PART V – GUY

'Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?'

What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

The refrain pounded in his head with the echo of thudding hoofbeats as sand and stone passed by in a blur of eddying dust. Time and distance had done nothing to clear his head of the blind panic that consumed him with each passing mile. Fear gathered in perspiring beads on his brow and sliced through his chest with each ragged breath. Every few moments, he cast a wild glance over his shoulder as though the dark wings of Vaisey's wrath were already bearing down upon him. It would not be long, Guy knew, before he would pay for this defiance. His arm tightened convulsively on the woman who lay against his chest, still blissfully unaware of the storm she had incited.

No. Guy's stern face softened for a brief moment as he looked down at the soft curve of her cheek, a pale glimmer against the surrounding blue darkness. For once, Marian was innocent in this. This was his folly and his alone. What madness had seized him in that tent and more importantly, what the hell was he going to do now?

There was still time. He could return to the Sherriff, beg for Marian's life and throw himself upon Vaisey's mercy -

Mercy!

Vaisey would kill them both without a shred of remorse. Or kill Marian first while he was forced to watch, taking a perverse amusement in his helplessness to intervene. Guy had witnessed too many bouts of prolonged torture in the dungeons of Nottingham Castle not to know that Vaisey was a master of slow death. Not content to merely kill when there was always the prospect of pain. No, if he returned to Vaisey, it must be alone. Anything else was a death sentence for Marian.

Then leave Marian? Choose his pursuit of power over her? No, he had trodden that path before, and it was a bitter lonely one. Guy shook his dark head grimly. Without her, my world may as well turn to ash. It was too late for him to turn aside now. He was doomed to love her, and now that he had her, he was never giving her up, never. He had made his choice. Let the consequences fall where they may. She would either save him or damn him, and sometimes Guy was no longer sure he knew the difference. The moment of crisis had forced his hand and he knew now that nothing less than death would part him from her.

Yet it was not a choice he made lightly. He had been on the cusp of gaining the world, fortune and standing and significance at the very tips of his gloved fingers… and now he was an outcast, an outlaw, and worse. In carrying out this act, Guy had become the very thing he loathed most - a traitor. But still there was a line he would not cross. He could defy Vaisey's orders, abandon him, fly from him, but kill him… that was something he could not bring himself to do, no matter how prettily Marian might beg. How was it possible he could both love and resent her with such equal fervour? She had lied to him, betrayed him, run from him and schemed against him for years, and still he wanted her. And what was more galling still, was that in spite of all she had done, he knew that he wasn't worthy of her. Even after all the ways she had hurt him, his sins were still far blacker than her own.

But those sins had been worth it when they had been necessary stepping stones in his ascent to power and position. Now he had blood on his hands and an indelible stain on his conscience for nothing. Without Vaisey, he did not know himself. Did not know where he belonged in the world. A terror awoke inside him that even after all these years, he was still nothing more than that orphaned boy, cast out into the world, furious and desperate and endlessly searching. Vaisey had saved him from that. When he had entered the Sherriff's service, Guy had vowed that he would never be cold or hungry or afraid again. And now the prospect of starting over was almost too daunting to contemplate. After years of being the Sherriff's right hand, could he stand on his own two feet, be his own man? Marian had never known what she was asking him to give up, never understanding how deeply embedded the roots of his attachment to Vaisey went, entwined in every part of the man he had become. And now that man was alone in the wilderness, stripped of all worldly possessions and forced to begin anew. But feeling the warmth of her breath against his throat and the gentle stirring of her hair in the wind of their wild gallop over the desert sands, it seemed a price worth paying. For her, he would dare anything.

Guy gazed down at her still form with a gloating possessiveness. There was a softness in her like this that he never saw in her waking hours. One hand gripping the reins, the other traced a tender caress across her face. Smooth alabaster skin, the cluster of dark curls. His, at last. Only… she was never his, not really. He had her, true, but only because he had stolen her from under Hood's nose. She hadn't chosen him. Not yet.

