Malahide, Ireland: July, 1196

Ireland never really got hot, not even in the summer, particularly not on the coast with ocean breezes to keep things cool. Inside the kitchen of the Lia Fáil, however, Deirdre felt like she was melting, despite the sun just beginning to peek through the morning mist. She had just removed another pie from the oven—the bread was cooling on a table near the window. The day had only just started and she was already worn out. She liked to cook, but she remembered what life had been like for her mother before her father had come along to claim her and make her a lady. Deirdre saw herself following down the same exhausting path, only with no possibility of a great lord coming to her rescue.

Not that she didn't love Allan, but some days, when too many late nights and too many early days caught up with her, Deirdre wished Allan had been a nobleman. She seemed to be tired all the time, particularly of late. She assumed she was just feeling the year's worth of long hours-- all of them full of labor between the cooking, the cleaning, and the babies. Tom was a year and a half old now, Jack was just shy of six months old, and so required much of Deirdre's time still.

Hearing the scrape of wood on wood, she realized the first of their overnight guests had awoken and was ready for breakfast. She picked up a broom and thumped the handle loudly on the ceiling, which was also the floor of their bedroom. Jack began to squall, and soon she could hear Allan grumbling as the noise of their youngest disturbed his sleep, waking up Tom in the process. She plated up the breakfast as Allan came down the stairs, Jack's wailing growing louder with each step. Deirdre settled Tom at the table with a plate, then reached for Jack and sat in a chair by the fire, placing the infant to her breast. Allan grabbed a few of the remaining plates and headed for the main room after a look from Deirdre had him changing his mind about sitting down to eat his own breakfast. He came back twice for more, as the front room began filling up.

Soon, the sound of laughter drifted in from the next room, as Allan's genial nature overtook his morning grumpiness, and he began charming the customers. It wasn't long before the boarders had left—some were single men who stayed year round, others were travelers going to or from other parts of Ireland.

It was these last that Allan spoke to, particularly those who had come from England—had they heard any news of Robin Hood? How were things in the shires? Deirdre had been sensing a growing restlessness in her husband of late. She knew he had never really been comfortable with the idea of leaving the gang, but had done so out of necessity, to keep her and Tom safe. Now there was another mouth to feed, and Allan was a respectable business-man; Mike had officially handed off the Lia Fáil to the A' Dales the previous winter, when once more, the cold had settled in his bones, reminding him of his old age. She knew Allan missed thieving sometimes, pitting his wit against that of others to relieve them of their purses; she missed it herself—the planning, the carrying out of the plan, the rush in the blood while carrying out the plan, the giddiness of a plan well-executed when the reward was heavy in your hand. Despite a part of her wishing that Allan had been born a noble so that she wouldn't have to work so hard every day, she knew that she would never have been content to be some lord's broodmare. All she wanted was a little excitement in her life. Being Irish, she should have known to be more careful of what she wished for.

Sherwood Forest, England

It was hot in Sherwood, being high summer, and the gang had finally come to a stop after making all the preparations. Some of the people of Locksley stood with them, waiting patiently for the ceremony to begin, and Will had sent to Scarborough for his brother Luke. Now, Luke stood beside his brother, awaiting the women.

After the close call that Allan and Deirdre had had in London, and his talk with Allan a year and a half ago, Will had decided to ask Djaq to marry him, even though she had already asked him. Typical of Will, he refused to marry her until he had at least built them a better shelter, though. It had also taken many months to try to find a clergyman from either of their religions to join them, but both religions demanded that the other one change—the priests in England had demanded Djaq denounce her religion and become Christian, and vice versa. When no accord could be reached, Will and Djaq had spent many weeks miserable, thinking they could never be together as man and wife—each had prayed to their god, asking for help, and each had found that prayer answered in the form of Robin.

As former Lord of Locksley, Robin still (theoretically) had the power to unite them. Robin was uniquely suited to the job as a Christian who still loved and feared his god, but respected Allah as well and could quote the Koran. After Robin had eagerly agreed to perform the ceremony, they had sent to Scarborough for Luke, then waited for the rains to stop. Many residents of Locksley knew and loved Will, and had come to feel the same about Djaq, despite her Islamic ways, and so the little clearing was full of people.

Now, Will stood waiting nervously, thinking about how much his life was going to change from this point on. He was particularly nervous about his wedding night, and while he knew Allan would have teased him insufferably, he also knew the man's advice would have been sound. He found he missed Allan more than he would have thought of such a man who was his opposite in nearly every way. Allan would have had specific and detailed advice, which would have embarrassed Will, but which he would have been thankful for later; Robin had merely shrugged and claimed, "you'll know what to do." He glanced at Robin, who stood to his side as they awaited the women, hoping his leader had been right.

Marian, in her role of Matron of Honor, led the way, with Djaq following a short distance behind. The white dress gleamed bright against her dark skin and the sun glinted off her black hair. Seeing her coming toward him, looking so beautiful with her dark hair now flowing past her shoulders and her brown eyes sparkling with warmth, he wondered if he was doing right by her; she deserved better—a husband with "many goats" as she would have said, not an outlaw on the run who did not even share her religion. In their past years together, he had learned much from her and from Robin about Islam, about Allah, and the Koran. While he could see that Allah was very much like their own God—peaceful and loving—he could not bring himself to denounce God in order to accept Allah.

