The O'Nialls

Allan was perplexed. "I'm not bein' funny but, what was that about?" He was ecstatic that she was staying even though he knew he wouldn't stand a chance with her, but he was confused by the sheriff's sudden decision change.

Marian looked at Deirdre in shock. Deirdre quirked her eyebrows at them and smiled a lopsided grin—a grin they would come to know well in the following months, which meant she was either about to get into some mischief or had just done some mischief. It was Marian who spoke next.

"You never said…I mean I didn't know…Your father truly is Fàelàn O'Niall? Of the O'Nialls?"

"Yeah, well, I don't like to name-drop. Shall we get me settled or what?"

Deirdre's question seemed to elicit movement from the others; Allan reached for one of her bags at the same time as she did. Their hands met, sparks danced, and Allan's eyes went wide. The smile faded from Deirdre's face and she stared wide-eyed back at him.

"I…I'll take this one, if you don't mind," she stammered as she lifted the bag and turned to Marian. "Where to?"

Marian hadn't seen the sparks or the long look, she had been looking to the stairs, wondering where in Nottingham castle was nice enough to house one of the O'Nialls for the next few months. Making up her mind, she led the way up the stairs to the unused east wing of the castle. The sunlight would help to warm the room and it was as far from the dungeons, with their horrible smells and screaming victims, as possible. Marian pushed the door open and apologized immediately about the dust. "I'll have someone come up immediately to fix the room, Milady."

Deirdre sighed in exasperation, "That's why I don't tell anyone who I am. They become immediately obsequious. Marian, last night we were just two friends, talking and laughing. I'd like it if it could stay that way. If not, I'd rather take my chances on the road."

Marian smiled shyly, "Of course, Mil…Deirdre. But the room is rather dusty and I'd prefer my friend to stay in a clean room."

Deirdre smiled back. "Well, let me get out of these traveling clothes first."

Allan, forgotten in the background, reddened at the thought of Deirdre getting undressed and cleared his throat to remind the women that he was there. Deirdre turned to him and smiled and suddenly the room was unbearably hot.

"Thank you, Allan, for your help. I do hope I'll be seeing you around."

Deirdre's attention had Allan's usual swagger returning to him. He grinned at her roguishly, "I'm glad to 'elp you, Milady. Anything you need, you can call on me, day or night."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

Marian gaped in horror as Allan bowed low over Deirdre's outstretched hand and planted a very improper kiss there which had Deirdre laughing in delight.

In the hallway, Marian punched Allan's arm. "Owww! What was that for?" He cringed—Marian hit hard, not just hard for a woman.

Marian hissed at him, "You are unbelievable! How dare you act that way with one of the O'Nialls! You have got some nerve!"

Marian strode away, followed by Allan who looked wounded—and angry. He knew he was a nothing, but he wanted more and that should count for something.

"Geez, Marian, it was just a bit o' harmless flirtin'. It's not like she'd ever fancy me or anythin'. And even if she did, it's nothin' to do with you. You act like she's royalty or somethin'!"

Marian paled even more, "She practically is royalty, you moron! The O'Nialls have been advisors to more thrones than you could count!"

"All the more reason to not worry about her expressin' any interest in me. I'm nothin' and I know it, but thanks, Marian for makin' me realize that you know it too! I'm a traitor, right? So God forbid I should have any fun in this piece o' Hell!"

It was Allan's turn to stride furiously away. Marian visibly deflated—she was really starting to dislike herself lately, and now she had hurt a sometime friend. She returned to her rooms to wait for Deirdre to finish dressing.


Allan was beyond angry. Marian had really hurt his feelings. He was a nobody, a traitor, but why did he have to keep paying for his mistakes? His first mistake had been going into that tavern, where Guy had caught him. Later, Guy had tortured him, then offered him life—at the cost of betraying his friends. Where had been the harm though? Give Guy a little information, receive a bag of money. Until Guy had killed Roger of Stoke, that is. Nobody was ever supposed to have gotten hurt, let alone killed. Allan had tried to break it off with Guy at that time, but Guy wouldn't let him off the hook. He knew Allan only wanted stability—and that came with money. When Allan had tried to break it off again, Robin had been there. Robin had been so angry, Allan was just glad to be alive, but then he'd had no place to go. He'd turned to Guy again, and been his right-hand man ever since. It wasn't always easy—often his life was threatened, and he'd had his fare share of kicks and hits along the way—but where else would he get even close to having the sort of opportunities that being with Guy brought? And it wasn't like Robin and the gang would take him back—every time they saw him, they drew weapons and glared at him, and Little John called him "traitor." Every time. He headed for the stables—it was cold, but it hadn't yet snowed, and he needed to blow off steam.