~ i ~

“Insh’Allah,”  Robin mumbled again.
John frowned hearing words he couldn’t understand. “What’s he saying?”
“It’s the Turk language,” Much answered not looking up; he’d almost finished. He was thankful that Robin was lapsing in and out of conscious; the pain of being stitched would have been excruciating. “He thinks he’s still in the Holy Land,”
“He learnt the language?”
Much nodded. “He said it was because he wanted to understand those he was fighting. But…”
“But,” John pressed.
Much smiled hollowly. “I think it was because he wanted to know what the Turks were saying about him.”
Excruciating… Images of another ‘stitching’ flashed before his eyes. Quickly, Much pushed them aside. “I knew this would happen,” he muttered. “He never listens… He’s thinks he’s invulnerable; thinks that nothing can touch him…” He briefly looked up at Little John. “He doesn’t care what happens to him. He never has.”
“Only cares about helping others worse off than him?” Little John said.
“But why does he have to risk his own life to do it? What is he trying prove?” Tying off the last stitch, Much sat back. There. Done. He then paled. Despite being stitched the wound still dribbled steadily. Dear God, hasn’t he lost enough blood as it is?
Much reached for one of the bandages made from Little John’s shirt. Carefully, and with Little John’s help, he then wrapped the cloth tightly around Robin’s torso and tied it off. Another strip followed the first then another. But the third strip had been barely tied off when Allan ran towards them. He was closely followed by Roy and Will carrying a stretcher made out of branches and a cloak.
“Soldiers,” Allan said, keeping his voice low; hushed. “Coming this way. We have to go. Now.”
“Hurry,” Will said as he and Roy put the stretcher down beside Robin. “They’ll kill him if they catch us.”
“They’ll kill all of us if they catch us,” Roy snapped back.
Carefully, trying to jostle him as little as possible, they quickly lifted Robin onto the stretcher and laid him on his stomach.
Taking of his jerkin, Will then put it under Robin’s head. “I’m sorry, Robin.”

~ ii ~

It was drizzling when they finally reached camp a few hours later. With Robin so badly injured, the journey had been slow and had taken them twice as long as it normally did. They had also stopped more than once to make sure that the stitches were still holding and, since he hadn’t made a sound since being put on the stretcher, to make sure that Robin was actually still alive.
Taking all their stuff out of the shelter, they quickly moved Robin inside. It wasn’t a moment too soon, the drizzle became a downpour.

~ O ~

~  Part Two  ~


~ Sherwood Forest ~

~ i ~

“Tell… him..”
“Shhh. Try not to move. You’ll start bleeding again.”
“Tell… him… that… it… wasn’t… his fault…”
“You can tell him yourself. Later. Now keep still. Try and sleep.”
Pushing back the blanket draped across the entrance to their makeshift shelter, Much stuck his head outside. It would be dark soon. No, make that soon it would be even darker than it was now. He swore wordlessly as drops hit his face; swore as they trickled down his neck and into his shirt. He dropped the blanket back down again. “How much longer are you going to keep this up?” he asked. It had been raining steadily for hours now. “Enough’s enough. He’s_ ” The remaining words died in his throat as a barely audible moan filled the shelter. Or at least to Much it seemed to fill the shelter. He quickly looked behind him. “Please stop raining,” he muttered under his breath. “For his sake.”
“How is he?”
Much jumped. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed the blanket move again.
“What?”
“How is he?” Will asked again.
Much frowned. Though crouched at the opening, Will seemed completely heedless to the rain soaking him.
“Much?”
Much shook his head. “It’s finally stopped bleeding,” he said. “But he’s warm to the touch.” He listened to the rain beating down on the branches above him. “And if we can’t keep him warm and dry the fever will only worsen. Or the wound get infected.” He looked at the drops that were pattering on the ground around them. “Or both.” He distractedly pushed at the one of the branches above him. “Warm and dry. Not cold and wet.” He had to stop himself from adding ‘because otherwise it will kill him’. Right now, knowing his luck it would have only tempted fate.
Will didn’t say anything. He just looked at the huddled form lying on its side behind Much because he couldn’t look at Much’s face. Then. “I’m sorry.”
Much didn’t answer.
A long moment later, Will then raised his head. “You should eat something.” He didn’t know what else to say. The anger and anguish on Much’s face said it all. This is all your fault. You and the rest of them out there. “Roy said to tell you that there’s cheese.” Then, when Much did not even react, he reached out and grasped Much’s shoulder. “Go. You’ll be of no use to him if you fall sick. You’ve done all you can. Let me sit with him.”
Much finally nodded. Will was right. He had to stay strong for Robin’s sake. “Call me straight away he wakes or if there’s any change.”
“I will,” Will said.
Taking one last look behind him, Much went out into the rain.

~ ii ~

“He’s getting away.”
“I want him alive! Locksley!”
In one fluid movement, he picked up the discarded bow at his feet; took an arrow from the quiver at his back. NotchAimFire.
The Saracen pitched forward.
“You fool. You killed him! The King said alive!”
He turned to the man beside him and grinned. “He is alive. If I had wanted to kill him I would have aimed for his neck and not below and just to the right of it.” Something then made him look down at the weapon in his hand. This wasn’t his bow. He frowned. This was a Saracen bow. A Saracen ‘recurve’ bow…

….Unhooking the bowstring, he slung the bow over the rope. Pushed off the wall; heedless to how high up he was. 
“You’ve done all you can.”
Voices. Voices?!
“Let me sit with him.”
Will? What?! Suddenly the rope went slack…. No! Falling… NO!  Pain caught him; held him; refused to give him up. Once more smothered him in her grasp.

