Midday, and still nothing had been discovered about the marshal's whereabouts. Guy and Catrine had already investigated five alehouses and two inns, and Catrine was beginning to look wilted. Guards constantly informed Guy about their lack of findings between their own investigations in the inns and alehouses.
Catrine leaned against a wall as Guy stood in front of her, waiting for the latest report from the soldiers. Sergeant Williams himself walked up to the couple, offering a salute.
"Well?" Guy asked, turning to face his sergeant.
"Still nothing, Sir Guy. No sign of him anywhere. Not one sighting of a ginger-haired man fitting Marshal Cunningham's description."
Catrine groaned in frustration from where she stood, "How hard can it be to find a red-head in this damned city?"
Guy looked at his sergeant once more, a sneer pulling at his cheeks, "You will double your efforts, Sergeant. Or else. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir Guy," Sergeant Williams bowed and ran off towards the North Gate.
"Guy," Catrine stood away from the wall, "I think it's time we patronized an inn instead of only searching one."
Guy craned his neck in frustration, "We can't stop now."
"Please, Guy."
He smiled as he looked at her tired and worn face. She tried to smile to cover her exhaustion, but he knew her only too well. "How about this alehouse over here?" he nodded, indicating the closest building to his left.
Catrine smiled and gave Guy a kiss on the cheek, "Thank you, my love."
Guy offered her his arm, and they walked over to the alehouse. Catrine wrinkled her nose, the smell of stale beer already assaulting her senses. Guy looked down at her face and chuckled, "Not to your suiting?"
"At this point, Guy, I'm not very picky."
Guy chuckled again as they walked through the curtain which hung over the door.
"Keeper!" Guy called, "Two mugs of your finest ale and some bread and cheese!"
The owner of the alehouse nodded, rubbing his shiny baldhead and retying his apron around his fat waist. "Right away, sir."
Guy led Catrine to a wooden table in the corner of the room, sitting her down on one side and himself sitting opposite.
"Now are you happy?" he asked, raising one eyebrow and extending his hand for hers on the tabletop.
Her face still fought to hide her disgust, "Yes," she finally choked out, trying to cover her nose from the smell with her hand. The owner brought two mugs of ale to the table, setting them down beside a plate of brown bread and a slab of cheese.
Guy pulled out his dagger and began cutting into the bread, handing Catrine the first slice. She smiled and ate it in one bite.
Turning to look around the room, Guy drank from his mug. So many peasants apparently came here for their midday meal. Now Guy's mouth grimaced in disgust; they all looked so poor and so dirty. He turned back to look at Catrine, who had apparently already finished half the bread and the cheese.
She smiled and drank the last dregs of her ale, "You know, it's funny really. Here we are at an alehouse, much like the man we are looking for."
Guy smirked and wiped away the foam from her lip, "Well, the best way to hunt is to lay in ambush where the prey is known to roam." Then Guy saw Catrine's eyes narrow with focus at something over his shoulder. "What is it?"
"Well, you just made me think. If we are in disguise, more or less," Catrine said, smiling at Guy's leather clothing, "why wouldn't our man also be in disguise."
Guy looked down at the table with a smile on his face, "We have been searching for a red-headed man, a hair color that should be easy to find…"
"And what if he's not a red-head anymore, Guy? What if he's the dirtiest possible peasant in Nottingham? What if he looks almost exactly the same, but covered in soot and ashes from head to toe?" Catrine leaned in closer. "What if he looks just like that man in the corner, his hair almost entirely black with grime, dirtier than any other peasant I have ever seen?"
Guy's eyes opened wide, looking up into Catrine's eyes. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, Sir Guy, I do believe our search is over."
Guy adjusted himself on his stool so as to see the man behind him out of the corner of his eye. The man looked just like Cunningham: same build, same shaped face, even similar clothing. All that was different was the dirt and the hair color. "What are the chances of this though, Catrine?"
She smiled, "Actually rather high if you think about it. There were only a few more place we haven't searched yet, and this was one of them."
Guy turned to face her again, "But how do we prove it's him?"
"Watch and you'll see," Catrine said with a wink, reaching for Guy's nearly full mug of ale.
She drank it all to the dregs and then staggered away from the table, bumping into the other people seated at the alehouse's tables, making her way around to the owner. "Fill this up, love," she slurred to him, and he willingly pulled the tap of the barrel behind him.
Taking a deep sip, she began walking back to her table, staggering towards the dirty man in the corner. Guy watched with a smile, but pretended to be keenly interested in the bread and cheese on the table. Catrine waltzed up in his direction, but stopped at the table beside their target. Suddenly, Guy became concerned, wondering if she knew what she was doing. Wondering just how much ale she had actually had. He watched helplessly as Catrine began flirting with a teenage peasant boy, rubbing his broad shoulders and laughing after everything he said. Guy was too far away and the room was too loud; "I do hope you know what you're doing, Catrine," he growled under his breath.
Then the youth stood up, trying to wrap his arms around Catrine. Guy stood too, knocking over his stool behind him and grabbing the dagger from the loaf of bread. At the same moment, Catrine staggered backwards, turned and dumped her ale all over the dirty man's head.
Guy relaxed as she turned to face him, a knowing smile drawn on her lips. Then he noticed the man's hair—brilliant red hair showed through the grime where the ale had spilled on his head.
"What in blazes?" the man stood up angrily, rounding on Catrine.
In all of three strides, Guy stood between Walter Cunningham and Catrine, pointing his dagger at the man's throat. "Walter Cunningham, you are under arrest," Guy drew out his sword and began prodding the man out the door.
Once outside the alehouse, Guy called to his men who waited in the street, the prisoner once again in tow. He pushed the marshal towards his men, "Take this man away." Walter Cunningham spun around to face Guy with a snarl, but his arms were soon trapped behind him by the soldiers. Guy walked close to the marshal, lowering his face within inches of the prisoner's. "And tell the executioner to be ready as soon as possible," Guy sneered.
Guy watched as the prisoner was taken back to Nottingham Castle, his arms crossed in front of him. Then he felt hands wandering up his back and into his hair. He turned around, smiling at Catrine who began erupting in giggles.
"What's so funny?" he asked, catching her up in his arms.
"Not sure," she managed to speak between her laughs. "I guess I am a bit… tipsy," she giggled again. Then she leaned in close to Guy's ear, "And I can't wait till we get back to Locksley, Guy. After all, I still have a promise that I made to you." She ran her finger down his nose and giggled again.
Guy shook his head, "Let's just get you to the castle first, my love."