Previously on "Consequences":

Robin and Marian rode out to Derbyshire to meet up with Marian's father, with John along for the ride.

Djaq was left alone at the camp while Will, Allan and Much went out to investigate one of their alarms. When the men arrived on the scene, they discovered a lone cart on the road and a stranger caught in one of their traps. He was whistling—apparently unconcerned—and when he spotted them he called down good-naturedly, "Ah. Zere you are. Now which of you good men is ze famous Robin `ood? Eh?"


A Visitor in the Forest

Djaq looked down at the pile of rabbits she'd killed and brought home this morning and sighed as she realized that she still had a long way to go. She was seated near the cook area of the camp with a large gutted rabbit held firmly between her knees as she made quick work of skinning the animal.

She tossed the carcass onto one growing pile and the skin onto another, careful not to waste any part of it. The meat would be dried and stored for the gang's use as well as for distribution to the villagers during the bare winter months. And the furs would be stitched together to make quilts for keeping the outlaws warm on the coldest of nights.

Since Robin, John, and Marian had departed for Derbyshire over a week ago, the gang's deliveries naturally took Will, Allan, and Much twice as long to complete. That meant that Djaq was left at the camp—alone—far more often than she was used to these days. She could hardly complain of course—considering they were the ones putting in the extra time and work—and she really wasn't resentful at all. She just missed the activity and the company. So she'd taken to hunting to not only fill the time, but also as a means of staving off her growing restlessness.

Allan and Much had initially expressed concern, saying that it was just too dangerous an activity for her right now. Djaq had simply been content to ignore their protests, but Will had felt it necessary to explain to them that she was a skilled and experienced hunter—which she felt they should already know—and that she was always very careful not to venture too far from the camp on her own.

Besides, the activity wasn't even particularly taxing seeing as she really only hunted small woodland creatures. She'd learned her lesson about targeting larger quarry a few days ago when she'd proudly taken down a buck—with one clean shot to the heart—only to find herself unable to drag it back to camp. So she'd had to stand by and guard it for hours lest some forest-scavenging creature get hold of it. Finally one of the boys—Allan as it turned out— had returned and hauled it home for her.

So she now stuck to rabbits and the like. But since the outlaws actually already had several snares in place around the forest for just such a purpose, they just couldn't understand her need to go out hunting each day and they had taken to teasing her almost incessantly over her new pastime. And Much thought that it was a terrible waste of perfectly good arrows—even though she'd explained to him over and over again that, seeing as she almost always hit her mark on the first shot, she could simply remove the arrow from the dead animal and use it again.

But they just didn't get it.

The fact was that it made her feel active and useful and she really needed that just now. Besides, they couldn't really expect her to sit around all day and await their return. Now could they? And frankly, short of twiddling her thumbs or taking up embroidery, she'd run out of things to do around the camp.

She made sure that her herbs and medicines were always sorted, she kept all of the blades and tools sharpened, oiled and stored away properly, everyone's linens were laundered regularly, and the money and food for the villagers was all divided, bundled, and ready to go when needed. And, although Much complained regularly about being the only member of the gang to bother over meal preparations, he really didn't like anyone messing about in his kitchen or starting supper without his direct supervision—which meant the cooking had to wait until he was present.

So Djaq was left to come up with other ways in which to be helpful and fill her time, and stocking up on meat for the winter seemed to fit the bill quite nicely. Will laughed at her and said that she was nesting—making sure everything was well stocked and in order in preparation for their child's arrival—and maybe she was. It was all new to her, and she really had no better explanation for her behavior, so perhaps he was right and it was all about the baby.

But whatever the reason for her newly discovered passion for hunting, the fact remained that she now had a large pile of rabbits to prepare and since the boys had yet to return from checking out the alarm call, she figured that this was as good a way as any other to keep her mind off of what might be taking them so long.


Meanwhile, out in the forest, the outlaws stood with their weapons at the ready and exchanged confused looks once again before returning to staring up at the stranger. They'd expected hostility, righteous indignation or fear. But this man...he was downright...jolly.

So they just stared.

Finally, Allan—deciding that it was up to one of them to say something clever and put this confrontation firmly back into the hands of the outlaws—shouted, "Well who wants to know?" Hm. That didn't come out nearly as clever-sounding as he'd expected. Oh well.

"Ah yes. Of course. Forgive me. I am Ysaac de Setmois. And may I presume zat you are Robin `ood?" he called down to Allan.

"Well you can presume anything you like, but—"

"I think you'll find that we ask the questions around here," Much interrupted in an authoritative tone. He figured that naturally, in Robin's absence, he was next in line as leader. A theory he'd found it necessary to remind Allan, Djaq, and Will of several times since Robin's departure.

"Fair enough zen," Ysaac—still nonplussed—replied with a nod of concession. "What do you weesh to know in order to return me to zee ground?"

"Who are you?" Much demanded as Allan and Will lifted the covering on the man's cart and began poking through its contents.

There were clay pots and there were kitchen implements, a stack of parchments and a pile of furs, sacks of various grains, and jars filled with numerous oils and strong-smelling spices. There were also jugs full of wine, baskets of dried meats and fruits, a few expensive-looking rugs, several colorful bolts of fabric and any number of other assorted items.

The man seemed to be transporting a little bit of everything.

"I `ave already told you my name," Ysaac replied patiently. "It will not change no matter `ow many times you ask."

"Oh. Right. Well then…what are you doing with all of this…this stuff? Hm?" Much gestured wildly in the direction of the cart that Allan and Will were rifling through.

"I am a trader," he answered simply.

Much gasped in horror. "A traitor? Well you, sir, have made a grave mistake in coming here. We are Robin Hood's men and we fight for King Richard! We will not abide traitors!" Much raised his weapon higher.

"No mate. I think he means he's a tra-der," Allan said with a smirk, elbowing Much. "You know, like a merchant."

Much turned very red very quickly. "Oh. A merchant? Well that's...that's not nearly as bad, I suppose," Much reluctantly admitted.

"Yes. Zat is correct. A merchant. I mean you no `arm and I am prepared to pay your toll if you will only release me. I `ave traveled a long way…all zee way from Acre carrying a very important message. I am afraid zat I can say no more until I speak weez Robin `ood."

"Well you're in for a long bout of silence then, friend," Allan commented wryly. "Robin might not be back for days. So it's us or nothing'."

"A message? Is it from the king?" Will asked as he poked his head up from the pile of foreign-looking documents he was trying to make some sense out of. Without Robin, he wasn't exactly sure how to deal with this. What Allan said was true, Robin might not be back for days yet, but a message from the king was a dangerous business and this man had to be kept safe until he returned.

Ysaac laughed. "No no. It eez not so grand as all of zat.

"You are…are…why you're French!" Much—having just managed to identify the accent—accused in a flustered voice, pointing a finger up towards the net where Ysaac still dangled between the trees.

Will and Allan looked at one another and shrugged, as neither of them had been able to place the man's accent themselves.

"Yes. You are an observant one, you are," Ysaac chuckled.

"This is ridiculous," Will muttered in the hearing of the other two as he slipped his axe back into his belt. "He's clearly alone. I'm gonna release him." Then, to Ysaac, he shouted, "Hold still and I'll let you down. Don't even think about trying anything though." He pointed to the surrounding forest. "There are many more of us scattered throughout the trees and we've got you surrounded."

"I assure you zat I intend you no `arm," he replied as he patiently awaited his release.

"Yes well, that's a good thing because, as Will here says, there's more than just us. Oh yes. We've got you surrounded," Much added completely unnecessarily, causing Allan to shoot him a look that clearly said shush.

"Aha! So you are Weel. Weel Scarlett? Zee husband of zee Lady Saffiya? Zen I need not wait for Robin `ood, I may speak weez you."

Upon hearing this, Much and Allan exchanged a confused look, as neither of them recalled at that moment that Saffiya was Djaq's real name.

Will, however, was shocked—so much so that he momentarily released the rope too quickly, causing Ysaac to plummet to earth. He caught the rope just in time and—for a brief moment—reconsidered releasing the man until he'd had the chance to find out more.

