The night was cold, just as her world had become. She pulled her woolen shift closer about her. She only came out for a moment. Her man had been away for quite some time on a mission, yet she was unable to remember what it was. The lightening flashed across the sky as she walked out on the balcony that overlooked the courtyard, and the front entrance of Nottingham Castle.

She calls out to him – her Sheriff, as she stands at the parapet on this moonless, stormy night.

"Come, my lord. He holds me captive now – in your castle! It is my fault. I disobeyed you! Come for me, my love!"

Her voice echoes in the roaring cacophony of the thunder and rain. The raindrops drown her angry tears. Silenced she is, by mother nature… and Robin Hood.

"It's too late, milady. I've mounted an army. He shall never have his title, his cursed castle, his hold over the shire, nor you! Never! Never again!" He seethed.

"Damn you to hell, Robin!" She spat as she slapped him hard across his left cheek. Though it was nothing compared to what he had done to the Sheriff's left cheek! If only she had her dagger with her!

She walked away from him to another area on the balcony. She didn't look back. All was quiet for awhile and then his hands were upon her shoulders. He was covering her with his cloak to protect her from the elements…

"Marian." He spoke softly as she felt the archer's hands cover her with a blanket. She was startled. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She wanted to hit him. She stopped herself from glaring at him.

For it was then she remembered she had better play his game – at least for a few moments, since he told her not to speak until she had come to her senses.

Lady Marian began to sit up. She massaged her neck and shoulders. Then she realized they were bound behind her when she fell asleep. It was cold in the cavern. The fire had gone out. She was surprised Robin hadn't tended to it. He had never let the fire go out – it was the only thing she could say for him.

"Have you come to your senses, Marian?" Robin demanded as he folded his arms and stared down at her.

"I believe I have." Lady Marian began.

"Oh, good. I knew there was a good reason I unbound your hands just now."

"Huh! Now – first let me start with this blanket. You can take it back. I do not want it!" She exclaimed as she picked it up, rumpling it quickly to a ball and throwing it hard toward the fire. Locksley caught it in the air just in time.

"Why, you ungrateful –"

"You cannot make a silk bag out of a sow's ear, Robin. Don't dress up this cave… or pretend to care for my welfare!"

"What are you blabbering – "

"This is what it is! I am your prisoner. You are my captor. I am not in a room in your manor, or even a bunk at your outlaw camp. I am in the prison cell you created for me – this very cave." She said as she gestured with her arms indicating the expanse of it. "And if you cannot handle the consequences of holding someone prisoner in a cold, dank, black cave – then I will know ye are a coward!" Marian spat. "Do go ahead. Do what you will. Restrain me. Silence me. Torture me, why don't you!"

"Marian." Robin said quietly, his eyes downcast. "You are mistaken."

"No! You are mistaken! Now – I've said my piece. I shall have nothing more to say, but let it begin." Lady Marian said evenly with an eyebrow quirked above her chocolate brown eyes. "Come then! Tie my wrists together again. Gag me if you must, but do not pretend to care for me again, Robin Hood! You do not care. Your motive was selfish. Don't you dare tell me you were out to save me. You were out to win! May you rot in hell, Robin." A beat. "Begin!" She shouted.

"Marian – "

"I said: begin!" She shrieked.

Her voice echoed loudly, like the clanging of pots in an inept cook's kitchen in Locksley's ears. He shook his head and grimaced. Then he sighed. It was going to be a very. Very. Long. Cursed. Day. Especially having only obtained perhaps two hours of sleep at best. How his head ached.

"Fine, but could you kindly bring your voice down a few notches then?" Locksley spat.

Marian smirked. Poor baby. He must be dead tired from sitting up all night watching me…the swine! "Just watch me shut up now, Robin!" She shouted. Robin shook his head. "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you feeling hung over from being awake all night? My, isn't that too bad!" She shrieked again.

"Well, I was going to save this for later, but… time for plan B." Locksley sighed as he quickly went to her and bound her wrists together behind her with a length of rope, then used the black cloth to gag her.

She rolled her eyes then glared at him as he put the blanket back over her. She managed to kick his shin hard as he turned away.

I've a mind to tell him he can have her if she keeps on like this! Too bad I need to kill him though! Locksley went to the fire and rekindled it again. As the flames eventually increased so did his rage. Now, some of it was directed to her.


