She must have fallen asleep herself at some point during the next few hours; she came awake with a start, heart racing as she tried to remember where she was, why she was resting against a cold stone wall with filthy straw beneath her legs and a warm weight on her lap. When she did recall her whereabouts, her first thought was to check on Robin.

He was still asleep, his breathing deep and regular, and she sighed with relief as she felt his brow and found no sign of fever. With light fingers she tested the back of his head; the blood had dried and crusted and no fresh oozing had occurred, which was also a good sign. She couldn't reach all of his injuries without disturbing him and so she had to content herself with what she'd already discovered.

At some point the afternoon must have turned to evening, for the little light they received from above had changed from dim, filtered sunlight to the flickering yellow of torchlight, and very little of that. She heard the guard shifting from foot to foot, then a heavier set of footsteps moving closer and closer. "Robin," she whispered, reaching down to shake his shoulder the smallest bit. "Robin, someone's coming."

He muttered something unintelligible, then sat up so abruptly she had to stifle a startled yelp, covering her mouth with both hands.

She felt him place a kiss on the back of one hand, then take it firmly in his as he eased himself over to sit next to her, leaning gingerly against the wall. She knew he was in no condition to stand and glare defiantly up at whoever was approaching (Gisburne, you know it's Gisburne) but there was no way he would be caught lying down, either.

The light grew brighter as a torch was thrust close to the grate. They heard the stiff bar being pulled back, then the grate was raised.

It was no surprise to see Gisburne's face peering down at them. "The lovers reunited," he sneered.

"We need a chirurgeon and you know it," Marion shouted up to him. "That is, if you want him to live till the Sheriff returns."

"Right, you know how disappointed he'll be if you let me die before he gets back from London," Robin agreed, baring his teeth in a threatening grin.

"He'd more likely thank me for saving him the expense of a public hanging," Gisburne shot back. In spite of the bravado of his words, however, he stepped back, waiting as the ladder was lowered once again. "But don't worry, on the off chance de Rainault would prefer to lower the noose round your necks himself, I've fetched a man to look you over. Since the Sheriff has sent word that he'll be returning a sennight hence, I'll wait and let him decide your fates himself."

Marion and Robin traded troubled glances. de Rainault wasn't supposed to be back so quickly; would their men have enough time to formulate a rescue plan and get them out in a mere seven days? They would be forced to wait and see. "A sennight, a month, it makes no difference to me, Gisburne," Robin said. "We've endured your 'hospitality' before and we'll manage as we always have."

That was a threat, a promise of escape and rescue that Gisburne heard and recognized with no trouble. He grimaced but said nothing as a short, fat man in a soiled brown tunic and trews wheezed up to his side, a sack over one shoulder and a bulging skin of water or wine over the other. Without a word to Gisburne or the guards standing next to him holding crossbows pointed firmly down at the prisoners, the stranger descended the ladder and made his way to Robin's side.

Ignoring Marion, he undid the bandages she'd wrapped around Robin's many wounds, replacing them with clean white cloths after first rinsing them with wine. Robin withstood the treatment stoically, wincing only once, when the barber dabbed at the wound on his head with a wine-soaked cloth. "Stop fussing, tis only a cracked skull," he muttered. "Not sure why I've been bothered when you're bound for the hangman's noose, but still, when Gisburne's willing to let loose of a coin a man'd do well to snap it up. Who knows when that'll happen again, probably not in my lifetime."

He gabbled on like that as he finished his work but in spite of his slovenly appearance and unsympathetic words, Marion noticed that he moved deftly and with a certain gentleness. She didn't know him, didn't know where Gisburne had found him, but he seemed skilled at his work and so she kept her thoughts to herself.

He finished by peering intently into Robin's eyes, one at a time. Apparently satisfied with what he saw there, he grunted and heaved himself back to his feet. "You'll not die from these wounds unless a fever takes you," he pronounced as he threw the remainder of his supplies back into the pouch from which he'd taken them. Then he turned and clambered back up the ladder.

Gisburne's men hauled it back up after he'd stepped onto the floor and vanished from Robin and Marion's sight.

Marion had been expecting Gisburne to taunt them while the chirurgeon did his work, to heap abuse upon them, but he kept silent, and as the gate closed back over them she found out why. "I doubt the Sheriff will allow you to live long enough to require her services, but I thought I'd let you know I'd already selected a mid-wife to attend you when the time came, Marion. If you'd had the sense to marry me…ah, but you didn't. What a pity." With that the light dimmed to its previous levels and he was gone.

