A/N: As always, it's inspired by seasons 3 and 4.
Also, I seem to be unable to respond to reviews so if you happened to leave one and see this, thank you so much, it made my day!
"That's a lot of information that you were able to get,' said Robin once Marion finished speaking.
The two of them sat at the inn table on the outskirts of Nottingham. The place was packed, travellers were sitting everywhere. Scents of burning wood, stale ale, fresh soup, and stew filled the place. The air was thick with smoke, and someone tried to play a lute. At the back, someone argued with the cook.
"It was luck, nothing more. I was in the right place, at the right time," she said.
"Maybe I should send you undercover more often; it'll save us time," Robin winked at her, and Marion rolled her eyes before turning her attention to the soup in front of her.
Robin watched as she played with her food. There was something off about her, she wasn't her normal self. He couldn't quite figure out what it was, and as she kept insisting that she was fine, he resorted to observing her.
"There's something you're not telling me." He tried again, hoping that she'd finally crack.
"I told you everything that woman told me. Word for word."
"That's not what I meant. Has something else happened?"
Marion pressed her lips together, her body unusually stiff. She took a bite of her bread to buy herself some more time before she had to reply. Under Robin's scrutinising gaze, she chewed slowly, mulling over her words.
"Nothing of importance," she eventually said.
Without outright lying, Robin knew that Marion was being evasive, hiding something. Her answer only piqued his curiosity. It was only a matter of time before he figured it out because, clearly, something was wrong no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise.
Robin decided against pushing her any further, and they finished their meal in silence. Ready to retire for the night, they got up from their seats. As Marion walked past him, Robin noticed that she was missing something.
"Where's your saddle bag?"
Marion's eyes widened. She bent over to check under the table and looked around the inn, but it was nowhere to be found.
"I am not sure," she replied.
"It's not like you—"
"I'm just tired, I probably left it in my room," she said, and tried to walk past him.
Robin gently touched her elbow to get her attention back, but as she turned around, Marion winced in pain.
"What's wrong?" He asked, his voice full of worry.
"Oh, it's nothing; I bumped my elbow on the table earlier, I guess it's bruised." She smiled at him and continued walking.
Robin sighed as he knew that she had lied. As he followed her, he slowed down his pace, falling behind, watching as she walked. There was something unusual in her gait. As she climbed the stairs, he stopped at the bottom step, waiting for the right moment, and just when she was halfway up, he shouted, "Marion!"
Without thinking, she whipped her body around and gasped in pain. Her hand flew to her back. She winced and pressed her lips together.
Robin ran up the stairs towards her closing the distance between them. He placed his hand on her elbow and squeezed it gently. In response, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He drew his eyebrows together, concerned.
"Now, will you finally tell me what's wrong?"
Marion hesitated under his piercing gaze. There was no way out of that one. She nodded in response and led him to her room.
Confused, Robin entered the small room they rented. The sweet scent of a warm, summer evening hit his nose as the window was wide open. Inside, the room was furnished sparsely: a small bed, a table with a mirror, another small table with a bowl and a pitcher of water on top of it, as well as a chair next to it. His room was pretty much the same.
Marion lit the candles which flooded the room with a warm light, she walked past him, and locked the door. Robin followed her with his eyes, confusion visible on his face as she returned to the middle of the room and stood with her back facing him. Her shoulders rose as she took a deep breath preparing herself. She pushed aside her thick, auburn hair and lowered the neckline of her green blouse. Robin's eyes widened. Angry, red welts marked the pale skin of her shoulders. Without a word, he walked over to her and stopped so close that the warmth of his body radiated towards her.
"May I?" he asked.
She nodded and held her hair out of the way.
With his fingertips, Robin grabbed the hem of her emerald shirt and lowered it just enough to see the top of her back. Her perfect skin was covered in red and purple bruises and welts that, he was certain, came from caning or whipping. His jaw tensed. No wonder she looked so off earlier, her back must have been sore. Robin resisted the temptation to trace the bruises with his fingers and gritted his teeth, seething in anger at whoever had done it to her. That was not what he had expected. Carefully, he placed the fabric of her blouse back, covering her skin.
"What happened?" he asked.
Marion turned around to face him. She let go of her hair and adjusted her clothes.