It mattered not. This connection between them was impossible to deny. How else to explain the way that fate kept throwing them together, even after everything that had passed between them? By rights, their bond should have been severed long ago and both gone their separate ways, but still they kept finding their way back to one another. It had to mean something. She would love him. She must.

He tugged on the reins, stilling the horse as they crested a steep ridge that jutted sharply over a plain, commanding a wide view of the desert valley. They had ridden through the coldest part of the night and the sky had begun to lighten, revealing a glimmer in the distance of pale walls. Guy frowned. He had given little thought to where he was going, only intending to put as much distance between himself and the port city as possible. Once his flight was discovered, the Sherriff's vengeance would pursue him to the ends of the earth, and if Hood had survived the attack on the camp, he would soon have the band of outlaws on his heels as well. Hood seemed to have the luck of the Devil himself and even if reports of the Outlaw's death reached him, Guy wouldn't believe them.

This then was his first trial. The horse would need seeing to and he would soon need to rest - disappearing into a sea of unfamiliar faces might be the perfect place to hide, somewhere far from the reach of Vaisey's spies. Would two Christians in a town of infidels be less conspicuous than lone travellers spotted in the desert? He could fight if it came to it, but Marian… Marian had an uncanny way of winning hearts and could easily orchestrate an escape with a flash of her eyes and an appealing glance at a stranger. Guy narrowed his pale eyes, as though the mere force of his gaze could compel the town to reveal its secrets. It was not even a fraction of the size of Acre, he saw at once, and from this distance, not the faintest signs of life stirred. At the very least, he would get the lie of the land. He urged the horse onward, clouds of dust stirring around him in the steep descent towards what passed for civilization in this unforgiving place. One arm remained protectively around Marian as he pressed her tightly to his chest, as though afraid even now that someone would take her from him.

Crumbling walls and shattered archways greeted his eyes in the red light of dawn, as though the blood that had been spilled here still stained the very stones. He slowed the horse to a steady trot as he drew closer. Windows gaped empty in abandoned buildings, wicker baskets and broken carts had been left discarded in the streets. This was a ghost town, ravaged by war. Tattered pennants lay upon the ground, coated in dust. He took particular pleasure riding over one of faded crimson emblazoned with the golden lions of King Richard. It was quiet; unnervingly so. Guy had learned to mistrust appearances in this strange, harsh land, whose customs were so very different from his own, and so gripped his sword hilt, watching for any hostile eyes, prepared to ride down anyone that might appear and spread word of his presence. But not a soul appeared in the doorways or narrow alleyways. Guy made a slow circuit to confirm his first impressions as the walls of the low houses turned from dun grey to white under the rays of the rising sun.

Here then was as good a place as any to pause and take stock. It appeared the town had been abandoned for some time; perhaps fate was favouring him, after all. After some deliberation, he began to make for one of the larger buildings near the outer walls, with high windows that would command a view of the surrounding desert. Marian had not stirred, and his arm was beginning to ache with pressure of holding her unconscious form against him. For a moment, he wondered whether he had administered too much of the tincture that Nasir had spoken of with such caution, but her breathing was strong and steady, a healthy bloom of colour in her cheeks. He hoped her dreams were peaceful ones. Peace did not come easily in this place that in his own experience bred only nightmares and tormented recollections. We should never have come here, thought Guy grimly. This plan already failed once; it was madness for the Sherriff to bring us here again. He had resented every moment of this hot, hellish, futile journey to the Holy Land. His heart had not been in it from the first and now there was a strange sense of relief in being done with it all at last.

One-handed, Guy tugged on the reins, drawing the mount sharply to a halt outside the embossed door. With his other, he ensured Marian was secure before dismounting carefully. Using the reins, he tethered the horse to a wooden beam, close enough to the house that they could make a swift escape if they were discovered. The horse would need to be fed and watered soon, he thought, and he hoped that both could still be found in this place; he did not want to break into the provisions too soon, for who knew how long they might be on the road?