~ iii ~

Allan glanced over at the shelter. “Will’s still blaming himself.”
“I keep trying to tell him that it wasn’t his fault,” Little John said. “But the boy won’t listen.”.
“It was an accident,” Allan said. “It could have happened to any one of us.”
Much paled. “But why did it have to happen to Robin?” And if Robin lived it would be months before he would be able to use a sword or bow again. And to Robin that would have been worse than actually dying…. If he lived.
Roy glared. “Accident or not. He’s going to die anyway. So why should we risk getting killed because of him?”
Ignoring Roy, Allan huddled further into his cloak, pulled it tighter around his shoulders. At the rate Roy was going, very soon someone was going to hit him. “We have to get him out of Sherwood. Take him to a healer.”
“We can’t move him. And… ” Much held out his hand; palm upwards. “Out into this… NO! He’ll catch his death.” Much’s face then fell as he realised what he had just said.
“And he’ll die if we don’t.” Little John said.
“We could take him to Locksley.” Allan suggested. “Or Neddlestone. It’s closer.”
Roy shook his head. Was he the only sane one here? “And what’ll happen to the villagers if he’s found.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Much said. “For Robin. Or have you forgotten what happened?”
“Much’s right,” Little John said. “There are still those who would trade him in for the reward without even thinking about it.”
“So what do we do?” Much was furious; he was furious with the others for just sitting there doing nothing and he was furious with himself for not knowing what to do. He was even furious with Robin for getting himself badly injured doing something that he didn’t even have to. “You can’t just let him die. He saved your lives!”
“Not mine he didn’t,” Roy shot back. “So don’t look at me.” He gestured around him. “You’re all fools. Can’t you all see what’s been happening around here? This was all just his own personal little crusade. It was all for his benefit. Not ours.” Roy looked at each of them in turn. “Not yours and definitely not mine,”
“So why are you still here then?” Allan countered. Not waiting for Roy to answer back, he then stood and walked towards the shelter.
“We have to do something,” Much said to whoever who was listening. “He’s needs somewhere safe. Some sort of… I don’t know… sanctuary. He can’t stay out here. He’ll die.” There. He said it. Again.
“He’s damned if we do and damned if we don’t,” Allan muttered to himself stopping in front of the shelter. His eyes then widened. Sanctuary? Had Much just said sanctuary? Of course!
Suddenly, everyone looked up in shock as Allan then began to laugh.
“That’s it!” Allan grinned, rushing back to them.
Much frowned. “What’s it?” Had speaking in riddles suddenly become contagious? First Robin now Allan. “Of course what? And stop laughing! Robin’s fighting for his life and you think it’s funny. Why you_”
“Sanctuary,” Allan said quickly. “We take him to the Abbey at Kirklees and claim sanctuary for him.” He then looked at Roy. “For all of us. If anyone can save Robin the Sisters can.”
Much glared. “But the Abbey’s hours away,” Had Allan gone mad? “Parts of it in the open.”
“Then we ride at night,” Allan replied. “The Sisters won’t turn him away. They can’t.”
“Allan’s right,” Little John said. “It’s his only chance. He’ll be safe at the Abbey. No matter who comes for him.”
But Much still wasn’t convinced. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because Church law decrees it,” Allan replied. “Or have you forgotten. And the Church has authority even over the Sheriff. At the Abbey not even the Sheriff would dare touch Robin.” He looked at Roy again. “Or even us. We’ll have to leave tonight. While he still has the strength. If we don’t spare the horses we can be there by morning. ”
“But_” Much started to protest.
“Do you have a better idea?”
An unhealthy silence descended over the campsite. A silence that Little John finally broke. He crouched down in front of Much.
“He’s your friend, Much. You have to decide.”
Much was resigned. They were right. There was nothing else they could do. ‘So he’s damned if we do and damned if we don’t’. “I’ll get him.”
“Right,” Little John straightened. “You lot break camp. Me and Roy will get the horses ready. Won’t we, Roy.” Then, when Roy didn’t answer, he reached out and reassuringly squeezed Much’s shoulder instead. “He’ll be alright.”
This time it was Much’s turn not to answer. He only hoped that they were doing the right thing. They were doing the right thing, weren’t they?

~ iii ~

“Robin?”
Much. A hand gently touched his shoulder.
Robin slowly opened his eyes. “This…is…familiar.” So where had Will gone? He’d been here a minute ago. He’d only closed his eyes for a moment. Was Will still blaming himself? It had been an accident. Just a stupid accident. “S…so w…what’s happening? I… could… hear… you… all… arguing.” Over me.
“How do you feel?” Much asked not wanting to answer the question.
“H… h… how… do… I… look?” He knew Much was avoiding the question but he was too tired to fight. Right now, he barely had the strength to stay awake. From the time he had been brought here, he had been drifting in and out of blackness, unable to stay conscious for more than a few moments at a time. “Well?”
“Terrible,” Much replied, one by one pulling back the layers of clothing and blankets that were covering Robin.
In a desperate attempt to keep him at least halfway warm and dry, they had covered Robin with all the blankets and spare clothes they had.
Robin grinned weakly. It came out as more of a grimace. “Oh, great.”
Moving around, Much then gently lifted up the back of Robin’s shirt to check on the wound. He sighed with relief. The stitches seemed to be holding. And thankfully, none of the blood that stained the makeshift bandages, wrapped around Robin’s torso, was fresh. 
“So… where… are… we…going?” Robin asked once Much had moved round to sit in front of him again.
Much’s eyes widened. “How did you_”
A pain filled ‘You can’t fool me smile’ lit up Robin’s face. “I… I… also… heard… the… horses.” 
“We’re taking you to the Abbey at Kirklees,” Much said. He’d never been able to keep the truth from Robin. “You can’t stay here. You need help. Proper help.”
“Why? It’s…” Another wave of pain, this one much stronger than the others, washed over him. “It’s… just… a… scratch.”
Suddenly Much’s expression changed as he finally gave in to the hurt, anger and helplessness that had been building up inside him since Robin had got hurt. “It’s NOT a scratch!” he shouted. “For once in your life stop being so bloody selfish and just listen to someone else for a change.”
Robin jerked back as if stung. Wished he hadn’t. Was that what Much thought? That he was… selfish? “I…I don’t… have… a say… in this…, do…I?” he asked finally.
“No,” Much replied his voice still firm. “You don’t. Not this time.” This was wrong. So wrong, Robin was in no shape to be going anywhere. “Can you move?”
“Find… me… a pretty… girl… and…” Robin’s voice trailed off.
Much shook his head in despair; some things never changed. “Slowly,” he said. Despite Robin trying to hide it, Much could see in his eyes just how much pain he really was in. “There’s no rush.” And moving him was only going to make it worse.
Clenching his teeth, Robin slowly, and with a lot of help on Much’s part, sat up. Pain engulfed him. His sight wavered making his stomach churn. He grabbed at Much’s shoulder as his vision greyed, lent forward against him, fighting the darkness. I have to stay conscious.
“Robin?!”
“I’m… alright,” Robin gasped biting his lip against the pain and the nausea that came with it. His back was on fire. It felt as if someone was driving a red-hot poker into it; over and over. With no let up. He flinched feeling wetness trickle down his skin again. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed the pain into the small dark place that he always did. Locked it away. He stayed silent about the blood, keeping it to himself. Much looked as though he was going to die from worry as it was. Besides, his shirt with the old bloodstains would hide the evidence a while longer.
“You’re not alright,” Much said, his voice softening. He shouldn’t have lost his temper like that. It was just that Robin was so… frustrating at times. Still supporting him with one arm, Much then passed Robin a cup of water. He steadied the cup as Robin drank watching him closely for any signs that could herald a turn for the worse. “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? You had to play the hero. Always the hero.”
“You… want… me… to… just… stand… there… and… do… nothing?”
“Yes,” Much said, putting the cup down. He then shook his head. “No. I just wish you’d learn to be more careful.” He was worried; really worried. Right now, even talking seemed to be an effort for Robin.
Robin smirked lightly. A ghost of his old self briefly haunted his face. “And where’s… the… fun… in… that?”
“It won’t be fun if you get yourself killed,” Much chided, fastening a woollen cloak around Robin’s shoulders. Warm and dry. Not cold and wet.
This time Robin didn’t have a sarcastic comeback. “It… was… an… accident…, Much,” he said. “It… was…”
“An accident,” Much finished. “I know. So do you think you can stand?”
“Halfway… stand..,” Robin answered. It’s … pretty… cramped… in here. Also…”
“Also?” Much prompted.
“It… also… depends… on… who… you… have… waiting… for… me… outside.” Robin then tightened his grasp on Much’s arm. “Much…”
Much’s eyes widened in alarm. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Stop… fussing.”
Much shook his head in despair. “You can be a real pain, you know that?”
Robin smiled again. “I know…  It’s…why…you… love…me.”
This time Much ignored him, refusing to rise to the bait. Though Robin was acting as if nothing were wrong, Much knew that it was all just a front. He knew how frightened Robin really was. He also knew just how much Robin hated anyone seeing him this… vulnerable.
“Ready?”
Robin nodded slowly, bracing himself for the agony that was to come. ~ iv ~