"So you remember that woman who told me everything and introduced me to the others?"
Robin nodded, waiting for her to continue.
"Well, she was about to get flogged. For what exactly, I do not know, but I couldn't let that happen."
"So you took her place?"
"The new sheriff couldn't care less who got the caning, he only cared that someone got punished."
"She could've been guilty."
"It didn't matter."
"You ought to be more careful…"
"She was heavily pregnant; she would've lost the child."
"I know, but you can't save everyone, and you can't help others if you're injured or dead." He shuddered at the thought. He was NOT letting her go undercover alone ever again, he thought to himself.
"You would've done the same thing!"
Robing thought for a moment. "Yes. Yes, I would have." His reply was truthful. "But I am Robin Hood, it's part of the job description." A cheeky smile appeared on his face trying to lighten the mood.
Marion's fist collided with his biceps in a playful punch, and a jolt of pain ran through her back. She winced in pain.
"That's what you get for hitting me," he joked, but his face was serious.
"We wouldn't have gotten that information if I didn't her place," Marion added seriously. "It turned out that she knew a lot and she knew a lot of people who knew a lot, and she was more than willing to show her gratitude by sharing her knowledge."
Robin nodded. "I just wish you didn't get hurt."
"It was a small price to pay. We needed that information on the new sheriff. "
He knew that she was right, but he didn't have to like it, and certainly, he didn't have to agree with it. Robin looked into her tired eyes. She must have been exhausted from the pain and the day she had had, he thought.
"Wait here, I'll be right back. I'll go get my saddlebag. I've got Tuck's healing poultice in there."
Marion scrunched up her nose at the memory of that scent.
"We need to clean your wounds, your skin is broken in a few places," he added.
"Really? Where?" She reached out with her hand trying to assess her injuries; she didn't think she was bleeding.
With the speed of light, Robin grabbed her wrist, stopping her hand before she could touch her wounds.
"No touching until I clean it!" He dragged his hand down towards her palm and squeezed it. "I'll be right back."
When Robin came back, Marion was on her knees, searching for something under the bed. When she turned to him, he raised his eyebrows.
"No sign of my saddle bag." She sighed in frustration and clapped her hands on her legs. "I have no idea what happened to it."
"Maybe the innkeeper found it," Robin suggested.
"Maybe," she replied and got up, dusting off her black trousers now covered in white dust from the floor.
Robin cleared his throat. "I need to clean your wounds."
Marion nodded, avoiding his gaze.
"I need to see your back." He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "All of it," he added. "I can't clean it properly with your shirt still on." He busied himself with his saddleback, uncomfortable with the idea. Up until now, he was too preoccupied with her well-being to even consider it, but it hit him that she had to undress in front of him. That was not a good idea.
"Right," she mulled over her words, thinking how to handle it best. It's not like she could clean it herself. Damn it, she thought. They had managed to avoid this situation for years and there they were. "Okay, turn around, I have to take this off, it'll take me a minute." She picked on her riding glove, unclasped it, and slipped it off her hand.
Without any protest, Robin turned around and set his saddle bag on the table, busying himself with its contents as he listened to the sounds of her undressing. His senses heightened in the quiet room. Riding gloves sliding off her palms, untying of the laces of her wrist and arm guards, clinging of her sword and knives as she removed her belt and sheath, her necklace being unclasped, and a soft sound of her placing it on the bedside table… Robin swallowed hard. He shook his head, and, desperate to distract himself from the woman behind him, he started to recite old prayers that he had learned as a boy trying to stop his imagination from running wild. The idea of her almost naked in the same room was just too much for his poor, little soul. But no matter how tempting it was, he didn't try to steal a peak. He respected her far too much for that and only turned around when she announced that she was ready.
When he saw her, he took a sharp breath, staring at her without blinking.
Marion sat on the bed, facing him, her green shirt neatly folded next to her. Her arms and shoulders naked, and the rest of her chest was covered with her forest green cloak that she had wrapped tightly around her chest, holding it securely with her hand so she could remain semi-decent while he tended to her back. With his mouth dry, Robin swallowed, and his eyes found hers. His admiration did not go unnoticed by her, judging by the pink blush adorning her cheeks. Robin smiled reassuringly at her before shaking his head, desperate to break the spell, reminding himself what he was supposed to be doing.
