PART IV - MARIAN

'You would want all of a man, Scarlett, his body, his heart, his soul, his thoughts. And if you did not have them, you would be miserable. And I couldn't give you all of me. I couldn't give all of me to anyone.'

The stiffness in her limbs was gradually easing as she placed one silk-clad leg in front of the other, heart pounding in her throat as they passed the murmur of low voices behind a wood-carved screen, Vaisey's gravelly tones unmistakable. Just the sound of that ingratiating murmur was enough to make her skin crawl, and Marian reflected for the thousandth time how close she had come to never hearing that voice again. For all her efforts to inflict no lasting injuries during her skirmishes as the Night Watchman, the Sherriff's life was one she could have ended with savage vindication. How often during those hours in solitude had she re-lived that fateful day, still seeing his distorted reflection in the sharp glint of Allan's blade, expertly balancing the heft as she struck a blow for England -

If only she had been stronger, cleverer, faster… how things might have been different... Well, no use in thinking of that now.

"Be careful of guards," she whispered warningly as Allan paused in the torchlit passage. The door stood slightly ajar, the faint incoming draught sending the light from the brazier dancing madly, throwing wild, gargantuan shadows on the walls.

"No need," he returned, with a brazen grin so reminiscent of Robin at his most audacious that it made her heart jump. Slumped in the doorway were two prone figures, features concealed by Saracen dress. "Idiots," he said, prodding one with an experimental toe.

"Your work, I suppose?"

"Well, you have to give me some credit."

Marian's slippered feet made no sound on the sandy earth as she emerged into the street, taking her first breath of freedom. Although the night was warm, the caress of air against her face seemed blissfully cool and fresh after the stifling heat of the cell she had been confined to for days on end. She cast a wary glance up and down the narrow alley, her eyes slowly adjusting to the nocturnal darkness after the flickering of the torches. The white walls of the houses had faded to dull grey in the gloom, but there were no stirrings of life visible from any direction.

"Keep behind me." Allan cast an appraising eye over her conspicuous white attire. "Stick out like a sore thumb, you do."

"Then get me away from here and stop talking." Were they going to trade barbs all night?

Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she followed Allan's lead through the labyrinthine streets, committing their twists and turns to memory. Years of practice had made her a master of moving in stealth and silence. It had almost become second nature to her now, slipping into shadowy corners that offered the most concealment, her senses alert to every sound, quick reflexes poised to react at the slightest disturbance. Even so, she missed the anonymity of her Night Watchman garb. Allan was right. In spite of the darkness and shadows thrown by the buildings in the narrow street, she was far too exposed. The black windows seemed like hostile eyes and she could not shake off the uneasy feeling that they were being watched.

"Why is it so quiet?" she whispered to Allan, "Even in the Sherriff's house, I could hear nothing in the streets after dark."

"Djaq says the town's under curfew. Saracen soldiers everywhere."

But the heady thrill of liberation was too great for Marian to fear any would-be attackers. The prospect of fighting Saracens did not daunt her. The only thing she was afraid of now was the possibility of capture. She silently vowed that she would die before finding herself in another cell, subject to the Sherriff's insinuations and Guy's - But that thought threatened the resurgence of memories she was not yet ready to face, so she determinedly set her gaze ahead, keeping to the shadow of the low buildings, one hand trailing against the grooves of the rough stone walls. With each step, she felt her innate strength returning and she was already beginning to feel the exhilaration that accompanied any rebellious act - especially one of secrecy.

A low sound disturbed the unsettling quiet of the street, like the faint dislodging of pebbles. The scrape of stone. Her nerves strained, taut as a pulled bowstring -

She grabbed Allan's wrist, briefly surprised at her unthinking instinct to protect him, given his many treacheries.

"Listen!"

Nothing but silence and close, heavy air. Allan shrugged at her and shook his head. Dark brows drew together in a slight frown as she released a sigh. Her instincts had rarely failed her in her days as the Night Watchman, but perhaps her skills were rusty from lack of use -

Then she felt a hand close around her waist, the presence of a black-cloaked figure leaning over her shoulder. Her heart thudded wildly (he's found me -)

Before she could react quickly enough to throw off her assailant, a voice whispered in her ear, familiar and amused, "Didn't I warn you about sneaking around at night?"