Getting Robin even halfway upright proved to be more difficult than Much first anticipated and by the time they came out of the shelter it was well past nightfall. Twice, the pain had been too much for Robin to bear and twice Much had decided that what they were doing was proving to be too dangerous. But Robin had been determined and, eventually, his stubbornness had paid off. A mixture of sheer willpower and pure bloody-mindedness getting him to his feet.
Seeing Much and Robin coming out of the shelter, the others sucked in a collective breath. They knew that Robin would look terrible but they never thought that he would look this terrible.
From where he stood with the horses, Roy shuddered. Robin looked like a walking corpse. Make that a corpse ‘trying’ to walk and failing miserably. A corpse that Much was having difficulty keeping upright. He watched as scrambling to his feet, Will ran over to take Robin’s weight on the other side.
“We’ve got you,” Will said.
“Will…,” Robin gasped. “It… wasn’t… your fault… Listen… to… me…, this… wasn’t… your… fault. O.K.?”
Will dipped his head. It was what he’d been waiting to hear all this time. Robin didn’t blame him.
Reaching out with his free hand, Much pulled the hood of Robin’s cloak over his head. Though the rain had eased to just a steady, light drizzle, every little thing would help right now. Within the last few minutes, Robin had started to shiver and it wasn’t because of the weather. As he did so, Robin slowly lifted his head and grinned; trying to tell all of them that he was all right; that he looked far worse than he felt. But no one believed him. To each of them, Robin seemed to be just fighting a losing battle. And, almost as if to prove them right, Robin’s legs then chose that very moment to buckle under him.
“Robin!”
But before Much or Will could lower Robin to the ground, Little John strode forward and gently lifted Robin into his arms.
“Watch his back!” Much shouted.
Little John frowned. Robin felt so light; so much lighter than before. Or was he just imagining it?
Much watched anxiously as Little John then carried the once more unconscious Robin the few steps to one of the waiting horses and put him into the saddle.
Roy quickly mounted up behind him. “Well, someone’s got to stop Lavender Boy from falling off,” he stated matter-of-factly. He then edged closer and wrapped his left arm around Robin’s waist, careful to avoid touching his back.
First Roy couldn’t give a damn about Robin; now this. Much opened his mouth to say something. He then thought better of it and shut it again, just thankful that Roy had ‘volunteered’. He would never have been able to do what Roy was doing.
“Ride as fast as you can,” Little John told Roy. “Don’t stop unless you have to. Allan, go with him. The rest of us will meet you there.”
Nodding once at Much, Roy then kicked the horse into a gallop.
Once the riders had disappeared into the darkness, Much went to gather his own stuff. “You have to stay alive, Robin,” he said to himself. Though a small part of him wanted to believe that everything was going to be alright, another part wondered if he would ever see Robin alive again. Since coming back to England, he had never felt so alone. “For my sake.”

~ v ~

“Sire, you sent for me.”
“Make ready. We leave within the hour.”
“Yes, Sire.” Bowing once, he then started to back out of the tent.
“Locksley.”
“Sire?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me where are we going? You usually do.”

…“Attack! Attack!”
“Protect the King! Protect the King!”
His world narrowed … Dear God, how had they got in?! His mouth turned as dry as the desert around him... The palms of his hands became slick with sweat... Everything took on a surreal bloody-red tinge. Heartbeats felt hours…
He barely flinched when metal struck metal… Barely heard the screams of the men dying around him....
…Seeing something glint at the corner of his eye, he then spun; blocked the sword aimed at the man beside him with his own; the force of the blow driving him to his knees…
As he went down, he thrust his own blade upwards…pulled it free. The assassin fell against him…Knocking the breath out of him...
Tasting blood in his mouth, he pulled off his helmet…
The blinding white, heat of day…

…blurring to the darkness of night…

The stench of blood and sand…

… once more turning to the freshness of rain and trees… He sagged forwards in the saddle still tasting blood.

~ O ~

~  Part Three  ~


~ The Outskirts of Kirklees ~

~ i ~

Robin slipped in and out of consciousness. He was barely aware of the horse moving beneath him… barely aware of the landscape going past him…  barely aware of his surroundings changing from forest to open grassland.

He reached out to her. “You’re just annoyed because they won’t let you enter. Come on, Marian. It’ll be fun.”

Cold night air caressed his skin…

She drew back in dismay. “Is that what you call it? Killing all those people. Fun?!” Her eyes filling with tears, Marian then slowly turned away from him. “Oh, Robin.”

…its chill blowing away the last cob-web traces of the dream. De Benoit had been right. The killing had grown easier. Robin shivered and it wasn’t just from the cold. He wasn’t the hero that everyone thought he was. He never had been. He doubted that he ever could be. He hadn’t saved lives; he had taken them. He felt the horse start to slow. It was the reason that, when he had returned home, he had sworn never to kill again.

~ ii ~

Roy slowed his horse to a stop; signalled Allan to do the same.
“What’s wrong?” Allan asked, fighting to control his own horse. He swore as the animal danced on the spot showing its annoyance at having to stop.
“Keep your voice down!” Roy chided softly. “Do you want every passing patrol to hear you? Time to check on Lavender Boy.”
Reaching over, Allan looked under Robin’s hood. “He’s barely conscious,” he said, lowering his voice. He then placed his hand against the side of Robin’s neck. “He feels hotter.”
“What about the wound?” Roy asked. He moved back in the saddle slightly to let Allan have a little more room to see.
As gently as he could, Allan pulled back the cloak. He hissed softly seeing the fresh stain on the back of Robin’s shirt. “The wound’s bleeding again,” he replied. “But not heavily.  The stitches must still be holding. What do we do?”
“Keep going,” Roy answered. “The sun will be up soon and like you said the Abbey’s his only chance.”
“Will he make it?” Allan asked. He was worried; really worried. Robin had done so much good in the short time that he had known him, that for him to just die like this was not right.
“He has to,” Roy replied. And though he would never admit it, right now he was beginning to worry too.

~ iii ~

“Come on, Marian. It’ll be fun.”
“Is that what you call it?” Marian glared at him. “I’m sorry, Robin, but I have better things to do than watch you win some stupid arrow.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Such as?” he asked tilting his head to the side.
“I’ll think of something,” Marian replied. “Maybe, I’ll wash my hair.”
Reaching out, he brushed an errant lock out of Marian’s eyes. “Me thinks that the lady doth protest too much,” he said softly. “Just say ‘yes’. I know you want to.”
Marian batted his hand away in annoyance. “And me thinks that someone is asking for a fat lip.”
His eyes widened. If looks could kill… “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.” Her face storm-dark, Marian left the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

He woke with a start. Felt the horse under him, felt an arm around his waist. Why had they stopped? He shivered. He was so cold. Felt the wound start to throb again. So very cold.

