The patient stirred slightly and moaned. Marion shook herself from a light doze and studied the figure in the bed for a moment. Gisburne’s pale, bruised cheeks seemed flushed, and his hair clung damply to his face. Marion placed a hand on his forehead, then removed it with a frown.
Cecily had left a basin of water by the bed. Marion found a cloth and dipped it into the basin before mopping Gisburne’s brow. She had hoped to avoid this, but fever had set in. He twisted his head against the pillow and muttered something incoherent. Well, she was no longer left to wonder if he would ever move again.
“Marion.” She turned and saw Robin standing at the chamber’s threshold. His eyes were fixed on the window. Marion couldn’t help noticing that he wouldn’t look at Gisburne or meet her eyes.
“It’s time to go,” he said.
“You’re leaving now?” Marion asked in surprise. “You won’t wait for first light?”
“They’re not safe here. That man who escaped from the village may have gone to get help. Besides, his friend finally woke up and he had an interesting tale to tell. Once I’ve taken Matilda and her son to a safe place, I’m going to see just how much of our prisoner’s story is true.”
“A safe place? Are you sure there is such a thing?”
“Well, there’s Sherwood. It’s the safest place I know.”
“Yes, of course it is,” Marion said, though she doubted that Margaret would agree with that statement.
“Marion, we really should – ”
“I’m not coming.”
“What?”
“I’m staying here.” Robin stared at her, trying to discover the reason why. He only saw grim determination in the firm set of her chin. Then he looked down at Gisburne again and understood.
“You’ve done everything you can,” said Robin wearily. “Gisburne has servants. They’ll look after him.”
“I’m not doing this for Gisburne,” Marion spoke quietly. “I’m doing it for Margaret…and for you.”
“What?” Robin looked at Marion, startled. She was smiling gently, and the eyes he thought would hold anger or revulsion were filled with understanding and compassion instead. “How…How long have you known?”
“Not long.”
“Tuck?”
“No, not Tuck.”
“Me?” She nodded, still smiling. Robin rubbed his face wearily, managing to avoid Marion’s eyes.
“You could have told me, Robin,” said Marion quietly.
“How?” exclaimed Robin. “How could I have told you?” He laughed bitterly. “Oh, Marion, there’s something I need to tell you. Our worst enemy is my – ” Robin looked down at the bed and shook his head. Marion rose from the chair and embraced him tightly.
“How long have you known?”
“Lady Margaret told me.”
“And Tuck? That was her confession?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve had to keep this from us all this time?”
“I couldn’t tell you! None of you would have ever been able to trust me again and you certainly wouldn’t have had me as your leader!”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, Marion, I do know that.”
“It would have taken time, but we would have accepted it.”
“Accepted it? Accepted that I won’t – that I can’t – kill Gisburne?” Marion laid a hand against his cheek.
“Robin, we’ve known that for a long time. We just never understood.”
“And now you do?”
“Yes! Of course, I understand.” She studied Robin closely. He seemed shocked by her admission. “What did you think I would say?” she demanded.
“I thought that you would hate me, that you would never want to see me again.” Marion pulled away, and Robin suddenly feared that his fears might not have been unfounded.
“Do you think so little of me? Do you think I could hate you for something that happened before you were even born? You’re not to blame, Robin, anymore than Gisburne is.” Marion sighed and took both of Robin’s hands. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you when you learned about…when you learned the truth, but perhaps I can help you now.”
Robin gazed her with a mixture of hope and confusion. She didn’t hate him. She wasn’t going to leave him. She understood and, what was more, she wanted to help! Robin had imagined this particular scenario a few times, but it had never ended like this.
“Robin, please say something,” Marion said, the concern evident in her voice.
“I’m sorry. I…I just never expected this.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Marion released his hands. “Look, there isn’t really time to discuss this now. It’ll be dark soon, and you need to go.”
“I know,” said Robin, nodding slowly. He wanted to say more, but there didn’t seem to be anything left to say. He started to walk towards the door just as Matilda and her son entered the room.
“We’ll be leaving soon,” Robin told them. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”
“Where?” asked Matilda who, while grateful for Robin’s help, was still cautious.
“Sherwood,” admitted Robin. Matilda studied the outlaw carefully for a few moments.
“All right. We have nothing to lose, do we?” she spoke, patting her son’s shoulder. The boy looked thoughtful.
“Sherwood…That’s where Robin Hood lives!” he exclaimed. Matilda glanced at Robin and Marion in amusement.
