Sherwood

"She's made up her mind, Much."

The man known as Robin Hood, the former heir to the Earl of Huntingdon, turned his back on his comrade. The miller's son, however, had other ideas. He ducked under a tree branch and inserted himself once again in front of the outlaw leader. "No, she's just scared, Robin," Much insisted stubbornly. His forehead creased in anxious lines, he added: "She just needs us to come round and bring her back, that's all."

"We tried that already," Little John reminded Much patiently. "Remember? She sent us away."

"But…" Much's voice trailed off as he looked from one man to the other, and his face fell when he saw that neither of them was even thinking about listening to him.

Much refused to believe it. Marion was one of them; she'd been one of them before, with Robin of Loxley and she was one of them now, with Herne's newest son in charge of them all. It didn't feel right, Marion not being there, and he said as much, frustration edging his voice with a rare sharpness before he ran off to be alone with his heartbreak and hurt feelings.

Robin made as if to stop him, then dropped his hand to his side and just watched as Much disappeared between the trees. "Do you think he's right?" he asked without turning around.

"Marion's been through as much as the rest of us an' more," Will Scarlet put in. "Losin' your love can do things to your soul." He spoke from experience, as they well knew. "It c'n cripple you when you least expect it. Goin' through it twice? I can't even imagine." There was finality in his voice when he added: "Draggin' her back here ain't the answer."

No one else spoke, and by the small group's silence Robin knew the other men agreed with Scarlet.

He wandered off to the edge of camp, feeling the need to be alone as keenly as Much, but without the luxury of being able to run away from the group. He ached with the burden of responsibility, some days worse than others, and today was as bad as it had ever felt.

Marion. His heart ached with the loss of her as well, with his inability to convince her to come back to them. To come back to him.

He wondered, not for the first time, how long her first husband's death was going to haunt her. She'd insisted she was over him, insisted that she loved the current Robin and had given up pining for Loxley, but doubts nonetheless continued to plague him throughout their tentative and sadly short-lived courtship. His predecessor had been dead a full year and more before he'd taken up the mantle of Herne's son and joined the outlaws in Sherwood. Time enough for any woman to mourn and move on, even from such an extraordinary love, or so he'd thought and convinced himself after he found himself falling in love with her.

In particularly fanciful moments he wondered if it was destiny of some kind, forcing him to love the woman who had loved the first Robin Hood. Then common sense overtook him and he scoffed at his ridiculous fears. He loved Marion because she was beautiful, fearless, intelligent and dedicated to the cause of the common man, a cause he shared with equal passion. He was drawn to her for all those reasons and more, and if it was his good fortune that she love him back, he would be a fool to question the motives behind that love.

Then he'd been found by her, dead, him and not him, and she'd been forced to relive her worst nightmare. Caught in that nightmare's web, he'd been unable to extricate her, to remind her that life was for living, that she wasn't ever one to run and hide.

Perhaps Will was right; perhaps she'd never be able to free herself from that web, never be able to rejoin them, to return to friends and more than friends. Or perhaps Much was right, and he should go after her, again and again until he wore her down and helped her free herself from her fears, helped her find once again the vibrant, fearless woman he'd met and fallen in love with.

Or perhaps she would have to free herself, without interference from him or anyone else. Suddenly determined, he turned back to the group. "I'm going to Halstead to talk to Marion one more time," he announced. "Not to beg her to come back, just to remind her she has a home here if she ever changes her mind."

John studied him with a measured gaze, then nodded, once, indicating his willingness to go along with Robin's decision, if not outright agreement. Tuck offered up a smile of encouragement while Nasir merely shrugged and Scarlet snorted his disdain. "Tis a long trek," was all Tuck said. "We'd best hunt Much up and get started."

Nottingham Castle

Marion paced the length of the room into which she'd been so unceremoniously thrust some hours ago. It was a tower room, high in Nottingham Castle, and she waited with some trepidation for the confrontation that was no doubt going to occur as soon as Guy returned from whatever mysterious business it was that had taken him from her side as soon as they arrived.

Not that she was looking forward to that confrontation, just as she hadn't enjoyed his company on the long ride back from Halstead. He'd spoken not a word to her the entire time, contenting himself with the occasional triumphant smirk in her direction. She in turn did her best to ignore him, keeping alert for any possibility to escape his side, to no avail. Before long—too soon in her mind—they'd arrived at the outskirts of Nottingham, having somehow managed to pass unmolested through Sherwood Forest.

She found that disturbing. They'd been riding for two days and had entered the forest at an oblique angle, on a little-used trail. The soldiers escorting them had been visibly unnerved by the towering trees surrounding them on all sides, but Guy had at least pretended well enough that he was unbothered by their situation to keep his men in line.

And nothing had happened. Not so much as a single horse had shied, no one had come after them, no rescue attempt was made, no attack on Guy's men or person. It hadn't even rained. It was as if Sherwood was as deserted and peaceful as ever the Sheriff wished it to be.