The dark line of his hood fell back, revealing the rakish sweep of sandy hair and dancing green eyes -

"Robin -" His name left her in a breathless rush. Marian flung her arms around him, chest shaking with the force of repressed sobs that she swallowed down with an effort (not yet - time enough for that later). They were still within the town walls and the danger was still too close. But not a trace of fear betrayed itself in Robin's features as he faced her, lean and lithe and handsome as ever, and it seemed incredible now that she could ever have believed him dead. A thousand questions were clamoring to be asked, but Robin pressed a finger to his lips with a warning shake of his head.

"Come on. There's a horse waiting." He steered her gently down the darkened street, and Marian fell into step alongside him, conscious of the wild beating of her heart. As always, to be under the devastating charm of his gaze was to feel the sun shining upon her, filling her with those little moments of giddiness that she should long have grown past. Her blood stirred, invigorated, alive. She had a mission once more and was fired with a renewed sense of purpose.

"Allan has told you? About the Sherriff's plan for the King?"

"That's why we're here. At first light tomorrow, we make for King Richard."

Her voice softened. "But you came for me first?"

"'Course I did." He smiled a little with incredulity at her apparent surprise. "We're in this together, remember?"

The words rose to her lips, as well-remembered as a prayer. "Bring the King home, defeat the Sherriff, then… get married."

Marry me now and the rest doesn't matter.

The sudden memory pierced her like a stab wound and she flinched. Absently, she rubbed at her finger, where a lifetime ago under the leaves of Sherwood forest, Robin had slipped on her betrothal ring. It remained in Nottingham still, hidden beneath a flagstone in her castle chamber. She had not even been allowed to pack what few belongings she possessed, and it would have been madness to try and bring a trinket of Robin's when her life already hung by a thread. Yet she had still suffered a pang at its absence, wishing that she had kept a part of Robin close to her as solace during the long weeks of captivity.

They continued along the dirt road until the crowded buildings became more sparse and the town's outskirts opened to wide desert flats. And there, waiting beside a couple of tethered horses, were Will Scarlet and the Saracen woman. Marian was surprised to see a joyful grin break out over the face of the normally stoic Will, and heard Allan's voice from over her shoulder, "Safely delivered, as promised."

She took Robin's outstretched hand, reassured by the firmness of his grip as he helped her onto the mount. Then he swung up behind her, arms coming to rest easily around her waist as he took the reins, steering them down the last of the narrow streets, the other horses pressing close behind. Feeling the heave and surge of the horse beneath her, Marian felt a fierce rush of freedom and a momentary desire to seize the reins and gallop into the desert, with nothing but the whipping of the wind in her face and the wide sands before her, the starlit vault of the night sky open far above. But for now, it was a relief simply to be in the circle of Robin's arms, to allow her cheek to rest on the hard sinew of his shoulder and draw comfort and strength from his warmth and solidity. She had been fighting alone for so long.

Djaq nudged her horse closer and rode up alongside them. To Marian's surprise, Will was seated behind her, his arms wrapped protectively around her small frame, though Marian noticed that the Saracen woman still held the reins.

"Robin," Djaq said in a low voice, "You see that house on the end of the street there? My uncle's friend Bassam lives there. He can give us shelter - sanctuary -"

"I appreciate the offer, Djaq." Robin's voice was gentle but firm. "But the Sherriff's spies are everywhere. We stay outside the city walls."

Marian would have argued, but Djaq was a soldier at heart and knew how to follow orders. She subsided into a silence without resentment. But it was not the Saracen that held Marian's attention, but Will. He was gazing at the diminutive woman with a quiet, furious intensity, as though the mere glimpse of her face could sustain him forever. They're in love, Marian realized with a start. She swallowed hard, averting her gaze. Her discomfort came partly from the feeling she was intruding on something deeply private and intimate and partly because she knew what it was to be looked at in that way (as though she were the cup of life held to the lips of a dying man -) To distract herself from the unwelcome thought, she turned her head, speaking in an undertone to Robin over her shoulder.

"You know the Sherriff has Saracens working for him. They have been coming at night in secret and holding meetings at the Sherriff's house."

"That's how we found you. We've been watching the town for two days. The Sherriff has kept himself well hidden. But we followed one of his Saracen spies - and that led us to you."

"Robin, it is worse. I believe that the Sherriff also has English spies in the King's army who mean to do him harm."

"Oh, I'm sure he does. Believe me, there are plenty of men willing to betray the King for the right price. Men like Henry of Lewes and your friend Gisborne."