~ iv ~

They could see the Abbey from here, and to the two exhausted riders, it was the most beautiful and welcome sight they had ever seen. Bathed in early morning sunlight, the Abbey looked so serene, so safe. They had stopped on top of the rise to catch their breaths but the sight of the Abbey had only taken it away again.
“We’re almost there, Lavender Boy,” Roy said quietly, urging the horse back into a walk. “So remember what I told you.”
“I’ll…try…,” Robin answered. “But…I’m… not… promising… anything.”
Roy was taken aback. Robin being lucid enough to talk was the last thing he had expected. “So you’re awake then,” he said quickly, trying to hide his shock. “It’s about time.”
“How… can… anyone…sleep… with…you…swearing…every…five…minutes?” Robin said. “What… did… the… poor… animal…ever…do…to you?” 
“Nothing,” Allan said. He was just as shocked and happy as Roy was to see Robin fully awake again. “With you asleep, he had no one else to snipe at. How are you feeling?” 
“Better,” Robin lied. “So… are… we… there… yet?”
“How would you like to get down and_” Roy froze.
“What…?” asked Robin. “What’s… wrong?”
“Shh. I thought I heard something,” Roy replied. Wait, yes. There it was again. And it sounded as if it was getting closer.
As one, Roy and Allan turned to look behind them. There, coming straight towards them.
“Not again,” Allan groaned. “Don’t they ever give up?”
“It’s… me… they’re… after,” Robin said. “Leave…me… here… Save_”
“Save yourselves?” Roy snapped back. “Just shut up and hold on.” He and Allan then kicked their horses forward.
They rode at breakneck speed down the side of the hill, going so fast that their mounts scrambled to keep their footing on the loose earth. The Abbey grew temptingly closer. Almost there… But suddenly more horses thundered across their path, appearing out of what felt like nowhere, to cut them off.
“Go the other way! Go the other way!”
Allan turned his horse to follow Roy but heartbeats later, the two of them almost collided with more men riding straight at them. They were surrounded; completely surrounded. Knowing that escape was now futile, the outlaws slowed their horses to a stop.
Gasping for breath, Robin slowly lifted his head. The pain was almost too much to bear now. And no matter how many times he locked it away in that small dark place that he usually did, it kept clawing its way out again. Suddenly his eyes widened.
“Gisborne,” Roy muttered in horror as a figure dressed from head to toe in black broke away from the other riders and rode towards them; his sword drawn.
“Get down!” Gisborne ordered, stopping in front of them.
Neither Roy nor Allan moved. 
“I said get down!”
Roy nodded once to Allan. “Be ready,” he said under his breath.
“No, don’t,” Robin said softly. “Don’t… Do… as… he… says.”
“Robin?” Roy was as stunned, as Robin had been himself, that Robin was still conscious after the chase. But he was even more stunned that Robin was so willing to surrender. Then again, thinking about it, he shouldn’t have been that surprised.
“Do… as… he… says,” Robin urged. “It’ll… be… O.K. Trust me.”
“You have changed, Locksley,” Gisborne said, as Allan and Roy unwillingly got down off their horses. “You never used to be so defeatist,”
“Sorry… to… disappoint… you,” Robin said sitting up straighter in the saddle. Gisborne was just trying to goad him. He watched as Roy and Allan were quickly tied up and dragged away to be loaded into a covered cart.  This was all his fault. Wait…. what did Gisborne mean by ‘You never used to be so defeatist’?
But Robin’s attitude only succeeded in angering Gisborne even more and his expression darkened further. “Get him down!” he yelled, dismounting and throwing the reins of his horse to a soldier.
Sucking in his breath, Robin did not resist as two soldiers pulled him out of the saddle and held him upright between them. White-hot pain blazed across his back as stitches first pulled then broke, making his vision waver, grey around the edges. He fought the encroaching darkness not wanting to give Gisborne the satisfaction of blacking out in front of him.
Smiling to himself, Gisborne walked slowly around Robin and the soldiers. “Well, Locksley,” he sneered. “Not so cocky now, are we?”
“Let… them… go,” Robin said, looking back unwaveringly. “It’s… me… you want.”
Gisborne shook his head. “Sorry, Locksley, but my orders are to bring you all back.”
“And you… always… do… as… you’re… told…, don’t… you?” Robin half-smiled unable to resist an opportunity to taunt the man. “L…Like… a… good… little… boy.”
Robin didn’t even blink when Gisborne raised his hand to strike him; he had expected it. But instead of hitting him, Gisborne stopped his hand less than a hair’s breadth away from his face. Robin’s eyes lit up ever-so-slightly in surprise. That he had not expected. His smile widened as Gisborne then slowly lowered his hand. “Looks…, I…was… right.” But what the hell was Gisborne playing at? Robin’s question was soon answered.
“My Lord Sheriff said that you had been injured, Locksley,” Gisborne said his voice full of false concern. “Let’s see, shall we, just how badly.” He nodded to the soldiers. “Take off his cloak.”
Gisborne frowned as one of the men holding Locksley pulled off his cloak. There was no tell-tale sign of an injury on the front of Locksley’s shirt. It meant only one thing. Giving Robin a knowing smile, he walked round to stand behind him. A heartbeat later, the same soldier then tore away Robin’s shirt with a dagger, exposing the bloody, make-shift bandages underneath.
“That looks nasty,” Gisborne said, looking at the bandages. “It must really hurt.”
Knowing exactly what Gisborne was going to do, Robin steeled himself. He had seen it done to prisoners countless times before; he had even done it himself. He felt the soldier on his right hold on to him tighter in pity; take a firmer grip on his arm; saw the fleeting look of horror in the brown eyes before the soldier looked away. He closed his eyes… heard someone scream as Gisborne pressed his finger to the wound; scream as he slowly traced down the length of it then back up again.
“Why don’t you go back to the Holy Land, Locksley?” Gisbourne said using just enough pressure to cause excruciating pain but not enough to cause further damage. “People like you are not wanted here.”
Somehow Robin managed to dredge up the last of his strength to lift his head defiantly. “But… if… I… do…,” he spat. “Who…will… be… left… to… stand… up… to… people…like… you.”
Glaring at Robin, Gisborne wiped his bloody finger on his leathers. “Put him with the others.”
Robin did not even try and fight back as he was then half-dragged, half-carried to the cart; he was in no state to. He did not even notice when the same guard that had taken pity on him bent to pick up his cloak and put it around his bare shoulders. But even if he had been able to fight back, he would never have risked it. There was no telling what Gisborne would have done to his friends, orders or not, if he even so much as tried. Now if he had been alone_
“Robin!”
Robin blinked. Had he now started to see things? Inside the cart, sat beside Roy and Allan, were Much, Will and Little John. So they had been caught too.
“Robin?”
He heard his name being called again; this time more urgently. But the voice seemed so far away…

~ v ~

De Benoit stepped aside to reveal a body lying on the sand. “Look, what we caught, Locksley.”
His eyes widening, he moved tentatively forward as two knights pulled the body to its feet. He had never seen a live Turk this close to before. So far all the ones he’d seen had either been dead or targets on a battlefield seen from the safety of an archer’s vantage-point.