The men awoke when they heard the horse and wagon return to their camp, just past dawn on Thursday morning.

"They're here!" Clement announced to the group as he walked over from his post.

"It's about bloody time then!" Bull exclaimed. Much nodded and they arose from their bunks.

"Thanks be to God!" Friar Tuck sighed as he genuflected and looked skyward murmuring thanks to his heavenly father. For he believed that it meant the men had returned with Robin. He was in for a little surprise.

Will sat up and blinked his eyes and joined the men to greet Little John and Azeem.

"You've returned!" Will said. "Good! Now we don't need to search for you!"

"That's what you think." Little John muttered dryly as he pulled on the reins to bring the horse to a halt.

"Well, there's no need now – you're back!" Will exclaimed. He looked around him. "Isn't that right, Lock –" He stopped. Then he looked to the rest of the men. "Where's Locksley?" He demanded.

All of the men except for Clement looked at him with varying degrees of astonishment upon their faces. For nobody had heard Locksley when he returned quietly at the witching hour.

"Stop with the jokes, Scarlett! Ye were assigned watch! Did you drink so much mead that Clement had to take over?" Little John exclaimed, incredulous. "Have ye forgotten why me and the Moor went looking for him then? In Nottingham of all bloody places!" He spat.

"No. John – he was here." Clement spoke up.

The men murmured cries of surprises, and gasps, astounded at what they were hearing.

"What?" Little John asked slowly.

"He arrived at the witching hour. He sent me to my bunk, woke Clement to relieve me, and then he went to retire to his own bunk…I swear it!" Will exclaimed.

"He's right." Clement agreed.

"But it is barely dawn now? If he only just returned – where in the blazing hell is he then?" Little John demanded.

The men just shook their heads and shrugged. Little John stepped down from the wagon.

"Then we are in a right bloody mess for sure, mates. If Robin is doing his own thing – God be with us." John sighed.

"What is it, John?" The Friar asked curiously.

"Hey, wait a minute. Where is the Moor?" Will demanded.

Little John looked at him with his eyebrow quirked over his blue eyes. Normally they twinkled. This time they were empty.

"Why don't you just take a wild guess?" Little John sighed as his eyebrow shot north.

"Nottingham!" Will spat.

"It was Gisborne who got him, but I'm sure the Sheriff has met him by now." John said shaking his head.

"He'll hang for certain!" Friar Tuck gasped as he genuflected.

"What will we do then? Save him?" Will asked.

"We must, but we need a sure fire plan. Robin is unreliable for whatever reason. We need to really think on a strategy. We shall have to do this without him somehow." John sighed.

"We can't send the Friar in as a decoy for us this time. The Sheriff knows the Friar is one of us now!" Bull pointed out.

"The Sheriff knows the lot of us, Bull. Aye, we shall have to come up with another plan altogether." John stated. He planted his quarterstaff firmly onto the ground beside him. "Who's cooking this morning? We shall mull it over as we break our fast. We cannot take on Nottingham with empty stomachs anyway." He said as he led them toward the fire.

"Not all of us." Will said suddenly as he stopped in his tracks.

The men turned around to face him.

"What's that, boy?" Little John demanded. "Aye, thought you said you slept last night? Why are ye making no sense then?" He spat.

"Nottingham does not know all of us." Will said firmly as he moved in slowly toward the group.

"No! He has every one of us on his cursed wanted list!" Much exclaimed.

"Yeah! Bloody right he has!" Bull nodded.

"No." Will said shaking his head. "There is only one of us who is as skilled as Locksley with any bow – whether a longbow or a crossbow, in fact – better than Locksley with a crossbow." Will hinted.

"Aye. And thus… the reason he is always asked by Robin to stay back and defend our camp!" Friar Tuck exclaimed as his eyes widened and he looked over at Clement.

"No. I cannot lead –" Clement started to say.

"Or asked to accompany Bull and I if we are assigned to go to the families in the villages." Much nodded.

"That's because Robin knows you cannot count. We need someone with brains with us!" Bull huffed.

"Yeah, like you don't know your right from your left." Much added as he rolled his eyes.

"Well, I'll be buggered!" Little John exclaimed as he looked slowly to Clement. His bright blue eyes began to twinkle again.