"What do know of Djaq...er, Saffiya?" he demanded, his throat tightening around the words with the amount of effort it took for him to resist the sudden and surprising impulse to hurt this man on the mere chance that he could bring any harm to Djaq or the baby. "Who sent you?"

Much and Allan then shared an even more confused look with one another as neither of them could imagine what this Frenchman knew of their Djaq. Then they turned to glare—weapons once again raised—at the man who now hovered a mere foot or two off the ground in front of them.

"I suggest you pick your next words very carefully, mate," Allan advised the man in a dangerous voice.

"I am s-sent by her kinsman, Lord Bassam. I `ave a letter for her as well as several gifts." Only now, at the obviously hostile reaction that her name had evoked in the men, did Ysaac's voice betray any sense of apprehension. "I was told to travel along zee Great North Road, in zee Forest of Sherwood, and to expect to be intercepted by Robin `ood `imself. I `ave `eard many tales of `im and `is men—I journey to England once or twice each year, you see—and I am prepared to pay zee toll zat you require for your poor." As if to prove the veracity of his claim, he desperately jangled a purse of coins that hung from his waist beneath his cloak.

Upon hearing Ysaac refer to Bassam— of whom Djaq had spoken to him many times—Will allowed himself to breathe a tentative sigh of relief. He was still unsure as to what sort of message Bassam would be sending to Djaq, or how he even had any idea of where to find her, but Djaq had always spoken of him as a trusted family friend. So he decided to at least give Ysaac the opportunity to convince him that he meant no harm and, seeing as there were three of them and only one of him, the odds were definitely in their favor.

So Will slowly lowered the rope the rest of the way and as the net touched the ground, it fell open, allowing Ysaac to simply step off. When he did, Will felt an immediate wave of guilt wash over him, for the man they had 'captured' looked to be well into his sixties at least and Will noticed him wince as he limped away from the net.

"You're hurt!" Will instantly rushed forward and lent the man his arm until he was clear of the tree stump and tangle of roots that covered the ground.

"Nonsense." He waved a hand dismissively once he'd released Will's arm. "It eez an old injury which sometimes causes me aggravation. It eez not your doing, I assure you." And he gave Will an appreciative smile.

"I'm sorry. We didn't mean…We wouldn't have…It's never our intention to hurt anyone." Will bowed his head slightly and spoke in a quiet voice.

"Understood, young man. Understood." Ysaac reached out and gave Will's shoulder a kindly pat.

Allan and Much still had their swords pointed in the stranger's direction, so Will said, "You remember Djaq speaking of Bassam? The bird man?"

"Oui, ze bird man." Ysaac chuckled, dusting himself off and bringing himself up to his full stature—just shy of Will's height.

"Oh, right. Pigeons, innit?" Allan responded. And he lowered his weapon as Will nodded.

"Will Scarlett," Will offered as he extended his hand in a show of friendship. Ysaac clasped it gratefully.

"Allan. Allan A'Dale," Allan followed suit.

Much glared.

"Ysaac de Setmois. I am pleased to meet you."

"So...you said that you have a message for Djaq? I mean for Saffiya?" Will asked cautiously.

Ysaac then reached into his cloak, prompting Much—who had yet to lower his sword— to step forward menacingly. "Now hold on there. Are you armed?" he asked suspiciously, waving his sword in front of the man.

He simply could not believe that Will and Allan were content to just accept this man's claims. Weren't they even going to pat him down for weapons? Unbelievable! Much, however, would not allow this man to charm him as easily as he had done with the other two. Oh no. People were far too trusting these days as far as he was concerned, and he wasn't accepting old age, some story about birds, or being French as any good reason to take this man at his word.

"Well, yes. I `ave a dagger in my belt, `ere on zee left side." He held up his hands in front of him in an effort to show compliance and used a tilt of his head in order to point. "And a smaller one in my right boot."

"It's alright, Much." Will said, at which point Much stepped back but held his sword in place.

Ysaac reached into his cloak once again and withdrew a roll of parchment sealed with wax. As he handed the letter to Will, he said, "Zere are two large trunks in zee false bottom of my cart. Zay are for zee Lady Saffiya as well."

Much and Allan moved toward the cart and attempted to discover how to access this 'false bottom' while Will turned the sealed document over and over again in his hands. If it was written in Arabic—as Will suspected it would be—he would be unable to read it at all. If it was written in English, he would probably be able to get through it. But it would be a long and slow process—as his literacy skills were rather limited—and he didn't really feel comfortable reading something that was meant specifically for her anyway. That just wouldn't be right.

But he couldn't just escort this man into the camp—no matter how much Will was beginning to trust his intentions—without first knowing that it was what Djaq wanted.

Allan ran his hands along the bottom and sides of the cart in an effort to figure out where the chests were hidden. But, frankly, it seemed no different than any ordinary cart to him. Much and Allan looked at one another and then Allan looked at Will and shrugged. Seeing their confusion, Ysaac moved toward the cart, saying, "It eez actually quite simple once you `ave seen it at work."

"Uh, yeah. That makes a lot of sense." Allan rolled his eyes.

"Look `ere." Ysaac walked to the front of the cart, giving his horse a soothing pat as he approached, and placed a hand right behind the driver's seat. Will followed now with rapt attention, eager—almost despite himself—to understand the mechanics involved.

"You see `ere…where ze braking lever is located?" Ysaac pointed and Will nodded. "Look closely. Zere is a second, smaller lever just above zat one."

Will groaned and put a hand to his forehead. How could they have missed seeing that?

"Do not be too `ard on yourself, " Ysaac said. "Most people never notice it. Zat eez why it eez so effective." And he pushed the smaller wooden knob to the right as far as it would go. Then he made his way to the back of the cart, with Will tramping closely behind and the other two watching intently.

When they'd reached the back of the cart, Will noticed two pieces of wood—one jutting out on either sidejust above the rear wheels—that hadn't been there a moment before. As Will's keen mind was working out the intricacies of such a contraption, Ysaac—now obviously enjoying Will's enthusiasm—said to the three of them, "Clear away ze items covering ze backside of ze cart. Zat's good, yes. Just pile zem atop ze rest of ze goods."

And once the back section had been cleared of all merchandise, Ysaac gave a forceful push to both pieces of wood simultaneously, causing the 'floor' of the cart along the back to pop out of place, revealing a hidden compartment below which ran the entire length of the cart.

The outlaws jumped back in surprise and then laughed at the ingenuity of the whole thing. Even Much, who was still mistrustful, had to admit that they would probably never have found the hidden space on their own.

Will, though, was completely absorbed in the design and construction of such a system and he couldn't resist poking his head beneath the cart in order to see how the whole thing worked once they had hauled out the two chests from within.

"You brought this cart with you on the ship from Acre?" Will asked.

"Oh yes. Zis cart goes everywhere with me. I change my horse many times, but my cart eez like my home and I carry it with me always. Most of ze time, I live out of it. Accept on ze rare occasions zat I stay with old friends during my travels."

"So you go back and forth between here and the Holy Land? Don't you have a permanent home?" Much asked—curious despite himself.

"Not for a great many years. But I do not limit my travels to England and ze Holy Land. I also travel all over Europe. I buy, sell and trade and I `ave been doing it for so long zat people come to expect me during certain times of ze year. So I also carry letters and messages back and forth between friends and loved ones `oo are kept apart by war or even just ze wide expanse of ze ocean," Ysaac explained.

"And Djaq's bird-man-friend paid you to bring her a message? Isn't he Saracen? Doesn't that get complicated...with the war and all?" Allan asked.

"Lord Bassam and I are very old friends and I volunteered to come `ere to bring `is letter. `e did not pay me to do so. But I do business with everyone. Saracen, Jew, Frenchman, English, Spaniard, Moor. Wealthy , poor, or in between. I am too old to care for such differences among men. And, being a Jew myself, I have little concern for ze outcome of zis so-called '`oly War.' I am friendly and discreet and I trade in all manner of goods. Zat seems to be enough for most people to trust me."

"Makes sense," Allan said, a little charmed by the idea of never settling down, of making a living talking people into parting with their coins in exchange for items they probably didn't need to begin with, of picking up and moving on before anyone had the chance to depend on him being around or to miss him being gone. There was a time that such a life would've held great appeal for a man like Allan A 'Dale…but he realized in that moment that such a time had passed.