The cart lurched again throwing its six occupants around like a group of moppets. Five of the ‘cloth-dolls’ had their hands tied behind their backs and could only brace themselves for each jolt.

“Careful, Locksley,” De Benoit said making him jump. “Don’t get too close. He might bite you.”
He watched as one of the knights grabbed a handful of the man’s hair and pulled his head back. He winced. The bruised and bloody face that looked defiantly back at him was no older than his own. Lowering his eyes, he then gasped audibly seeing the ruins that had once been the man’s hands.
“Why break his hands?” he asked, curling his own hands protectively in on themselves.
“Because he’s even deadlier with a bow than you are, Locksley,” De Benoit answered, dropping a recurve bow at his feet.
The bow’s spine had been snapped in two, broken beyond repair, like her owner’s hands.
“He killed almost half my men before we got to him.”
Deadlier than him? He found that hard to believe. No one was that good. It was more likely that De Benoit had allowed those under his command to vent their frustrations out on the Turk when they had caught him.
“What will you do with him?” Though he already knew the answer he asked anyway.
“The King has enough captives to question, “De Benoit sneered. He drew his sword. “What do you think?”

And the sixth? Lying at their feet, huddled in a cloak, for the sixth, none of the jolts mattered.

~ The Courtyard, Nottingham Castle ~

~ i ~

“Where are you taking him?” Much yelled a couple of hours later, as Robin’s still half-naked and now seemingly lifeless body was unloaded from the cart and, none to gently, taken up the steps to the castle.
“Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Vaizey said maliciously as the soldiers and Robin stopped outside the great wooden doors.
Unable to tear his eyes of Robin slumped between the two soldiers, Much’s desperation grew. He had to do something. Robin was going to die otherwise. He turned to face the Sheriff. “He’s hurt. He needs help. Please.”
“Pretty, please?” Vaizey mocked. “With sugar on top.”
Much looked away. What more could he do? He and the others had tried to save Robin by taking him out of Sherwood but had only succeeded in giving him up to the very man who wanted, more than anything else, to see him dead and, more than likely, they were going to die along with him.
Standing beside Much, the others hung their heads. They couldn’t bring themselves to look at Robin. Not now; not any more. Will especially. Despite what Robin had told him, if it hadn’t been for him none of this would have happened.
“All hope lost? Awww, never mind.” The Sheriff sneered nastily at the sorry-looking group in front of him. “Word of advice, my boys, you really should get yourselves a better leader. The one you have now is, how shall I put it, not very good at his job. How many times has he got you caught now? Don’t you think it’s getting rather predictable?” He glanced briefly at Robin again. “Besides, he’ll be dead soon so you will have to get a new one. Won’t you.”
Though, they wanted nothing more than to be able to help Robin; to fight back, the gang didn’t move; not even when the Sheriff gave the orders for them to be taken from his sight.
“Throw them in the dungeon,” Vaizey said boredom now more than evident on his face and in his voice. “Again.”
Stood beside the Sheriff, Gisborne nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”
Vaizey frowned. Something troubled him. Why hadn’t the other outlaws fought back? Was it because of Locksley? Was he was rubbing off on them? But what made them follow Locksley in the first place? And why did they care so much about what happened to him? Why were they so willing to risk their lives for him? It certainly wasn’t because they feared him. Could it be because that they actually loved him? Loved him for who he was, warts and all?
Unbeknown to him, the Sheriff wasn’t that far of from the truth. They hadn’t fought back because moments earlier in the cart, Robin had regained consciousness long enough to tell them that he was going to get them out of this and, for some reason, though they hadn’t really believed him, they had decided to go along with what he said. For the time being at least.
Gisborne too then looked up at Locksley. But no one apart from Vaizey noticed the unnatural gleam that suddenly lit up the dark eyes or the gloved hand that went to rest on his sword hilt. Vaizey frowned again. Gisborne truly hated Locksley. But why? He had seen the daggered-looks that Gisborne had given the outlaw every time the two had crossed paths. They definitely weren’t for the obvious reasons. There was something far deeper to it.
As the gang was then led away, each of them looked at Robin one last time, willing him; no, begging him, to raise his head. It was the only way of them knowing that he was still alive.
“Robin!” Will yelled. “Robin!”
Hearing his name, Robin managed to lift his head.
“Hold on, Robin!” Will yelled back. “Hold on!”
Robin barely nodded in reply and, with great effort, somehow even managed to flash a grin at them.
“What do you want done with Locksley?” Gisborne asked, once the courtyard was empty again. He didn’t care one way or another what happened to the rest of the outlaws. To him they were nothing more than a nuisance; an easily got rid of nuisance. Locksley though was a different matter.
“Have him taken to one of the old guest rooms,” Vaizey replied. “And send for Lucky to see to his wounds.”
“My Lord?” Gisborne was momentarily thrown off guard. Had he heard correctly? ‘Lucky’ Farr was Vaizey’s own personal physician. ‘Lucky’ to be still alive unlike her predecessors.
“You heard me, Gisborne,” Vaizey said. “And have guards posted outside the room. No one goes in or out without my permission.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Bowing once, Gisborne turned to leave. So Vaizey wasn’t planning on killing Locksley straight away. Good.
“Gisborne.”
But what was he planning for him? “My Lord?”
“That includes you, Gisborne.” Vaizey said. “You are to go nowhere near him. Unless I give you strict instructions to do so.”
Gisborne nodded. “Yes, my Lord.” Things were starting to look up.

~ ii ~

“Hold on, Robin.”

With the wound throbbing in time with his heartbeat and only just managing to still stay conscious, Robin allowed the soldiers to escort him down corridor after corridor. He smiled to himself, since being pulled down from the cart his legs had refused to bear his weight so without the two men to hold him up he would have simply fallen flat on his face. He could remember everything since waking in the cart just as it had stopped in the courtyard. He could even remember telling his friends earlier, on the way here, that everything was going to be all right and that he was going to get them out of this. But what was he doing going down corridor after corridor? He knew he was in the castle but where was he being taken? And why hadn’t the Sheriff just sent him down to the dungeons with the others? The breath caught in his throat. They had been taken to the dungeons, hadn’t they? He hoped against hope that they had and had not simply been killed as soon as he had been led away. But with no way of really knowing, hope was the only thing he could do. He knew only too well that he was the one that Vaizey really wanted; to the Sheriff the others were just an added bonus; an easily expendable added bonus. And_ The breath caught in Robin’s throat. Wait, he knew where he was. This was part of the castle’s old guest wing. He had stayed here years ago; before he had left for the Holy Land. So what special treat did Vaizey have in store for him?
Just as Robin was starting to think that they were never going to stop walking, the soldiers stopped outside a large wooden door. He smirked to himself seeing the men stood on either side of it. It looked like the Sheriff wasn’t taking any chances. Four men to guard one man; what an honour. He made a mental note to thank Vaizey the next time they met. But as the door to the room was then pushed opened and the two soldiers took him inside, the smirk vanished and his heart froze. Was he actually going to get out of this particular predicament alive? The door banged shut behind them, echoing ominously as it did so. To Robin, it sounded like a death-knell answer to his question.

