Robin's only response to Marian's request was to tighten his lips and harden his gaze.
"What?" Marian asked. "I assume you're still keeping those women in your gang."
"Not keeping. Protecting them, I'd call it."
Marian rolled her eyes at his arrogant attitude. "Call it whatever you like. I need to present Maggie to Gisbourne."
That particular name on Marian's lips never failed to steal away Robin's solid good sense and humor, and replace them with harsh jealousy. "Why, Marian? I can't allow you to put that innocent woman before that monster."
"Innocent? That's not exactly how I would describe her!"
"Perhaps I know her better than you do."
"Perhaps you know her too well."
"Don't tell me you're jealous!"
"Hardly. I've told you before, Robin of Locksley, I don't care what you do, or whom you do it with. But we're off topic." Marian couldn't stand the way Robin's eyes looked defensively down on her, gleaming in arrogant, yet wary triumph. Reminding herself of her need for Maggie, she forged ahead, deciding truth was the best course to pursue.
"Do you remember when one of Gisbourne's men discovered us in an alley off Batley Street, and we let him believe you were Aylesbury?" she asked.
Robin grinned, and moved nearer, amorously. "How could I forget?"
"Grow up." Her curt demand instantly deflated his pride, as it always did. She continued her explanation. "Well, the guard told Gisbourne he saw me kissing Martin, and I need an alibi. I claimed to be in Pitt Street, interviewing Maggie as a possible servant."
Robin was quick to grasp the implications. He nodded his head, his face grave. "Alright. I'll get Maggie to agree, and coach her on what to say." Looking deeply into Marian's eyes, he tenderly asked, "Will you be alright?"
"I can handle Gisbourne," Marian told him.
Neither spoke for a time, nor did they make any move to leave. Robin remembered what he had come to tell her, but hadn't. Drawing a deep breath, he gently spoke her name.
"Marian."
"Yes?" She looked up at him, her eyes hard and defensive.
Robin held her gaze, his intense, searching eyes looking in vain for the warmth that used to flow from her whenever she had looked at him in the past. How could he tell this cold creature he loved her? She'd hate him for it, even more than she already did.
But he couldn't go before admitting...something.
His own voice sounding strange in his ears, he hurriedly confessed, "You look gorgeous, you know, no matter how you wear your hair."
He didn't wait for her reaction. Instead, he darted away, to find Maggie and prepare her to meet Gisbourne.
...
Lady Cecily was having a terrible time in the forest, stuck with only the whore and the buffoon Allan a Dale for company. She did her best to ignore them, but they wouldn't leave her in peace. She had no idea their attentions were designed to make her want to leave the forest, as soon as possible.
"Think I could be a lady's maid?" Maggie asked her. "Sounds like a cushy life, living in a grand house, dressing up a lady like you, like she was a child's poppet! Here, let me have a go and practice on you."
"Don't touch me."
"Aw, come on! Just let me comb your long, golden hair."
Cecily hesitated. It would be nice to be waited on again. "Very well," she agreed. "But you must remain silent."
Maggie clamped her lips shut. Nervously, Cecily waited for Maggie to begin.
Allan brought a comb, and something else Cecily couldn't see. A huge beetle, half the size of his fist, soon debecked Cecily's long, golden locks.
"You got a bug in your hair," Maggie informed the noblewoman.
"A...a what? Get it out!"
"It's too big. I'm scared." In spite of herself, Maggie couldn't hold back her laughter.
Allan took over. "Aw, it's nothing. Just a friendly beetle."
Cecily screamed, shaking her head to throw it off. The beetle only clung tighter.
"Not bein' funny, but it's not the big bugs you need to worry over," Allan said smoothly. "It's the little ones you can barely see. Won't be long now, till your head's covered in 'em. That comb that just went through your hair belonged to Little John, and he's infested with lice. But don't worry, you'll know when you got 'em. Your head'll start to itch like hell."
At that, Cecily flung the beetle off her head. She screamed a second time when she saw how enormous it was.
"Lice?" she cried. "Where's the soap? I need to wash my hair!"
Seizing it, she ran as fast as she could toward the stream.
"Mind the water snakes," Allan called after her.
When she had gone, Maggie recovered from her laughter and asked, "Was that comb really Little John's?"
Allan grinned. "Do you think John even knows what a comb looks like?" he asked.
"Does he really have lice?"
"Probably. Probably not. But didn't thinkin' so make Her High and Mightiness take off like a rabbit? I only hope she doesn't fall in the new privy I dug, on her way to the stream!"
A woman's scream informed them Cecily had done just that.
"Guess it's her unlucky day," Allan said, grinning.