She hated this. Marian didn't do helpless well. She'd been helpless before. It didn't suit her. If she couldn't physically fight her way out of things, she talked her way out. Now, though, they were being faced with something she could neither touch nor see. She couldn't hear him, either, so his constant words were lost on her, even if she could understand the strange and melodic words of the Arabic language.
What she did understand was Robin of Locksley. The pain in the man's eyes...did he really think she could walk away? Ever? This was the man she'd promised to spend the rest of her life with, and as short as that had been, she'd meant it. "For better or for worse, Robin," she reminded him softly. "That means I stay, no matter how bad it gets. You may not have said them yet, but I have." She tightened her grip on his leg with one hand but reached over for the iron rod with the other. "It won't be permanent," she whispered, not knowing if the man could hear or even understand her. "But you don't have to tolerate him."
He might think he deserved this torment for ending this man's life. But Marian knew better. This man didn't kill for fun. He killed because he had to, because it was war and there was no other choice. If the ghost in the room hadn't gone to war, he'd have been very much alive. That wasn't Robin's doing.