She ignored that last remark. "Robin, be careful. If the Sherriff finds out you are alive, he may use his men to try and turn the King against you."

He laughed, the sound of merriment startlingly out of place in this savage land of benediction and blood. "I served in the King's private guard."

"Yes," she said. "And since then you have become an outlaw. You have broken the laws of the land, you have stolen, you have killed. What might a desperate man not do to regain his title and estates?"

"Marian, you cannot seriously believe -"

"No, but the King might."

"Then we will get to him first."

He spoke with such surety, such easy confidence… Marian shook her head in confusion, impatiently brushing a wayward dark curl from her eyes. "I don't understand. These men aren't mercenaries or assassins. They left to go to the Holy Land to fight for the King. Why would they do that, only to betray him?"

"Because they want to go home. They want to see their families. They won't hurt the King themselves, but they'll happily stand aside and let the Sherriff do the job for them if it means an end to this war. I've seen it… this place. It does things to a man." There was that grim, faraway look in his eyes that she always saw whenever he talked of the Holy Land. A place she could not follow him.

"Tell me," she said gently.

"It doesn't matter."

Marian stiffened. His arms felt at once constricting, audacious even, as they rested lightly against her thighs. A sudden spark of anger flared inside her chest as she turned her head abruptly, narrowly missing his chin. "Is this how things will be between us from now on? That it is only when one of us is on the brink of death that we can be open with each other?"

She saw Robin's hands tighten on the reins, his fists trembling slightly at her sides. "Marian, why do you wish me to remember things that are best forgotten? I have a mission. I can't allow anything to stand in the way of that."

"We have a mission," she reminded him pointedly. "To save England. To help the poor and end injustice. Robin, until just an hour ago, I thought you were dead and it felt as though a part of me had died too. If we cease to be human… then what is it we are fighting for?"

The line of his profile softened as a smile creased his features. Then he laughed softly, breath stirring her hair, and she contented herself with the sensation of his arms tightening around her, drawing her back into his chest until his forearms fit perfectly against the curve of her waist. All other matters could wait. After the trials and hardships they had endured, she wanted to savour this brief moment of peace, to bask in the warmth of his presence and let all cares fall away as they rode beneath the jewel-scattered night sky.


The fire sent up a flurry of crackling red sparks as they rode into the dip of land, a hollow in the hand of the desert, where Robin had set up their campsite. She allowed Robin to help her dismount, tiredly letting the ensuing conversation wash over her. The warmth of Little John's smile as he saw her touched her more deeply than any words ever could, and she stood somewhat ill-at-ease, apart from the good-natured jests and laughter that flew easily back and forth. It had always been this way with Robin's men. She liked them, admired them… but she would never be one of them. There was an ease and a camaraderie they shared that she had never been a part of. She had always been an outsider looking in. In truth, that was part of the reason why she had left the forest. In spite of her love for Robin, she had never belonged there. It was why in her heart she knew they could never truly be together so long as the King remained in the Holy Land.

"Well!" said Much, "The tent's up! It'll be a bit of tight squeeze but I think we can manage."

An awkward silence fell as all eyes turned to Robin and Marian. Will scuffed a foot against the ground. "Umm… Much? I think Robin and Marian might want…" He gestured to the tent. Djaq swiftly looked down, hiding a grin.

It took a few moments for the penny to drop. "Well, I like that! I was looking forward to finally having a bit of shelter -"

"Much." Little John's voice was a low growl.

"Come on," said Allan, "Let's give these two lovebirds a bit of privacy, yeah?"

Robin looked at him coolly. "Good. You can keep first watch."

But Marian did not follow him right away. While the conversation of the others subsided to low murmurs as blankets were unrolled and horses tended to, she drifted towards the camp's edge where Allan had set himself up as sentry. He had sprawled himself along an outcrop of rock, arms tucked behind his head. He was comfortably ignoring her presence, but there was a deceptive alertness in his lazy blue eyes.

"I wanted to thank you," she said. "For saving me."

"Oh, I dunno," he said, not taking his eyes off a distant dune that seemed to hold his fascination. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

A hot flush rose in her cheeks, mercifully concealed under the cover of darkness. She didn't realise that Allan had actually seen. "You were watching?" she demanded indignantly, an uncomfortable sensation of guilt twisting her insides. Truthfully, Allan often had an unsettling way of seeing through her that she wasn't entirely comfortable with. I was doing what I had to.