Suddenly, a smile lit Djaq's face as she saw Will's hesitation, and Will found himself once more enraptured by her. He would do whatever it took to keep them together, and to keep her safe; at that moment, he would have denounced God. Quickly, he sent up a prayer, asking forgiveness for such a thought, and then Djaq's hand was in his and they were turning to face Robin and repeat the words of the ceremony that would bind them together.

"My friends, we are gathered here today to witness the coming together of Will Scarlett and Djaq…" Robin paused, non-plussed. "What's your last name?" he whispered in an aside to her.

"First of all, it's Safia, not Djaq. My full name is Safia Amatallah bint Akram bin Jafari Al-Fulan."

Will's eyes widened at the length of her name, and he blinked pleadingly at Robin, begging him silently to not make a mistake.

Robin had been long in the Holy Land though, and was used to the length of Muslim names, used to remembering them so as not to offend.

"We are gathered here today to witness the joining of Will Scarlett and…" Robin slowed down, ensuring he remembered each of her names properly. "Safia Amatallah bint Akram bin Jafari Al-Fulan."

Djaq beamed at him, pleased he had remembered her family's names.

Robin spoke the words which would bind them, and when he came to parts that mentioned God, he also spoke the name of Allah. At the end of the ceremony, he pronounced them man and wife, and gave the blushing Will permission to kiss his new bride.

Will turned to Djaq and smiled awkwardly at her—it was not that they had never kissed, but that they had never done so before an audience. Excruciatingly slowly, Will bent toward her, his large, calloused hand resting on her soft cheek; when their lips finally met, the whole crowd cheered. Djaq grabbed the back of Will's head and pulled him to her when he would have pulled away, startled by the sudden noise. He smiled at her as they broke apart from the kiss and turned to face their witnesses.

Will led Djaq back to the tables which were laden with bread and meat, fish and vegetables, berries and pies, both of them filling their plates before settling down to eat. Before long, the ribald jokes began, increasing in frequency as the day drew toward dusk. Will thought he would burst with embarrassment by the time he rose and took Djaq's hand, leading her toward the home he had built for them.

The house was built of wood, stone, and leaves, and blended so well with the surrounding trees thanks to Will's creativity, that one would have had to walk right up to it to see it, even when the smoke was wisping from its chimney. Will had built doors into the front and back, as well as windows on either side, both to ensure catching the breezes in summer, and to add more escape routes. Nestled in the trees as it was, one could be invisible in seconds after leaving the house. Just in case, Will had also built a trap-door in the floor that connected to a wheel-spoke of tunnels which lead deep into the woods in many different directions. For now, there were only two spokes on the wheel, but he planned to finish the other ones before the ground froze. Work would go more quickly once he had revealed the design to Robin, and had the help of the gang.

Djaq was enchanted the moment her eyes were able to pick out her new home; even with her sharp eyesight and knowledge of the forest gained in the last few years, she could not do so nearly until Will opened the front door. The house looked like the trees themselves, and in fact, looked to Djaq like Will had merely filled in the spaces in a copse of already close-standing trees; roots even led out from the sides of the house, adding to the illusion that the home was merely part of the forest. The lines for the door were so smooth, and the handle was a knot, that Djaq was afraid she would be unable to find her way back into her own home.

Will swept her off her feet once the door was open and they stepped up to enter the cabin. Will had raised the floor so that they would not be tripping over the roots nor walking through streams in their house. Djaq looked around in further delight in the feeble dying light of the day. Quickly, Will moved to start a fire in the hearth, its light allowing Djaq to see the other details of the house—a long, narrow workbench stood near the fire, and Djaq could already see some herbs drying on and above it. At the back of the small room sat the bed, and Djaq blushed to see it, with the covers already turned down; to her left stood a small table with two chairs. The dying sun touched the doorway, its golden rays reminding Djaq that she must pray. Will seemed to read her mind, having grown accustomed to many of her ways, and directed her to the small bowl of water on the table, turning to give her privacy to wash before she stepped outside to thank Allah for this day and ask his blessings on another. Will dropped to his knees nearby to whisper his own thanks to God before the two joined hands and went back into their home together.

Mablethorpe, England

Sweat dripped from Sir Guy of Gisbourne's body and he grunted in his exertions, his shoulder muscles bulging from effort. He licked his dry lips and paused before throwing his body back into it, his moves rhythmic, his body graceful and lithe. He grinned ferally as he felt the end coming, then roared his triumph.

