"What else can you hit, Master? I know! If you see a worm or beetle or some other creepy crawly nasty thing in the branches of that tree, I challenge you to bring it down with a single shot!"

Much was trying to cheer up Robin, who had returned from Nottingham in a silent, brooding mood.

Without a word, Robin narrowed his eyes, scanned the cover of leaves overhead, lifted his bow, and shot.

"Very good! Amazing!" Much cried, when an arrow fell to the ground, piercing a large black beetle. "You didn't even bring down a leaf! Why don't you do more of the hunting for food around here?"

"Your turn," was Robin's only answer.

Much was both relieved Robin had finally spoken, and alarmed that he had invited him to try the stunt.

"Oh, no," the servant protested. "I'm not wasting my arrows on tricks! These are reserved for dinner! Well, to catch dinner. I mean, we can't very well eat arrows, can we? Though it would save a lot of trouble-"

"Do you know what it means, Much?" Robin suddenly asked, interrupting his friend's ramblings.

"Means? What? What means what? What are you talking about?"

"The word 'lord,' " Robin explained, giving Much a clue about one of the things bothering him.

"Ummm," Much said, round blue eyes darting back and forth, as he tried to think. "It means the man in charge, I suppose. Don't you know?"

"No, it doesn't. It means, 'He who gives bread.' "

"What?"

"It does. It's Saxon."

"Like us!"

Robin found his mood improving. He even managed a wink and a smile.

The disputes between Norman and Saxon had eased themselves out years and years ago, but those of Saxon descent still held onto a sense of pride over their heritage.

"It's short for hlaford, a Saxon word meaning 'one who provides a loaf,' " Robin continued, lifting his bow and bringing down yet another beetle, just for the fun of it. "Most so called lords don't know that."

"Nobody knows that! Unbelievable! Is that the reason you were always so good at feeding us? I mean, you still are, as best as you can, even if Gisbourne's now lord of your manor. Oh! I shouldn't have said that!"

Robin forced out a sigh, trying to dispel his anger toward Gisbourne. " 'Lord of Locksley,' " he scoffed. "I think we ought to pay a visit to the so called 'Lord of Locksley,' and teach him the meaning of-"

"Oh, no! Robin! Master! Surely, you're not suggesting-"

Robin stopped Much's worrying by a quick intake of breath and a raised hand, indicating he needed silence. Much waited anxiously, then grew even more alarmed when he saw Robin pull himself up into the branches of a tree.

"Master! What is it?"

"It's Marian."

"Marian? Then...WHY ARE YOU HIDING?"

"You deal with her, Much."

"ME? Why me?"

"Just do it! And don't let her know I'm here!"

Much gulped, completely confused. Gaining control over himself, he stuck one end of his bow in the ground and tried to lean casually on it, imitating the way he'd seen Robin do on numerous occasions.

In no time at all, Marian appeared astride Vesper's back, cantoring along the path.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked Much, drawing rein.

"Wrong? What do you mean, wrong?"

"You're wriggling about, like an eel. Where's Robin?"

Without meaning to, Much darted his eyes upward, into the tree where Robin was hiding. "Robin? He's not here," Much lied, so poorly even Vesper could tell. "You'll have to deal with me."

Eyebrows raised, Marian shot him a withering look, then swung down from the saddle. "Give me your bow," she ordered.

"My bow? Why? Oh, no! You're not...surely not, Marian! You can't shoot him down!"

"There's bound to be a bird in that tree you can cook for dinner," she replied curtly. "Don't worry. I won't harm the tree. Remember how good I used to be, shooting down apples?"

"Master! Look out!"

At once, Robin dropped to the ground, not five feet from them.

"There, you see," Marian said, with proud disdain. "I brought you a robin, without even having to fire a shot." Handing Much back his bow, she said, "Though I think you'll need to catch something else to eat. This bird's tough and stringy, with hardly enough meat on him to cover his bones."

Instantly, she regretted her words. She hadn't meant to lash out so cruelly, criticizing him for his thinness, when she knew it was caused by his illness in the Holy Land, and by sacrificing much of his own food to the poor and hungry.

Much was standing by, nervous and uncomfortable, his wide eyes darting back and forth between Robin and Marian. But he hadn't liked Marian's insult, knowing it had stung Robin.

"I'll have you know," he blustered, "my master gives up his food, for others!"

"I know. I'm sorry," she replied, not realizing Robin found her pity harder to accept than her scorn.

"What brings you to Sherwood?" he coldly asked, then held up a hand to stop her from answering. "Don't tell me. You're dealing with Much now." And without another word, he turned and began jogging away.

Marian's jaw dropped open, and without thinking, she lifted her skirts and began running after him. He quickened his pace, causing Marian to call out, "Don't you dare turn your back and run away from me, Robin of Locksley!"

The sound of his rightful title on her lips stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, he spun around to face her, wearing a cocky smirk to cover his hurt.

"Well," he invited, "what's so important you can't deal with my men?"

"I thought you didn't run," she mocked him, frustrated by the rift between them.

"Oh, I run. It's not my first choice when dealing with conflict, but there are times when it comes in handy."

"Like when your wed..."

She stopped herself mid word, not willing to let herself cry.

He understood immediately. "I didn't run from you, Marian. I went to free Jerusalem."

Not wishing to discuss it again, she pulled his mother's brooch from beneath her cloak and shoved it against his chest.

"Here," she said, while his confused eyes looked at the linen wrapped item in her hand. "I believe this belongs to you."