A brief search led him to find abandoned sacks of grain lying in the streets. A sudden thought occurred to him and Guy tugged one loose, taking the thin rope that had been used to secure it. Returning to where Marian sat upon the horse, her head bowed over her chest, he gently lifted her down and bound her hands firmly, but checked the skin of her pale wrists to ensure the bonds were not so tight as to cause her pain. He had been on the receiving end of the Night Watchman's blows too often not to take some precautions. Something baulked inside him however at the thought of restraining her legs. After all, he wanted her to come to him willingly, and having her trussed up like livestock was hardly the way to win a heart as rebellious and free-spirited as Marian's.

Holding her to him as closely as a lover, he brought his other shoulder hard against the wooden door that gave way instantly. Whoever had once occupied this place had clearly made a quick getaway. Guy stepped over the threshold, disturbing a stirring of dust that danced around them in light-filled motes and was greeted by the sound of running water.

They were standing in an internal courtyard, white pillars rising up around them. A small fountain stood in the centre, its water spilling over into narrow channels that ran through the tiled floor. A low bench ran along the wall, a heaped pile of patterned cushions lying at its base. Narrow shafts of early morning light were beginning to slant through the arched window. It was cooler here than the stifling heat of Acre, the air clearer somehow. Yet beautiful as it was, it still seemed foreign and alien to Guy who yearned for the soils of home. Still, he had no wish to lock Marian in a cell or subject her to the confinement she had suffered on the long road to Acre. Let her awaken here like a queen greeting her consort; surely she could not find it in her heart to condemn him for that.

And so he knelt awkwardly, laying her down upon the cushions. She will forgive me for this, he told himself. And if by some miracle, I was not followed here, we may just have a chance.

He needed to think. Guy kneaded his aching brow with gloved fingers, frowning. In truth, he was more used to following orders than striking out on his own, and any wrong move now would be fatal. But for the moment, he knew that he dared not ride abroad by daylight. His first instinct would have been to make straight for the port of Acre with all possible speed, but Vaisey had his spies everywhere. It was the first place he would look. If there was a delay of even a few hours in securing a berth and safe passage, the Sherriff's men would be upon them at once. No, better to lie low here for the meantime, and while Vaisey's plans for King Richard unfolded and occupied his full attention, there was a chance - the faintest possible chance - that he might just be able to make his escape. If Acre was closed to him, he would have to follow the coast north and ride the twenty or so miles to Tyre and try his chances there. But for now, he longed only to rest.

He removed his gloves briefly to splash water over his face and neck, throwing his damp head back as the cool rivulets trickled beneath his leather tunic, easing the dryness of dust that clung to his skin. For a moment, he thought briefly how relieved he would be to return to the cool and damp climate of Nottingham before remembering with a sharp pang that Locksley was most likely lost to him forever. Shaking off the last drops of water that clung to his black hair, Guy looked over at the woman for whom he had thrown it all away.

She lay against the cushions in her white desert garb like a Sultana of the Orient. The rich waves of her hair lay dark against the pallor of her brow and her slippers were scuffed with dust. Yet in spite of the exertion of the ride, her face remained as pure and beautiful and holy as any he had ever seen. From the first, he had been intrigued by the daughter of Sir Edward of Knighton. How long had he watched her, first in secret, and then openly as his longing grew too great to be confined to furtive glances beneath lowered brows? He might only have a few hours left with her and he meant to savour each precious moment.

But, as ever, Marian seemed to have other ideas. He heard a soft sigh of breath and realised with a sudden stab of both terror and anticipation that the effects of Nasir's concoction were finally wearing off. Every muscle in his body tensed as though braced for battle. How laughable it was - that he should be afraid at such a moment. Guy leaned back against the door with a carelessness he did not feel, one leathern leg crossed over the other. His arms were crossed too, concealing the pitiful beating of his heart that still insisted on betraying him when it came to being in her presence. Yet in spite of his resentment and bitterness at her betrayal, a part of him was curious to see her response. Would she be contrite or adversarial? That fleeting moment in the tent, she had been defiant, yet at the last moment she had seemed to soften slightly…

Marian tossed her head and groaned. He coldly watched her formerly apathetic body stirring into life, the fluttering of her dark lashes, and then, slowly, her eyes opened. She looked down with some confusion at the cushions, the tiled floor, the marbled fountain, then, at last, up until her gaze rested upon his dark form glowering down at her.