"Eez ze Lady nearby? I weesh to see her, if I may, in order to offer her ze greetings of her kinsman."

"Uh, yeah. Just...just let me get this letter to her first, okay? Much, would you run ahead and take this letter to Djaq?" Will requested. "Explain Ysaac's presence to her while Allan and I help him get his cart off the main road." Much took the letter and nodded, narrowing his eyes at Ysaac in what he hoped served as a warning before jogging off into the trees.


"Djaq! Djaq!" Much called frantically as he barreled into the camp, hoarse and winded from the long run.

He stopped short when he nearly collided with her as she was on her feet at once, causing her hunting knife to fall with a clatter and the rabbit she'd been skinning to slump to the floor. "What's happened? Is he hurt? Please tell me that he is not dead!" she begged with wide-eyed panic, clutching at his collar.

"No! Nobody's dead…or hurt. It's alright. I'm sorry I scared you," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone, reaching out and giving her shoulder a squeeze. He should have known better than to run into camp shouting like that. A woman in Djaq's condition was probably rather easily frightened.

"Why on earth would you run in here yelling my name that way then?" she demanded, releasing him and focusing on smoothing out her clothing in an effort to control her pounding heart and steady her breathing. She had been a fool to react that way. After all, Much was always running in shouting for her. And Will was fine. Of course he was.

"There's a man!" he announced.

"Was he chasing you?" she asked angrily—hands on hips—looking him in the eye.

"Uh, no."

"Then?"

"S-Sorry, Djaq." He said sheepishly. "Are -Are you okay?"

"Yes, I think so," she huffed irritably. "Now tell me about this man."

"He's French! And he's here for you…to bring you something. Here." He shoved the parchment at her. "Will said to give you this while he and Allan moved the man's cart off the road."

Recognizing the blazon at once, she unsealed it, letting her eyes quickly run across the page.

"You should see his cart, Djaq! It's piled high with all this stuff! But that's not the best part. It's got this hidden compartment underneath that we never would have found if he hadn't told us. Will thinks it's wonderful, of course. You know how excited …"

Much's voice trailed off. Djaq would have assumed that he'd simply stopped talking but for the fact that she could just make him out—over the top of the page she held—as he gestured animatedly in his continued explanations of their encounter with the visitor and his cart. He was probably completely oblivious to the fact that she was now no longer listening and was instead thoroughly absorbed in the letter.

My dearest Saffiya,

How I pray that this message reaches your hands. I must admit that I am still afraid to fully believe the story that I have been told. It all seems too fantastic to be true. Too miraculous. When the youngest son of Basil abd-al-Muhaymin came to me this very morning and told me of encountering you…living as far off as England no less…I was not certain what to believe. I have always tried to maintain the hope that you were alive and had begun anew somewhere, but I confess that there were many days in which keeping such hope alive was indeed a struggle.

But you are alive, are you not, Little Dove? Oh I do not know how I shall ever survive the many long months until I may receive a reply from you. Is what I have been told about your current circumstances true? That you are involved in subversive activities in order to strike against injustice in England? I should not be surprised, I suppose. Your father used to say that you were the greatest problem-solver he had ever known, and I am happy to know that you have found a cause which you deem worthy of your efforts.

I worry for you, however, as the young Rashid has told me of the danger you face regularly. But I am told that there is one who looks after you now…a husband. I am glad for it. You deserve love and companionship and Rashid assures me that your husband is a very good man. I must say that I was surprised to learn that he is English and a Christian, but you know that I make no judgments on such matters…having lived too long to care about such distinctions.

I understand that he is without land or wealth however, and so I will, if you so desire it, look into what claims may be made regarding your inheritance and securing its smooth transfer to your future children at some point in time. Of course, as your husband is not of our faith, he must be excluded from such matters. I hope you will understand that this is not my wish, only the way that things have always been done.

You will be happy to know that I have managed your estate well in your absence. The property and goods that had been your mother's exclusively were redistributed amongst her living brothers and sisters when you did not return home after many months and rumors of your death began to be discussed. I will research what legal steps may be taken in order to right this matter, however, as soon as I receive your consent to do so. However the bulk of your father's estate remains securely intact. In fact, I am happy to be able to report to you that your wealth has increased by rather a large margin under my careful management.

As there was never any proof or even any direct statements to substantiate rumors of your death, I was able to keep my position as overseer of the estate, as was your father's wish until such a time as you came of age. But of course, things could be easily settled if you were to make an appearance here and put forth your claims in person, but if that is not possible for you at this time, I will attempt to act on your behalf. Although, I confess, that nothing would brighten my old age more than to see you one last time. Your husband is also most welcome, of course.

Rashid tells me that you have sent me your apologies. You must believe me when I say that there is no need. I understand why you ran away. I have always understood and I have never held any resentments over it. I only regret that I was unable to be more of a comfort to you in your hour of deepest sorrow. Perhaps had I been more perceptive, I would have understood that your pain went deeper even than I realized and I could have taken steps to help you. So there is no need for your apologies. My only wish is for your safety and happiness, which I have been assured that you have found. Praise be to Allah.

Ah my little dove, if only I had more time to record my thoughts here. There are so many things that I wish to tell you and so many questions I wish to ask. Rashid has woven a very strange and outrageous tale of his time in your new land. Tales of men scaling the sides of tall buildings like lizards rather than entering through doors, weeks where the rain never once ceases its falling from the sky, money that vanishes without a trace—as if by sorcery—even under the watchful eyes of armed guards. But that boy always did have his head in the clouds. I only pray that his tales of you are not exaggerated. I pray that you do, indeed, live and that you have found happiness. No one deserves contentment more than you.

You did right in advising the boy to come to me with word of his father's schemes. I do not dare commit too much to parchment, lest this letter reach other hands than yours, but you will be happy to know that his father's plans have all come to naught and I will send word to the sultan at once in order to alert him to the plots that surround him. Indeed, my child, I may yet see peace in my lifetime. Oh that it would be so.

I must close this letter now, although I am loathe to do so. But I am off to seek out someone to make the long and dangerous journey to deliver this message into your hands. I think I have someone I mind. Allah's peace be upon you, my child. And upon your husband as well.

Bassam ibn Khalil al-Qasim

There was an addition to the letter that had obviously been hastily scribbled at the last moment.

I am sending this letter with a very trusted friend. His name is Ysaac and he and I have known one another for years. He knew your father as well. I do not know if you will remember meeting him—although I am certain that you must have done so at some point during your childhood. Or perhaps you recall me speaking of him? He is a traveling merchant who passes through Acre a few times each year, during which he stays in my home. Two old men swapping tales of our younger days. He also travels through Europe and even makes his way as far as England at times. He claims some vague knowledge of this 'Robin Hood' with whom I am told you are associated. Rashid has told us of your approximate location and the steps to be taken in order to find you. I have given Ysaac the name of your husband so that he may inquire after your husband's people if he is unable to discover your whereabouts by other means.

I am including with him several items which I think will be of use to you in your new life as well as some items that I believe will have sentimental value to you, although I am certain that I will think of so many things that I should have included once he has gone. I am afraid that my mind is a flurry of thoughts and worries at this moment, but I dare not wait to send this until I am able to think more clearly. Ysaac will wait for a reply from you and I dare not breathe properly until I have something written in your own hand to offer my heart as proof that Allah indeed answers prayers.

Djaq held the parchment close to her chest as if that could somehow remove the distance between her and the man who had written upon it. She had asked Rashid to tell Bassam that she was alive and well, but this was far more than she had expected in return. She had assumed that he would be relieved to learn that she was alright and that would be as far as it went. After all, it was not as if he did not have children of his own. But he had always cared for her and her family and so she really should not be surprised that he would go far beyond what common courtesy demanded.

"…not a traitor like you're probably thinking, but a tra-der...a merchant. And he's heard of us…well, of Robin. And Will, I guess. But that's only `cause of you. So what do you think?" Much—who was still, apparently, speaking to her—asked when he'd paused for a breath.