"Well, I wasn't goin' to interrupt, was I?"

"I was handling the situation," she whispered harshly.

"Well, you were handling somethin' all right." He held up his hands at her outraged look. "Alright - alright. Just making sure you know what you're doing."

Marian sighed. "I'm not sure that I do." Something about his inquiring look, completely devoid of judgment, compelled her to go on, and the words left her in a rush. "He promised to kill the Sherriff."

Allan let out a short bark of laughter. "That's a good one. And you believed him?"

"You've worked alongside him. What do you think?"

"Honestly? I think you're dreaming, Marian."

You're dreamers, both of you. The sudden memory of her father speared through her like a lance. Those blinding surges of grief still caught her off guard - they would strike suddenly, and without warning. It was not merely Robin's absence she had suffered in the long weeks of her captivity. It was the kind touch of a paternal hand she had missed, to hear the pride in Sir Edward's voice and see the loving warmth in his eyes, in spite - or perhaps because of - her wilfulness. No, she would not allow his death to be for nothing.

Allan's expression had softened and there was even something close to kindness in the way he was looking at her. "Anyway, you're back with Robin now. So happy ending - right?"

"Right," she acknowledged quietly.

And yet, she wondered, as she walked away, watching the patterns of sand shift beneath her feet, why does my heart feel so heavy?

A waxen stub of a candle had been lit inside the tent, casting a dimly golden glow over the dull taupe walls and glinting in the tawny strands of Robin's hair as he looked up at her entrance. He had cast his outer cloak off, and in only his earthen tunic and breeches, seemed closer somehow, more man than mission. She wondered how long it had been since they were last together in a capacity that was not purely business. Happy ending, Allan had said. So why did it only feel like the beginning of a long and arduous journey?

"You shouldn't be so hard on him," she said quietly.

"Marian, he betrayed all of us, including you."

"Yes, and it sounds like he also saved you. Not everyone is irredeemable, Robin." At his disbelieving laugh, she chided him further, "And isn't that one of your sayings? That you never give up on anyone?"

Robin shook his head, smiling as he leaned forward to play with a straying lock of chestnut hair. "This habit of yours of remembering everything I say is going to be the death of me."

Marian jerked her head away. To hear him talk so carelessly of his death when she had spent countless hours grieving and agonizing the loss of him irked her. Must he always make light of everything? But she was also aware of how his voice had softened, a teasing playfulness creeping into his expression. So frustrating, that her heart must flutter like that of a naive girl, and to hide the weakness, she raised a dark brow, demanding archly, "Isn't it the duty of a wife to remember everything her husband says?"

How many hearts had been broken by that crooked smile? Strong hands, calloused with swordplay, curved around the sides of her jaw as he held her face tenderly. He was close enough that she could see the gold fringe of his lashes, feel the warm caress of his whisper against her lips. "If I had known you were so devoted to performing wifely duties, I'd have asked you to marry me sooner."

When he leaned in for a kiss, she toyed briefly with the idea of resisting, but she had been apart from him for too long. So she closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the softness of his lips, so achingly familiar. But then she thought of other lips, other hands, and pulled back in confusion. To avert the bewilderment in his gaze, she took refuge in coyness. "Well, until we are actually married, that will have to satisfy you."

He chuckled softly, and she knew that these acts of coquettishness amused him, in spite of himself. "Ever the tease, Marian."

"You are one to talk. I could hardly believe Allan when he told me you were alive."

"And so are you. Yet Vaisey knows you tried to kill him. Why did he keep you alive all this time?"

She had spent long enough ruminating during her imprisonment to be fairly certain of the answer to that. "The Sherriff is no fool. I believe he promised Gisborne my hand as a reward for killing the King." Marian could not keep the bitterness from her low voice. "I was to be his prize." She hesitated a moment, and then met his questioning gaze with a firm directness. "You were right. Gisborne did go to the Holy Land to try and kill the King. I should have believed you. I'm sorry."

"The Sherriff and Gisborne will both pay for what they have done. They will hang for their crimes." He caught her hand reassuringly, casting her a swift, earnest look. "Did they hurt you?"

Marian thought of the weeks chained to the hull of a ship, sleeping in stables, forced to survive on stale bread and scraps of meat fit only for a dog, and a white-hot flare of indignation leapt in her chest and her grip on his hand tightened. "Only my pride." She gave a wry, bitter smile. "It seems the Holy Land has been unkind to us both."