“Hold on, Robin. Hold on.”

~ iii ~

Much drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Robin was going to die and, shut away down here in the dungeons, there was nothing that he or any of the others could do to stop it. During the journey here, Allan had somehow managed to free his own hands, allowing him to make the journey more bearable for Robin. It was then that Robin had woken and had told them that everything was going to be all right and that he had a plan. But though none of them had really believed Robin, they had unanimously then and there agreed not to try and escape; plan or no plan. With Robin so badly hurt; Robin would never have survived the attempt. Much hugged his knees tighter, rested his head down on his arms. He and Robin should never have come back to England. They had left one war only to be thrown straight into another. He fought back the tears. Why couldn’t Robin just leave things alone? Why did he have to keep getting involved? Why did he have to try and right every wrong? If only he had just kept quiet… Wait, may be this was the one time that he should have left things alone… The tears won.

~ iv ~

He had left one war only to be thrown straight into another. Taking part in the first had been of his own choosing; driven by the idealism of youth; taking part in the one that he was in now had been out of necessity. He could not have just stood by and watched while innocents were killed. He had seen too many innocents die already. But this particular battle was one he didn’t think he could win. Right now, he barely had the strength to even lift his head off the pillow. Putting him face down on the bed, the soldiers had left the room. He knew that they knew he was in no condition to go anywhere or do anything. Though his head told him to try and escape; his body had other ideas. It knew what he needed even if his head didn’t.

“Hold on, Robin. Hold on.”

He felt so weak… Letting his eyes close again, he once more surrendered to the darkness and the dreams that came with it.

He couldn’t breath. There was sand in his mouth; in his nose. His bare back burned, slowly scorching in the sun. One of the hands pinning him down then locked in his hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat. Sunlight glinted off metal…The scimitar arched down…

…taking on a life of her own. She was so different to what he was used to. Not straight and true like his broadsword but curved like a sliver of moon. So different and yet at the same time so… familiar. A part of himself he never knew he had lost till now. He lowered the sword.
“She’s beautiful, Sire.”
“And just as deadly. Made from pure Damascus steel. Can you read what has been written on the blade? Rumours tell me, Locksley, that you have been learning the language.”
“Yes, Sire,” he said smiling like a guilty child that has just had its secret found out. He tilted the blade so that the sunlight lit up the engraving. “Draw me not without provocation. Sheath me not without honour.” The words came to him easily. But to him, it was almost as if the blade herself had whispered the words in his ear.
Somewhat reluctantly he made to pass the sword back. But the man sat opposite him shook his head.
“She’s yours, Locksley. A gift from the head of Saladin’s personal guard, to the head of mine. They do you a great honour, Robin Hood.”

Robin Hood?
“Robin Hood?”
He could hear voices; sense people moving around him, smell the pungent aroma of burning lavender and other herbs. He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids felt so heavy. His back throbbed dully… so tired… so weak…
“He doesn’t look that dangerous. The Sheriff says that he will no longer kill.”
… felt the coolness of a wet cloth against his neck and shoulders.
A hand carefully lifted his head…  The light pressure of a cup rim against his lower lip… Water trickled into his mouth… reminding him of thirsty he was. He sipped slowly, gratefully… It… it wasn’t water. The world melted…

~ v ~

May be Robin was already dead. Feeling a comforting hand on his shoulder, Much raised his head to see the others watching him wordlessly. But words would have been unnecessary; useless anyway, the looks on their faces said far more than words ever could. They were thinking what he was trying not to think. Standing, he walked over to the bars of the cell. He looked through them at the soldiers standing outside and at the wooden door that led back up to the inside of the castle. What had the Sheriff done with Robin? Was Robin already dead? His head told him yes. There was no way that Robin could have survived this long without help. But an incessant and very insistent little voice in his heart still told him no. No, Robin wasn’t dead. He was still alive and he was, by some miracle, going to get them all out of this. Much rested his head against the bars. Robin had to be still alive. If Robin died he would be totally alone. Robin was the closest thing to a family that he had. Hopefully, Robin wouldn’t be selfish enough to do that. He prayed that Robin wouldn’t be selfish enough to do that. Stay alive, Robin. You have to stay alive; if not for your sake then for mine.

~ vi ~

Sitting in the chair beside the bed, Vaizey looked at the bed’s occupant. He frowned. Maybe this wasn’t going to work after all. Lying face down on the bed, his upper body swathed in clean bandages; proper bandages, and layers of blankets covering him from the waist down, Locksley still looked more dead than he did alive. Cleaner and less bloody perhaps but nonetheless still half-dead which wasn’t what he wanted.
“So, Lucky?” Vaizey finally asked, taking a handkerchief from his sleeve and holding it up to his nose and mouth.
“He’s sleeping, My Lord,” the woman stood at the foot of the bed replied.
“I can see that!” Vaizey sniffed. He dabbed at his nose and mouth again with the cloth. Scented with lavender, the handkerchief would ward off any sickness that Locksley may have been carrying. Also, the stench of herbs being burnt in the room was so overpowering it made his nose itch. “Drugged, I take it.”
“Yes, My Lord” Lucky replied. “The wound had to be cleaned; restitched. It would have been inhumane to do it whilst he was still awake.”
Vaizey laughed at the woman’s forthrightness. “Lucky, Lucky, still not afraid to speak your mind. Not like the simpering fools before you. So how soon before he’s back on his feet?”
“My Lord, I’ve done all I can,” Lucky said looking down at the sleeper. “It’s up to him now.”
“That’s not the answer I was looking for,” Vaizey admonished, irritatedly. “I asked how soon?”
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Lucky said. “But he’s young; strong. If he lives through the night and infection doesn’t set in, a week may be ten days.”
“Good.” Vaizey stood. “But remember, Lucky, your life depends on him surviving. If he dies then so to do you.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Lucky answered calmly. She had, over the months, grown more than used to the Sheriff’s threats. They were just that; threats. She was too valuable to be just killed off like that. And she knew that Vaizey knew that she knew.
Vaizey looked back at the still form. “I know Locksley,” he said. “He will try and escape given the slightest opportunity. Keep him drugged.”
Lucky nodded. “Yes, My Lord. But he can’t be kept drugged for ever.”
“Then do what you have to,” Vaizey said. “Shackle him to the bed for all I care. I do not want him escaping.”
Lucky nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”
Vaizey paused at the door. “Oh, and when he wakes and asks about his friends and about what he’s doing here, you will tell him nothing. Do you hear?”
Lucky smiled ‘graciously’. “Yes, My Lord.”
“In fact,” Vaizey continued. “Thinking about it, you will not speak to him at all. If you or your assistants say so much as one word to him it will be the last word any of you will ever say.”
Lucky desisted from rolling her eyes. “Yes, My Lord.”

