Marian marched straight to Robin and grabbed the arrow shaft he was carving right out of his hands.

"So, you're taking up with liars and thieves now, are you?" she accused, her eyes flashing.

"Well, let me think," he answered smugly, enjoying the fire in her eyes, "I'm the leader of a gang of outlaws who makes it their business to rob any noble who lives off the poor. And as for liars, I believe I'm looking at the prettiest spy I've ever seen. She wouldn't make a very decent spy now, would she, if she couldn't tell a convincing tale or two?"

"I'm not talking about decent people who lie and steal because England is wrong, Locksley-"

"Locksley?"

"-I'm speaking about real liars and thieves!"

He smiled whizzically at her. "What is this about?" he asked gently.

Her cheeks were flushing, and she found it difficult to meet his gaze. She didn't want tears to spill from her eyes, and she felt sure she might cry if she looked at him.

"You kissed the Abbess!" she cried at last.

Allan stood up, guilt all over his face. "Why is everyone lookin' at me?"

Not a soul had been looking, but everyone turned their attention to him now. "I didn't do anything!" he lied.

Marian grabbed Robin's arm and pulled him to privacy.

"What Abbess?" he asked, totally confused. What had Much been telling her?

"She wasn't really an Abbess...I just thought she was. She presented herself as one, the liar! And you kissed her!"

Robin still didn't understand. "Marian," he said, "I haven't kissed anyone. I'd like to, though." He looked deeply into her eyes and leaned down to kiss her lips. She turned angrily away. He wasn't surprised.

"Marian," he sighed, growing impatient, "I never kissed an Abbess, real or pretend. But if I want to kiss a woman, I will, assuming she wants it, too."

"Oh, will you?"

"It's hardly fair for you to expect me to abstain from kissing, when you refuse to let me kiss you."

The validity of his statement hit her squarely in the face. It wasn't fair. How could she even expect it? Still, the thought of him kissing anyone else upset her strangely.

What was she doing? She needed to release him, once and for all, if she wasn't willing to risk a relationship with him.

Unjustified anger welled up within her again. Why was this so impossible?

"I don't care whom you kiss, Robin of Locksley!"

"You don't?"

"Of course not!"

"Well then..."

Before she knew what was happening, she found herself wrapped in his arms, and the long forgotten intoxicating feel of his lips on hers sent ripples of pleasure up and down her spine. She didn't mean to kiss him back, but her body and lips seemed to take over.

Regaining control of her mind, she stopped kissing and pushed him away.

They were both breathless. He was smiling brightly. She wore an expression of utter surprise.

"You told me you didn't care whom I kissed," he grinned mischieviously at her.

"I hope your lips fall off and you go to the Devil!" she cried, mortified at what she had done.

She threw the arrow shaft at him and marched away, but all that evening and most of the following day, she marveled at the memory of his kiss.