“Well it was going fine for a while, it’s not as though we botched the whole thing,” John burst out, defensive, barely remembering to keep his voice down. “We got through the city and the castle, too, and nobody saw us. And then somebody saw us. I don’t remember how many. And then there was a lot of running. I don’t like running. Robin…” he whistled, “… he’s fast. And he knows what he’s doing with a sword, he ever proved that. But I couldn’t necessarily tell you where he is just now. We got separated.”

Marion’s imagination lurched, to wonder what danger they had put themselves in. This was the last place Robin should be. “John, catch your breath.” She poured him a glass of water from the decanter on her bedside. “Slow down and talk to me. Let me see your wounds.”

“Get on.” He swatted her away.

“Why are you here?”

He reached for the glass but gave up, letting himself slide against the wall to an armless chair by her vanity. His face bulged red and he wheezed when he breathed, he managed to answer without even a trace of irony, “We’re here to rescue you.”

Whatever sickness it was that made men confuse idiocy for chivalry, Marion was glad it was not contagious. “You’re here to rescue me. Who’s we?”

“Robin and I?” He seemed to fear his answer was incorrect.

“You came alone?”

“No!” he protested. “There was a girl that came as well.”

There were no words, so Marion simply stared at him.

“Admittedly, it made more sense earlier.”

“Here’s the tricky part, John.” She waited for his eyes to focus on her, blinking away his distractions. “What are you rescuing me from?”

“From the Sheriff,” he answered proudly. “From his…” and he paused, looking about the room for the first time since he’d entered. She could imagine his surprise at the full-canopied bed, the ornate French wardrobe and writing desk, a platter of fruit, bottle of modest wine, the open window. She could read it on John’s face. This was no prison cell. “… from his clutches.”

“His clutches.” Marion checked herself, but remained as thoroughly unclutched as ever. “It isn’t that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but when have you known me to be incapable of taking care of myself?”

He snorted, still stubborn. “Well we’re not only here for you, don’t get a head about it. We’ve come to stop the Sheriff.”

“Stop him from doing what?”

“He’s going to burn down the Sherwood, Marion.” John said it as if he were serious. She laughed, but it only fueled him. “He signed an edict, and if we don’t stop him by morning then he’ll burn it down at first light.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. He’s not going to burn down the forest.”

“He is.”