"Now…wait just a minute here – " Clement began.

"Aye! We can do this!" Little John smiled merrily with new hope as he slapped Clement on the back.


The Sheriff was walking along the corridor of the main level of the castle, heading toward his office. He sighed as he thought of his conversation with Lady Marian only moments ago. He never thought that asking her opinion of what jewels she should fancy seeing on her ring would lead to such confusion. She rarely wore jewellery – before yesterday, now that he thought of it; yet she rhymed off eight stones to him! It is fortunate for her I know which two of those shall work best for her! He shook his head, then looked up and frowned. Gisborne was coming toward him, looking rather worn out and disheveled. There were dark circles present under his eyes. It appeared as if he had been making merry last night when he should have been sleeping! Curses!

"Good day, cousin." Gisborne muttered as he advanced toward him and stifled a yawn.

"Bah! Where is she?" The Sheriff demanded.

"You mean…he, sire." Gisborne said with his eyebrow quirked. "Surely you mean Locksley?"

"No. I mean… the little whore who's likely in your bedchamber this very moment – the reason you are barely awake!" The Sheriff snapped.

"There is no wench in my chamber, cousin, I assure you. The only thing I've ridden in a fortnight is my mare!" Gisborne exclaimed emphatically.

"Aww…tsk, tsk." The Sheriff said with feigned concern as he patted Gisborne's cheek. He narrowed his eyes. "Tell me another story! Explain to me then why it appears you are in danger of falling over?" The Sheriff demanded of his henchman.

"I went to the tavern in the village with Mordrid and my Officer Gerad last night." Guy admitted.

"Splendid! And when did you return? Just now?" The Sheriff asked as his left eyebrow shot north.

"No, cousin, but it was late – though not because of being at the tavern." Guy hinted.

"What was it then? What trouble did you and the boys get into then?" The Sheriff asked as he folded his arms and tapped his boot impatiently upon the stone floor.

"No trouble, sire. We were fulfilling our duty." A beat. "To you." Gisborne said.

"I'm listening." The Sheriff said with his eyebrow quirked again.

"We came across two of Hood's men last night. They were found climbing over the walls to get past the portcullis." Guy stated.

"Ah… tell me more, good cousin!" The Sheriff grinned as he clasped his palms together.

"We caught one of them, but the other one – that big, burly bison with the pole – he got away. The one we captured awaits you in your dungeon, sire." Gisborne said. "I wanted you to know before my men and I go into Sherwood." He added.

"Well, I can't believe I'm saying this, but – good work, cousin. Now, tell me how the other one escaped." The Sheriff said pointedly.

"He whacked Gerad with that cursed pole of his! Mordrid and I were some distance away, subduing and restraining the other one. I ran back, but by then he made it back over the wall!" Gisborne spat. "The men manning your portcullis went after him, but lost him just outside the village." He added.

"Alright. Tell me: which one of them awaits my judgement?" The Sheriff asked eagerly. The corners of his mustache curled as a malevolent grin slowly took shape. "It's not that impetuous one who's responsible for most of the fires in the village from ninety one to just before that cursed hooded viper came back from Jerusalem, is it?" The Sheriff asked. "I say most because….well, you started the other ones." The Sheriff added with a wink.

"No, cousin. Not that one. It is Locksley's Moorish companion."

"Ah! This shall be interesting indeed, cousin! Let us find the Scribe and lead me to him then!" The Sheriff said with a smirk.

They found the Scribe speaking with one of the Sheriff's advisors just outside of the Council Quarters. The Scribe already had his writing supplies with him, and the three men made their way to the dungeon.

The dungeon was located in the sublevel of the distal, south wing of the castle and was separated by two additional sets of gates. Gisborne led the Sheriff and the Scribe to the area of isolation where Locksley's Moorish companion was being held.

"You have a key, Gis?" The Sheriff asked his Lieutenant.

"Aye." Guy said as he produced a key from the pocket of his surcoat. He inserted it in the lock of the door, then the Sheriff pushed open the door so that it thudded loudly against the wall behind it in his signature, dungeon etiquette panache.

Azeem looked up. His arms were chained above him as he stood there. He met the Sheriff's eyes with his – eyes that were black as coal.