“Yes, that’s where Robin Hood lives.”
“Do you think we’ll get to see him?”
“Yes, I think you will,” answered Robin with a smile.
“Are you going to come too?” the boy asked Marion shyly, and Robin realized that they had never met before.
“Oh, Marion, this is – ”
“Yes, I know,” she replied, smiling gently at the boy. “I must stay here,” she explained. “This man was wounded.” The boy’s eyes drew to the figure in the bed for the first time and he moved closer.
“Did the same men who…who killed Margaret hurt him?” he asked.
“Yes.” The boy was at the edge of the bed, standing by Gisburne’s head.
“Please don’t die,” he whispered in the knight’s ear.
“Come, love,” spoke Matilda, taking her son by the hand. Then she leaned across the pillow and kissed Gisburne on the forehead.
“We should leave now,” said Robin as they slipped away from the bed. “Could you fetch anything you might need for the journey?” Matilda nodded curtly and led her son out the door.
“I have to find my father,” spoke Robin, once they were gone. “I’m going to ask him to stay with you.”
“Robin – !”
“I won’t be able to protect them if all I’m thinking about is you. If Father stays here, I’ll feel…a little better.”
“I can look after myself,” Marion protested, crossing the room to face him.
“I know that, but I’ll still worry. At least with Father here…” Marion feigned a sigh.
“All right. If your father agrees to stay, I won’t object.”
“What?” Marion laughed as Robin stared at her in astonishment.
“I…I didn’t think you’d think give up so easily. Why?”
“Because I worry too, Robin,” she answered, kissing his cheek.
Robin walked briskly through the manor in search of his father. Now that he didn’t have to hide from Gisburne, sneaking down corridors and peeking furtively around corners, he found he could search the grounds more quickly.
In the end he found the Earl in the chapel, his hands folded as if he was in prayer, only his eyes weren’t fixed on the cross, but were gazing out the window. Robin laid a hand on his shoulder and his father almost leapt off the bench.
“Robert! You – you startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s…it’s this place. It’s full of ghosts…memories of things that are best forgotten. Is it really a wonder Gisburne got drunk? I’m sorely tempted to do the same thing myself.”
“Well…they can’t all be bad memories…can they?” Robin asked tentatively. The Earl’s eyes drifted back to the window again.
“Sometimes the most painful memories are the happy memories.” He turned his gaze back to his son and forced a smile. “You came here for a reason. What is it? Is it Gisburne? Is he worse?”
“Marion seems to think so. She wants to stay.”
“Stay? To tend to Gisburne? I…I don’t understand. He is your enemy, is he not? The man who’s been hunting you, trying to kill you.”
“She says she’s doing it for Margaret.”
“Well, Margaret is dead. I’m sorry but she’s hardly in a position to care what happens to her brother now.” The Earl sighed and slouched back on the benchwearily. “It’s absolutely out of the question. Marion can’t stay. We need to get ‘Matilda’ and the boy to safety.” Robin took a seat beside his father and stared at the wooden bench in front of him for a moment.
“That can still happen even if Marion does stay,” he spoke quietly.
“You can’t be serious, Robert. You’d leave Marion here? Alone?” Robin met his father’s stern eyes with a tiny sheepish grin.
“Father – ”
“No, absolutely not. I’m not staying here. Not for him.”
“Father, I can’t force Marion to leave.”
“Why not? I thought you were the leader of these…It’s her duty to obey you.” Robin closed his eyes.
“Yes, I could order her to come with us, force her to leave this place, but I don’t want to.”
“Is that so? And why is that?” Robin opened his eyes but couldn’t look at his father’s face when he lied.
“Marion is skilled at healing. I don’t think she could bear the thought of allowing someone to suffer if she could help, even if that someone is Gisburne.” The Earl opened his mouth to argue then closed it again. Robin held his breath.
“Marion is a good woman,” the Earl said after a moment’s hesitation, “and I suppose I can understand how she might feel compelled to…to save a wounded man, but this is Gisburne, your enemy, the man you hate, the man who represents everything you fight against.”
“I know who he is, Father,” Robin snapped impatiently.
“Then why, Robert? For God’s sake, why?” Robin stared at his father for a long time and, for one frightening instant, he thought he might actually tell him the truth…
Robin stood abruptly. The Earl rose to his feet as well. He was still waiting for an answer.
“I can’t tell you,” blurted out Robin. “I’m sorry.” The Earl had started to study his son shrewdly, his forehead creased in concentration.
