Isabella sat there feeling uncomfortable, of course she never showed it, but she felt it all the same. She looked forward to the days she was allowed out of the house, scrupulously guarded mind you, but she was out all the same. She would sit in the coach, her hand in her husband's iron-like grip but for a change she could barely feel the pain. Besides it was moments like this she could almost trick herself into believing she had a loving husband, not this man. She could almost think that his grip was so tight because he loved her and could hardly bear to be without her even for a few hours, not because he feared she would take her chances and jump from the moving vehicle.

But after all the anticipation of discovering she was allowed to go and visit the wives of some noblemen Thornton wished to be in favour with. The excitement of realising she could go out, not only out but out alone. After all that when she was actually there it all seemed so… futile. After so many years being the pet of a violent, unforgiving man she had almost forgotten how to behave in society, not that she had ever properly learnt how. All she did was sit quietly for fear of doing something wrong just letting the conversation of the other women wash over her while she watched. In fact it was this that made them think she was creepy, that something wasn't quite right. All she was doing was looking at them, each perfectly composed woman, free to smile. She looked them and wondered if they had monsters at home too, if they dreaded the end of this afternoon because of what going home would bring. Months of unbroken torture in one house, only venturing into the grounds for walks. She wondered if their husbands greeted them with the same leer that hers did, she wondered if they feared pain after every desperate, supposedly loving kiss. What would they do if they were her, if they lived her life? What would she do if she was them? Isabella had forgotten what it felt like to be carefree; all she knew was that it was nice. Or that's what she thought. As all this ran through her mind, she just watched, expressionless, numb.

At this particular occasion it had been a year since Isabella had been allowed into society, accompanied or not, and the strain of so many months made the questions jump at her more violently than usual. Suddenly Isabella heard something, although she had not heard a word of the conversation that had gone before this, the one phrase she did was all that mattered.

"Excuse me did one of you say Guy of Gisborne." She blurted out; the wives just stared at her as if she was mad, or at least more mad than normal. After a long and slightly awkward, incredulous pause one of the women finally took pity on her, and with a false smile she said "Yes, we were just commenting that he has been made the new Master at Arms."

"Oh really? Where?" She tried to act casual, as if she didn't care, as if this man didn't matter to her.

"Nottingham." She replied then another woman commented on "how dashing he was" and Isabella was left free to cope with and process that information. Her brother was alive, and more importantly she knew where he was. A small throwaway sentence at a small, yet to Isabella huge, occasion was all that was needed to sow the seeds that took two years to blossom. And for a change it was with a light heart that Isabella went back to the place that could barely be called her home. It might not be her home much longer.