—Maid Marian The Foresters: Robin Hood and Maid MarianAlfred Lord Tennyson, 1892 High above the ground, perched indelicately on the saddle, Meg balanced using the strength of her thighs and spine. She tucked both hands beneath her arms, unable to grasp the pommel through her bandages. Any incautious movement would send her hard to the callous earth, a fall that promised pain and humiliation. “Get down.” Standing near the horse’s head, Will spoke sharply. She hardly recognized his voice as that of her new husband.Resentment and confusion gurgled in her mouth, building toward a scream of frustration. But resignation glazed her tongue. Apathy muffled any sound. She barely cared what would happen next.“I am waiting, Meg.”“Why are you doing this?”“Because I am a very tired man,” he said. “I’ve grown weary of tiptoeing around you and your injuries, afraid you’ll fly apart. This pathetic thing you’ve become, sitting in our bedroom for a fortnight—this is not my wife.