For a moment, there was no sound between them but the gentle music of the fountain spilling over the tiles. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was thick and heavy with the vestiges of sleep. "Where am I?"

With me. Does anything else matter?

She raised her hands to her face and only then did she seem to notice they were bound. A frown furrowed her brow and she glanced swiftly up at him, indignation flashing through her blue eyes.

"Guy, what is this?"

"A necessary precaution. I'm sure you understand."

"Am I your prisoner then?"

He said nothing, feeling a certain savage pleasure in leaving her in suspense. It was not often he had Marian at a disadvantage, and given how she had deserted him and left him to his fate, it was the least she deserved. Let her suffer in uncertainty for a while longer; it did not even come close to what she had put him through.

But his will was no longer the strongest part of him. When she did not rage or storm at him in a wild passion, his desire for retribution wavered. One glimpse of those strong cobalt eyes threatened to undo him. He also couldn't help but notice how her face had thinned in the weeks of her captivity, her cheeks becoming more hollowed, and her eyes still had that strained hunted look. Guy swallowed and forced himself to harden his heart. She has brought this upon herself.

"Guy, I'm sorry."

A harsh laugh escaped him. "Too late, Marian. Far too late."

She was on her feet at once, eyes darting to the door and back to him, swift and assessing, weighing up his size and strength. He saw her fingers twist inside their bonds as she set her legs firmly apart, steeling herself for a fight, any lingering trace of the sleeping draught's effect utterly vanished.

Guy smiled with slow malevolence. "You want to attack me?" His voice was a cruel caress, velvet encasing steel. He stepped forward, spreading his hands wide. If a devil was what she wanted, then a devil was what she would get. "Go on, then. Try me."

Marian stared at him, breathing hard. Blue eyes burned bright with defiance, that upward thrust of the chin an irresistible provocation. Unruly waves of dark hair fell in wild disorder over her brow. His gaze fell on the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the flush of colour in her cheeks. A sudden image flashed through his mind of his hands on her body, rolling her beneath him. His mouth went dry. God in heaven, if she kept looking at him like that… He knew that if he lay his hands on her now, any physical altercation between them would result in something very, very different to what she intended. He wondered wildly how things might have gone had he discovered her identity as the Night Watchman sooner. How strange that even before he knew who the masked thief was, that while Vaisey was preoccupied with Hood, the Night Watchman had always been his adversary. Fate, as ever, drawing them together. And this was the culmination of their elemental struggle. His jaw clenched with resolve. This was meant from the beginning.

But to his surprise, she did not respond to his goading taunts. Perhaps she had finally learned to not fight a losing battle. Or perhaps endlessly sparring with him had lost its savour. The moment of tension passed, and he was unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Instead, her shoulders slumped and her expression turned to one of weary resignation. An expression he had seen on her face all too often since they had come to the Holy Land. But still he remained cautious. A defeated Marian was a desperate Marian, and even when appearing cowed, one never knew what she might do next.

"And so this is your revenge?" she said tonelessly, "You're taking me back to the Sherriff?"

Even now, the fact that she could think so low of him still had the power to hurt. He cringed at the recollection of the violent brute who had burst into her home, ordering the house to be burnt as he dragged her from the flames, Vaisey (ever the devil at his shoulder), his coaxing voice like black honey, goading him on to more vicious acts of cruelty. He was no longer that man, had not been that man for a long time now. Had she not seen that? Could she not know, had she not guessed by now that he could never allow any harm to come to her? Had his staying his hand in the tent not proven that beyond all doubt? He thought of the dagger clenched tight in his hand, the glint of murderous steel held to her in that close darkness, and shuddered. Better not to dwell on that.

