AN: Thanks for your replies.
Part 8
The rain shot down from the sky like blazing arrows and hit the faces of the travelling duo with a force that was not to be reckoned with. The pair who were drenched to the skin forged onwards, the trees providing little or no cover as they kept off the main road and pushed their way through the scrub of the woodland that they were currently passing through.
"Look," Will whispered, rain flowing into his eyes and he blinked it away, drawing Marian's attention to a run down cottage. At one end the wall and the roof had caved in but it looked sound enough. "We can rest and take refuge here."
Inside he sat Marian in the far corner from the collapsed wall, ignoring her protests that she could help him find firewood and he went back out again and walked round the side. Will breathed out a sigh of relief, there was a small log pile towards the sheltered part of the house and he went to bring it in, in its entirety, hoping that the outer wood would dry out by the time they needed to use it. He lit the fire quicker than he thought he would, the rain was still pelting outside and the thought of going back out for food filled him with dread.
As if knowing what he was thinking Marian said. "Do not go out for food on my account I am not hungry."
"Nor am I," he admitted and gave an involuntary shiver. But it had been two days since their last hot meal in a small village where they had found shelter.
He sidled up next to her in a struggle to find warmth. The fire before them sent smoke up to the hole in the middle of the room, just as it was intended to do.
"Cold?" he asked into the darkness, some time later when he felt her shivering beside him.
"No," she replied her teeth chattering.
"Marian," he said pointedly, giving her a sideways glance and shaking his head at her. Changing the subject he asked. "How's the hand?" He felt her shrug beside him and wince, which told him more than her words ever would. "Perhaps I should have another look."
"No," she muttered. "We have nothing clean to wrap round it anyway."
"True, but it might need cleaning again," he persisted.
"No just let me sleep," she said tiredly leaning her head against his shoulder, which was not a good sign in the least.
It wasn't long before he heard her breathing even out and he laid her gently on the floor, ready to look at her hand despite what she had said. If he had to he would start using his undershirt as a dressing, as her cloak had gone on her wound already.
He undid the sling and peeled back the dressing, it had stuck to her hand and he was half expecting her to waken but she didn't even stir. The secretion was just as it had been this morning when he had scooped it all out. Although she hadn't even whimpered, her eyes told him more than she would ever know. And he knew that this wasn't good. It had been almost a week since Gisborne had stabbed her and they hadn't covered much ground. At this rate they would never make it back to Sherwood, or rather Marian would never make it back to Sherwood, he would have to bury her, perhaps here and face the task of telling Robin he had failed to keep her alive.
Will shook his head; even in the reduced light of the fire he could tell that the redness has spread to the middle of her forearm. The wound itself was a nasty shade of yellowish green and he turned for a moment to compose himself. He stripped off his top and then his undershirt, laying the former to dry by the fire and although naked from the waist up he felt warmer than he did when he had been clothed. The heat of the fire warming his skin and bringing him back to life, now if only he could do the same for Marian.
He cleaned her hand best he could with strips he tore off his wet undershirt, before binding it with further strips from it and fashioned a sling about her neck again to keep her arm in one place. He tore up his remaining shirt and rolled the bandages it created, making a neat pile on a flat looking log, before slipping back into his now dry over shirt.
Will wished now they had paused in Durham long enough to seek out a physician, but with the threat of Gisborne following them and Durham's men searching every house in the city it had been impossible. He wished that as Guy had confronted him he had acted quicker and stepped round Marian again, then the dagger would have penetrated him instead, for it was meant for him, even though Gisborne's anger had been directed at Marian.
The next time Will was conscious the fire had all but died, he spent some time tending it until it caught and flickered again, and fed it more timber until it looked healthy. He leaned over to look at Marian she had a fine sheen across her face. He felt her forehead and sighed heavily to himself and prayed the fever was induced by her hand and not from being in the cold and wet for so long, added complications they did not need. As he moved back he jarred her hand and cursed to himself as it woke her from her slumber.
"Will?" called Marian.
"I'm here," he told her and offered her some water from the canteen which she sipped gratefully.
"Will," she said again into the silence of the night, the only sounds the crackling of the fire as it took the chill from the air around them.
"Yes Marian," he replied after a reflective beat.
"Will, I want you to do something for me," she told him.
"Anything," he agreed.
"Tell Robin….Tell Robin he was my heart, that I loved him completely and…. to carry on the dream…... And Will, don't blame yourself that things worked out this way." She whispered her voice fading as the sentence progressed.
"Marian, Marian!" he called hovering over her, but from one look it was obvious that sleep had claimed her once more and he wondered if she would ever waken again.