The change was immediate. Robin's expression became distant and closed, all warmth and familiarity fled from his beloved features until he seemed almost a stranger. The light seemed to die in his eyes and his hand in hers felt stiff and cold.

Marian pulled her hand away, clenching it into a fist. Her dark lashes swept down as she stared unseeingly at the floor that blurred in a watery mist. The accusing bite of her tone hid the tremor of wistfulness beneath. "I will never have all of you, will I?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"We are supposed to open up our hearts to one another."

She heard his exhale of irritation and her shoulders stiffened, bracing herself for the retaliatory note of anger in his voice. "And did you open up your heart to me when you promised you weren't going to act against the Sherriff? And got yourself kidnapped? Remember what happened the last time you struck out on your own? And now I've had to clean up one of your messes - again -"

"So you do not want me to be independent?"

"No. What I'm saying is that we work best together!"

"When you give me orders, you mean. Like I am one of your men. Or was it your bow you compared me to?"

Robin threw out his hands, looking like a child accused unjustly of some misdemeanor, and for some reason, this only angered her more. "Marian, where is this coming from? I haven't seen you for weeks - months - and now you choose to fight me?"

"I'm not choosing to fight, I'm just - frustrated -"

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, staring at her in bewilderment. "About what?"

"I - I don't know!" The words burst from her passionately, but Marian realised then - with a mixture of shock and shame - that she did know. She was angry at him - angry at him for not rescuing her sooner. It was horribly unjust (and humiliating - had she not proven countless times that she could take care of herself?) but in the moment she had needed him most, he had let her down. She had endured weeks turning into months of loneliness, hardship and humiliation… and although Robin was here now, it felt as though it had come too late. Treacherously, she was reminded of those other times he had not been there for her; when Winchester had taken her captive, when she had almost hung as the Nightwatchman… those moments of direst need when she had counted on Robin and instead her rescuer had been… Guy.

Marian shook away that involuntary thought stubbornly, willing down the flush of heated colour that burned in her cheeks as she tried to get a rein on her anger. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "It's only… Robin, I thought you were dead. I grieved for you."

And there it was; that roguish glimmer in his vibrant green eyes that made resentment towards him impossible. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you."

A sigh fell from her lips as the tense edges of her mouth softened. "You know that's not what I mean."

It was always the same; his maddening way of making her smile reluctantly, her face lighting up with a glow she could not conceal, even in those times he infuriated her with his devil-may-care attitude. But this time she could not shake off the lingering disquiet that gnawed at her. The brief joy of their reunion had momentarily made her forget their many clashes, both too alike in their stubbornness and desire to always be in the right.

Robin sat down, pulling off his boots and easing his outer tunic off over his head before throwing himself down on the woolen blanket spread across the ground.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we ride for the King."

Marian extinguished the solitary dying candle between a thumb and forefinger, an acrid thread of smoke spiraling into the confined space. Her eyes adjusted to the dark easily - another skill retained from her Night Watchman days - and she made her way to the makeshift bed, removing only her slippers before laying beside him. He threw an arm around her waist in one of those easy gestures that came so effortlessly to him. One always accepted Robin's advances without hesitation - he always acted with such confidence, such instinctive surety, that to comply simply seemed the right and natural thing to do. There was never any hesitation in his expressions of affection, no tormenting self-doubt or agony that made his hands tremble or his eyes lower awkwardly. Marian huddled closer into his embrace, wishing that by doing so, she could somehow be imbued with his conviction and single-minded purpose, to be free of all doubt and lingering fears.

In those few short weeks she had spent in the forest, they had slept in one another's arms and she had grown accustomed to the comforting warmth of his body, the easy, regular sound of his breathing that would shift to rapid and stertorous when she knew some dream of the Holy Land gripped him in its clutches that he would never admit to in the light of day. Always mindful of the respect owed to her person and position, he had maintained a gentlemanly courtesy for all his flirtatious teasing. Never once, amid those sweet stolen kisses or light caresses of her face and hair, had he betrayed that her proximity was a struggle for him to endure, or that he wrestled with a silent inner agony to have her so close yet never fully together as man and wife. And though it galled her to admit it, his apparent ease and self-possession frustrated her at times. She could not help but secretly long for a break in his composure - some sign that he needed her, craved her; that she could affect him so strongly.

