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Here they are then, in the same room: these two men, who occupy far too many of her thoughts, when aren’t there enough other problems? There are more important things to worry about: the poor, the abused, the starving. And weaving through it all, the cause of most of it, is the viperous cunning and cruelty of Vaisey, which recognises no limits.
Ironically it’s him they must find now, if they aren’t all to suffer.
But she can’t help herself. As Robin saunters in, comes down the steps, her heart lifts and her minute smile, quickly subdued, confesses it.
They are betrothed.
It warms her, a secret knowledge that should make up for the years of waiting, and take away her anger. But it doesn’t, not entirely. He’s kept her guessing for far too long. Robin is both the best and the worst of men to love. She must marry him – she’s lived without him before and, though she’s strong enough to do so again, would never willingly choose it.
But he’s dangerous to her, and she knows it. He’s dangerous to her because she loves him so utterly. When does that not make a person vulnerable? And Marian hates being vulnerable.
“Well, you’re a bigger man than I thought, Gisborne,” he says now, sprawling in the chair at the far end. “Asking your enemy for help in a time of crisis.”
“It’s your crisis as well, Hood,” she says. “You know what Prince John will do, if anything happens to the Sheriff.”
“Have you searched the castle?” he asks.
Honestly, Robin...
“Of course we’ve searched the castle,” Guy grinds out.
Marian doesn’t blame him; sometimes she could thump Robin. Has done. She tries to smooth things over, move them on to a common goal.
“If anyone can find him, it’s you. You have people everywhere.”
Robin pauses; he keeps Guy waiting, though Marian knows he won’t refuse. How could he? Though she’s accused him of many things, she knows the goodness that runs deep in his heart, and that he loves the people he protects even more than he wants their love in return. It’s why she can’t help it herself, though sometimes - in reflective moments of self-mockery -she tells herself “doesn’t everyone love a hero”….
“Ask me for my help.”
…what an idiot he is!
Marian rolls her eyes. So, that’s the way it has to be.
She’s tired of this animosity, whether it’s Robin’s madness over a tattoo, or Guy about to sweep his sword down on Robin’s neck as he lies on a cart in the square. Is it too much to ask that they work together for once?
“Robin…”
“Him.” Peremptory. The men stare each other down.
She could throttle Robin. Marian looks down at Guy; he’s near his limit, she can tell.
It startles her, that thought. How well she knows him. A dangerous thing to believe in this game she plays, but she knows that she has the upper hand. Because she’s seen him rejected, and vicious with it; but still, he’s come to forgive her. Resumed his relentless pursuit.
His intensity wearies her, but she can’t deny that he adds spice to her life. She looks out for him. Some days, a glimpse of his dark-clad form in the corridors, and the anticipation of their encounters, sends a thrill through her; on other days, she just wishes to be left alone.
If she’s honest though, his adoration, when he lets it show, can be a heady thing. It feeds her vanity. She’s not sure she’d want to be without it. His devotion makes her despise him a little, but it also makes her feel desirable, and powerful.
“We’re wasting our time.” Guy starts to rise.
She reaches out, fixes a hand on his upper arm. He holds there, leaning forward. Marian can feel the tension in him, and she maintains a light pressure on his arm.
Power; a heady thing.
“Will you,” he concedes at last, “help us find the Sheriff?”
“Of course. Why else do you think I came.”
You are such a child sometimes, Robin.
She watches him swing up the stairs, flashing her a careless grin, and remembers why she loves him. Then she glances down at Guy again. He is still, brooding. She feels a flicker of compassion for all he has to deal with, today and every other day.
Then he looks up, and she is instantly on her guard; the blue eyes are hard, forbidding.
“Marian. You knew how to contact Hood. How?”
He gets to his feet. The chair scrapes back, and he stands looking down at her.
“Does it matter?” she says. “He came, and he will help us find the Sheriff.”
“Yes, I think it does matter.”
“Guy,’ she says, “we’re wasting time. Don’t you need to find Allan? He may have news.”
He gives her a long look. He knows this is a battle he cannot win: whatever secrets she has, she will keep them, letting his hopes batter themselves endlessly against an impenetrable wall. In the end, he lets her silence lie. He turns and stalks away.
I’ve done all I can. Between the pair of them, she thinks, they have a chance of finding the Sheriff.
Provided, of course, that they don’t need to be in the same room again.