it will hurt less and less. And then, when you're ready, you'll grab onto the beauty God offers, and life will be beautiful again."
"Despite the sheriff," she added, disbelieving. "Despite injustice, and death all around us."
"Yes."
"You're right. I'm not ready."
He felt he needed to steer the conversation back to talk of happier days, to cheer her. "I loved it when you looked at me in anger that night."
"You were supposed to lead the toasts, and you didn't come. What held you up, Robin, that time?"
"It was bitterly cold, as I remember. I had to make certain everyone in Locksley had enough fuel, and extra blankets."
"And did they?"
"They did, after I made sure."
"Robin, I love you."
"And I love you. Do you think you can sleep now?"
She nodded her head, wishing he might stay seated beside her and not return to his bunk.
He did. "Sweet dreams, my love," he told her gently, holding her hand. "Remember, it's good to dream."
