Standing in the doorway of Ellen's nursery, Robin silently watched his wife and child, his heart mixed with love and sorrow. The picture he was witnessing was so pure and lovely, as far from the news he needed to tell Marian as Heaven was from Hell.

Ellen, perched upon her mother's lap, was completely engrossed in the richly illustrated book Marian was reading to her. Yet Marian wasn't only reading. She was reacting with Ellen to the story, living it through her child's eyes, to excite and teach her a love of literature and adventure.

"Where's the cat?" Marian asked her wide-eyed daughter, as they both studied an illustration. "Do you see him?"

"There!" Ellen pointed. "Peek a boo, kitty!"

"Peek a boo!" Turning the page, Marian sensed Robin's presence in the room and looked up.

The smile she gave him turned amused and questioning when she noticed him wearing his outlaw clothes, and then faded completely when she saw how dirty and unhappy he looked.

"Robin?" she asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Daddy!"

Ellen slid tummy down off Marian's lap and toddled to her father, who scooped her up in his arms and forced a smile, just for her.

He didn't speak, only smiled adoringly at both Ellen and Marian. Yet there was sadness in his eyes as well, and Marian knew he needed to unburden himself without their daughter present.

"Daddy and I need to talk," she told Ellen. "Would you like to help Sarah in the kitchen? Jess is there."

"Jess!" Ellen cried excitedly, for the young daughter of one of Locksley Manor's cooks loved playing with the toddler.

After Robin and Marian had delivered their daughter to Sarah and Jess's care, they enclosed themselves in Robin's study.

"Now, Robin," Marian said intently, looking deeply into his eyes, "What happened?"

His guilt-ridden face, so handsome yet sad, nearly broke her heart as he told her, "I am so sorry, my love. Pox is dead."

"Dead?" she repeated hollowly, not yet grasping the news.

"The king killed him, but it's my fault. I'm sorry, Marian. I never meant to hurt him."

That beautiful, proud animal...dead. Marian hadn't had time to develop any kind of a bond between herself and the horse, but dead?

Yet it was the sight of Robin, smeared with dirt and sweat, dressed in tatters, wanting so hard for his story not to hurt her, that moved her nearly to tears. Recalling in the past the many times he'd refrained from "I told you so's" when she'd been wrong, choosing instead to gather her in his arms to comfort her, she could do no less for him now. Closing the space between them, she reached for him and drew him close, holding him against her beating heart, stroking his hair and telling him that everything would be alright.

...

"And so," King John announced to his assembled banqueting guests that night at Nottingham Castle's Great Hall, "I unsheathed the nearest sword I could find, slicing it through the underbelly of my steed. You should have seen what gushed out! Not only a stream of blood, but his intestines, like a string of sausages in a butcher shop! Oh! It was such sport! And all the while, we suspected Locksley must have been somewhere close, watching! Probably perched up in the treetops, like a robin in his nest!"

Isabella was frankly bored with hearing the story again. Bored and restless, and unhappy at not being able to gloat over the deed in Robin's handsome face.

"Where is Locksley?" she asked, petulantly. "Shouldn't he, as the shire's premier noble, be here tonight, feasting with us?"

"I don't want him here," her husband whined. "Not unless he brings his luscious wife with him."

"The one who's growing fatter, as we speak? The one who chopped off her hair?"

"Jealousy doesn't become you, my dear," the king warned, threateningly. "You would be wise to close your eyes to my trifling, as your better did before you."

Isabella bit her lip, glowering with hidden rage. When a wine steward approached to refill His Majesty's chalice, she smiled and said, "Allow me. I do so adore serving my king."

When she was certain no one could see, she lifted back the jewel on one of her hinged rings, and emptied its contents into the king's wine.

Just enough to give you excruciating cramps, you bastard, she thought, pleased with herself. No one will be the wiser, when we blame it on the surfeit of eels you've been downing.

"Wait!" the king cried, just before putting the chalice to his lips. "Where's my food taster? It wouldn't do, for England's King to be poisoned, before his queen presents him with a royal heir! When are you going to get busy and do your part, anyway?" he pouted toward his wife.

Isabella didn't answer, growing anxious as the food taster gasped and sputtered and gripped his sides as he suffered spasms of agony.

"Poison!" the king shouted, rising to his feet. "God's Blood, someone seeks to poison his king!"

The Great Hall was abuzz with the story, everyone feigning distress over the king's near mishap.

"That's it!" King John whined, paralyzed with fear and paranoia. "I need protection! Someone, fetch Locksley!"

"Locksley?" his queen cried. "Sire, you cannot be serious!"

"Of course I'm serious!" he shrieked. "As much as I detest the man, he's the only one in my kingdom who can save me, when enemies assail me from every side!"

"But, my king-"

"Shut up, Hag!" he shouted. "Locksley protected my brother Richard, did he not? If he'd been by his side in France when we paid that peasant to shoot the poisoned arrow that struck the Lionheart down, Richard would have, no doubt, miraculously survived!" Jumping up and down with his hands balled into fists, the king screamed, "I want Locksley! I want Locksley!"

"Don't we all?" Isabella whispered slyly to a startled Annora Fitzhugh at the banquet table.