"What? Oh, yes yes. A merchant." She hoped that her answer was a satisfactory one and gave no hint to the fact that she'd missed the majority of his speech. "This letter is from a very old friend of my family, Much, and he says that this man can be trusted. I should like to speak with him at once. Will you show me where he is waiting?"

"Well, I-I don't know if I should," Much replied.

"What? Why not?" she asked, confused.

"What if it's not safe for you? What if he's dangerous? Maybe you should just stay here," he insisted sensibly. After all, in her condition, she could easily get hurt. No. This man had come to deliver something and so he should just hand it over and go. That was best...safest. Yes.

"What do you mean? I just told you that he is not dangerous." She looked at him for a moment...waiting...and when he failed to offer anything further, she said, "Fine. I will go and find him myself."

"What? No! You're not supposed to leave the camp alone! Just stay here."

"Do not address me in that way! I am not a child! I am a grown woman who has experienced far more of the world than you ever will. Besides, I have been hunting every morning for the past week by myself, I still collect plants alone, and I will carry a weapon with me. You are being very silly, Much." As she moved toward the door, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"I-I can't let you go," he said nervously. He did not want to make her mad. Goodness knows that she was crankier these days than ever before. But he still couldn't be sure that the man could be trusted and, with Robin gone, somebody had to set the rules. Somebody had to look out for all of them. Somebody had to be sensible.

"Alright," she conceded with a sigh.

"What? Alright?"

"If you feel that it is best for me to remain here, then alright," she repeated.

"Oh...Um...O-okay. Good, then. That's settled," he breathed out in relief. He hadn't really expected it to be that easy. She could be quite tricky and stubborn usually. He was relieved that she was being so sensible. He walked over to the kitchen and eyed her pile of rabbits. "Would you like to help me make dinner? We could use one of your rabbits if you like," he offered as if trying to placate a disappointed child.

But as he turned to find out why she hadn't responded, he saw that she'd actually grabbed her sword and slipped out the door while he'd been talking. He should've known."Djaq!" He ran ahead to catch up with her, resigned to the fact that she was determined to do this with or without him.

"Ah, so you have decided to join me," she smirked as he caught up to her easily—as she could move no faster than a snail's pace anyway—and began steering her in the proper direction.

"That wasn't very nice, Djaq," he admonished. "I was only looking out for you. You shouldn't have tricked me."

She stifled a laugh. "Yes, I know that and I am sorry. Truly. But this man has traveled a great distance in order to bring me news from my home—" She stopped short and sighed at the piteous look he gave her. "Of course you know that this is my home now, Much. I did not mean to suggest otherwise. But, just imagine for a moment that, during your time in the Holy Land, someone had arrived with a message for you from Locksley. Would you not be very anxious to sit down with the man and find out all that you could about those you'd left behind?"

"I suppose," he answered reluctantly after considering the question. "But it's different. Locksley was always my home...not...not the Holy Land. I was only waiting for Robin to finish his service to the king and then I would get to go home. But you said that this is your home. So why are so interested in what you're missing over there?"

"Is that what this is about? Are you afraid that I am going to leave? Is that why you do not want me to talk with this man?" she asked in astonishment.

"What? No! Of course not! That's...that's just silly." He gave a hollow laugh. "I just...I was...well...yeah. I-I guess so," he admitted.

"You're not, are you?" he asked suddenly.

"No," she said firmly with a shake of her head. "I told you. This is my home. With Will and all of you. But you must understand that Acre will always be my home as well. I was born there and I do miss it at times. That does not mean that I am not happy here. Because I am. And I may wish to visit there one day when the war is over and people have had a bit of time to begin healing from all of the destruction. But I am not going anywhere for a very long time. And even if I do make a trip there, I will always come back home. You have my word. Alright?"

He nodded.

When they reached the entrance to the cluster of trees where the gang always concealed the carts and horses that they were making use of for whatever scheme they were working on at any given time, she quickened her pace almost unconsciously...anxious to see this man who had been an acquaintance of her father.

She entered the space quietly, hoping to get a good look at him before he saw her. She wondered if his face would be familiar to her, seeing as Bassam had written that she'd met him as a child. She looked around and immediately took in Will crouching under the cart. He was examining something very closely. Allan was standing by, looking rather bored. And there, standing just behind where Will was crouching, stood a tall and slender European man with hair and brows as white as English snow and a serene smile across his wrinkled face.

Djaq watched him carefully for a moment before making her presence known—hoping for some glimmer of recognition—as he explained something to Will. Suddenly he noticed her presence and looked at her curiously for a second before widening his smile.

She was slightly disappointed that there had been no spark of memory when their eyes met. If she had, indeed, known this man at some point in her life, she must have forgotten his face...along with the faces of so many others from her childhood. Sometimes it was simply easier that way.

"My Lady! It eez an `onor and a privilege to see you again." Ysaac greeted her warmly. "Ah, but you probably do not remember me, do you? You were so very young when last we met."

"I am sorry to say that I do not," she returned his smile with a tentative one of her own. "But I am pleased to meet you...or to renew our acquaintance."

Will, who had gotten to his feet upon hearing Ysaac greet Djaq, was at her side in an instant. "I didn't realize you knew each other."

"He was sent by Bassam. I have spoken to you of Bassam, have I not?" Will nodded. "Before our Saracen 'friend' departed for home, I asked him to tell Bassam that I am alive and well and living in England. So Bassam must have questioned him on where I could be found and then sent this man with a letter for me. The letter said that he and I had met during my childhood and I thought that I might remember him once I saw him, but I am afraid that I do not. He also writes that our 'friend' arrived home safely and that everything has gone in accordance with our plans," Djaq explained.

"I'm so glad," Will said, taking her hand and briefly squeezing it. He knew that, although she hadn't said much about it, Djaq had actually been very worried about Rashid's return trip and the reception that might be awaiting him at home. "But you didn't have to come out here, you know. We were gonna come to you just now. Allan and I just finished explaining to Ysaac why we'd have to blindfold him."

"I tried to get her to stay at the camp, but she wanted to talk to him in person." Much indicated Ysaac with a derisive nod which Ysaac seemed to politely ignore.

"Now I see why zese men `ave been so protective over you." He gave a swift glance to her belly and his smile widened. "Congratulations, my Lady."

"Thank you. Please, call me Dj...Saffiya. I am uncomfortable with...such...deference here," she said stiffly. She had wanted to ask him to call her Djaq, as she was now known, but seeing as he'd known her family, he would surely know of her brother's death and think it very odd that she would use his name.

"I...yes, of course, my La...Saffiya. I `ave brought you many gifts from your `omeland, you will find." He indicated the chests with a sweep of his hand. "And Lord Bassam sends `is warmest affections."

"Thank you. It was very kind of you make such a long journey on my behalf. Bassam has written of you as a most trusted friend." Now that she was face to face with him and engaged in conversation, she couldn't settle her mind enough to be able to ask him any of the questions that had been swirling through her head.

"Yes. `e and I `ave known one another for many long years, but I would `ave `appily undertaken zis journey in any event. I know zat you do not remember zis but your father once saved my life. I would do whatever possible to see zat `is daughter was well cared for." He smiled at the group who surrounded him. "And I see zat she is."

"You must be tired from your trip. Come. Our camp is not far from here." She turned to Will with a smirk and, indicating the cart, said, "That is, if you have finished playing with your new toy."

"I wasn't playing," he said defensively. "I was just...I was..."

"Yeah. You shoulda heard your husband. 'The blah blah connects to the blah blah blah making the blah blah move this way and that.' I'm glad you came to find us or he'd a had me here all day." Allan complained, with a laugh.

"Very funny," Will said to Allan with a scowl. Then to Djaq, "Come on. We can head to the camp. It really is fascinating though. You should see how it works. Maybe I can show you later?"

"I would like that," she answered, smiling at how truly adorable her husband was when intrigued by some new idea or invention. She never stopped marveling at his brilliance.

"Much, Allan, and I will take the trunks. Can you lead Ysaac?" Will asked Djaq as he shot Ysaac an apologetic look before tying a scarf across his eyes so the camp's location wouldn't be compromised.

