A/N: Thanks as always go out to whatsthefracas and girlonthehill for their fabulous beta skills—I would look like a novice without you (perhaps even a novice novice trying to write a novel? :) ).

Chapter Thirty-four: Runaway Bride

Deirdre moved restlessly around her cell. It had been a week now—a week of eating little bits of bug-ridden food, drinking stagnant water, and sleeping on a flea infested cot. She counted her blessings that Guy had seen fit to come down and order her given a cell that was removed from the other occupied cells and so she was given relative peace. Still, Deirdre had been unable to wash and she itched all over from bugs, bug-bites, and general filth. Her hair was lank and greasy, she stank, her stomach was in a constant state of discomfort—she hadn't been this dirty since her first stay in Nottingham's jail last autumn. She was also worried and angry that Allan hadn't been to see her since that first day, nor had Guy been down to visit since his last interrogation. The only one who had come to see her every day had been Marian, and since she refused to get Deirdre the herbs she requested, Marian had been a source of irritation rather than of comfort.

It was in this generally bad mood that Guy found Deirdre as he stepped into the gloom of the dungeon. He was in a buoyant mood himself; by the next night she would be his, and his place in the world would be that much more secure. His mood soured as he looked upon his beautiful bride-to-be in the squalor of the dungeon. Had he not known her from before, he would have been hard-pressed not to run from the idea of the marriage that he had arranged for himself. On top of her physical appearance, she turned a look on him that dropped the temperature of the rooms; Guy could almost swear he saw his breath. She would definitely be a challenge, but Guy was tired of fighting—he would have to break her hard, and quickly, if he was to have a life of ease in his own home. He was disappointed to find that not only had prison life not done the job for him—rather, it seemed to have made his impending task that much harder. Instead of being meek and mild, she seemed more like a wild thing that would tear off his hand if he held it out to her. He swallowed and squared his shoulders as he walked up to her cell, keys in hand. He opened the door and she stayed, glaring wordlessly at him.

"Deirdre, you'll come with me." He gave the command and turned to walk away, then turned back in confusion when he didn't hear movement. Deirdre stood staring at him, eyebrows arched haughtily, arms crossed over her chest belligerently. He growled at her, "Well, don't you want out?"

"That's all you have to say to me? I've been in here a whole week and you haven't come to visit me since…" Deirdre paused as a new thought sparked in her mind; the thought that maybe he had changed his. She blew carefully on the embers of the idea, hoping for it to grow into a flame that would warm her hopeless heart. She dropped her attitude quickly, letting her shoulders and head sag in defeat.

"You must be very disappointed in me, Guy. I'm sorry I couldn't be the wife you wanted. I'm certain that my father will pay you for your trouble."

Guy lowered his eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Deirdre looked up doe-eyed at Guy. "I assume you will want to break the marriage contract, seeing as my reputation is no longer without blemish."

Guy snorted in derision and shook his head, turning slightly away before turning back to her. "If you think that you can so easily get out of the marriage contract, you are mistaken."

Deirdre raised her eyes to him incredulously. "Easily? Easily? You think robbing the sheriff, getting caught, getting thrown into this place, eating this 'food,' is easy?"

Guy grinned at her, his laughter this time containing a trace of humor.

Deirdre gave him a light laugh herself before sobering. She stepped toward him. "Seriously Guy, let me out of this contract and you will still be rewarded greatly. My father will pay handsomely and perhaps I can even get him to give you a position in his household. You would never have to worry about your place again."

Guy's face dropped. "Am I truly so horrible?"

"Guy, you know that's not it. You are a fine man. You deserve someone who can love you—I cannot."

Guy's expression hardened as he turned from her. "Come with me. The sheriff has agreed to release you."

Deirdre followed Guy cautiously. "Where are we going?" she asked as they ascended into the main hall and crossed to the stairwell that led to the bedrooms.

"We are going to get you cleaned up and looking like a proper lady again," Guy responded without looking back. He led her to her rooms and she stepped inside, greeted by the sight of a steaming tub fragrant with herbs. She wanted desperately to dive in head first and soak for days.

"Betsy will be by in a moment to attend you. You will stay in your room. Food will be brought to you. Sleep well." Guy looked at Deirdre, waiting for her to express her gratitude.

Deirdre looked skeptically to the sun, still high in the sky, and then turned to accuse Guy, "Am I to exchange one prison for another then?"

Guy blinked, nonplussed, before glaring at her. The woman was absolutely infuriating. She should be grateful that she was not to hang. She should be thankful that she was to have a bath, and proper food, a maid to attend her. She should be on her knees thanking God that her husband-to-be was young and strong and not unattractive, rather than some toothless old man. Here she was, complaining about it all instead. Guy's fists flexed involuntarily and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth to hold in his temper. "You will do as you are told, woman. You had better get used to that," he added, striding angrily out of the room.

Deirdre stood staring at the door for a moment before undressing and stepping into the bath with a sigh of sheer pleasure. By the time Betsy came, Deirdre had fallen asleep.

