Robin kept his tongue while Matilda examined Marian, but once she'd confirmed all was well and departed, he entered his bedchamber and suspiciously asked, "So, Marian, why didn't you tell me Gisbourne's remains were found in the moat?"

"Two reasons, Robin," Marian answered defensively, sitting up in their bed. "First and foremost, I knew you'd react exactly the way you are."

"And how is that?" he snapped, folding his arms over his chest.

"Unjustifiably jealous and angry. I can't mention the name Gisbourne around you, without you launching into a tirade."

"What tirade? I haven't said a word."

"You will!"

With an unpleasant laugh, he asked, "What else are you hiding from me, Marian?"

"Nothing, and you know it. I thought you claimed you wanted to be a better husband. You're acting more like that baseborn James Fitzhugh than the man I thought I married. Besides, aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"I'm keeping my temper, and my tongue, under control. You're the one behaving unfairly. I'll ask you again. Why didn't you mention Gisbourne's body was discovered? Unhappy it might be true?"

"Grow up."

"Why can't you be truthful with me? You never used to be a liar!"

"A liar? How dare you?"

"Do you deny you're good at twisting the truth?"

"I taught myself to lie because of Gisbourne, Robin, to help you, and the poor; not because I wanted to! I hated lying, every bit as much as you hated stealing. It was wrong, but it was the choice we had to follow, under the circumstances. If you can't understand that, you're not the man I believed you to be."

Her words chastised him, banishing his anger and giving him back his sense of reason. He felt so sorry, he didn't feel the pain in his leg when he dropped to his knees at their bedside, and reached for her hand.

"Marian, I'm sorry," he told her. "I've never hated anyone as much as I hate Gisbourne. You're right; I lose my reason when I think of him. Even dead, he drives me to say things I shouldn't. I did not mean what I said to you just now. Forgive me?"

Instead of answering him directly, she sat looking searchingly into his eyes. Sorrow and regret stared back at her, accompanied by deep, unending love. "Hold me, Robin," she asked him simply, which he happily did, after climbing beside her in their bed. Settling back into his arms, she added, "I think it's past time we had a real talk about him. You need to listen to me, really listen for once, and-"

"I always listen to you, my love."

"No, you don't. You hear what you want to, and shift the conversation to lighter topics when the truth becomes too much for you."

"I'm no coward, Marian. I don't run. From anything."

"I'm not calling you a coward, Robin. No one could ever accuse you of cowardice."

"But...?"

"But you avoid discussing things you ought to talk about. You always have, but it's grown worse since you were a Crusader."

"I think I've gotten better, since our marriage. You've seen to that. You force me to talk."

Marian wanted to roll her eyes, knowing how difficult it was to get him speak a single word about his recurring nightmares, for instance. But she knew that her husband needed understanding, and she was ready and willing to supply it.

"You think you have to be strong, not to feel, because so many people depend on you. But I know you, Robin. You are strong, but you feel things deeply, so deeply they sometimes hurt, physically. I'm right, aren't I?"

"I feel for you. I love you."

"I know, and I'm glad. I love you, too. But you don't trust me, Robin."

"How can you say that? I trust you! Don't I trust you?"

"If you truly trusted me, you'd never suffer a single twinge of jealousy about Guy...about Gisbourne. Tell me now, Robin. What are you afraid of? That I cared for him?"

She felt him stiffen in her arms. "Did you?" he asked, hurt.

To answer that question, she realized she needed a moment to think. "I had feelings for him once, Robin. No, listen to me! Let me explain what I meant!"

He had pulled away and was staring at her, choosing anger because it was easier to deal with than the pain her words had inflicted.

"Feelings such as repulsion, disgust, frustration, to name a few," she clarified. "Some of the same feelings you had toward him."

"He said you were stirred by him. I'll never forget him telling me that, nor your reaction, when I first mentioned it to you. Your laughter was unconvincing, Marian. Tell me now, since you insist we talk about this. Was it true?"

"Why does it matter? It's over, Robin."

"It's true, then. You were stirred."

"Don't be ridiculous. I despised him, Robin. He was a ruthless killer. More to the point, he sought your death. I wasn't stirred; I was repelled."

"Then why did you evade my question?"

"Listen, and I'll tell you everything, not because I want to, but because I have to. When Guy forced me into an engagement, and I was so angry at you for backing out of our engagement and leaving me-"

"I didn't! I begged you to marry me before I left for battle!"

"A technicality, Robin. The point is, you left. May I finish?"

She pressed her palm to his, then entwined their fingers together.

"Sorry," he told her, puffing the air out of his cheeks. "I'm new to this, don't forget."

"The truth, my love," she told him, "is this. I tried very hard to make the best of what I thought was to be my lot in life. I looked for good in Guy, blotting out the bad, believing I could change him into the man you are. And yes, I may have been stirred, once or twice, believing he could change. I know you don't like hearing it, but think. Were my feelings really any different from yours toward Isabella, when you wanted to believe she was me?"

His wife was right, on many levels. It was hard to face the truth, but it helped, once and for all, to clear the air.

"I never loved her, Marian. Believe me," he implored. "I was lost, and miserable, without you."

"And she is nothing like me. Neither was Guy any way close to the man you are, Robin. I could never love him. I never did. And the one and only time we kissed, to save your life, I felt nothing."

"Nothing?"

She loved to see his smug smile return, even if it was only a shadow of its usual illuminating burst of sunshine. "Nothing at all, I promise," she admitted, honestly. "Whereas, whenever I kiss you..."

Leaning closer, she whispered, "Kiss me now, my darling. Send warm waves of rapture rushing through me, the way only your kisses can do."

"Now, that sounds like a plan," he said, smiling.