"Perhaps ze rest of your men can be of assistance? Ze ones in ze trees?" Ysaac asked Will.

"Um…actually, we're all there is." Will answered sheepishly. "There are usually two or three others, but they're away. Robin included. We try to make our numbers seem as intimidating as we can, though. Sorry about that."

"Ah, I understand. Zat is probably wise."

"Of course I will lead him, but can the three of you carry both trunks at a time? They are rather large. Should you not make two trips?" Djaq asked.

"Uh, we're men, aren't we? We know what we're doing." Allan announced, swaggering over to the trunks.

"Um…uh maybe Djaq's right," Much managed to choke out as he and the others struggled to heave the trunks up. "Maybe we should just make two trips."

"What? Don't be daft. We're men, I say. We can mmmmake it," Allan grunted with the effort it took to keep the chests stacked and balanced while they walked.

"Yeah, Al...Allan's right," Will could barely get the words out for all of the huffing and puffing and straining required to keep from dropping everything—a task that was clearly just a bit beyond them. But they would never admit to such a thing...after all, they were men.

At the camp, Djaq removed the blindfold from Ysaac's eyes as the others dropped the trunks with an unceremonious plunk—each of them lacking the remaining strength to lower them carefully to the ground.

"Be careful!" Djaq commanded. These were gifts to her from her homeland and great care had been taken in order to ensure that they reached her safely. She would not allow the men's stubbornness—in refusing to admit that they should have simply made two trips—to cause any damage to them now.

"Please, sit. You must be exhausted," she addressed her guest as she sat down as well—Will and Allan taking seats on either side of her. "Can I get you some water?"

"I'll get it," Much offered. He didn't really know why the stranger was still with them, considering that he'd already done what he'd been sent to do. He'd delivered Djaq's message and her gifts. So it was time to move on, wasn't it? Why were they encouraging him to get cozy, anyway? But Much didn't want Djaq to have to run around fetching things for him.

"Thank you, Much," she said as he dipped a tankard into the large water butt they kept in the kitchen and brought it over to Ysaac.

"Merci," Ysaac said, taking the proffered cup and gulping it down in a rather hasty and undignified manner.

"De rien, " Much replied absently. Only when he'd looked up to see the others staring at him—eyes wide and mouths agape—did he realize what he'd done. It was too late though. He knew they'd make fun of him for sure now. In fact, they'd find hundreds of occasions to tease him for his slip. They never let anything go.

"Since when do you speak French?" Allan demanded.

"I-I don't, really," Much answered.

"You just did, we heard you." Djaq argued. "He said 'merci' and you very clearly answered with 'de rien'. Is that not so?"

"Well, yes. But...but I didn't mean to. It's just...it's a habit."

"A habit?" Will asked as if this were the most absurd thing he'd ever heard.

Much nodded, wishing they would just leave him alone and drop it.

"Not bein' funny, but I think we'd `a noticed you speaking French before," Allan said.

Much sighed and shrugged. "Most of the Crusaders in the Holy Land were Frankish and so I ended up picking up a bit of the language over there. And when he said merci, I accidently said de rien without realizing it. It just…it just came back to me, I guess. I only know how to say a couple of things."

"Like what?" Will asked.

Much shrugged.

"You should not be modest, friend." Ysaac said encouragingly. "To possess ze ability to converse in different tongues can be quite valuable. I myself `ave `ad to learn several languages in order to communicate with zose I meet and do business with. It eez not an easy task. You should be proud of your knowledge...even if it eez, as you say, only a few words."

"What other words do you know how to say, Much?" Will asked.

"W-well, I can say 'yes' and 'no'...um...'please', 'thank you' and 'you're welcome'...'good day'...hm...'king,' 'God,' 'sword and shield'…oh, and 'give me back my hat.' That's all."

The rest of the gang looked at Much, then at each other, then back at Much. They were very impressed. They were also trying very hard to suppress the giggles that had threatened to erupt upon hearing Much declare that he'd had to learn how to say 'give me back my hat' in French. Poor Much.

"Most impressive," Ysaac commended.

Much smiled—despite himself—as he moved to start supper.

"Zat reminds me of ze first time zat I met you, my Lady...forgive me...Saffiya....you could not `ave been more zan seven years old. I was very proud of my grasp of your native tongue, and so, when your father introduced me to you and your brother, I spoke to you in my very best Arabic, certain zat it was a chance to show off my mastery of ze language. You and your brother shared a look with one another and I could tell zat you found my pronunciation quite atrocious." He chuckled. "And zen you stepped forward with your `ead raised in an almost regal manner—never releasing your brother's arm—and you answered me in nearly impeccable French. Zen you stepped back with an unmistakable...`ow do you say sourire satisfait?" he turned to Much.

"Uh, that's not one of the words I know," Much replied with a shrug.

"A satisfied smile? Like…like a smirk?" Djaq offered.

"Yes. Yes. A smirk. Zat eez it."

"So you were snobby even way back then, huh? Some things never change," Allan teased, tugging her pigtail and earning himself a swat on the arm.

Djaq blushed. She really had been an arrogant child. She knew that and she wondered why no one had ever thought to put her in her place back then. Like the gang did now. They always let her know when she was being too bossy or condescending. It infuriated her at times—especially when she was convinced that she was right and they were wrong—but she knew that she needed it from time to time. "I am sorry for my rudeness back then. You must have found me horrible," she said.

"No no. I was quite impressed with you, if you must know. You were quite ze petite adulte. A little grown up," he said for the benefit of the others. "`elping your father and speaking so confidently to everyone around, despite all of the chaos that surrounded you. And you never once let go of your brother's `and. Or perhaps it was your brother `oo `eld onto you. I never could tell. I even asked your father about it once."

"Oh?" she asked.

"Ze two of zem were inseparable, you see," he explained to the others. "Always whispering between zem, finishing one another's stories and ideas, sharing jokes zat no one else understood. And one of zem was always `olding onto or following ze other. So one day I asked Sayed which of zem was ze leader."

He paused when he received a cautionary look from Will, who reached out and placed a protective arm around Djaq's shoulders and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Forgive me, Saffiya! But of course I am a fool. I forget zat most people are not as comfortable in ze past as an old man eez. It was not my weesh to upset you. I am sorry. Let us speak of more pleasant times."

"No. I am fine," she said, leaning her head against Will.

"Are you sure?" Will asked as he planted a light kiss to her temple.

"Yes, I am sure." And she meant it. For while Ysaac had been talking, she had been doing something that she so rarely allowed herself to do. Never if she could help it. She'd been remembering. She'd closed her eyes and allowed the happy memories to sweep over her mind and body. And she'd braced herself for the pain that she was certain would inevitably follow.

But it had never come.

Oh there was a slight twinge at first. But that was to be expected, surely. The deep rooted agony, however, had simply never taken hold. And she found that it felt good to think of Djaq. Of her times with him. She realized that, ever since the day she'd found out that he was gone, she'd been trying to live both of their lives for them.

And even though she now carried Djaq's name and was—in some ways—even more him than she was herself, she realized that she hadn't been honoring his memory at all. Not really. Honoring his memory would entail thinking about him. Remembering him fondly. Cherishing the good times they'd once shared. But she'd spent years trying every way she could think of to avoid thinking about him. She just hadn't been willing to face what she'd lost. So she'd buried it all inside.

Only more recently, when she was alone with Will, did some of those memories threaten to surface from time to time. And that was only because she sometimes became so content and comfortable with Will that she began to reminisce before she'd had time to stop herself. But this was different. Listening to Ysaac recount his memories and impressions of them...of their very special relationship...had actually made her want to remember.

"I am sure," she repeated, as much for herself as for the others. "Sometimes...sometimes it can be good to remember. So what did my father say when you asked him which of us was the leader?"

"`e replied zat `e did not know. Zat many `ad asked `im but zat `e `ad never been able to tell for certain. No one `ad. One of you was always pulling ze other zis way or zat, but `e never knew which of you it was. But `e told me with a laugh zat if `e `ad to guess, `e would say zat it was you...for you`ad been ze first one born. And `e said zat after so many months of playing together in your mother's womb, you must `ave decided zat it was time to take on ze world and you `ad dragged your brother out with you. `e said zat `e suspected zat you were still doing ze same."

