Devastated, with hot tears streaming down her cheeks, Marian felt almost doubly guilty from experiencing a deep sense of peace, being held once again in Robin's arms. Lambert was dead, her plan to save him ruined, and all because Guy of Gisbourne proved himself the traitor Robin claimed he was. She had no right to feel happy when she felt so sad, yet she couldn't help feeling she'd come home, never wanting to leave his arms ever again.
"Loyalties are sometimes divided," Gisbourne had told her, and some of the tears she shed now were for those divided loyalties. Robin's loyalty to her, and to his king and country, had served to tear them apart. Her loyalty to him, whom she believed didn't need her, and to her father, who did, kept her from joining his fight in the forest. She wept silently not only for Lambert, and her crushed delusions of Gisbourne, but also for the life and the love she could not have with the man who was holding her so lovingly.
"Go on," she said to him at last, when her tears were nearly cried out. "Tell me I was wrong, and you were right. You've earned it."
"Shh," he soothed, without a trace of self-righteous gloating. "You did nothing wrong. Your plan to save Lambert was sound. It's not your fault, Marian."
Because of all their arguments since he'd returned from war, she'd forgotten how perfectly gentle and kind he could be. And understanding. His kindness brought fresh tears to her eyes.
"Robin, it is!" she argued. "Lambert would still be alive, if I hadn't trusted-"
"Shh. I know how you feel, but you mustn't blame yourself. I went along with your plan, because I respected it."
"Why don't you just go on, and throw it in my face how wrong I was to trust Gisbourne? Isn't that what you want to say?"
By way of an answer, Robin led her to a fallen log, inviting her to sit beside him. Turning his gorgeous, sorrow-filled eyes on her face, he softly explained, "A good man is dead, through no fault of yours. Don't let it eat you up, Marian. I said I knew how you feel, because it's true. There have been many who have died, due to mistakes on my part."
"Not you," she corrected. "You save people. You saved Will and Allan! That's why you're here, and not home, where you belong."
"I've also seen men die, because of me."
"What men?"
"Allan's brother Tom, for one."
"Robin! You can't blame yourself for his death! The sheriff moved the hanging forward by an hour, remember? Anyway, no other man in the world would have risked his life to try to save him."
"I failed him, and his two friends, not to mention Allan. Then, there was Joe Lacey. You were there with me, Marian. I couldn't save him from Gisbourne's blade."
The mention of the traitorous man she was doomed to marry made her stiffen and look away, preparing herself for the tongue lashing she knew she deserved, concerning Gisbourne. But it still didn't come.
You are too good-hearted and kind, Robin, she thought. Upbraid me; don't comfort me, when I haven't earned it!
"And there were others, in the Holy Land," he told her, unburdening his heart with thoughts he preferred left unspoken. "Men I should have been able to save, but couldn't."
"Tell me," she asked him, awestruck.
Wiping her remaining tears from her cheeks, he sighed, then said, "I don't know where to begin. There were so many."
Sensing the depth of his sorrow, Marian took on his role of comforter, bravely telling him, "It was a worthy Crusade, Robin. You were right to go, to try to free Jerusalem."
"Was I?" he asked, staring at her, tense with emotion.
"You doubt it?" she asked, just as tense as he. "You love war, and glory!"
"No, I don't. Not any more. I love..." His voice trailed off.
"Who?" she asked, her voice tremulous. "Who is it you love, Robin, if not glory?"
"I love..." he began again, staring deeply into her eyes.
"Yes?" she gulped, when he once more hesitated.
"I love England, and her people," he told her, before admitting the all important truth. "I love-"
Raised voices of his gang, arguing over Lambert's journal, interrupted his confession. Without thinking, Robin slipped his hand into Marian's, entwining his fingers naturally through hers, the way he always used to hold her hand years before, and led her toward his men, who were gathered around the campfire.