Robin's whistle under Marian's window received no response, and so, the outlaw pulled himself up to stand on the ledge outside her window to peer into her room.
"Marian?" he whispered loudly, amazed when he still received no answer.
Without making a sound, Robin climbed through her window and moved toward her bed, silent and graceful as a cat. He expected to find her asleep, and his heart began pounding as his mind conjured up her image. But when he drew near enough to see, he froze in bafflement to discover she was not in bed.
Where could she be? The hour was late, well past midnight, for Robin knew better than to endanger her by visiting her home under the watchful eyes of the sheriff's spies. Sir Edward was home, so Robin doubted Marian was at the castle. And then he realized.
The Nightwatchman! Of course! Marian must be out, risking her life, to help the poor. Part of his heart soared at her bravery and goodness, but most of him wanted to shout at her for her unnecessary foolhardiness.
He admired her. In fact, he was awed by her, taking on her role as "Nightwatchman." But why did she persist in it, now that he was back? He was a trained warrior. He had a gang of men behind him. She was just being stubborn.
He refused to admit the reason he objected to her nightly activities was because he feared for her safety. He could not acknowledge he loved her, and that he would be crushed should anything happen to her.
He did recognize there was nothing he could do now but wait for her to return. Pushing aside his fear for her safety, he calmed himself by taking in the pleasure of just being in her room.
Because he was so deeply in love, the room seemed more extraordinary than it actually was. Everything was indeed fresh and clean, but to Robin's senses, it seemed more freshly scented than a flower decked meadow. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, a smile stretching across his lips. He opened his eyes and studied every object in the room with curiosity and reverence. And then, very slowly, he returned to the bedside.
His sensitive fingertips trembled just before they touched her coverlet. When his mind let him picture himself stroking her, instead of her bedcover, he pulled his hand back sharply. He resisted such thoughts, tempting though they were. But he couldn't resist lifting her pillow from her bed and breathing in her scent that lingered upon it.
"Marian," he whispered, his entire being longing for her.
He spied a treasure. A single strand of her glorious hair lay forgotten on her pillow. He took it, and wrapped it around his finger, a man so wildly in love he didn't recognize how ridiculous his thoughts and actions were. He only knew he needed to safeguard the strand of hair, and keep it forever. He removed his outlaw tag from around his neck, sat upon her bed, and began to carefully weave it through the tag's string of twine.
He was very tired, and the act made him sleepy. Soon, he was trying to weave the hair into the twine in a reclining position, struggling to keep his eyes open. Shortly after that, he lost the battle and drifted peacefully off to sleep.
That is how the "Nightwatchman" found him, when she climbed through her window and had peeled off her mask, scarf, and vest.