“You’re afraid,” observed the older man in surprise. “You’ve never been afraid of anything.”
“No, I’ve been afraid of many things,” Robin said. “I’ve always feared the truth the most.” The Earl suddenly grew concerned. He placed a hand on Robin’s shoulder.
“Words can’t hurt you, boy.”
“Oh, yes they can,” Robin stated firmly. “Believe me, they can.” Huntington stared at his son helplessly, at a complete loss as to what he might possibly say.
“Is it really so important that I stay?” he said at last.
“If you stay, I’ll know Marion is safe. I won’t worry about her.”
“And your mind will be focused on the task at hand: saving the boy.”
“That has always been my goal but, yes, it would help,” Robin admitted with a slight smile. The Earl sighed.
“If it truly means that much to you, I’ll stay. I still don’t understand why – how – you could possibly…”
“Keep her safe?”
“I will. You have my word.”
“Am I dead?” Guy asked.
“No,” Loxley said, “not yet.”
“But I’m going to die.”
“That’s not for me to say.” Loxley sat down on a rock, laying a quiver by his feet. It was empty.
“Where am I? Where is this place?”
“Can’t you see for yourself?” Loxley asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“It…it looks like the tor.”
“Then it must be the tor.”
“But I…I was nowhere near the tor. I was miles away. How is this possible?” Loxley shrugged and Guy couldn’t tell if Loxley was simply withholding information or if he really didn’t know.
“Is this a dream?” persisted Gisburne. “Am I dreaming this?”
“If this is what you dream about, I’d hate to be in your nightmares,” said Loxley.
Marion circled the room again, rubbing her arms in an attempt to restore some warmth to her body. She remembered as a child that Leaford Grange could be very damp and chilly, but the manor was as cold as winter, despite the vestiges of summer that lay just beyond its walls.
Gisburne had shivered a few times, but Marion knew it was the fever not cold. Nevertheless, she still drew the blankets up to his chin. His head shifted slightly.
His restless movements had abated for a short period, but Marion didn’t think his body would be able to seek rest yet. The fever still had a firm hold on him, and his face still glistened with sweat no matter how often she washed it with a cool cloth. The man was strong, and she knew from bitter experience that he rarely surrendered, but this was a battle he might not survive, a battle the most highly-trained soldier was never prepared to face.
Had she been wrong to insist on staying? The servant, Cecily, had seemed quite capable of tending to him, and it wasn’t as if she, Marion, had really managed to do much to help him. Perhaps he had been beyond help the moment the dagger had passed into his belly. Margaret had been dealt a similar wound and had died.
By staying here, had she condemned a mother and her child to death? Her decision had forced Robin to protect Matilda and her son alone, for he had convinced his father to stay at the manor. Robin hadn’t been able to leave her unprotected and he had no qualms when it came to facing obstacles alone, even the kind armed with swords.
She knew Robin would be careful and would take no actions that would deliberately endanger the lives of Matilda and her son, but she was still worried about them. She hoped they were safe and had found somewhere to shelter for the night.
Marion moved to the window and was almost prepared to open the shutters, as if she might catch a glimpse of Robin and his charges huddling outside, when her own charge groaned quietly and flung an arm across the mattress. Marion dipped the cloth into the water basin once again and dabbed his cheeks and forehead with it. The knight moved against the pillow again and murmured something Marion couldn’t understand.
“Why you? Why here?” Loxley smiled.
“Why not?”
“You’re – You were my enemy…”
“It doesn’t matter here. Nothing does.”
“Here?”
“You still don’t know where you are, do you?” Loxley sighed and studied the ground. “You’re nowhere.”
“What?” Guy laughed nervously. “But – but that’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible.”
“But I…I have to be somewhere.”
“You’re outside time, beyond the world you know.”
“But I can’t be outside time. If I was outside time, I’d be…” Guy’s eyes widened. “But you said – ” Loxley suddenly raised his hand, and Guy stopped speaking. The outlaw’s head was tilted to one side as if he was listening to a voice only he could hear.
“You don’t have much time. You need to decide.”
“Decide? Decide what?”
An image flashed in Guy’s mind. Suddenly he was in his father solar. A man stood on either side of him. Only their tight grasp on him kept him from slumping to the ground.
“Where’s the boy, Guy?” Guy’s head snapped up. Another man was standing in front of him, cold, dark eyes fixed on him intently. There was no expression on his face.
“Father?” The blow, when it came, wasn’t entirely unexpected, but Guy’s knees still buckled and he gasped for breath.