~ vii ~

Softness under him… Warmth… He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids still felt as if they were made of stone… The smell of burning herbs again… A familiar, coppery tang in his mouth… Such an effort to open his eyes... But… Somehow… Everything was blurry; unfocussed… A soft white pillow… His vision slowly sharpened… His bare arm close to his face. He was lying on his stomach on a bed. He raised his eyes, he didn’t have the strength to do anything else. A heavy wooden chair. A fire burning in a fireplace. Stone walls… He could feel blankets; warm blankets, covering him from the waist down… So tired… His upper body was bare… Nottingham Castle… He was in Nottingham castle… He remembered. Where were the others?! What had happened to them?! Were they still alive?! He tried to lift his head but couldn’t. His back began to throb dully with the movement. More voices… But he could only make out the odd word here and there…. What were they… Once more liquid was trickled into his mouth. He couldn’t fight it. Why did they keep drugging him? Was is it to stop him from escap…

De Benoit clapped him hard on the back. “It’s good to see you, Locksley.”
He smiled, he didn’t much like de Benoit but he smiled anyway. The man was nothing more than a bully. “When did you arrive?”
“Just before sunrise.” De Benoit replied.
“How many?” He asked. The more reinforcements that De Benoit had brought with him the better.
“Two hundred.”
Dear God, that wasn’t enough; no way enough. And how many of them would be… “How many archers?”
“Fifteen.”
His eyes widened. “Fifteen! Is that all?!”
“It was all he could spare.” De Benoit then grinned. “Don’t look so glum, Locksley. I have a gift for you.” De Benoit stepped aside to reveal a body lying on the sand. “Look what we caught.”

~ viii ~

Putting the goblet back on the table, Lucky stepped back from the bed. She shook her head in disbelief. So this was the thorn in the Sheriff’s side. But why, if he hated him so much, was the Sheriff keeping Locksley alive.

~ ix ~

“Do you think he’s still alive?” Will asked, finally saying what they had all been thinking ever since they had been brought down here. How long had they been down here?
“He was barely alive when we got here,” Allan replied.
“The Sheriff probably just left him to die somewhere,” Roy said. “For the fun of it.”
Much wished that they would just shut up. Right now, he wasn’t sure which of the voices inside him to believe and the three of them weren’t helping. But they were probably right. How could Robin have survived? Memories flooded back. The last time he had seen Robin this close to death was when Robin had been injured at Acre foiling an attempt on the King’s life. Robin had almost died then, and from the looks of it, he was now trying to accomplish what he had failed to do all those months ago.
Robin had had only a few hours rest in Sherwood before they had moved him again. Much shuddered. It hadn’t been enough. Despite what Robin said to the contrary, Robin was not as tough as he liked to think he was or as tough as he made out to be. For as long as he had known him, Robin had thought that he was invulnerable. Well, may be this would be proof that he wasn’t.
“So what do we do?” Will asked.
“We get out of here,” Roy said. “That’s what we do.”
“How?” Allan said.
Roy did not answer. Where was Robin when you needed him?

~ x ~

Her eyes filling with tears, she slowly turned away from him. “Oh, Robin.”
“Marian, don’t go. I’m sorry. Marian, please.”

~ xi ~

“Marian, please.”
Lucky watched anxiously as Locksley moved restlessly in his sleep; calling out the girl’s name for the third time. Concerned that he was beginning to take a fever, she put her hand on Locksley’s forehead. She sighed in relief. Thank God. He was still cool to the touch. He was still only dreaming; still only talking in his sleep. He had been doing it for the past hour or so now; his words mainly English but sometimes mixed with something else she didn’t understand. And always the same name over and over.
Earlier, when the nightmares had been particularly vivid. Lucky had worried that Locksley would roll onto his back aggravating his injury and she had thought about restraining him; using the shackles the Sheriff had suggested. But the thought had only been a fleeting one. She had, just as quickly, thought better of it. She had heard stories of men who had returned from the Holy Land suffering from similar night terrors and if Locksley was anything like them then restraining him would have done him more harm than good, especially if he’d ever been taken prisoner when he was out there.
“Marian,” Robin murmured. “I’m sorry. I had to go.”
Sitting down in the chair that Vaizey had sat in before, Lucky drew her legs under her. She would do the only thing she could do. Watch. Watch and wait. Despite the Sheriff’s orders, she was also loathed to give her patient more of the sleeping draught. It was better that his sleep was natural. She would watch and wait… Lucky jumped as the door to the room opened slowly and a soldier entered carrying a tray of food.
“The Sheriff’s compliments,” the soldier said, putting the tray down on the table.
Lucky smiled lightly recognising the soldier as one of those ordered to guard Locksley. “He’s too kind,” she said sarcastically. “Thank him for me.”
“Thank him yourself, Lucky,” the soldier said. Movement from the bed, then made him glance across at Locksley’s sleeping form. “Will he make it?”
“I don’t know, David,” Lucky said. “To tell you the truth. I really don’t know.
Still unsettled but still sleeping, Locksley tried to raise his head. “I’m sorry, Marian.”
“Marian?” David asked in surprise. “The Lady Marian?”
“I think so,” Lucky answered. “He keeps calling for her.”

~ Knighton Hall. The Following Morning ~

Dusting her hands on her skirt, Marian opened the door. Whoever who had been banging on it for the past few minutes had sounded so desperate. She would have opened the door sooner but she had had to get out of her Nightwatchman leathers first and one of the ties had proved more stubborn than usual to undo.
“Siobhan?” Marian’s eyes widened in recognition seeing the woman stood crying on their doorstep. “Siobhan, what’s wrong?”
“You must come, My Lady. They’ve taken him to the castle.”
Taking the woman by the arm, Marian quickly but gently pulled her into the house and closed the door behind her.
“He’s badly hurt,” Siobhan sobbed. “They’ve taken him to the castle. You have to come, My Lady.”
“Who?” Marian asked, filled with a sudden feeling of dread. The woman wasn’t making any sense. Father?! No, not her father, her father was seeing to the horses. She had spoken to him only a few minutes ago. “Siobhan, who?” Instead of diminishing, the feeling of dread was now only growing worse. “Siobhan?”
Unfortunately for Marian, Siobhan didn’t seem to have heard. “You’ve always been good to us, My Lady, I had to come. David told me not to. He said it was too dangerous. But I had to come. We both owe you so much. I had to come. He’s been asking for you.”
“Siobhan, who?” Marian said firmly trying to stay calm. She took the woman’s hands in her own. “Who’s been hurt?!”
“Robin Hood, My Lady.”
Marian blanched. ROBIN?! No, not Robin. “Are you certain?” Dear God, please. Not Robin. Not Robin. “Siobhan, are you certain it was Robin Hood.” She had to stay calm.
“Yes, My Lady,” Siobhan nodded. “David, my husband, he’s in the Sheriff’s guards. He was one of the men that caught him and took him to the castle.”
Marian could barely breathe. So the rumours that she had been hearing in Nottingham about one of the outlaws being badly hurt in a fight were true. But Robin?! Not Robin. Please not Robin. Let it be some horrible mistake. “Robin?”
“Yes, My Lady.”
Marian’s eyes lit up as a small glimmer of hope suddenly flared inside her. “And his friends?” If she could find them, then maybe, just maybe…  “The other outlaws?”
Siobhan shook her head. “In the dungeons, My Lady. They were caught too.”
The glimmer died and Marian shuddered. She had to think but she couldn’t do it with Siobhan there. Opening the door, she ushered the woman outside again. She had to think. “Go, now. Quickly, before you are seen. And thank you for coming to tell me. You risked a lot and for that I am grateful.”
Siobhan tentatively touched her arm. “He’s been asking for you. He’s dying, My Lady.”
Dying? Shutting the door behind Siobhan, Marian leaned heavily against it. Why did it have to be Robin?! Of all the stupid_ She had to see him. But how? How was she going to get into the castle?  It wasn’t somewhere she could just go to whenever she wanted to. She had to have a reason. And, to the Sheriff, wanting to see Robin was probably the worst one. Besides it would put Siobhan and her husband in too much danger, especially if the Sheriff found out that they were the ones that had told her where Robin was. So what was she going to do? Was Robin dying? She had to see him to know for herself. But if Robin was heavily guarded, which he would be, how was she going to get past the guards? And if Robin was badly hurt then an immediate rescue was out of the question especially with his friends prisoners too. She lent her head back against the wood, the ‘ifs’ and ‘hows’ making her dizzy. She raised her hands to rub her temples… froze seeing the gold around her wrist. There was something she could do.