"Okay then," he said and circled the bed bringing his supplies and a pitcher of water with him. He lowered his body and sat behind her. The bed creaked. With his free hand, he pulled a chair next to the bed and placed his supplies on it. He took his time, meticulously inspecting every little thing to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.
With everything laid out perfectly in front of him, Robin could no longer delay it. He gathered his courage and looked up at her back. Visible above her cloak were angry, red bruises marking her perfect skin. He brought up his finger and with a feather-like touch, he traced the soft skin just above the fabric of her cloak. Electricity ran up his arm. In response to his unexpected touch, Marion let out a small gasp. Her skin covered in goosebumps. Close enough to feel each other's presence, they were painfully aware of their proximity. They held their breaths too afraid to make any sudden movements.
"May I?" Robin broke the silence.
Marion nodded. The curtain of her fiery hair covered her face, and he couldn't see her expression. "Of course," she replied and let go of one edge of the cloth, firmly holding the other one, securing it in place with both of her hands around her chest so it covered her breast and stomach. The loose fabric fell, revealing her naked back.
Behind her, Robin took a sharp breath at the sight. He imagined that moment many times, but in none of his fantasies was he tending to her wounds. He shook his head as he scanned her back. Her skin was covered in raised, long, red bruises. Dried-up blood smeared around an open wound in the middle. He clenched his fist.
"Right," his voice hoarse. "There are a lot of welts. How many lashes did you get?"
"I lost count after 15, I was too focused on not screaming…" she said matter-of-factly. "I was not going to give him the satisfaction."
Robin's arm muscles flexed as he dug his nails into his palms.
"He hasn't spared any strength."
"No, he hasn't. He was overly eager to do it."
Robin gritted his teeth. "There are a lot of bruises that look painful, but luckily, most of them are just that. Bruises. But your skin split open in a few places. This one…" His fingers traced the area. "This one will leave a scar."
Marion gasped as a sharp pain shot through her back despite his delicate touch. She squeezed her eyes shut to ride out the wave of pain.
"Yeah, he must have liked that spot, I remember him hitting it over and over again."
"No wonder the skin broke," said Robin and he grabbed a clean cloth from the chair. "This may sting," he warned her before he brought the wet fabric to her skin to clean the area. Marion braced herself and clutched her cloak tight.
When the cloth made contact with her wound, a sharp pain paralysed her body and her eyes filled with tears. She tried to blink them back. Her jaw tensed as she braced herself for more, determined not to make a sound as her back continued to sting.
Behind her, Robin's gentle fingers cleaned the area with a wet cloth before he applied Tuck's herbal poultice. The foul smell filled the room as he unscrewed the jar, and both scrunched up their noses in disgust. No matter how many times they smelled it, they couldn't get used to it, yet Friar Tuck seemed immune to it. They often wondered how.
Robin worked fast; his focus was solely on her wounds. He tried his best not to think about the half-naked woman sitting in front of him or what had happened to her.
"Are you okay," he asked after a while when there was no reaction from her.
"Yeah, I'm good." Marion's voice was strained. Weak with hints of pain.
"I'm almost done," he assured her as he placed a makeshift dressing on her wound and secured it in place. His fingers tingled from the contact with her skin. Without thinking, he planted a small kiss on top of her shoulder, far away from her sore back, and said, "Done." And he got up, grabbed his medical supplies, and walked across the room towards the table where he had left his saddlebag, desperate to hide his desire. After all, he was only a man, and she was the woman he loved. And despite the circumstances, it was only natural, it's not like her life was in danger, he told himself.
"Thank you," she said and secured the cloak around her as she watched Robin rummage through his bag. It was taking him unusually long. The air was filled with tension.
When Robin finally turned around, he held up one of his white tunics with a self-satisfied smile. She recognised that garment. He looked so good in it; it was a shame he so rarely wore it, she thought.
"I can't believe your stuff is lost. Of all the times to lose it… Well, you need something to sleep in, and you can't possibly sleep in your clothes with your wounds, they're too tight, and you're just going to aggravate them and—" he rambled.
"I'll just sleep in my cloak," she said without conviction.
"In this heat?"
"You're right," she muttered. "But I can't take this. I don't want to ruin it with blood."
