His reaction was impersonal, William had to remember, because he had not met Roger de Lacy. To him it was indeed just a story, and he couldn’t fault that. William would have the same reaction if it was just news coming in from somewhere else. If they had never come home, neither of them would care at all.

“Do you suppose we botched this one? You think this is our fault?” Robin asked, still detached. “No way to know, I suppose. Fuck, what a month we’ve had!”

Robin grabbed his arm and pulled him down the stairs, and William surprised himself by laughing. There was a comfortable camaraderie with Robin, and it was so easy to slip into it. The two of them, back to back, against any odds. Untouchable.

“Are you thirsty? Hungry? I’m a terrible host in my own home, what can I get you?”

William was, indeed, starving. Eating had seemed a savage insult in the wake of the murder. And the apples were for the horses. Robin led him down to a smaller chamber adjacent to the dining hall, a private dining room that no longer had enough walls to be called a room. Part of the once-wall lay in the middle of the space, piling to an appropriate table height where Robin had evidently been making his meals. There was ample meat and vegetables, wrapped in cloth, for William to share.

“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you’ve been eating,” Robin apologized.

“It’s perfect.” William licked his fingers, thankful for every bite.

They ate. William let himself relax, though he was partially unnerved that he was able to. But there was no practical distinction between leaving now or in an hour, and there was no knowing when he’d see Robin again. They traded stories of their adventures since they’d split a month ago, and tried to top each other with tales of increasingly stupid things they’d seen. William won that competition, with the young Ferrers’s proposed strategy of organizing an archery tournament.

“Wow.” Robin laughed heartily. “Yeah, that would not have worked.”

William let the smile linger on his face, grateful to feel such a thing again. “Oh just so you know,” he realized, “I saw Marion yesterday.”

Robin breathed in and sighed. “What did she say about me?”

“She said you’d be here.”

He nodded. “How did she seem?”

“She was pretty angry, about the Sheriff. And at herself.”

Robin continued to bob his head, chewing at his lip.

“It ended badly, then?”

“Ended?” Robin was going to make a joke, it seemed, but got lost in his thoughts instead.

“Sorry, brother,” and he meant it. But he couldn’t resist tagging on, “Not everyone can be as successful with the ladies as I am, you know.”