~ O ~

~Part 4~

~ Nottingham Castle. Two Days Later… ~

~ i  ~

Much glared at Will for the umpteenth time that day. If Will said just one more time that he wasn’t sure whether Robin was still alive or not he was going to thump him. Hard. “He promised us that he was going to get us out of here. And he has never broken his promise.” Much looked up as Roy sat down beside him.
“Much is right,” Roy said. “He is still alive.”
“What makes you so sure all of a sudden?” Allan asked. “And why do you care? You never really cared whether Robin lived or died before. You’ve only ever cared about your own neck.”
“And it’s because of my own neck that I know he’s still alive,” Roy answered, for once, not rising to the bait. Tempers had started to fray over the past few hours and with no one to take their frustrations out on, they had started to take them out on each other. “If Robin was dead then we would be too.”
But Will was still not convinced. “So then where is he?”

~ ii ~

“So will you miss me?” he asked.
Marian glared at him. “Grow up, Robin.”
“But you may never see me again,” he said softly, putting on his best ‘beaten puppy look’.
To Marian, it didn’t make any difference. “Good.”
“Marian?”

“Marian?”

~ iii ~

Two days. Marian quickened her pace trying to keep her anger in check. He had kept her waiting for two days. At first, she had been desperate. For as long as she could remember, she had never felt so helpless; so useless. And even though Siobhan hadn’t returned to Knighton Hall to tell her any differently, Robin still could have died in those two days and she wouldn’t have been able to do anything to prevent it. Desperation had then turned to anger.
As she hurried down the gravelled path, Marian was barely aware of her surroundings. She was so angry with him. Once, a long time ago, she had used to love the castle gardens. She could still remember the many happy hours she had spent playing in it as a small child then running around its maze when she was older. She smiled sadly. The latter had usually been with Robin in hot pursuit. She shuddered as Siobhan’s words rang in her head again. ‘He’s dying, My Lady.’ Dear God, why Robin? Why did it have to be Robin?
Almost there; she was almost there. She had chosen the gardens to try and make her feel better but it hadn’t worked. Right now, they meant nothing to her. They were just the means to an end. Also meeting here, where everyone could see them, would raise far fewer eyebrows than meeting inside the castle would have. Her heart began to beat faster. She could see him from here. He was already waiting for her. This had to work. Everyone knew just how much he loved her. It was more than obvious. But the love was totally one sided. And she would now use it to her advantage.
Seeing Marian approach, Gisborne got up from the bench he had been sat on. He bowed graciously. “Marian.”
“Guy,” Marian said. To her, Gisborne looked like the proverbial cat who had got the cream.
“As you can see,” Gisborne said. “I got your message.” He smiled lightly. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Marian smiled back sweetly. She hated all this pretence but knew she couldn’t just come out and tell him why she had wanted to meet with him. This was one game she had to play whether she wanted to play it or not. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” she said.
“But why did you want to meet me?” Gisborne pressed. He gestured around him. “And here?”
“Everyone can see us here,” Marian replied.
“Are you afraid that people will talk?” Gisborne asked. “About us?”
Marian shook her head. “No,” she said. “Everyone already knows how you feel about me.”
“Then?” Gisborne took a step closer to her. “Why are you here, Marian?”
“I think you know,” Marian replied, somehow managing to keep her voice steady.
“Tell me anyway,” Gisborne said.
Marian could see from Gisborne’s expression that he was starting to enjoy himself. “I know he’s here,” she answered. She knew she wouldn’t have to say his name. She was right. Gisborne’s expression changed in less than a heartbeat. He looked at her, his eyes dark now with anger and was it… jealousy?
“Who told you?”
Before she could stop herself, Marian exhaled in relief. “Then he is here.”
“Who told you?” Gisborne pressed.
“Does it matter?” Marian answered. Though, Gisborne was angry she knew that it wasn’t with her. Her heart fell. Had she just made things worse for Robin by coming here? Reaching out, she touched the back of Gisborne’s gloved hand. “Will you let me see him?”
Gisborne pulled his hand back as if stung. “You still have feelings for him, don’t you?”
Marian shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “Not anymore.”
“Then why do you want to see him?”
Desperately trying to think, Marian lowered her eyes. “Because I need to make my peace with him,” she said finally. “I need to ask his forgiveness for all the wrong I’ve done him.”
“And what about all the wrong that he’s done you?” Gisborne said. “Or don’t you care?”
Marian did not answer. Finally, she somehow found the strength to look at him again. “Will you take me to him?”

~ iv ~

“This time we’re going to have to get out of here on our own,” Allan said. “Then go find Robin.” He had only just stopped himself from adding ‘if he’s still alive’. He too knew only too well just how useless they were without Robin.
Hoping for inspiration, Allan looked around the cell, at the bars, at the guards standing on the outside then finally at each of his friends. Roy, Little John, Much and Will. Of course! Much and Will. His eyes lit up. “I know how to get us out of here,” he said quietly, not wanting to be overheard by the guards. “Much, how much do you want to thump Will?”

~ v ~

After what felt like a lifetime to Marian, she and Gisborne at long last reached the room in which Robin was supposedly being held; ‘supposedly’ because, she still had no way of really knowing whether Robin was actually a prisoner here or not.
Two guards stood guard outside the huge wooden door, their hands resting on their swords. Seeing them; no, seeing Gisborne, they immediately came to attention.
Marian felt Gisborne’s hand alight on her shoulder. “Are you ready?”
Marian nodded. “Yes.” But what would she see?
Gisborne nodded to the guards. “Open the door.”
The guards did not move.
“I’m sorry, My Lord,” one of the guards said. “But the Sheriff gave us strict orders that no one was to enter without his consent.” Looking at Marian, the guard then gave her a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement. Recognising David, Siobhan’s husband, Marian nodded back just as imperceptibly.
Gisborne eyes darkened again. “And I am ordering you to