Pace, pace, stop, sit. She perched on the edge of the elaborately decorated trunk at the foot of the equally elaborate bed the room boasted, then rose again, too restless, too nervous, to remain still for very long. She'd discarded the black veiling Gisburne had thrust upon her as soon as she was left alone, dropping it to the floor in a disdainful heap. It was obvious he wanted no one to recognize her, and equally obvious he'd been successful in that endeavor.

Within minutes her uneasy pacing brought her to the nearest window, and she pushed the shutters open to gaze down at the inner courtyard of Nottingham Castle.

Horses, cows, pigs, chickens, people, all moving in a chaotic swirl that blurred before her eyes. Angrily she dashed the tears away; Gisburne and de Rainault would never catch her crying.

Curiously, she'd seen no sign of the Sheriff during her hasty journey through the castle's great room. The dais holding de Rainault's throne-like chair and the head table was empty, although the room itself was as bustling as ever. No one caught her eye or acknowledged her presence, neither soldier nor servant, and Guy's firm grip on her arm ensured her inability to make a break for it. Not that she'd get far, but given the opportunity she'd try. Mother Mary, Lord Jesu, how she'd try…

The door to the room creaked open, and Gisburne stepped inside, closing it firmly behind him. She heard the rasp of the key in the lock, from the outside, and watched warily as Guy moved toward her. "Don't," she said, her voice tight.

To her amazement, he actually stopped. Stripping his gloves from his hands, he dropped them on the near-by table and merely stood there, regarding her out of bright blue eyes so like and so unlike those of his half-brother that she felt her breath catch in her throat. "So, my lady. Here we are."

She swallowed. "Here we are," she agreed. "What's your game this time, my lord?" The last word was laced with heavy scorn, to mask her rising terror. She knew why he'd dragged her back. He knew her secret, although he'd made no reference to his knowledge during the long ride here. But he knew.

His next words proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt, beyond any hope she'd held that he was bluffing. He spoke bluntly, without preamble or softening words. "I understand that you find yourself unexpectedly with child."

She gave a defiant toss of her head in spite of her galloping heart. "You pulled me out of Halstead on a rumor?" She deliberately turned her back on him. "You should have left me there."

"No mere rumor brought me to your side, Marion," he replied deliberately using her name. Not insulting her by calling her "Lady Wolf's Head", not sarcastically employing her title, but pretending to a familiarity between them that she would never allow and that stiffened her back with outrage. "I've been kept informed as to the state of your health. You've not had your monthly flux since you fled to Halstead."

He watched her as he spoke; she could feel his eyes on her back and felt her face flush as scarlet as if she met those eyes while he spoke of such private women's matters. "Tis no business of yours," she said through stiff lips, knowing what response he would give even as she spoke.

"If you don't wish it to become the Sheriff's business, my lady," he said, striding across the room in order to take her by the arm and force her to face him, "then I would advise you to reconsider antagonizing me at this time."

"I presumed my presence here indicated that I was already the Sheriff's business," she bit out, yanking her arm free and glaring up at him.

"Yes, but he doesn't know the secret we share." Guy's voice was a whisper against her ear as he leaned down to brush his face against her cheek. She shuddered with revulsion and would have turned away, but he crowded her against the rough stone wall, leaning one arm over her shoulder and smiling that terrible gloating smile once again. "If you cooperate, then perhaps he won't learn of it, at least not in any way that might be…detrimental to your continued good health."

There it was, the threat and the bargain, both offered at once. She never would have believed him capable of such subtlety. "Cooperate how?" she asked through gritted teeth.

She should have been a soothsayer, so accurate were her predictions this day. "Marry me, Widow Loxley. Renounce your outlaw past." He leaned closer, eyes blazing. "Give Huntingdon up to me and I will make sure you and your child live the rest of your lives in luxury, lacking for nothing."

Marion felt a swell of nausea threaten to overwhelm her that had nothing to do with the child growing in her womb, however expected the words might be. She swallowed, hard, then turned her head sharply to one side, unable to bear the sight of those cold blue orbs burning into hers. "I'd rather die."

"And take the babe's life as well?" Gisburne asked.

A shrewd question, one that brought Marion up short. She had no compunction at the idea of allowing herself to die rather than give in to Gisburne's demands, but had she the right to take the life of her unborn child as well? Robin's child?

"Think about it, my lady," Gisburne said after a long, silent moment passed. But he knew he had her; the faint smile had returned to his lips as he took a step back. "You have some time to consider my rather generous offer. de Rainault is in London and not due to return for a month or longer. Time enough for you to consider your options." He spun on his heel and pounded his fist against the door.

With a click of the lock it opened, and he left without a backward glance.

His gloves, however, remained where he'd dropped them, and Marion felt a chill as she noted that telling detail. His gloves had been left behind, which indicated his intention to return.

What he intended upon that return she feared she could predict as easily as she'd predicted so much of what had transpired since her seizure at Halstead.

Her only hope was that word of her capture would somehow reach Robin's ears in time to spare her more of Guy's unwanted attention.