"I don't like it anyway; you'd be doing me a favour by giving me an excuse to throw it away." He winked at her.
"Liar." She smiled, but she was too tired to argue. "But fine, thank you."
With the shirt in his hand, Robin walked over to Marion, who was still sitting on her bed, and he pulled the tunic over her head and through her hair. The fabric was soft and thin. Perfect for a summer night. He gently lowered the white cloth on her arms and shoulders, covering them. When her face emerged, Marion's eyes were wide open, bringing him back to reality. With a shake of his head, he dropped the hem of the shirt and turned around, allowing Marion to finish dressing herself.
Still holding her cloak around her chest, she put her arm through the sleeve, then another, and lowered the rest of the fabric. She inhaled the scent of the clean shirt. It smelled of him, of forest and fire. It comforted her. Marion got off the bed. Her green cloak fell to the ground and pooled around her legs. With her hands, she smoothed the soft fabric of the shirt which reached her knees. With her trousers still on, she had no intention of removing them with Robin in the room. Now decent, she stepped over her cloak and moved to his side. She reached with her hand and placed it on his arm before she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. With her lips brushing his skin, she whispered, "Thank you." She placed another small kiss. "I mean it." Her breath tickled his skin.
Robin's head snapped in surprise, and he turned around to face her, his breath caught in his chest.
In front of him, stood a vision from his dreams. Marion, in his white shirt, with a wild head of hair, and soft, plump lips he dreamed of kissing. She was completely unaware of the effect she had on him. His gaze travelled lower, and he gulped before he brought his eyes back to her face. The thin fabric of his white tunic didn't leave much to his imagination, something he had not expected but something that would haunt his dreams forever.
He fixed his gaze on her face, trying not to look anywhere else, and certainly not anywhere below her neck.
"No problem, just try not to do that again." His voice hoarse.
"I can't promise that." Her voice was low, barely a whisper.
Robin's eyes were dark, full of desire. Marion swallowed and wet her lips. With one step, she crossed the gap between them. He lowered his head, and his eyes shifted between her eyes and lips. Hers did the same. With his arms, he circled her waist, careful to avoid her sore back, and he gathered her closer to him. Marion's hand flew to his chest, with the other, she gently cupped his cheek.
Robin lowered his head, inching closer to her lips, his breath hot on her skin. The time slowed down, the whole world forgotten, it was just the two of them. Nothing else mattered…
"Which one is Robin's room?" Little John's loud voice sounded from the hall outside the room.
Robin and Marion jumped apart, brought back to reality by their friend's voice. The moment was broken.
"I— Uh— I better go," he said, looking anywhere but at her.
"Yeah." Marion ran a hand through her hair. "We should- uhm- get some sleep before tomorrow."
"Yeah, we should." Robin gathered his things and picked up his saddleback. Ready to leave, he grabbed the door handle and paused. He turned around and walked over to Marion.
"Shout if you need anything. I'll be next door."
"I'll be fine. I can take care of myself," she said with a smile.
"You can't fight with a wounded back."
"I'll be fine." She rolled her eyes.
"Marion," he pleaded.
"Fine." Her fingers tingled. She longed to touch him but decided against it. "If I need any help, I'll scream like a damsel in distress so you can barge in and play the hero. Happy?"
"Delighted!" He replied, knowing full well that he'd be on alert all night.
Just before he was about to walk away, he reached with his hand and cupped her cheek.
"I mean it, call if you need anything."
Marion nuzzled her cheek into his hand and looked into his eyes. "I promise." This time, her reply was sincere. Her tone soft.
Satisfied with her answer, he lowered his head and kissed her forehead, allowing his mouth to linger on her skin for just a second too long before he tore himself away from her and left her room with a sigh. This time he did not turn back, afraid that if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave.
Marion watched him go as she stood in the middle of the room, dressed in his tunic. She let out a slow breath and turned around. A loud gasp escaped her when she caught her reflection in the mirror. Only now had she realised that, in the candlelight, the shirt was semi-see-through. No wonder he always wore a vest with it, she thought. A blush crept up her cheek at the thought of what he had seen. With her cheeks burning, she locked her door, put out the candles, and climbed into bed feeling safer and cosier than ever as his scent enveloped her in a warm hug and lulled her to sleep.