Guy took a deep breath, bracing himself. "I have broken with the Sherriff." This came out as a brief mutter, as though even to utter the words was a betrayal too great to speak aloud.

For all Marian's arts at dissembling, he could read her face easily enough now, see the swift array of emotions that flashed across her features. Astonishment. Hope. Relief. And a fierce wild joy he had not seen since the day he had returned to Nottingham to face Prince John's men. He had never thought to inspire such admiration in her again and decided then that he would walk through any hell or fire to see it once more.

But she only said calmly, "Why?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

Marian said nothing and lowered her eyes.

"No." Guy gripped her chin, forcing her head upwards as he punctuated each brutal word with the driving force of a knife's point. "Don't look away from me. Not now. Not after everything I've -" He broke off with a shuddering breath, staring fixedly at the blackness of his gloved fingers against her soft white skin. "I cannot sleep. I cannot think. This… ardour I feel for you has made me do the impossible, and -"

She pulled away from him - not in revulsion, he realised belatedly, but in shock.

"You're going to join Robin?"

"'Course I'm not joining Hood," he snapped contemptuously.

"Then where are you taking me?"

Now they had come to it. Guy found that his hands were shaking, but he forced his voice to remain hard and dispassionate. "We will go to a holy place and take our vows." He looked at her a long moment, weighing his words carefully. "The rest will come… in time."

She let out a short, breathless, disbelieving laugh. "You are mad."

"If I am mad, it is only because you have made me so. In truth, Marian, why should I not take you back to the Sherriff?"

"Is that what you want?"

He fixed his burning gaze on her. "You know what I want."

She frowned, studying his face with a perceptiveness that seemed to penetrate to his very soul. "What do you really want?"

Her words struck something raw and painful within him. His callousness crumbled to ash. Guy looked at her helplessly, a world of heartache and despair in his eyes. "I want to see you smile again," he said hoarsely.

Her lips parted as her eyes widened. Whatever she had expected him to say, it clearly wasn't that. Yet he knew it to be true. More than anything since coming to this cursed land, he missed those times when she had impulsively thrown her arms around him and those radiant smiles that flashed like a ray of pure sunlight through the murky veil of lies and cross purposes that so often lay between them. Those rare, fleeting moments where he had known such happiness he could weep. She would never know how such memories sustained him, something treasured to be locked away in his heart, buried so deep that even Vaisey's all-seeing eyes could not pry them out. He had lived off such encounters for weeks, knowing it was the closest to heaven he would come in either this life or the next.

"Guy…" she began, with uncharacteristic softness. But he would not hear her rejections or excuses, not now. Did she not realise what he had given up? Did she even care?

"Marian, do you still not understand? I have betrayed the Sherriff. I am on the run, hunted; I have thrown away my lands, my title, any chance of power I could possibly have had, and I've done it - all of it - for you."

She began pacing back and forth, words spilling out rapidly as he could see her mind working, a mind that he had learned the hard way was far sharper than he had ever given her credit for. "Perhaps you have not lost everything. There might be a way you can keep all you have gained. Join forces with Robin and go to the King. You were the Sherriff's right hand man for years. Tell the King what you know. Guy, you could be useful."

Useful. A familiar surge of resentment coursed through him. Of course that was all she cared about. All this time, while he had burned and suffered the desperate pangs of unrequited love, Marian had viewed him merely as a tool to serve her agenda against the Sherriff. Why had he thought this time would be any different?

He shook his head, a bitter smile playing about his lips. "It is over, Marian. If I surrender to the King or the Sherriff, I am a dead man."

"The King will -"

"The King?" The King will already be walking into the jaws of Vaisey's trap. "I tried to kill the King. I might have killed you last night."

"Then why didn't you?"