"It is a grand day indeed." The Sheriff smirked as he walked slowly toward him with his hands clasped in front of him. "I have a Moor in my dungeon! One of Locksley's rabble at that!"

"The son of Saladin!" Guy quipped.

Azeem rolled his eyes. "Wrong empire, Sir Gisborne. Why don't you try again?" Azeem stated evenly. He had no tolerance for ignorance.

"Normally I'd cut your tongue out personally for that – you cursed, painted insect!" The Sheriff spat. "But, alas… ye are correct." He said as he looked to Gisborne and rolled his eyes. Then he looked back to the Moor before him.

"What do you want with me?" Azeem asked.

"Hmm. Not sure just yet! I'm deciding, you see." The Sheriff smirked. "For now we'll just begin with interrogation."

"Naturally." Azeem remarked as he rolled his eyes.

"State your name!" Guy of Gisborne demanded.

"Azeem Edin Bashir Al Bachrim." Azeem stated proudly.

"Sorry I asked." Gisborne spat.

The Sheriff rolled his eyes and looked over to the Scribe who was seated on the lone chair in the room. "Did you get that, you little ferret?" The Sheriff asked.

"Yes, my lord." The Scribe nodded. "Although, I'm not sure of some of the spelling." He added with a frown.

The Sheriff sighed and looked again to his prisoner. "What were you and that cursed, pole toting friend of yours doing attempting to gain entrance to my castle?" The Sheriff demanded as he grabbed Azeem by the collar and pulled him toward him.

"Not what you think." Azeem said.

"Why don't you try me?" The Sheriff demanded.

"It is not what you think, but I really cannot say." Azeem replied evasively.

"You do not have to. I know the reason. You and he were going to make an attempt on my life! How laughable! Let me guess – Hood is lurking about somewhere in here looking for his lady, no doubt?" The Sheriff demanded. He looked to Gisborne. "I hope you swept the castle searching for the cursed, hooded viper!" He spat.

"Aye, cousin. We found no sign of him." Gisborne said.

"Because he is not here!" Azeem exclaimed.

"Sure. Whatever you say." The Sheriff said. "Don't worry, we'll deal with your hooded companion. Back over to you then! Now… shall I just deal with you here? Or shall I send you back so that your Sultan – Yakub el-Mansur, can deal with you?" The Sheriff asked pointedly as his left eyebrow shot north.

Azeem managed to suppress a chuckle. The fool! The Sultan of the Moorish Empire – Yakub el-Mansur, was the best thing to have ever happened in Azeem's homeland in over a century. He was a military genius and the most powerful ruler in the world! He had only just come into power of the Moorish Empire this year when he and the Ahmohades had defeated an army of three hundred thousand Christian soldiers when Christian forces threatened to rule over Islam in the Moorish regions. His kingdom was immense and stretched from Spain all the way to the borders of Egypt. Azeem had heard rumours that the new Sultan's first order of business was restoring justice to all of his people. The poor were never to want again, the unjustly incarcerated prisoners were all released and pardoned. But it was also rumoured he was bringing back white slaves he had taken when on his travels throughout Europe, and mostly in England, and was selling them in the great white market at Salli! Bah! Let the Sheriff contact my Sultan! Azeem tried not to grin.

"Hmm." Azeem began. "Maybe you had better send an emissary with a scroll for the Sultan?" He suggested.

"Oh, he will be notified, have no fear, my painted prisoner!" The Sheriff exclaimed as he patted Azeem's cheek. "For it would only be proper courtesy for me to inform him that you shall be executed here in my courtyard!" He spat. Then he looked to Gisborne as his eyes narrowed. "Hmm, perhaps in this delicate matter of foreign affairs however, I should have Prince John contact the Sultan?" The Sheriff mused as he rubbed his black whiskers on his chin thoughtfully.

"Aye, my lord. I think that would be wise." Gisborne nodded in agreement.

Azeem rolled his eyes. "He shall have me released!"

"Bah! You think so?" The Sheriff demanded as his eyebrow shot north.

"I know it." Azeem smiled.

"We shall see about that!" The Sheriff snapped. "Now, tell me where I can find Locksley!" He demanded.

Azeem shook his head, his eyes downcast.

"Tell me!" The Sheriff demanded as he drew his sword and brandished it in front of his prisoner.