He chuckled and the others, including Djaq, laughed along. It felt good to laugh over the past. Strange...but good. She had often envied the way that some people—Will included—could relive happy childhood memories without the guilt and the sadness of later times rushing in and enveloping them.

"Are you able to stay with us for a day or so? Or must you leave right away?" she asked.

"I will wait while you compose a reply to Lord Bassam," he said. "And, if it eez your wish, I can stay for a few days before I must continue on my way. But I `ave no weesh to impose," he answered.

"Nonsense. It is no imposition. You are our guest. I appreciate the trouble that you have gone to on my behalf and I want you to be comfortable here. Perhaps after you have rested a bit I may ask you some questions?" Although, frankly, she still wasn't exactly certain what she wanted to ask him.

"But of course. Anything you weesh to ask. But do you not weesh to open ze chests zat Lord Bassam has sent to you?"

The others had simply placed the chests on the ground and hadn't mentioned them to her at all—although she was certain that they must be very curious. But they would surely know what a big deal this was for her and how potentially difficult it would be. So they were waiting until she was ready.

And now she thought that she might be.

"Yes, I think that I will open them now. But may I ask a favor? Something that you may find a bit odd?" she asked carefully as Will went over to arrange the trunks in front of their new bed and Allan helped her to her feet.

"Whatever eez in my power to grant you," he replied.

"Would you call me Djaq? It...it is how I am known here. It was...easier that way...at first."

Everyone stopped what they were doing and waited to see how he would respond.

He knitted his bushy white brows for but a fleeting instant before replying, "Djaq it eez, zen."

"Thank you." She smiled.

"Ze larger of ze two chests contains items zat Lord Bassam felt you may need. Ze smaller one contains...well, zere are items in zere which belonged to your family," he said carefully.

"To my family?" she blinked.

"Some items of your father and one or two of your mother's that Lord Bassam `eld onto in case you should ever return. Also..." he paused.

"What? You may speak freely. I understand that this may be difficult for me. I am prepared. What is it you wish me to know?" Djaq asked him.

"Your brother's...personal effects...were delivered but a few weeks after you...departed. Zay are in zere as well," he explained.

"I...I see." Her hand flew unconsciously to her belly in an effort to calm the nervousness that suddenly plagued her. "I think that I will wait to open the smaller one until I have had a chance to go through the other. Thank you…for the warning."

As Will made space for them over by the chests, he picked up the cradle in order to get it out of the way. It had still been lying in front of the bed from when Will and Djaq were deciding where to put it earlier. "I'll just put this up then so it's not in your way. I'll get it back down whenever you want," he told her.

"Thank you," she said.

"May I see zat? If you do not mind?" Ysaac asked.

"Sure." Will shrugged and handed it over.

"My! Zis is exquisite! A true work of art! Such fine craftsmanship. Such detailing. Ze carvings are remarkable. Zay are eastern, no? I am always looking out for special items such as zis. You see, I have many customers `oo would pay a great deal of money for such a piece. Forgive my crudeness, but I must ask. Would you consider selling it to me? I would pay you `andsomely, of course."

"It belongs to Djaq. She's free to do what she wants with it," Will answered with a nod at his wife.

"I am sorry, but I could never part with it." She shook her head. "Not for any price. It is far too precious to me. It was a gift from my husband for our child, you see. The fine craftsmanship that you have been admiring is my husband's work. He is brilliant, is he not?" Djaq beamed up at Will who ducked his head, unsure what to say.

"You are an artisan? A craftsman?" Ysaac asked him, handing back the cradle with a slightly disappointed yet very impressed look.

"I-I was. Or I was meant to be, that is." Will answered simply as he placed the cradle in the loft where it was ordinarily kept. Everyone gathered around Djaq as she plopped down in front of the chests. "My father was a carpenter and I was to follow in his trade. But...circumstances prevented me."

Ysaac nodded thoughtfully. "Mm. Yes. Zat is often ze way of life, eez it not? I was meant to inherit land and title from my father. But when I was around twelve years of age, my father was forced to choose sides when a minor land dispute broke out between two of ze king's favorites. Unfortunately, `e chose ze wrong side and `e ended up being `anged for it."

"Oh I'm sorry," Will said sincerely, taking a seat next to Djaq on the bed.

"That's horrible!" Much exclaimed, leaving supper to simmer and coming to join the others.

"Yes," Ysaac replied. "And all of his property was forfeit, leaving my mother and me destitute and living in ze street."

"So, what'd you do?" Allan asked.

"I `ad been groomed only for taking over our estate one day...so I `ad no real skills to speak of. But I was fortunate enough to be offered ze job of cleaning out ze stables on ze estate of a friend of my father. It paid enough to buy bread for my mother and we were permitted to sleep in ze stables on rainy nights. I worked zere until she died—of a broken heart and spirit—one year later. Zen, I decided to make my own way. I became ze servant to a band of traveling merchants in order to `ave food, shelter, and ze company of others…and from zem I learned my current occupation. I will never be a wealthy man, but I `ave done well for myself and I `ave met many interesting people along ze way."

As Djaq sifted through the contents of the larger of the trunks before her, Ysaac continued to answer questions about his travels and recount tales of his life. Of how he'd come to know Djaq's father and Bassam and his memories of more peaceful times in the Holy Land.

He spoke of the beautiful Moorish woman he'd met and fallen in love with in Spain many years ago and how she'd agreed to become his wife even over the protests of those around them. And he told of how he'd lost her—to illness—only a few short years later and that not a day had gone by that he hadn't counted himself well-blessed for having known and loved her at all—even for such a short time.

Djaq listened intently as Ysaac spoke—being particularly interested, naturally, in the stories that involved her or her family—while she showed her fellow outlaws the items he'd brought. There were several medicines and spices. Many of which were very difficult to come by in England and all of which were also—she was certain—quite expensive. There were also several bolts of what Djaq recognized to be the finest quality silk. She selected one—of a light blue shade—and held it up to the light to show the others—who seemed even more excited than she was at discovering the wonders contained in the trunks.

"Wow. I've never seen cloth that thin before," Will said.

"And just look at how it shimmers," Much marveled, reaching out and running a hand over it. "Almost like water. It's even prettier than what Marian's clothes are made of."

"I tried to tell Lord Bassam zat clothing made from such material may not be best suited to ze weather in England, but `e insisted zat you needed it. I do not believe zat `e understands your life `ere." Ysaac shrugged apologetically.

"Hm. It is lovely, and the quality is obviously very fine. But you are right about its suitability…and not only due to the weather here. There are many in the nobility who would do quick work of discrediting us and the work that we do if given the chance. And I am afraid that if we were seen to be dressed in such obviously expensive materials, it would only raise questions about how much of what we seize from the rich is actually distributed and how much of it we keep for ourselves."

"Nah. We'll just tell people where it came from," Allan said. "They'll understand. We're always doing things for everybody else. They won't begrudge us having something nice for a change."

"Words would not be nearly enough. As Robin Hood's men, we must always remain above reproach in the eyes of the people we help. You know that," she said.

"So what are you thinking of doing?" Will asked.

"You could take it back," she said to Ysaac. "I do not wish to offend you…or Bassam, but I cannot see how it could be put to good use here and I would hate for something so expensive to go to waste," she explained apologetically.

"Yes, I see zat what you say is true. But could you not simply trade it for something of more practical use to you? Something zat will not raise questions or zat can even be used to aid in your cause?" Ysaac responded.

"That is an idea," Djaq said thoughtfully.

"We could do that," Will said to Djaq. "Robin could take it with him the next time he trades the jewelry and other stuff we take off the nobles. He could probably get a really good price. Or even just trade it for our winter supplies."

"Or that green one there would make an awfully pretty dress for a certain very pretty redhead I know," Allan hinted.

"Allan, what's Rebecca gonna do with a dress made out of silk? Wear it to work in the kitchens?" Will laughed.

"Why not give her something more practical, Allan? Something she can use often and think of you whenever she does." Djaq added.