Did she really need him to say it? Very well, then. He lowered his face to hers until their brows were almost touching, resisting the urge to grab and forcibly shake her to emphasise his desperate words. "Because there is nothing you could say or do that would make me stop loving you. The Sherriff, the Black Knights, the King… none of it means a thing to me anymore. They can go to hell for all I care. The whole world can burn, so long as you and I are - "

Her face had turned pale as marble. "I didn't want to leave you," she said suddenly. He turned away scornfully, but she moved around, forcing him to face her. "Guy - Guy! Listen to me. Until the moment I saw Allan, I had no idea Robin was alive. They risked everything to save me. What else could I have done?"

"You could have trusted me!" he cried, his voice echoing off the walls.

"How could I when I have seen you side with the Sheriff again and again? I've seen where your loyalties lie. Do you know how many times I wanted to tell you who I was, what I was doing? All those months in the castle when I would have given anything for a friend or even just a moment of kindness?"

"Marian, if you had any idea how much worse things would have been for you in the castle had I not been there to speak for you -"

"And what about the people of Nottingham? Did you ever try and speak for them?"

He released a hiss of breath through his teeth. This again. Was she really so painfully naive? How many times must he explain to her? "The Sherriff is not a man one can openly defy!"

"Which is exactly why I had to deceive you. As much as I did not want to. But what other choice did you give me? Every time I thought you were someone I could trust, you would turn and carry out the most reprehensible actions under his orders!"

And so they were at an impasse again. She was breathing hard, bound hands clenched in frustration as she stared at him, shaking her head slightly. Those eyes the blue of heaven were searching, trying to see past the layers of bitterness and scorn he cloaked himself in, looking for someone better. A man he could never possibly hope to be. Guy could feel his heart heavy as a stone inside his chest. Is it really true? All those moments we shared… was it Hood you wanted all this time?

He threw his head back, looking blindly up at the arched ceiling as he struggled to keep the raw despair from his voice. "How many more betrayals must I endure from you, Marian? How many times can you expect me to trust you when you choose Hood over me?"

"And why should I believe you have changed when you always choose the Sherriff over me?"

"Then let us choose each other!" he said fiercely. Swiftly, he moved forward, closing the space between them, and gripped her upper arms in an urgent hold. "Marian, listen to me. We can leave this place, go to France, begin a new life together -"

Marian shook her head, gently trying to disengage herself from his hold. When he did not release her, she only smiled a little sadly. And there it was - that tender, pitying look that he so despised. It is not your pity I want. It is your passion. He had seen the same look on her face when he had begged her to marry him as Sir Jasper's men were beating down the doors of Nottingham castle. "I cannot."

"Why? Because of Hood?"

"Because of the King! Because of what will happen to England if the Sherriff succeeds!"

He threw out his hands in frustration. "Is that all you care about, Marian? Have you given no thought to your own life, your own safety?" He drew a shuddering breath, willing himself to composure. At the sight of her bright eyes and agitated face, it struck him suddenly that for all her superior airs, she was still painfully young, not many years out of girlhood, and without friend or protector in the world. The desire to draw her to him and hold her close was overwhelming. He would have given anything in that moment to press her against the hard wall of his body, to stroke the tumble of dark hair, touch his lips to her tear-stained cheek. To have that right. His voice softened. "I can look after you. Cherish you." Let me save you as I once thought you could save me. "Marian, your father is dead, Hood is an outlaw. You have no protection."

"I don't need -"

"Why?" He could no longer keep the bitterness from his voice. "Is the thought of marrying me so repulsive to you?"

"I'm not saying that!"

"I would be a good husband to you, Marian."

"I don't doubt that, but -"

"I know you think me beneath you." Once, he could have provided for her. He couldn't even boast that anymore. Everything he had spent years (a lifetime) building, thrown away in an instant. All he had to offer now was his heart, for what little that was worth.

Marian's shoulders stiffened as a flare of indignation lit her features like a furnace from within. "Do you really know me so little? If you think that it is title and lands that is holding me back from -" She halted in sudden confusion and he knew then that it hadn't just been marriage she was thinking of. His pulse quickened. So, it seemed she hadn't been unmoved last night, after all.

