Locksley Manor would always evoke too many memories, a heaviness that settled into her chest like a weight even as she tried to push through it. Stabling her own horse in a stall she'd used across half her life, next to horses who had been there a shorter number of years. Places where she had once run and play, as beloved, but disobedient child. Places where she had walked and talked and laughed, once.
Even Thornton, who kept the house as long as she'd known of it, whom she only nodded to, with a quiet thanks, when he let her in the door, not truly answering the deeper question of concern in his eyes than the small question of what brought her here so late. Who had told her she could find the Lord of Locksley in the main room, handing her off to a guard to lead her.
Three years of saying that and it didn't give in the slightest. Three years she heard it, in one fashion of another. Guy of Gisborne, Lord of Locksley, in Robin's stead. As a punishment that might never end. But they weren't all Robin's memories either. There was the room where Guy announced their engagement. There was the staircase where Guy had both dragged her to see his wealth, and stabbed her, in the hopes of killing the Nightwatchman. And there was Guy standing half-dressed.
( That was not a memory. )