“I’m not your father,” spat the man. “Bastards don’t have fathers. Where’s the boy?”
“I don’t know.” Guy’s head jolted back. He could taste the blood.
“Where’s the boy, my boy?” Guy bowed his head. “Answer me! What did you and your whore mother do with him?” A hand grabbed Guy’s chin, and he was forced to meet Edmond’s eyes. “I want him back. Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” repeated Guy.
“You took him. You took him away from me, you, who should never have been born, the bastard, nothing!” Guy jerked his head, breaking away from Edmond’s grasp.
“You don’t have a son,” Guy hissed. “You never did. You – ” There was a sharp, excruciating pain in his belly. Guy looked down as Edmond wrenched the dagger away. The men released him and, as darkness fell, he could hear Edmond’s laughter.
The Earl of Huntington strode purposefully towards Gisburne’s chamber. He had already completed a thorough inspection of the manor, including a tour of the courtyard, garden and stables. He had posted servants as guards around the outside perimeter. He didn’t think there would be any more attacks on the manor, especially as they hadn’t found the boy within its walls and had been unable to extract any information from Gisburne. However, he knew that he couldn’t afford to be careless. Servants might not be soldiers, but they had lungs and could shout out a warning as well as anyone.
The Earl reached the chamber and paused only briefly before stepping inside. He walked slowly towards the bed, waiting for Marion to whisper some greeting or at least make eye contact with him. Then he realized that she had fallen into a light doze, her head propped on her hand, her auburn hair falling across her shoulders. She seemed completely at peace, unlike the patient she was tending.
Gisburne’s head was thrashing weakly against his pillow, his arms striking inanely at some invisible enemy. Huntington studied the knight, debating whether he should leave the man, wake Marion, or deal with the situation himself.
“No, please…” whispered Gisburne in a hoarse, threadbare voice. The Earl looked at Marion, but she still didn’t move.
“Sorry…Please…I’m sorry…” The Earl grabbed the flailing arms and pinned them down.
“It’s all right,” he said firmly but quietly. “Do you hear me? It’s all right, Guy.” Suddenly he saw something stir on the periphery of his vision. Then he heard the sound of water sloshing before Marion began to bathe Gisburne’s face with a cloth. She then laid the compress across the knight’s forehead and proceeded to check the wound.
“Can you hold him?” she asked. The Earl nodded. He could already feel the knight relaxing, his arms going still. He looked at Marion and found that she was smiling at him knowingly.
“What is it?”
“Perhaps you should be nursing him. He seems to listen to you.” The Earl grimaced but Marion was too preoccupied with the wound to notice. When she had finished her examination, she sat back with a yawn.
“I’m not surprised you fell asleep. Watching him must be exhausting.” Marion favoured the Earl with a weary smile.
“I don’t know where he’s finding the energy.”
“He’s dead and yet he still has power over you. Why?” Guy opened his eyes. He was back at the tor with Loxley.
“I’m free of him.”
“Are you? How can you be free of him when he’s still haunting you?”
“He isn’t haunting me!”
“You see him everywhere you go, Guy. Every face you see is his face.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it?” Suddenly Loxley’s face was replaced by Edmond’s face. Guy put his head in his hands.
“How can I possibly forget him?”
“Nothing’s forgotten. Nothing is ever forgotten.”
“Is that why you’re here? Why he’s here?” He lowered his hands. The outlaw had disappeared.
“Loxley? Loxley!” he called. The mist slowly lifted, and Guy discovered that he was no longer on the tor but standing outside the manor.
“Your pain and hatred blind you. One day they will consume you…but not today.”
* * * *
The tiny flame of the candle had died, but a faint sliver of light had crept to the top of the rolling hills. Marion closed the shutters and returned to the chair by the bed.
He was sleeping. His pale, bruised face was composed and he looked surprisingly peaceful. Marion laid a hand against his forehead. It was no longer burning. The fever had passed.
Marion leaned back in her chair and wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or felt guilty about nursing her enemy through his fever. She was still pondering the question when Cecily arrived and ordered Marion to get some sleep herself. Marion was too tired to argue with her. Besides, Gisburne wouldn’t stir any time soon. His exhausted, battered body needed all the rest it could get.
Robin was jolted awake when he felt someone shaking him persistently by the shoulder. He stared sleepily at the boy kneeling beside him and tried to remember where he was. With a quick glance at the stones piled around him, memory flooded back.
