(Sherwood)
Will returned to the camp after his scouting run two days later with a smile. "Worked like a dream," he said simply. "They're all down with it. Some of them are muttering about poison, but they're all sick. And the villagers are fine." He shrugged. "Recovering nicely. They're glad of the rest."
Robin grinned. "There's that out of the way then. We bought them some time to regroup, and Tom can talk to her friend when she gets to Nottingham. That'll help too." He watched quietly as Tom worked with John to learn how to wield a staff. They'd all begun teaching her, although he was going to have to find ways to keep John away while anyone else was with her. The big man was overly protective and if she was going to learn quickly enough to stay alive, they had to be brutal. John objected to that, sometimes with more than words.
On the other hand - "Get your mind on what you're doing!" he heard John growl and Tom gave him an answering snarl, feinting one way and then connecting with a solid "thunk" on the man's forearm. John countered the blow and swept her legs with his weapon, sending her crashing backward to the ground with a curse. She lay still for a moment and Robin leaned forward, then smirked a bit as he realized what she was up to. It hadn't been a hard enough fall to knock her senseless.
John moved forward and was about to kneel down to check on her when her leg shot out and her foot connected solidly with his knee. He fell back with a strangled curse and she was on him in a blink, dagger pressed to his throat and a gleam in her eye. "Gotcha," she said softly.
He grinned at her and then without warning, knocked the little dagger aside and flipped them so he was holding her down. It was all in fun, playful, but suddenly she went rigid, her eyes wide, her breathing becoming rapid and she bucked underneath him, struggling to reach her knife and screaming denials.
Tom's mind deserted her. All she could see above her was Gisborne's sneering face, feel his hands on her, holding her down, trying to take what he thought was his. She didn't see John at all; she was back in the castle at the knight's mercy. A wail of terror left her and then she was desperately fighting back, striking whatever part of him she could reach in hopes of winning free.
John instantly turned her loose and rolled away, letting her reach her dagger and she scrambled backward, brandishing it in his general direction, breathing hard and backing against the nearest tree. He wanted to help her, but he wasn't sure how. She seemed utterly terrified of HIM and if he got near her, there was no telling what she'd do.
He got to his knees but rose no further and held a hand out to her. "Tom. Tom, it's me. It's John." He didn't know if he could reach her but he had to try. The sheer panic in her eyes tore at him. "It's John. I won't hurt you. You know I won't hurt you. Calm down, now. You're safe here, okay? You're safe." Understanding broke over him and he cursed long and loud in his mind. "He isn't here, Tom. He's not here. You're safe."
Robin started toward them but Djaq took his arm. "No. Let him do it."
"She's terrified of him!" Robin made to shake her off but Djaq held firm.
"It isn't him she fears," she explained quietly. "You know what Gisborne tried to do to her. That is what she fears, not our John. And the way she watches him, the way he looks at her, it will make him able to reach her better than any of the rest of us."
Robin sat back, watching, though nothing had changed. Tom still kept her back to the tree and her dagger in front of her, and John had simply sat down a few feet away, talking to her. He wasn't pressing her, wasn't forcing her to listen, he was just talking. And Robin had to admit, it seemed to be working. Tom was slowly, very slowly settling down, relaxing enough to let the little knife dangle from her fingers rather than brandishing it defensively.
"Where did he learn that?" Robin asked quietly, not really expecting an answer. Djaq shrugged, but Much spoke then from where he'd come to rest beside them, unnoticed.
"From me. From how I treated you when we first got home, when we first came to the forest. You were – the nightmares were horrid, simply horrid, and I talked you through them every night for weeks. You never even knew. You never remembered the dreams, not once you were awake. Sometimes it would take hours to calm you." Much kept watching John with Tom. "It's really the same thing, isn't it? You thought you were going to die when that sword hit you. You felt helpless and afraid. So does she."
Robin fought down a shiver at the remembered emotions. Yes, homecoming had been so wonderful; being back on English soil, seeing his home, it had all been overwhelming but the terror of his injuries, of knowing he had nearly died, of his lingering weakness from the fever and infection... those had all conspired to take a heavy toll on him. And Much, his loyal friend, had been there. Much had brought him back from the abyss with just the sort of behavior John was giving Tom now.
And the gratitude he felt for that friendship, for that devotion, was also overwhelming. And yet, he said nothing. Much understood far more than he would say about it, and he understood Robin's feelings on it. That was enough.
"Then what she needs most is time." Robin was still watching them. There wasn't much to do in the forest, unless they were either ambushing travelers or training or sleeping. Any distraction was welcome. But something about this one was different.