On the ground below his straddled knees, the man gasped in surprise; he had not expected his lord to finish him so quickly. Yet, here he was on the ground, Sir Guy of Gisbourne, Lord of Mablethorpe and Locksley, straddling him and breathing heavily. Sir Guy's jeweled knife was at the guard's throat. Other guards stood in a ring around the two men, blocking them from the eyes of others and muttering, hoping His Lordship wouldn't choose them next. These days, with Lady Adelaide still unable to complete her wifely duties from the birth of their son, Sir Guy was dangerous to be around. Any little thing could set him off, and he had plenty of energy to spare, despite spending the mornings in the fields looking over the crops, and the late afternoons and evenings checking on the livestock and the fishing in the little village.

Guy had become a hands-on lord out of necessity; when he had first told the peasants that anyone who had joked at Lady Adelaide's expense or partaken in her abuses during the previous Lord of Mablethorpe's rule had one week to quit Mablethorpe or they would die, many had run—some merely from association with the guilty parties. Lord Henry—Lady Adelaide's first husband—had been cruel to the extreme, the kind of man who, as a boy, would have pulled the wings off a fly for pleasure. Henry had abused his wife, raping her at least once daily, often insisting that the servants attend, sometimes even ordering them to participate by holding the lady down or raping her themselves with various objects; although the men were only ever allowed to take her in the Greek or French ways, never allowed to spill their seed where it might take in her body and produce a bastard. Many of the peasants who had at first been forced to participate had found themselves enjoying the lady's debasement as the thrill of a power usually denied them ran through their blood. These were the ones who ran far and fast when Sir Guy had made his announcement; they had seen him with the lady, and it was obvious this was a man who cherished his wife. Death would come slowly and painfully to any who harmed the Lady Adelaide, it was plain in Sir Guy's stance and in the harsh glare of his eyes when he looked upon the servants of Mablethorpe, trying to pick out the offenders.

By harvest-time, much of the work had fallen onto the broad shoulders of Sir Guy and the few peasants who had remained. They had begun work each day before dawn and continued until well after dark, the older people holding up torches so that the workers could see what they were doing. By the end of the harvest, Guy's chest had swelled with pride on two accounts—one, the harvest was in and was a good accounting, and two, his lady wife would bear him a child the following spring or summer.

It was late in April when the child arrived, but there had been complications, and only the arrival of a midwife, sent for by Lady Adelaide's maid, Mary, had saved the life of both his wife and son. Each month, the midwife came to check on Lady Adelaide; the crone was due any day now, and Guy was anxious, hoping that this time, she would give her permission for him to lie with Adelaide once more. It rankled Guy to have to take orders from a serf, particularly about a subject so private, but the woman was said to be quite good at what she did, and the fact that she had saved both his wife and son gave her some standing in Guy's eyes.

Now, as he kneeled above the latest of his "victims," the circle of men began to break up on one side. He looked up to see the midwife staring at him in open amusement and clucking her tongue.

"I knew ye were in a bad way when I left last month, sayin' as how yer wife weren't ready to lie with ye yet, but I didn't know ye'd take to sodomizing yer men," she joked.

Guy looked in consternation from the old woman to the man below him and quickly jumped up, helping the other man to his feet. He dipped his head to one side, looking meaningfully at the knife in his hand.

"I do not participate in the Greek practice, woman. Ever. My men and I were practicing with knives for close-in fighting." Guy turned, dismissing the men as he moved to the water bucket to sluice his body, dumping the water over his head and shaking his damp locks before drying with a towel and pulling on his shirt roughly. He began walking, motioning the old woman to follow him.

"So, what news? How do my lady wife and my son?"

"They are well and healthy, My Lord," the midwife replied, grinning as she toyed with Sir Guy. Men were the same, no matter their station—always wanting what was between a woman's legs. She had been a bit surprised—and pleased—to find that this man however, had not run to a brothel as most men did when they were unable to lie with their wives.

"I am glad of it," Guy replied guardedly. The old woman taxed his patience sometimes, but he owed her a debt he could never repay. After Roger's* birth, Guy had tried to set the woman up in a nicer house, but she had refused, so Guy had sent men to fix her current home instead. He had sent her silk, and she had returned it regretfully, asking of what use it would be to her, living in the rough as she did. Guy had then sent her new dresses and cloaks made of homespun, and boots made of soft leather—these she had graciously accepted, although she had only taken one of each article of clothing for herself; the rest she had distributed to the poorer people of her village, along with much of the food Guy had sent to her. It had been three months though, and Guy was feeling edgy, despite Addy helping to relieve some of his tension with her hands or her mouth. While he enjoyed the feel of her touching him with any part of her body, he still craved the feeling of lying between her legs, holding her close while he made love to her. Suddenly, he turned on the midwife.

"Look, woman—just tell me! May I lie with my wife or not?"

The woman smiled, despite the rough grip of his hands on her arms.

"Go slowly. There will be more pain for her than the first time she lay with a man, but if you are gentle, she shall soon be back to normal."

Guy grinned in utter delight, looking to the sky. The look of longing on his face had the midwife laughing—she knew he was praying for night to come quickly, just as his wife had done when she had given the lady the same news.

A/N: Well, here it is at long last and likely not worth so long a wait. Let me know what you think, please! Thanks a million times over to whatsthefracas for her beta skills!

*: Named after Guy's father, pronounced the same way, "Rog-ay"