Inevitably, as she knew they eventually must, her thoughts strayed unwillingly to Gisborne. This was the moment she had been dreading the most, the moment she had sought to delay by any possible means. To be alone with her own thoughts was unbearable. Her body was exhausted, but her agitated mind would allow her no rest, forcing her to relive that scene in the cell over and over again. In spite of his sullen and taciturn demeanor, Guy had always worn his heart on his sleeve when it came to her. It frightened her, to be wanted so desperately, with such raw hunger, and yet she could not deny there was an intoxication in it, a treacherous wild thrill that called to her sense of recklessness, her boldness and thirst for adventure, to momentarily cast aside all caution and restraint as she had when his arms had pulled her close and he'd kissed her like a man half-starved.

Marian realised that she was afraid. Not of him - no, that would have been simple - but of how she had responded to him. That disturbed her. She had always prided herself on her mastery and self-control when dealing with Guy, but the memory of soft lips besieging her flesh and the touch of marble fingers burned in her blood, awakening a fire within the core of her being she had thought lost ever since leaving England. She had played this dance of deception too well, so complacent in her power that it had never occurred to her that she might be in any danger where Guy was concerned. But the vivid and disordered recollection of sensations - his arm pressing her fully against him so she could feel the hardness of his body beneath the leather doublet, the grind of his hips against her own, his burning mouth closing over her skin - set her heart pounding wildly and a weakness, new and strange, through her limbs.

Her jaw tightened with annoyance. Pull yourself together, Marian, she told herself sternly. It's not as though you've never been kissed before.

But this had been no idle flirtation within the familiar walls of Nottingham castle or the awkward advances of a suitor seeking her hand. In those early days of their betrothal, his clumsy caresses had been merely an annoyance, something to either avoid or endure, and it had been easy to scorn him (while fighting down those faint stirrings of pity that would arise in spite of herself). A handsome man, yes, but his cold and cruel nature had revolted her. The prospect of his touch had filled her with disgust and discomfort. Yet now -

She tossed and turned, fevered skin flushed beneath the thin blanket as a tense breath escaped her in a rush. She pressed her eyes shut, knuckles white as she sought to still her racing mind. Try as she might, she could not shake off the sensation of smooth leather against her skin, the warmth of his palm against her cheek. She could still feel the possessive grip of his hands around her wrists, his tender eyes devouring her. The ache in her chest intensified and the question haunted her: had she made a terrible mistake?

She hardened her heart, mouth pressed in a stubborn line. His change of heart had come too late. For weeks he had stood by and done nothing, remaining silent while she had been forced to endure Vaisey's humiliating taunts, turning coldly aside at her every appealing glance. Deprived of her father, her home, of Robin, she would have sold her soul for a moment of kindness, yet he had treated her with the icy indifference of a stranger. Endless miles over road, sea and sand on this long, wearisome journey to the Holy Land, not once had he betrayed a hint of the tenderness that he had shown her in Nottingham. Was it not inevitable then, that at the moment of crisis, she had placed her salvation in Robin's hands instead? Would Guy not, in spite of his fervent promises, betray her to Vaisey in the end as he had done so many times before? He will never be free of the Sherriff, she told herself. Never.

She knew this - in her cool, reasoning mind, she knew this - and yet her heart… her heart could not agree. She could lie to Robin, to Allan, to everyone else, but she could not lie to herself. The cold truth stared her harshly in the face. At the very moment his humanity had finally won out, she had deserted him and now he was lost to her forever. She had committed the one crime that was unforgivable to him. Betrayal. I had no choice. Her life had been nothing but difficult choices recently. Her role as a spy in the castle had always battled against her conscience when it came to Guy, but this was a war and in war, one must be ruthless. She must force down all recollection of those rare, tremulous smiles, his hands tenderly enfolding her own, the bewilderment and pain in his eyes. She savagely wished that she could purge this pity from her heart, yet still this stubborn corroding sense of guilt remained, refusing to leave her in peace.

She had never sought his love, but she had encouraged it. That much she would own to. What did it matter that he no longer admired her? At one time, she would have welcomed the news that she was no longer the object of his attention. In the early years of the Sherriff's tenure, his constant looming presence had been suffocating, and she would have given anything to be rid of him, to never see his sneering face again. But even then… there had been the disquieting knowledge that there was something deeper in his interest that she chafed against uncomfortably. The intensity of his gaze felt across the length of a crowded hall, glimpsing a strange tormented longing in his eyes that could not be dismissed as mere lust. How long had he harbored this burning passion for her that she had wielded mercilessly against him as a weapon in a war that had grown bigger than she could ever have foreseen? What had started as small acts of rebellion, little impulses of local charity, had turned into a dynastic struggle for a King and kingdom with them each standing on opposing sides. Even as his feelings for her had deepened, the gulf between them had grown ever wider, and his love for her was no longer great enough for him to cross it. Marian could not bring herself to believe otherwise. Perhaps this is the price of saving England. Of saving the King.