Guy leaned forward, his voice lowering to a rough whisper. "From what?"

"I don't know."

Really, he thought scornfully. Marian might hide behind a veneer of maidenly innocence, but he had seen it. A flicker, a spark. He just needed her to admit it, not run away or fear it. He too had tried to deny that passion once, after his humiliation following their bitter farce of a wedding ceremony. But last night had shown him that coming together they were like Lambert's black powder and the flame that ignited it, engulfing everything in a force destructive and all-consuming. Unconsciously, his gaze fell on the full softness of her lips and he wondered with a sudden seizing of his body that if he kissed her he might awaken that passion he had felt from her in the cell. What would it take to feel her hips pressed against the evidence of his desire once more, to feel her hands tugging at his hair as he kissed his way down every inch of her willing body? Just the thought turned his skin hot beneath the leathers and he clenched his fists, forcing down the potent flare of lust. His longing for her was a constant craving in the blood, a hunger that could never be satiated.

The latent desire betrayed itself in his intent words. "You feel something for me. Don't deny it. I felt it, last night."

He felt a glorious moment of vindication when her pale face flushed slightly. "Guy, this isn't the time -"

"So you felt nothing?"

"No, I -"

Suspicion seized him. "What is it? What are you not telling me?" With Marian, there was always something she wasn't saying. Then he realised. His mind flashed back to the tent in the desert, the rumpled blanket hastily thrown aside. As always, he had been too blind to see. Fool that he was, why had he never considered it before? As soon as he had exposed her as the Night Watchman, he should have guessed. Do you really think it was just secrets she was sharing with Hood? Grow up, Gisborne.

"Hood. Are you already married?"

"No," she said, so firmly and with such ringing certainty that he believed her completely. Guy closed his eyes, pressing his gloved fingers against his brow. The relief was so intense it almost unsteadied him. All was not yet lost. But still…

"You were betrothed once," he said darkly.

I was betrothed to you once," she returned swiftly. "Things change."

"Some things don't change," he said fervently. "My feelings for you -"

Marian looked pointedly down at the rope around her wrists and up at him again. "You have a funny way of showing it."

His gut twisted with an uncomfortable feeling of guilt. She was right. His treatment of her had not been… chivalrous. Guy lowered his eyes, feeling oddly like a chastised child under her calm scrutiny. His voice came out a gruff mutter. "Can you forgive me?" For this, and everything else.

"Can you forgive me?"

He smirked a little at that. "Very well."

"Then will you untie me?"

And there it was. He might have known all this would come back to her wanting something. Did she even have a woman's heart? Or was it simply more endless schemes upon stratagems? In her own way, her mind was just as complex and calculating as Vaisey's and the likeness unsettled him. The shackles that Marian used to bind him to her might be sweeter, but they were no less strong for that. Guy shook his head, smiling thinly. "I said I forgive you, Marian. I didn't say I trust you."

"I will not be tied up like some slave or animal. Take these ropes off me."

"You will run."

She lifted a dark brow, challenging. "And if I don't?"

His eyes narrowed, hardly daring to believe what she was suggesting. "You're planning something."

Marian raised her head and he saw a flash of the old defiance. "You say that you love me? Then trust me."

She came closer, her loose hair rippling in waves over her shoulders. Part angel and part siren. Guy felt his throat tighten. After so many years, he wondered how it was still possible that he could be so utterly unmanned just being near her. There was that infuriatingly stubborn look on her face that he only saw when she was intending some reckless scheme, an expression of determination that was so fascinating and maddening and so utterly Marian.

She met his suspicious gaze boldly, her own clear and firm and direct. "I know that I have given you little reason to trust me. But we were friends once. And… I would like us to be friends again."

Friends. Guy fought down a sneer. It wasn't friendship that had you sighing in my arms. It wasn't friendship that made you kiss me back and press every inch of your body against mine.

Unable to help himself, he leaned forward, murmuring into the smooth curve of her throat, "I would hope we're more than friends by now."