"Girls don't care about what's practical. They like pretty things," he replied. Then, at the skeptical look Djaq gave him, he added, "`cept for you, of course. You'd probably get all sappy if a man handed you a bunch of stinky herbs."

"I do not get sappy!" she bristled. "Besides, herbs are very useful."

Seeing her pout, Will whispered against her ear, "I promise to bring you stinky herbs whenever you like, my love." Which made her squirm and giggle in a rather un-Djaq-like way.

"It's awfully nice fabric, though. And it would make for soft bed coverings," Much added hopefully.

"It's up to you, Djaq. This stuff is all yours and we'll do whatever you want," Will told her.

"We will consider it later. Once Robin returns," she replied, returning her attention to the trunk and its contents.

After pulling out and passing around an assortment of bath oils, dried fruits, several jars of fine olive oil, and numerous other items—some useful, some luxurious—Djaq reached in and discovered a rather good-sized box nestled in the bottom. When she opened it, everyone fell silent.

Finally, Ysaac—obviously confused by the silence—said, "Zat silver is yours, my La—Djaq. From your estate. Zere is plenty more, of course. But Lord Bassam was not certain if I would be able to locate you, and so `e only sent a small amount zis time."

"A small amount?" Will asked, astonished. He had seen more silver coins all in one place before in his life, but only a few times. And it had always belonged to the Sheriff. Even the nobles who traveled through the forest never had that much money. Did it really belong to Djaq? And was it possible that this really was just a small portion of what she owned?

Djaq didn't say anything. At all. She still hadn't quite worked out how to explain her inheritance to Will. She had always assumed that she'd given up any rights to her family's money when she'd left home and not returned. So finding out that she was a rather wealthy woman was a shock and left her wondering what to do. Especially since she knew how Will regarded wealth and nobility—with contempt.

He had fallen in love with a fellow soldier…an outlaw like himself. Not an heiress. She wasn't worried that he'd love her less because of it—he was a better man than that. But she was concerned about his reaction. In particular, she wondered how to make him understand that—because of his faith—he was excluded from any claim to her fortune. A fact that actually made her question whether she wanted any of it at all.

"Not being funny, but if that's a small amount then I'm the Sheriff of Nottingham." Allan said.

Djaq closed the box of silver coins and set it aside without a word—garnering some curious glances from the men present. She then reached in and found what appeared to be a rolled up mat made of straw or some similar material. Will helped her lift it out and unroll it. Inside were numerous daggers and swords of assorted sizes and shapes—long, short, curved, straight—all bundled together and wrapped in cloth, as well as several quivers of expertly-made arrows.

"Now these will most certainly come in handy for us," Djaq declared as the others moved in for closer inspection—picking up and examining the different blades, testing out the weight and balance of the swords, taking practice swings through the air .

"Ah yes. I usually do not transport or trade in weapons. Zat can be a rather dangerous business zese days. But Lord Bassam was informed zat your cause was such zat zese might be of some use to you," he explained. "`e worries for your safety, you see."

"Please, tell him that I am fine. That I am always very careful," she said. "But do thank him. I will do so as well when I write to him. We do not often get weapons of this type. Although, I must say that the English swords and bows we use are of an excellent quality. I was surprised to discover their usefulness when I first arrived here and began fighting with these men. I had always assumed that European weaponry was somewhat crude and useless. I have learned to appreciate a great many things about this land and its people."

"Yes, I too `ave learned to set aside some of ze prejudices of my youth during my dealings with people. It can be an `umbling experience, can it not?"

"You are right," she agreed.

"Supper's ready," Much called out. "Should I serve it now, or after you open the second trunk?" he asked Djaq.

"Actually, I was thinking that I would not open that one just yet. That I would save it for another time," she said.

"Whatever you want," Will told her.

"If…if that is alright with you," she said to Ysaac.

"Yes, of course. Whatever eez easiest for you, my dear," he replied.

"Aww. But we want to see what's in it," Much complained.

"She'll show us later, Much. When she's ready," Allan scolded.

"I guess," Much grumbled as he plated up the stew while Will and Djaq replaced the items in the trunk and closed the lid.

During the meal—which Ysaac complimented several times…finally earning him Much's trust and approval—Djaq asked Ysaac to share anymore stories he may have about her father or any he may remember from her childhood. He graciously obliged and the meal passed in an enjoyable and relaxed manner.


A little while later, Will and Djaq were at the stream together. As they were well into autumn now, they always took their bath long before sunset—when the water began to cool. Will was touting the virtues of the device that was used to operate the release on the hidden section of Ysaac's cart, and Djaq was happily listening—enjoying his excitement and interjecting a question here or a comment there—while she rubbed his tired shoulders and washed his hair.

"So the amount of force can be controlled by how much tension is built up in the rope," he explained, using his hands to demonstrate while he spoke. "It depends on the length and width of the rope and on how much you twist it. If you bind it tightly enough, when it's released, it'll propel whatever's in front of it forward. Just like the false floor of his cart. You see?"

"Yes. Very exciting. Now tip your head back," Djaq ordered from behind him.

Will complied and shivered slightly as she cupped her hands and trickled water over his head in order to rinse out the lather she'd been working into his hair. The scent of lavender wafted about his nose and he sighed contentedly as she repeated the process and then went about scrubbing his ears and the back of his neck. He loved her ministrations. She always took such good care of him.

"You know, this new way is going to allow for much greater control than the bow method I've been using. Like night and day really. And if the rope is made strong enough, a device should last much longer because I won't have to worry about twigs snapping all the time the way I do now," he said as she gave his head and neck one final rinse before kissing his shoulder lightly.

"There," she said "All clean. And I am glad that this new method will work better for you, but I did not see any problem with the old way. Everything you have designed using that method is brilliant."

"You always say that," he dismissed her praise with a characteristic blush. He sometimes laughed at himself over the way that her pride in him still had such an effect. He certainly didn't do things in an attempt to garner such admiration from her, but the fact was that everything he did was for her in one way or another. So the fact that she valued and appreciated his efforts pleased him immensely despite himself.

"Because it is always true," she said, kissing his other shoulder. "But I am glad that this has given you some good ideas. I know how much you enjoy new projects, and with winter coming, it will give you something to occupy yourself so you do not become bored when there is less to do."

"I'm sorry for rattling on and on about this though."

"Nonsense. I never grow tired of listening to you. You know that," she told him as she came around to lean her back against his chest, letting her head fall comfortably back onto his shoulder. "It makes me happy when you find things that challenge you this way."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "But what about you?"

"Me?" she asked.

"Yeah. There's obviously something you want to say. You've been avoiding it so far, and that's okay I guess. You know that I would never demand anything more than you're willing to give, Djaq. So if you don't want to talk, that's fine. But…"

"But?"

"Well, it's just that I get the feeling that you do want to talk. But you're just…nervous for some reason," he loosened his grip on her and turned her around to face him, looking her in the eyes. "You can tell me anything. If you want to, that is."

She sighed. "How is it that you know me so well?" she asked.

"Lots of careful study," he answered with a chuckle, planting three quick kisses to the tip of her nose. "Is this about the silver?"

He'd wondered about her reaction to the box of silver…or rather, her lack of a reaction. She'd seemed very uncomfortable about the whole thing but he hadn't wanted to press her. Especially since he knew that there must be so many different emotions swirling around inside of her right now.

Ysaac's arrival, his stories about her loved ones and her childhood, the gifts that he'd brought her, the letter. It must all seem so overwhelming. Not that Djaq would ever show it, of course. Even to Will. But still, he'd had the distinct impression that she was trying to work up the nerve or to find the best way to tell him something important.

"Yes. In a way it is about the silver," she did not elaborate immediately, instead turning and snuggling back against him. Finally, she began. "As Ysaac said, that money is mine."

He waited. Surely that wasn't all there was to it. He worried over what could be so difficult for her to say to him.

"There…there is much more of it, you see. Land and money. Perhaps a few other things…art or items of value such as that. I do not really know for certain what is left," she said carefully, pausing for his reaction.

"Okay," he said slowly, unsure what she expected him to say.