Marian turned on her side, gazing at Robin's sleeping profile dimly visible beside her. She reached out, tracing a tender hand along his bearded jawline and up, smoothing away the careless wisps of hair that fell over his brow. This was home; this was where she belonged. The champion and cause she was fighting for. She felt the regular, steady beat of his heart through his thin shirt and laid her head against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. And yet for all she tried to fill her mind with dreams of sunlit woods and irrepressible smiles, it was a long time before sleep came upon her and she finally felt a sense of peace.


The next thing she knew, she was lying wide-awake in the darkness, the echo of faint cries ringing in her ears. It took a moment for her to realize the sounds came not from some lingering dream, but from the camp itself. In the gloom, she could discern Robin's movements as he hastily pulled his boots over his legs.

"What is it?" she asked confusedly, fingers coming up to push the dark mass of hair away from her face, "What's happening?"

"Saracens," he said.

She felt a momentary flicker of apprehension, yet she could not deny that after weeks of confinement and the restlessness she had been feeling after her encounter with Guy, the prospect of action was a relief to this burning, pent-up feeling in her blood. Robin's green eyes were afire with a gleam of determination, and Marian flexed her fingers, desirous of a blade to follow him into battle with that loyalty he so unconsciously inspired.

"Do you think we were followed?"

"Followed," he returned grimly, thrusting a knife through his belt, "Or watched. Marian, stay here."

"What?" She struggled to a sitting position, throwing aside the heated tangle of blankets. All traces of tiredness had left her, and her nerves were humming with tension. "No, I'm coming with you."

"Marian! For once, don't fight me. These aren't castle guards. These are trained Saracen fighters."

"You think I can't handle myself?"

"Please, Marian." And it was the please that silenced her. "I've only just found you. I'm not going to lose you again."

He was leaning over her seated figure, calloused hands cradling the sides of her face, and even in the darkness of the tent, she could see the moss-green of his eyes. Her heart softened and with reluctance, she nodded. He kissed her swiftly before grabbing his bow and ducking out of the tent.

The moment he was gone, Marian leapt swiftly to her feet, padding over to the entryway of the tent, drawn by the clash of metal and the frantic whinnying of horses. Living on the edge of survival for so long had forced her to keep an iron grip on her nerve and it did not fail her now. It was not fear for herself that set her heart beating at an accelerated rate, only concern for what was happening outside. She paced up and down in agitation, straining to discern what was happening outside through the sounds dimly penetrating the canvas. How many Saracens? Robin had not said. He had fought in the Holy Land before and survived, and she did not doubt his skill, but still…

She brought a fist down against the taut fabric wall in frustration. This was senseless! To sit tight and do nothing while Robin and his men were risking their lives was ridiculous. She had as much cause to fight in the name of the King as anyone else - more so in fact, given she had been the first to learn of the Sherriff's intention to ride to Portsmouth. Orders, orders, she thought angrily. Was she never to be free of men and their commands? She would not stand idly by, promise or no promise. She had not escaped one prison only to be confined within six square feet of canvas. And Robin was a fool if he expected her to meekly acquiesce after all their long history together. He knew her too well for that.

Marian groped her way over to the saddlebags and knelt down, the russet waves of her hair swinging forward that she tossed back over her shoulders in irritation. She glanced down at the thin material of her bodice gathered at her chest, white and stark against the gloom. In truth, she was woefully unprepared for any martial encounter and her strength had not been tried in many long weeks. The unwelcome reminder only fuelled her stubborn resolve. Hastily, she rifled through the supplies. Not a weapon in sight, and she had none of her own, not even so much as a hairpin dagger with which to defend herself -

Then she froze. Even before she heard the soft, heavy tread, a shiver ran along the back of her neck like the caress of icy fingers.

Someone was in the tent with her.

Someone. A breathless, hysterical laugh rose in her throat. Who else could it possibly be?