He heard her shaky release of breath. But she did not pull away nor stiffen at his closeness as she once might have. Instead, he felt her slender fingers enclose his arm in a firm hold. His blood leapt into a frenzy. She had not lost the ability to render him spellbound under her touch. He felt her voice in a rush of warmth against his cheek. "What I can promise you is this: untie my hands, and I will not leave you again."

More evasions, Guy thought. But now was not the time for harsh words. He realised she was extending him an olive branch and he would be a fool not to accept this peace offering and the unexpected promise that came with it. He felt he would accept anything so long as she would just stay. It was not even close to everything he wanted from her, but it was a start. He hesitated a moment, then, with a swift jerk of the head, nodded.

Marian did not flinch when he took her cool hands between his own, the leather pad of his thumb tracing a light caress along the blue tracery of veins at her wrist. Even through his gloves, he could feel the strong and rapid beat of her pulse, wondering whether it came from fear of her situation or the intimacy of their bodies a mere inhalation apart. He was almost agonisingly aware of the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath the white bodice, feeling the graze of light cotton against his leather tunic. He heard her swallow. Guy released a slow breath and focused on the matter at hand, working at the firm knots. It somehow felt all too familiar and his mouth twisted slightly, remembering where all this had led the last time he had done this. Not yet. But in time…

The unbound rope slithered to the floor. And just like that: they had not even spoken an hour and already he had untied her hands. Once again, he could only marvel and rage at the power she wielded so effortlessly over him. He frowned down at her, wondering for the thousandth time what was going on inside her head. Wondering how it was that the more he knew Marian, the less he knew her. "Don't make me regret this."

It hadn't escaped his notice that technically she hadn't agreed to anything he'd said. I'm not such a fool as you think, my lady. Nothing ever came easily with Marian. He would gamble all of Locksley and its surrounding estates that she was up to something. But right now it was beyond his power to puzzle out. His temples were throbbing and he wondered if things would ever be simple again. He felt raw and drained and yet somehow strangely cleansed, as though a priest had performed an exorcism on him.

"You're tired," she said. It wasn't a question.

Guy looked across at the scattered cushions with something close to longing. Exhaustion rolled over him like a wave. There was still a drumming echo of the pain in his head where Marian had struck him with the chalice, his muscles were stiff from hours in the saddle and he'd not even thought to check what cuts and bruises he might have earned from his ambush on Hood's men. He could have slept for days, and yet did he dare?

"You should rest too," he said tersely. "We'll be on the road again at sundown."

He leaned his head back against the coolness of the stone wall and closed his eyes. A part of him was tempted to feign sleep, to test her and see if she meant to remain true to her word. He half-closed his eyes and watched her through the narrow line of his black lashes. Her hands were unbound, the provisions of food and water at her feet and the horse outside. If she meant to abandon him, there was nothing stopping her. But instead, he saw her sink down onto the cushions, her head falling into her hands as the chestnut coils of hair hid her face from him. Was it relief or despair she felt, he wondered? He had laid his bare and beating heart in her hands, yet her heart remained an unfathomable mystery to him. I mean to be true to my word, Guy vowed silently. I will be a good husband to you. And in time you will see…

He jerked into alertness. The water was still playing its splashing melody in the fountain but the light in the inner courtyard had shifted, and he realised with a start that the morning had advanced. His neck ached and his limbs felt weighted down with lead. He had not meant to fall asleep. Why had he been such a fool?

"Marian -"

Her soft voice startled him. "I am here."

His mind was still dim and hazy with the shadows of sleep, but Guy felt himself smile faintly. "You stayed."

"I said that I would." Was that a returning smile he heard in her voice?

Humiliating as it was (had he not prostrated himself before her enough?), he could not hold back the low plea that crept into his voice. "And you won't leave?"

"I won't leave."

And in spite of the exhaustion, the fear, and the uncertain future that stretched ahead, in that moment, Guy allowed himself to believe that everything was right in the world.