"Well, you see, that is it – the reason I was captured. My comrade and I were… looking for him." Azeem muttered hesitantly.

"What?" The Sheriff asked, incredulous.

"Aye. We know not of his whereabouts." Azeem said. He hoped that this one and only admission he would offer the Sheriff would stop him from going to Sherwood Forest. The Moor knew his capture would put the rest of the men in even more danger.

The Sheriff looked once more to the Scribe. "Are you taking this down? Not that we have learned a damned thing!" He spat.

"Yes, sire. It is written." The Scribe nodded.

"Since when?" Gisborne chimed in, speaking to the prisoner.

"Since yesterday." Azeem replied. Then he looked once more to the Sheriff. "We thought you may have captured him." He explained.

"He's lying!" Gisborne spat.

"Hmm. I think you might be right for once, Gis." The Sheriff agreed as he began to pace. He stopped in the center of the cell then slowly came back toward Azeem. "I shall be back again to make you squirm until you tell me more. In the meantime – I have ways of making you talk." The Sheriff grinned as he patted Azeem's cheek once more.

"Yes. I'm sure you do." Azeem said flatly.

"Oh, good! Then you consent? How marvelous!" The Sheriff laughed maniacally.

"Huh! The only thing I consent to is you contacting the Sultan!" Azeem spat.

"Guard!" The Sheriff bellowed as he turned his head back toward the door.

The guard entered swiftly to answer his master's summons.

"Twenty five lashes to this prisoner!" The Sheriff ordered as he pointed toward Azeem with his sword before he put it back into its sheath.

"Aye, milord." The guard nodded.

Azeem sighed. He hoped the men would attempt to come and free him, though he doubted it would be successful – not without Robin's leadership. His Christian friend was proving unreliable as of late. He knew he would just have to accept his fate.


Merewina was exhausted. She had managed to doze a little after the Sheriff left her. She was blissful at the thought of being adorned with precious, priceless gems. For no doubt the Sheriff would grant her some big ones to wear… until Marian returned and would take them from her!

She was just waking again. She felt a presence in the chamber. She tentatively opened her eyes and recoiled with a gasp. A very old hag – diminutive in stature, with long, scraggly silver hair, one brown eye and an opaque right one – was leaning down to Merewina holding a cup of steaming liquid under the maiden's nose. Who in God's name is this woman?

"My child! Oh, I didn't mean to startle ye. The Sheriff summoned me to bring you some of my restorative batwing tea! You recall how it helped you last week?" Mortianna explained as her eyebrow quirked. The Sheriff was right. The maiden was acting oddly!

Merewina sighed. She had better learn who some of these people were – and fast. And she still needed to find out the Sheriff's given name!

"Ah, yes." Merewina began sweetly as she maintained her composure and suppressed her initial revulsion at the startling intrusion. "I do recall now." She lied.

"You know it will make you feel better. My master says ye have not been yourself since yesterday." Mortianna said.

Merewina sat up and took the cup from the witch. "Oh…you have no idea!" Merewina nodded as she began to dutifully sip the gritty, slightly bitter tea.

"Then ye best drink up, child. Do not fret. Aye, I have more of it steeping in a small cauldron in my apothecary!" The crone smiled.

"Yes." Merewina remarked absently. She needed to find out more about this woman. How to word this? "Uhm… tell me: did we speak last week? Forgive me, I … do not recall." Merewina said sweetly.

"Not at any length, milady Marian. I was summoned after your unfortunate accident. You were in and out for awhile after that. I was there with you a good deal of the time, but no. We didn't speak at length." Mortianna explained.

"You… work for the Sheriff?" Merewina asked.

"Aye. I am his counsel." Mortianna nodded.

"Interesting." Merewina muttered.

"Not really. I raised him, you see – after his parents died. Rest their souls." Mortianna said as she went over to the window.

"And… your name?" Merewina asked. If Marian hadn't spoken to her, she knew it would be safe to ask the question.

"I am Mortianna." The witch replied as she turned around to face Merewina. Her black and silver robes rustled as she moved.

"Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance then, Madam." Merewina said.

"Indeed." Mortianna smiled.

"Tell me…" Merewina began as she studied the witch. "What happened – "

"To my right eye?" The witch offered as she walked closer to the bed.

Merewina blushed. "Aye." She nodded.