The smell of fresh-baked bread and meat pies awoke Deirdre. She inhaled the scent, letting it wash over her, and then stared in confusion at the pillow under her head. Betsy sat before the fire sewing. The maid looked up as Deirdre raised her head and sat up.

"Well, you've slept away the day," Betsy scolded with a glance to the dark sky.

Deirdre glanced anxiously at the window. She got up and quickly dressed in her riding pants and dark cloak, pulling her golden hair up tight on her head.

Betsy looked to her mistress warily. "What are you up to?"

"Look Betsy, Guy plans on marrying me tomorrow and I'm not going to stay around for the ceremony."

"Where will you go? How will you get out?"

"I don't know yet." Deirdre expelled a breath in frustration, "But I can't stay here." She opened the door and was greeted by two sheepish-looking guards.

"Sorry, Milady," said the one on her right, "but we can't let you out. Orders from Sir Guy."

Deirdre sighed, closing the door, and strode to the back wall; opening the panel, she found another equally sheepish guard. She had helped the families of many of the guards—the ones at her doors were among them. She frowned at the man's refusal to move and went back into the room to think. She wanted to escape, but could she hurt or possibly kill one of these men—men she knew—to do it? Deirdre went to the window and looked down, knowing already that it was too far of a drop. She collapsed into a chair in frustration, sulkily closing her hand over her fist as she stared into the fire. Betsy raised an eyebrow before returning to her sewing. After a time, she spoke. "You know, you could do worse than being Sir Guy's wife."

Deirdre raised her head slightly to stare incredulously at the maid. "You of all people should know why I can't do that!"

"Do you think you'd be the first woman to go to her marriage bed having already known a man?"

"That's not the point, Betsy and you know it! Allan and I are married! I love Allan. I'll not marry Guy! I'd sooner jump out of that window!"

In the darkness of the hallway, the lone guard that Guy had placed there crumpled into a heap. A dark form put his sword down and pushed on the wall, opening the door before stepping through over the unconscious form of the guard.

Deirdre's eyes opened wide in shock as a cloaked man stepped into her room. Betsy put a hand to her chest in alarm, but Deirdre waved her hand, shushing the maid. The figure raised a finger to his lips, then beckoned Deirdre to him. Deirdre looked at those lips, at the twinkling blue eyes peeking below the hood, and smiled. She held up a finger to him to bid him to wait just a moment, grabbed a couple of things, hugged Betsy, and turned back to leave.

"Milady," Betsy's urgent whisper stopped Deirdre in her tracks. "What'll I say to the guards? They'll want to know where you went and why I didn't try to stop you."

"You're right." Deirdre reached for some strips of cloth and looked with raised eyebrows at Betsy. The older maid sighed and put her hands on the arms of the chair so that Deirdre could more easily bind her. Before Deirdre had a chance to gag her, Betsy whispered, "You be careful." Betsy looked to the enshrouded man, relatively sure she knew who he was. "And you take care of her." The man nodded his assent as Deirdre affixed the gag.

"I'm sorry Betsy. At least you won't get into trouble this way." Deirdre kissed the maid's cheek and turned to escape out the door with her rescuer.

In the hallway, the dark-clad man pushed Deirdre up against the wall, kissing her deeply. Deirdre wrapped her arms around Allan's neck and returned his kiss. The two melted into one another for a moment, savoring each other after their long, enforced abstinence. When finally they broke apart, Allan took Deirdre's arm to help her over the inert form of the guard on the floor. He knelt carefully to bind and gag the guard and pick up a bundle from the floor, then he guided Deirdre back toward the store room. He urged her to put on the uniform he had removed from the guard before he carefully checked the room beyond the door. He turned to Deirdre, handing her the small bundle in which he had carefully wrapped some of Marian's small, inconspicuous knives. "Make your way to the west gate. I've told them that one of Sir Guy's guards is leaving early for Locksley to prepare for the Lord and Lady's return."

The way he said it had her asking, "You're coming with me, aren't you?"

Allan looked to the floor before raising his eyes to look into hers. "I can't yet, Deirdre."

"What?!"

"Shhhh!" Allan whispered nervously, glancing furtively toward the door. "I can't come with you just yet. If they suspect me, we're both in trouble."

"What if they already suspect you? I think I threw Guy off your trail, but what if I didn't? Allan, you have to come with me. Please." Deirdre had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Allan was not to be swayed though. "Look, I'm sure Giz may suspect a little, but he won't come after me unless 'e's sure. Besides, I can do us more good on the inside. I'll stay here and learn what I can. As soon as I hear that you're free, I'll come for you, I swear! For now, you've got to go. Don't go to Dun Aisling. Go to the cave—you remember the one." Deirdre nodded, swallowing miserably. "If you are ever in trouble, find Robin 'ood."

"Robin Hood? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. 'e may hate me, but he'll 'elp you. I've brought a few things to the cave to keep you for now." Allan rubbed her arms, leaning down to kiss her one last time, then nuzzled her neck, savoring the scent of her skin, its silky warmth beneath his lips.

Deirdre pulled away from Allan, wiping the tears from her eyes and straightening her shoulders before turning to leave.