Marcie felt defensive, kind of judged, even though the friar probably wasn't aware of it. That she had chosen the wrong man to take to bed. She'd known the stories before she started, and went anyway. But stories were stories, not real occurrences of trauma and hurt.
But if this was all true, then she was in danger, she thought. She didn't feel endangered by Malcolm, with his charm and smile and the way he made love to her with a lot more consideration than some others she'd had, and his gorgeous apartment, and his car...
"He didn't tell me anything much, certainly not that," she replied, her voice a little small. "I've heard rants from John- a lot of rants, using words along those lines. But when I asked Malcolm, he just said a few things- like you are smarter than you look, and you are... not..." She indicated Tuck and then Much, giving the latter an apologetic half-shrug. "Robin Hood is the worst, Little John useless without a leader, Will Scarlet is a slippery weasel, Stutely an oaf..."
Was it rude, to repeat these things? She hadn't said them, but she'd memorised them. Then she looked at Marian, trying to decide how she felt about her. Worried for her? Threatened by her? In a sense Marian felt like competition. Marcie knew Malcolm would never love her, could never, when there was always Marian.