No one suspected that the young Lady in whose honor this feast was being held had very different concerns than the color of her dress today and the presents for her centenary.

Marian had been wrestling with herself and her decisions for the last few days and nights. The ones she had already made and the ones that still lay ahead. Questions kept her awake. What did she really want, and what was she willing to risk for it?

Was King Lionheart still alive? If so - what would it all mean? What would the consequences be? Did she want to be a conspirator and join a rebellion against the king's brother? Against the rightful regent of England? She had stolen so mothers might smile, orphans might have a loaf of bread, and the crippled might not die in the dirt. She had stolen to fulfill the oath she took at Gillian's grave and a little to assuage her guilt. But rebellion? Treason?

No. That was not what she had actually wanted. Naïve as she was, she had wanted to rob a few carriages and relieve the Crown of some money that the citizens needed much more than the Crown Regent! Just a few... and then?

Robin was, unfortunately, right. Someone else had to take the throne to help the needy in the long term. And that would require a rebellion.

In the end, she would have to choose a side: That of the nobility she had been born into. Guy's side, that of the Sheriff and her father. Or Gillian and her mother's side, that of the poor and the commoners. And the side of Robin Hood.

'To decide... Haven't you already done that by your raid with Robin?'

The young maiden slid back and forth on her soft pillow. Today was a special day - in more ways than one. A dress of fine fabric embroidered with silver ornaments and pearls adorned the shapely body. The jade green color perfectly matched the red curls adorned today by a silver hoop around her head. A beautiful jewel of fine craftsmanship was around her neck: an amulet with a shimmering tourmaline adorning its center. She sat quite comfortably on her cushion. Nevertheless, it tingled like hundreds of ants under her buttocks.

The competition she had proposed to the thieves would be decided today. They wanted to know who was the better thief and leader. So Marian suggested that talent and God should decide. Of course, she had planned a cunning feint this time, too, and had chosen the task carefully: The one who could steal the precious amulet from the Earl's beloved daughter with the help of no more than two other men would become the gang's leader.

Marian raised her hand and put her fingertips to the jewelry that lay coolly on her chest.'Please, do something clever this time, Robin,' she pleaded quietly, smoothing the fabric over her legs with her other hand. Soft fabric folded gently around her legs, allowing the ornaments on the delicate fabric to shimmer. Appropriate and breathtaking. And yet she wasted no thought on how she might look, only on whether Robin would manage to back up his big words with action. Drums and fan-riding snapped the young woman out of her thoughts and drew her attention back to the tournament in her honor.

The castle's outer and inner courtyards had been painstakingly transformed into festival and tournament grounds. Small competitions entertained the spectators, who had crowded around the courtyard and even up to the battlements to avoid missing anything. Children sat on their parent's shoulders, and bright eyes witnessed the disciplines of rope pulling, races, sword fighting, knife throwing, or the demonstrations of the showmen, which added to the amusement. Laughter and applause flooded the ranks, and the festive mood even dared to take over the small grandstand where the nobles were seated.

Marian had fought for the prizes to be different this year, and her father had finally granted her those wishes. So one discipline after the next found its winner, who was not the only one to be rewarded with cheers. Even a horse changed hands, and Marian knew that a sheep or a goat, no matter how insignificant it seemed, could get a family through the winter.

The young woman straightened in her seat when the archery was finally announced, which she had been looking forward to all day. A strand of red slipped ahead over her shoulder, and immediately, her countenance brightened.

Guy of Gisborne rose from his seat and approached the Lady from the front of the stand. Today was different from the many other times they had been able to laugh together or speak more openly. They were not sitting in the secluded garden of the castle. Where secrets could be left behind, only the willow or the whispering wind had heard them. Here they were, not Guy and Marian. They were Sire of Gisborne and Lady De Burgh. Argus eyes of many stiff nobles rested on them as the young man bowed and indicated a kiss on the back of the Lady's hand.

"I, too, will take part in the discipline that gives you so much pleasure, my lady," he announced, lightly squeezing delicate fingers in a secretly confidential gesture. "Should I win, the victory shall be my gift to you."