In the narrow confines of the tent, Gisborne's dark forbidding figure seemed taller than ever. His cold, keen eyes were fixed upon her face. Marian swallowed hard. Rising slowly, she willed herself to meet his gaze, her stubborn jaw set in defiance. So, he had chosen to resume his role as Vaisey's cruel henchman, had he? Her pity for him, wasted, yet again. The Sherriff's dog, she thought with contempt, a name she had not given him since he had first come riding into Nottingham, the black knight with the blacker heart.

Guy closed the distance between them, the predatory stealth of his approach unnerving. The day he had burst into her home, ready to arrest her for a stolen necklace, had been perhaps the first time he had truly frightened her. But then he had been full of belligerent rage and this deadly quiet was somehow worse.

But she would not show fear. That at least she would not give him.

Her eyes strayed to the dark impersonality of his gloved hands. She had seen the tell-tale glint of metal. Well, he had stabbed her before. All their fights in her guise of the Night Watchman had been violent, ugly and brutal. What did it matter to him now that she was finally unmasked? He had given her too many chances already. And perhaps, in the end, his coldness was easier to bear than having to face the sharp agony of betrayal in his eyes. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. No fleeing this time. She would not pass her last moments as a coward, with bowed head and lowered eyes. No, she would die as her father had - a hero for England.

"Do it then."

The voice seemed to be not her own, sounding cold and far away. She was too tired to attempt to justify her actions. They were beyond words now, and why should he believe anything she might say? And yet her thoughts must be plainly written in her face, for she no longer had the will left to deceive him. I thought the Master at Arms was a mask you wore to conceal the good man within. Now I see it is the other way round.

Gloved fingers traced the air around her face, hesitating a moment. Her shoulders tensed, bracing herself for the inevitable touch, and something inside her seemed to ache at the agonized suspense. Let's get this over with, she thought grimly. The least he could do was strike while the flare of courage and defiance still burned strong within her. He could at least spare her the humiliation of breaking down in sheer terror. She had begged too many favours from him already to betray her weakness by appealing for a quick death.

Several slow heartbeats of time passed.

Why did he wait? Why did he not end this at once?

And yet incredibly - impossibly - she heard the abrasive slide of metal as he sheathed the dagger at his side. Shock kept her frozen in place, even if she'd had the presence of mind to run. For once in her life, she could not predict what he might do next and the realization unsteadied her. His weapon was sheathed and yet he held her entirely in his power.

"Guy -" The rest of her words seemed to die in her throat.

"Ssshh."

Breath left her body in a rush at the caress of those leathern fingers on her cheek and she did not know whether it was relief or disappointment that it was not the heat of his hands touching her. Marian willed herself not to flinch or move away, half through pride and half unwilling to break this unforeseen display of tenderness. The startling gentleness of the touch was belied by the shuddering breaths that betrayed him. She looked up into his eyes then and wished she hadn't. Pale blue ice drowned out by pupils of deepest black, the dark intensity of his gaze expressing his intentions so clearly that she shivered. A woman did not need to be married to know what that look on a man's face meant.

Perhaps then, he had not come to kill her after all.

The darkness magnified every sensation to a painful intensity. He was only lightly touching her face, and yet… She was forcefully reminded of the last time they had been this close, of how… unresolved… things had been left between them. The blood was beating in her ears, drowning out all else save the dominating presence of the man before her. His fingers tightened on her chin, tilting her jaw up. And there - there - agonized, hungry, yearning - the glacial coldness in his eyes had cracked at last, revealing the lovelorn man beneath. The depths of his passion an endless, dizzying abyss that she could never hope to fathom. Her heart tripped and faltered strangely. Was it really possible he could forgive her even this?

Her lips parted uncertainly, but whatever she had meant to say next remained forever unuttered as his large hand suddenly closed over her mouth. Hard and brutal, burying her muffled cry. He means to suffocate me, was her first wild thought, before a wave of light-headedness and disorientation hit her and she staggered. Fool!

Too late, she pushed him from her with all her strength. He seemed to stumble, but the darkness was closing in around her, blurring her vision… Marian was aware of a dim, faintly amused realization that for once he had outwitted her… And with a last, failing movement, her weakening arm struck out a blow, only she was so tired… so very weary, of always fighting, fighting him… His pale face receded before her dimming gaze… did she imagine the look of concern there? Or was it gloating exultation? The exhaustion was dragging her weighted limbs down, and how easy it was to yield… to sink into the blackness deeper than the arms that enveloped her…