They had decided to spend the night in an old hill fort. Robin knew it would provide some protection from the elements and they would be able to see anyone approaching. Robin had taken watch most of the night, but when Matilda found she couldn’t sleep, she had insisted on taking a turn. Robin had objected but she had refused to back down and, as Robin had known he’d be more alert and effective if he did get some sleep, he had agreed reluctantly.
“What’s the matter?” whispered Robin.
“Mother’s seen some men,” the boy answered. Robin took an instant to digest this information then crawled quickly to where Matilda was crouched. Without a word, she pointed to a line of figures down in the valley. Robin took some time to study them, then smiled. None of them were on horseback and they seemed to favour crosses and rags over swords and armour.
“They’re pilgrims,” he announced.
“Pilgrims? Are you certain?”
“As certain as I can be, yes.”
“Forgive me. I suppose I’m frightened . I should never have woken you. It was silly of me.”
“No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad you did wake me. We can’t be too careful.” He patted her shoulder lightly.
“We’ll stay out of sight until they’ve passed, then I’ll take the boy with me and we’ll find something to eat.” Matilda gazed at her surroundings doubtfully.
“Good luck.”
It took a few attempts before the knight returned to consciousness. He would be crawling slowly towards the light, only to be sucked back into that dark void again. When he finally reached the light, sensation returned. Pain.
He heard a groan and, after a few moments, realized the sound had come from his own lips. Then he felt a cool hand pressed against his forehead. He managed to force his eyes open briefly before the heavy lids fell again.
“Rest,” said a voice that seemed familiar. He tried to open his eyes to discover who it was, but he just felt so tired. Reluctantly, he surrendered to sleep.
He could hear faint sounds. There were birds chirping somewhere in the distance and, closer to his ears, a pair of feet were shuffling. He opened his eyes.
He was lying in a chamber, though not Edmond’s chamber or the one he had occupied as a child, God be praised. It was the one Cecily had prepared for him when he had first arrived, but he could only remember sleeping in it the one night and he could distinctly remember rising from it the following morning. He had no memory of even stepping into it a second time, unless it was when he had been searching for wine. It had dulled the pain. He could definitely use some now. His whole body seemed to hurt, his belly in particular. And had he ever felt this tired?
He fought to keep his eyes open and studied the chamber more closely. There was a bowl on the table and a chair had been pushed close to the bed. That had not been there before.
His eyes wandered a little farther, and he was surprised to see a woman standing with her back to him, tending the fire. The woman had long, curly red hair…
Gisburne tried to sit up but weakness and the sharp, searing pain of his wound forced him to abandon that endeavour. He sagged against the pillows, drained. When he managed to open his eyes again, Marion was beside him.
She pulled the blankets back and was reaching towards him. Gisburne tried to move away from her, but she placed her hands on his shoulders.
“I’m not going to hurt you, but if you don’t lie still you’re going to hurt yourself.” Feeling to weak to do much else, Gisburne was forced to admit defeat. However, Marion didn’t seem to entirely trust him. She kept one hand on his shoulder while she checked his wound.
As he drifted off to sleep, he heard her say, “You’re lucky. You could have torn the stitches out.”
She was changing the dressings. He watched as she removed the old blood-soaked bandages and replaced them with new ones. He couldn’t understand why she was tending his would. Perhaps those wolfsheads were keeping him alive because they needed information or they were planning to ransom him off. But surely they had learned years ago that neither tactic would work. There was no one who would pay his ransom, and even if he had any information he would never give it to them. Why would they go to the trouble of healing him when they would gain nothing from him?
“Gisburne.” The knight looked up. Marion had finished changing his dressings and had noticed that he was awake. He tried to speak but he couldn’t seem to produce any sound. His throat felt so dry. Then, suddenly, she was lifting his head, and a cup of water was being brought to his lips.
He knew he shouldn’t drink it, that he should try to fight her off, spit it out with what little strength he had. But it was so cool and Lady Wolfshead seemed determined to make him drink some of it.
“Drink it slowly,” she said. He started coughing all the same. She pulled the cup away and lowered his head back on the pillow. Why? Why was she doing this? Did the outlaws have something planned for him that he had yet to fathom? Was this some kind of punishment, their own bizarre concept of revenge?
Once the coughing fit subsided, Gisburne tried to speak again, managing as best he could. “Wh-why?” he gasped. Marion stared at the knight with a creased brow. Then she looked directly into his eyes as if they somehow held the answer.
“I don’t think you would understand,” she said at last.