Marion remained frozen, unable to speak; she should have known Gisburne would do something like this; hadn't she already proven herself a veritable prophet when it came to predicting his words and actions since Halstead? "I'm sorry, I should have told you when you first woke up," she said in a small voice.

"Three months, is it?" Robin sounded…how did he sound? Tired, discouraged, but not surprised, not shocked or outraged. As if the revelation was somehow inevitable. "Was that the real reason you stayed behind at Halstead?"

His words stung, but Marion could see why he'd think that. Still, she had to persuade him of the truth. "No, I didn't realize my condition until after I'd already convinced you to let me go," she replied softly. "I told the Abbess, determined to keep no secrets, and she assured me of my safety." She snorted. "Instead, she got word to Gisburne. In exchange for a donation to the Abbey, she sold me to him as coolly as a thief passing on stolen gems." Her own bitterness rivaled his.

Without a word Robin took her in his arms, holding her close as she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes, holding in the tears that threatened to overflow. If she started crying now, she might not stop, not for a good, long time, and right now they needed to finish this discussion. She told him about Gisburne's plans, how he intended to claim the child as his, all of it, holding nothing back, then waited in silence to hear his reaction.

After a long moment, Robin spoke. "And Gisburne claims to have come up with this all on his own? I can scarce credit it."

"My reaction exactly," Marion agreed. She felt his hand grope for hers, then hold it gently, the arm encircling her shoulders tightening in an embrace that ignored the freshly bandaged injuries before easing his hold once again.

"Still, it would serve us well not to underestimate my dear half-brother in the future," Robin said in quieter tones. They were nearly alone in the cell, with only the half-mad old man mumbling to himself or his rat quietly in the farthest corner, but that secret still required keeping, at least as far as Robin was concerned. "I'd never have credited Guy with the brains to put together such a scheme on my most generous day."

Another companionable silence fell over them, broken once again by Robin. "We'll get out of this, Marion, don't you worry. And we'll find a way to keep you safe until the baby's born." A note of wonder crept into his voice. "We'll be parents together; say you'll let Tuck marry us as soon as we return to Sherwood."

"Of course I will," she promised, lifting her face for a lingering kiss. Suddenly her fears at finding "Robin's" body seemed ridiculous; all of life was a risk, and she wasn't one to shy away from things she feared.

"We'll have to think about names as well," he mused, and Marion recognized what he was doing: focusing on the future, not the unpalatable present. The future they both hoped to share. If that was optimistic, if realism dictated they admit that their only future together lay at the end of a hangman's rope, then she'd take optimism.

Sherwood

"Well, that could have gone better."

Scarlet turned to glare at Little John. "Really? You think so?" he asked, voice heavy with sarcasm. "What gave you that idea? Besides us totally bollixing up a simple rescue mission and losing our leader in the process."

John turned red and managed a scowl almost as impressive as the one Scarlet was currently sporting, but only turned his head toward the other members of their band. "Nasir? Tuck? Any ideas?"

"Get them back," Much muttered disconsolately. He was crouched by the largest of the trees ringing their camp, one hand bandaged and bloody and a great bruise decorating the left side of his face.

"Aye, get them back, that's the idea," Scarlet snarled, turning his fury on the hapless miller's son. "You wanna tell us how, idiot?"

"Don't call me an idiot!" Much flared, jumping to his feet and balling his fists as the other man sneered at him. "I'm just saying, that's all. We have to get them back."

"Of course we do," Tuck offered, placing a soothing hand on Much's shoulder even as he turned his most withering glare on Scarlet. "We all know that. We've done it before, we'll manage it this time, never fear."

"Yeah? How?" Scarlet demanded, not one whit put off by Tuck's stern look or by the implied threat still posed by Much's clenched fists. "The last plan was Robin's an' it failed miserably. Ain't none of us got the brains to put together a better one, an' you all know it!" He turned and stomped away, leaving the others staring after him with varied expressions of consternation, doubt, and dismay.

But not one word in disagreement with his grim assessment of the situation.

A/N: I hope everyone who is reading is still enjoying this grim little romance. Not to worry, I'm a firm believer in happy endings for the good guys and the bad guys getting their just desserts. Please R&R if you like it!