As gently as Much had held him when necessary, there had been none of the tenderness, the love that John showed Tom. And he thought that as much as John was good for Tom, she would be good for him. John had mourned his wife and son for a very long time. He'd wanted to die, and to see him like this gave Robin new hope that he wouldn't slide back into that dark nothingness that beckoned him each day that he no longer had Alice and their boy. They hadn't died; but they might as well have. When John had been forced into the forest to live as an outlaw, everyone had considered him dead, including Alice. And she had made a new life with another man.
And John had let her go. He had sent her away, never to see her again. Never to see his son again. And that act had nearly destroyed him.
Now, he was completely focused on Tom. He'd finally managed to move close enough to touch and gently, carefully took the knife from her. She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, and sudden recognition flared in those jade green orbs. She half raised her hand to him and then dropped it as a tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Djaq grabbed Robin and Much both by the collars and pulled. "I think we should leave," she said simply as John reached out to wipe the tear from Tom's cheek. They'd already stayed long past what was really proper.
John and Tom never noticed their presence, much less their departure. He pulled her in close, not using a lot of power. He didn't want to frighten her any more than she already had been. And he held her gently, easily, against his chest as she cried, letting her purge some of the fear and anger. He kissed her hair, and she never noticed when his own tears joined hers.
Morning dawned gloomy and overcast, which suited Gisborne's mood. He was coming to realize that things weren't always as they seemed, and the thought that he'd been used was foremost in his mind.
Thomasina was a very sore spot in his thoughts. He had taken Prince John's words at face value and treated her badly, and it had soured what might have been a decent relationship. If he had treated her kindly from the outset, things might be different.
He had been as much an unwilling pawn in this as she. Was it truly right for him to treat her so callously, so cruelly? Thoughts of her attack on him welled up and he growled. He'd really done nothing to provoke it. He'd only insisted – rather forcefully, he had to admit – that she be more circumspect with her words. Antagonizing Vaizey would he hazardous to her health.
Too forcefully. She'd felt threatened and had defended herself. In retrospect, he understood it, and he regretted it. Soft words, kind actions, they could have avoided this whole bloody mess.
That farce of a wedding feast. He should have suspected something amiss when she just showed up out of the blue, pale hair shorn short and dressed as a lad. Obviously she'd meant to hide from him, and yet something had drawn her back. He should have known.
After his callous and cavalier treatment of her, nothing short of desperation would have brought her back to him. Or being part of Hood's plan to steal the taxes that had been collected. And that was another thorn in his side.
She was a lady born and raised. How could she sympathize with them? They went against everything the nobility was.
She was pretty, in an understated sort of way, he mused suddenly. Her hair, pale silvery gold, an unusual color and quite striking. Too bad she'd hacked most of it off. Her eyes, jade green, danced with fire when she was angry and admittedly when she was with him, she was usually furious.
He'd made so many mistakes. The first being that he had listened to what Prince John had told him about her and had the notion she'd need a firm hand. Gentle treatment would have served him much better. Instead, he had not only struck her, he'd attempted to force himself on her.
It was the worst sort of stupidity.
Too late now. She'd never forgive him, even if he wanted her to. And he wasn't sure he did, not yet. She'd still lashed out at him, had stabbed him, had let that oversized woodsman throw him into the wall. And she was firmly in league with Robin Hood.
That was perhaps the most galling thing of all. Did she love Locksley, like Marian had? He thought it was probably so. The man had the most irritating way with women. They all loved him, whether they stood a chance with him or not. A romantic hero. The thought made him sneer in disgust.
So why, then, when he had the chance to rid himself of her and still gain her lands, had he not simply put a crossbow bolt through her? He'd had the shot, had been putting the pressure on the trigger assembly, and at the last moment had sent it wild. It hit her a glancing blow, probably because she moved at the last second, but was in no way close to being mortal.
Was it perhaps a misplaced sense of guilt? He had killed Marian in a fit of rage. She had thrown her relationship with Hood at him, taunted him with it, gloated over it, and he just couldn't stop. And the guilt, the guilt of that action, it never left him. It tore at him in the small hours of the night, when it was so dark and still that it might be believed unhappy spirits still walked the earth, speaking to those who deserved death and damnation.
No matter. He was still going to bring her back. If she never forgave him, so be it. She was his wife, and she was going to play her part in this farce. They were joined by the laws of God and England, and she would obey them.
But still, Marian lurked in his mind, in his heart... and for a moment, he wondered if perhaps she was trying to tell him something. Then he pushed it aside and went about his day.