"Well… it was a rather gloomy day in Nottingham in eleven eighty six." Mortianna began as she sat on the edge of the bed and faced her. Merewina put the cup on the table beside her and held a pillow to her as she listened. Mortianna continued. "I had nothing better to do than work on the recipe once more for Byzantine fire. This is a magickal tool in alchemy I still labour on to this day, for I'm certain, you see, that this shall bring great victory to my lord in future battles."

"Oh, I'm sure." Merewina nodded.

"Well, yes… I was brewing the mixture in my cauldron – it was destroyed that day. Thank Zeus my former Friar friend owns 'The Merchant of Magick' – a privately run, by appointment only, concealed shop in the outskirts of Nottingham village! The best place to go to for my necessary implements." Mortianna sighed. "Anyway, I discovered too late that my ratios were erroneous in their proportions. Alas, they were unbalanced and the heat from the fire caused it to spark and ignite. I was standing a little too close to the cauldron and well… poof."

"Oh, my!" Merewina exclaimed as her eyes widened. She felt pity for the crone just then.

"Aye. It was fortunes shining down upon me, and no doubt Aradia herself who protected me, for it was only half of my vision and some of my glorious locks that were burned and rendered useless!" Mortianna exclaimed.

"Oh, indeed!" Merewina exclaimed as she nodded in agreement. "And… what of this recipe, Madam?" She asked curiously. Oh, if I could find the writings for that I could sell it! The fortune I would amass!

"I still labour on it. I keep my notes written on a sacred scroll rather than one of the editions of my – " Mortianna caught herself just then and cleared her throat. "Transcipts. It is hidden away in one of the Sheriff's vaults. Its' power is great, and must not fall into anyone else's hands besides mine, and my master, …"

Please say his name! Merewina willed the crone.

"The Sheriff of Nottingham." Mortianna smiled. "The best thing about it is that it has not destroyed my psychic ability. In fact, it has rendered my third eye even more keen of vision! Indeed, it is since that day that my sixth sense was heightened, and my third eye vision became crystal clear, milady!" Mortianna grinned.

"Yes, I'm sure." Merewina said, though it was clear the witch had lost her just then.

Mortianna sighed. "Of course ye would need to have the blood of my ancestors coursing through your veins in order to completely understand how this is possible, my child. Aye, I come from a long line of soothsayers and witches, milady, and that is how I remain invaluable to my Lord Sheriff." The witch grinned.

"Indeed." Merewina agreed as she reached across to take the cup again and dutifully took another sip of the tea.

Just then the Sheriff came through the door. The witch stood and turned and made obeisance to her master.

Please address him by name. Just once! Merewina sighed. She took some more of the tea. She was beginning to feel rather light and airy. What is in this tea?

"Ah, good! I see ye have administered the tea as instructed, crone!" The Sheriff said as he came toward them.

"Aye. I knew you were right as soon as I saw for myself, my lord." Mortianna nodded.

"No doubt." The Sheriff remarked as his left eyebrow shot north.

"Will that be all ye require of me just now, my child?" Mortianna asked him.

"Yes – until I summon you again." The Sheriff said.

Say his cursed name! Merewina stared at the crone, praying she would just come out with it!

"Very well, my lord. I shall leave you then." Mortianna said as she turned and headed toward the door.

Merewina sighed.

The Sheriff went to the bed and sat down upon it. "Are you feeling better, my lady?" He asked as he reached over and caressed her cheek.

"Yes, I believe I am." She grinned. She was feeling rather giddy just now. It must be the tea indeed!

"I thought perhaps the crone's batwing tea might do something for you." The Sheriff smiled.

"You are so thoughtful, my sweet." Merewina purred.

"I'm glad you think so." He grinned. "Tell me: is Locksley as thoughtful as I am?"

Locksley... Locksley. What? Not...no! Has my sister been mixed up with Robin of Locksley? Robin Hood to be sure! When did my twin become such a tease? Just how many men is she toying with?

"Oh, never, my sweet. He never has and he never will be as thoughtful nor as divine as you are." Lady Merewina grinned.

"My angel." The Sheriff whispered as he leaned in close and kissed her cheek, then her neck. She felt his whiskers tickle her skin and a ripple effect took place on her flesh.