It wasn't as if he didn't know that she came from wealth. Her friend Bassam was obviously a man of affluence. This didn't surprise him, really. He'd always known—long before Rashid had come to Nottingham and Will had seen firsthand how comfortable Djaq was in that world—that she'd been noble-born. They all knew. How could they not? She was educated, well-mannered and more than a little bossy.

They'd just never brought it up unless she had. She'd always seemed content to live as they did and that had been good enough for them. Her past really wasn't any of their business. Although, Will had always assumed that she'd lost everything at some point. She'd often implied as much—without going into any great detail. But now he knew differently.

She was a woman of means. She probably had enough to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life. He was glad of it. He'd always worried that he wouldn't be able to give her and the baby what they needed…even once the king did return. But now he knew that she'd always have enough.

Wait. Was that what this was about?

"Djaq, you don't…you're not worried that I would resent your wealth, are you? That I would begrudge you for it?" he asked incredulously.

"I know how you feel about that," she answered, her voice filled with what sounded very much like regret.

"About what?"

"Wealth. Nobility. You have never made a secret of the fact that you despise such things," she answered. "But you must believe me when I tell you that I had no idea that I still had any claim to my father's estate. I assumed that I had forfeited all rights when I left home and let people think that I was dead. I would never have lied to you about that," she said desperately, turning again to face him.

"Of course I believe you, Djaq. Why would I doubt you? And I don't despise wealth. Why would you say that?"

"Oh come on, Will. Of course you do. You hate the nobles. You say it all the time." She held his gaze steadily.

"Oh," was all he could manage at first, looking away from her. He did say it all the time. And he supposed that a part of him did hate them. Or rather, he hated what they stood for. They flaunted and horded their riches, while good men and women worked themselves into an early grave just to afford bread to fill their bellies.

He hated the fact that, while mothers starved and parents had to find new ways to explain to hungry children why there would be no broth again tonight, these people tossed the 'scraps' from their table to their dogs rather than giving to those in need—scraps that could have fed four families at least.

But he could never feel that way about her. And it cut him deeply that she thought he could. He met her gaze again.

"The nobles that I learned to hate growing up were the kind of people who thought they deserved more than us simply by virtue of their birth. The kind of men who would easily step over a starving stranger in the street—someone who'd probably lost everything due to an inability to meet his taxes…no matter how hard or how long he worked. And these men would step over someone like that with no thought other than what an inconvenience it was, rather than taking a second out of the day to offer a pence. A pence! Something that meant so little to them. But a pence would have bought that man's family two chickens or two dozen eggs. But no. We were nothing. Nobody. To them, at least." He sighed, trying to reel in his temper and gather his thoughts back to where he wanted them to be.

"But I could never feel that way about you. In God's name, Djaq, how could you even think that? I love you and I'm sorry for whatever I've said or done that would make you believe that I would rather see you poor and hungry than have what is rightfully yours. I know that you're nothing like the rest of them. You care about people. You give everything you have to people who, by all rights, you should think of as enemies. You deserve that money. It's yours. It belonged to your family and you have every right to it. I could never begrudge you that."

"Oh I am sorry, Will. Forgive me. I did not mean…it did not come out the way that I intended. I did not mean to hurt you or make you angry."

"I'm not angry," he snapped, to which she gave him one of her raised-eyebrow looks. "Well, maybe a little. But only because you should know me better than that. I'm glad to know you'll always have what you need. I've always felt bad that I can't…provide you with…more security," he explained, leaning in to kiss her lips.

She pulled back. "That is not all."

"There's more?"

Nod.

"Okay," he said carefully, now fully dreading whatever she was struggling to say.

"You must understand that Islamic inheritance laws are extremely strict and complicated. One cannot simply bequeath property according to preference. There are laws governing such things. It is all very complex, and most of it is not necessary for you to understand anyway, except as it applies to you."

"To me? Why would it apply to me at all? It's your money, Djaq. What does it have to do with me?"

"Well, that's just it. It is mine. Only mine. I am sorry, but I…I cannot give it to you legally because you are not of my faith. Not the land deeds, anyway. I can give you the money, of course. But, if anything happened to me, you…you would have no claim to anything. Do you understand?" she asked.

"I think so. But what does that matter? I don't want your money or your lands. I only want you. Keep what is yours. And if anything ever happened to take you away from me, then no amount of wealth could ever compensate me for such a loss anyway. I don't understand why you're troubling yourself over this."

"But I do not want anything that I cannot share with you. You have shared everything you have with me. And it hardly seems fair anyway. As I said to the others earlier, it would not be right for us to live in comfort while the people we fight for struggle and starve," she said.

"So what are you saying?" he asked.

"In Bassam's letter, he asked me to reply to him and tell him how I wanted him to handle this for me. Apparently, he has been overseeing my father's estate and he said that it has grown quite a bit under his management. He offered to see to the paperwork involved in arranging to set it up so that our children can inherit—"

"Does he know that you're—"

"No. No not yet," she said. "He only mentioned future children. But I will include the news of the baby in my letter to him. I am planning, though, on telling him that all of my needs are met here and that I want to relinquish any claim to my family's estate. My only worry is offending him or hurting his feelings. He has cared for all of this in my absence, all in the hope that I was still alive and would one day return. I hope that he will not take this news too hard. And as for the silver that he has already sent, I thought that we could use it to aid the villagers this winter. What do you think?"

"No. No, Djaq. That money is yours! All of it. The money that we give to the villagers comes from the Sheriff or the nobles...and that's as it should be. They are the ones who take that money from hard-working people in the first place. So what we're doing is giving it back to the people who've already earned it. But your money is yours. No one else's. If…if it's bothering you, then give ten percent of it just like we ask of everyone else. But don't give it all," he pleaded.

"Why not? You have said yourself, many times in fact, that winters are very hard on the peasantry. Nothing grows, it is too difficult to keep livestock, there is little hunting to be done. Besides, the cold keeps the nobles inside and off the roads. So there are fewer chances for us to rob them to meet the needs in the villages. We now have the ability to make sure that this winter, at least, is not nearly as bleak."

He took her in his arms, then, and kissed her soundly. "You are the most wonderful woman in the world. Sometimes I can't believe that you're real. But I want you to reconsider this. All of it. You say that our child can inherit your estate?" he asked.

"Yes. Of course. If I so arrange it. But I—"

"And what if he or she wants to travel to your homeland sometime in the future? Shouldn't he or she be able to hold onto something from your family? I don't care about the money and I don't care about not being included. I will be happy with you rich or poor. But I do care about you and the baby giving all of that up out of some sense of loyalty to me or to the villagers. Why don't you write to him and ask him to arrange it as he's suggested. Please? Will you at least think about it?"

"It will not bother you? You would not feel—"

"It will bother me if you give up what is yours out of some misplaced belief that I expect it. I couldn't live with that, Djaq. I can't tell you what to do and I'd be a fool to try anyway," he smiled and stroked one of her pigtails. "But I'm asking you to reconsider."

She nodded solemnly.

"Good."

"Thank you," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close as best she could given the cumbersome size of her belly. "I love you."

"I love you too. More than anything," he answered as he held her, knowing that he was the luckiest man in the world. "Now come on. We'd better get out of this water before we get all wrinkly," he laughed as he guided her towards the embankment.

"But I like you all wrinkly," she said suggestively.

"Is that right?" he asked, pulling her back into the deeper water.

"Mm-hm."

"Well then maybe we can stay just a bit longer," he said in a husky voice as she began to trail warm kisses all the way up his arms to his shoulders.

"How much longer?" she asked, looking up at him hungrily.

"As long as it takes," he whispered, leaning down and claiming her lips.


A/N:Next Chapter, Djaq gives birth. Yippie! Finally, right? I'm very unhappy with this chapter. That's why it was so late being posted. I kept thinking I could somehow make it better. But, sadly, no. I can't say exactly what I hate about it. Just that it really doesn't feel right to me at all. Maybe I'm just feeling really melancholy because the story is winding down. Maybe the closer we get to the end, the more I'm unconsciously dragging my feet. I don't know. Whatever the reason, I'm not satisfied with this chapter. But I don't think that would have changed no matter how long I worked on it. Please, though, let me know what you think and how you think it might have worked better. Thanks so much!