Guy was an excellent shot. He knew that, and so did everyone who knew him. In the past, he had often attended small festivities, stood alongside the common folk, and competed with marksmen. With hunters or militia, and later with soldiers and nobles. He had proved himself. Again and again and again.

He had been born the son of a simple knight. A title that wasn't worth much; many didn't even own land. Guy had always had to prove himself more than anyone else just because he hadn't sprung from a nobler womb. Now here he was, and his fiancée was waiting for Lady De Burgh. He knew what he could do - and what he wanted. And today, on Marian's birthday, he would show everyone. His self-assurance strengthened his posture as he stepped from the rostrum of gentlemen into the ranks of the other participants.

Marian's gaze slid over the numerous participants who had signed up. As expected, many wanted to prove their skill with the bow. Archery was a discipline that came naturally to the English. To the males, of course. Basic training with the bow was part of it and already offered them an advantage not to be underestimated in some wars. Now they were all standing there: numerous men, young and old, from millers and hunters to the marksmen of the city guards.The round targets made of tied straw and the circles in red and white had initially been set up at a distance of 20 meters.

In the first round, four times, eight men stood side by side and raised their bows at the signal of the herald. The arrowheads shimmered and gleamed in the sunlight, then the projectiles whizzed away and slammed into the targets. Only the five archers who had come closest to the smallest circle were allowed to enter the next hour.

So four by five entered the next round. The second round was more demanding: at 30 meters, only two of the five participants progressed, and again two were eliminated per round.

The two best shooters from each group of four advanced. So by the time the final round of 50 meters to the target came around, only eight men were left vying for victory in the competition.

Guy of Gisborne was among the last eight - but Marian was less surprised. Much as she wished him to victory, her heart could not rejoice as much as if one of the poorer marksmen had won - for they could do more with the prizes than she or Guy. Of course, wanting to give her victory was very honorable. Many knights and nobles used this kind of courtship and minne at tournaments. Presumably, the Sheriff had urged him to take part. If only because he was her fiancé. This was about showing the flag - not about Marian herself. That made this oh-so-well-intentioned gift to her.... impersonal. Even though she knew that Guy, at least, saw the gesture as very personal.

Sighing softly, her gaze slid over the remaining eight finalists. A young man with flaxen hair, perhaps in his early twenties and quite worn, but with a sunny smile on his face. His chances of getting a post in the city guard after this competition were not bad, as he did well.

Next to him stood a brown-haired archer in the tabard of a lord, whose name, however, she had never been able to remember-a red tabard with a fox on it. Two men appeared to be simple hunters. They wore advantageous clothing that could help camouflage them in the forest. What identified them more clearly as hunters, however, were their own bows. Small, inconspicuous ribbons were attached to the tendons at the ideal attachment points for arrows; the wood was worn, as was the winding.

A completely different picture was a young nobleman among them: well-fed, with slightly chubby cheeks under his blond mop of hair. He wore fine clothes, blue velvet, and fur trim. A silver noble chain was around his shoulders, and his bow shone from the oil with which it had been treated. On another of the men, however, her eyes lingered longer.

Coal-black hair peeked out from under a wide-brimmed hat. It had been pinned up on one side to not interfere with aiming. The clothes were not poor, but neither were they as fine as the arrogant nobleman's. Perhaps that of a merchant. Her brow furrowed because something about this image bothered her. He seemed a little wilder than would have suited his get-up. However, it took two more heartbeats before she realized what it was: the beard. The beard looked somehow strange on closer inspection. Didn't it look out of place and somehow... wrong?

At that moment, the scales fell from Marian's eyes.

'Robin!' the realization shot into her mind, and Marian stood up from her chair so suddenly that the startled servant beside her almost dropped the decanter of wine.

Heads turned, and the herald interrupted his speech for the final shot mid-sentence. Glances were directed expectantly at the young maiden. And Marian's heart slipped into her toes.

Damn, this could not be true!