"My lord." Merewina sighed as she closed her eyes.

"You are so beautiful, my angel, and the sweetest treasure." He breathed in a raw whisper as he moved toward her lips.

She swallowed. "Yes?" She sighed then bit her lip. She felt it then. The same stirrings he had created in her from the moment their eyes first locked. She felt vulnerable and bewitched just then – as if under the influence of a powerful spell? Did Mortianna do this?

"I am glad you remain my treasure." The Sheriff whispered hungrily as he pulled her close to him and swiftly brought his soft lips to hers. He kissed her softly and languidly, savouring every second of their moment of intimacy. He tasted her tongue with his, as he breathed her name. Her sister's name, but she pretended he was saying: "My Lady Merewina."

She thought she would melt for sure. She was just relaxing into it and completely enjoying the moment when that pang of guilt suddenly stabbed her in her gut… No. What have I done? Curses! The damned tea! I mustn't let this happen. I mustn't let him get close to me again or I'll be in danger of...giving in! Aye - I shall not be able to resist! She relished another few moments of this beautiful, perfect kiss, knowing it shall be her last and then she pulled away from him – just when he felt himself grow hard for her.

"My Lady Mar – "

"My lord." She shook her head. "Forgive me, I … I feel rather… giddy." Merewina stammered. Fool! What kind of an excuse is that to give to him?

"Ah, yes, my angel. The batwing tea effect! Although, I find that only happens with me if I mix it with spirits, usually mead or brandy." The Sheriff grinned.

"Well, I do not partake much in spirits, my Lord Sheriff." Merewina lied, but she knew her sister seldom did.

There it was again. She addressed him formally again! What in the devil? The Sheriff's eyebrow shot north as he narrowed his eyes upon her.

"Why do you keep doing that?" He asked her.

"Doing what?" Merewina replied innocently.

"Addressing me as if… you are one of my staff, or one of my people? Why don't you – "

"Don't you think it is rather… naughty, my sweet? It denotes subservience and obedience. And you know… I do submit to you." She purred.

Nottingham licked his lips surreptitiously. He tugged at his collar and sighed. "I uh… never thought of it quite like that before, my angel. How utterly… intriguing." The Sheriff grinned.

"I find it be so very… arousing." Lady Merewina smiled. "It contributes to my… fantasy." She said. And it was no lie. For this dark, devilishly handsome and delicious man before her had been haunting her dreams and fueling her fantasies for a decade. For one of the first times since she met him and took on the role of her lost, twin sister, she was telling this man of her dreams the gut wrenching truth of it. Her chocolate brown eyes misted over as she fixed them upon his, unblinking.

"Oh, my lady." The Sheriff smiled as he smoothed her hair.

And then, for some of the words she spoke next, the real heart of Lady Merewina Dubois shone through. For a moment – she forgot she was playing the role of her identical twin sister.

"My love, forgive me. I desire you more than you shall ever know. You must know that to be true." Merewina smiled warmly and genuinely. She caught herself then and cleared her throat. The Sheriff saw it then, the flicker of something, a shadow perhaps, pass over her and completely change her manner. He was perplexed, but listened intently notwithstanding as the lady continued. "But, you see, my sweet – well, I'm just not up to this right now. My head is aching. Alas, there's a thousand minstrels playing, and as many drummers drumming in my head! I feel as if I shall faint." A beat. "Oh, and sometimes when I faint – I wretch rather violently beforehand." Merewina said with a knowing look.

"Oh, right." The Sheriff sighed. He shook his head and stood abruptly. "Well, I just wanted to see that you were faring alright. I need to see how the retraining mission is coming along with my men so I must speak to my Captain." He explained.

"Yes, whatever then. Do what ye must!" She exclaimed exasperated as she waved him away.

The Sheriff's left eyebrow shot north. "You sure you're alright for me to leave you, my lady?" He asked.

"Of course." Merewina laughed. "I shall be fine."

Nottingham smiled at her before he turned and took his leave.

Damn you, Marian! You had better get back here soon or I shall be at risk of... completely submitting to him! I do not know if I can control my impulses when next he... touches me. Oh, where are you, Marian? Damn it! Merewina felt angry tears form and wiped them away with the back of her hand. She must find her sister soon. Either that or forget it completely and just go after this…. what is his damned name?