Lacie chewed on the corner of her lip with a stubborn flare. Her emerald eyes rolled once again in regard to her husband as she read the note over again. Forgive me, it said, and know that I will always love you. She slid it onto the corner of her mantle and focused again on the group of daisies that were attached. Guy always tried to cover ground and make up for lost time in the wake of arguments, and she easily admitted that it was a glorious gesture on his part. And yet, she was regularly puzzled on how he could always assume forgiveness was an instant process. Lacie would never complain about receiving flowers and love letters, though. An inkling of guilt floated through her veins telling her not to be so rude. Why cling to anger? She had also been out of line last night, honesty prevailing. Being an only child she allowed herself to be a bit of a brat for a while more.

Exiting into the hall she could hear the jeers and fury of citizens drifting through the courtyard and in through thin windows. Signaled by the breaking of dawn townsfolk were manic about the slander and accusations confronting Guy. Of course Lacie knew every one of them was true; and, with more veracity, they weren't too thrilled with his original appointment to Sherriff in the first place. Too brutal, they said. Too selfish, they claimed. Too shady, they cried. Now that word of Seth's life, and death, had leaked out hell had flooded the city. She had made a point to instruct Margaret to stay within the thick stone walls near the center of the premises to avoid harm, fearing what had happened to her son at sunrise would happen to her little girl as well.

Lacie wound up a case of spiral steps to the doctor's territory where bottles and jars of eerie and potent mixtures lined the walls. On a cot lie Drake, false strength caked on like make up to his face. The arrow that had been fired into his shoulder by an insurgent had been successfully removed with excruciating pain and pools of blood, but the wound was not clearing. The heir to the Gisborne title burned energy with a smile to his mother. She went to his left side, opposite her husband's seating, and knelt down with a tight hold on her son's hand. Both of them felt the fire in Guy's soul but did not pay him attention.

"How do you feel?" she weakly put in positive energy.

"Like I got shot." Was his sarcastic reply.

"Drake…"

"Hurts like hell, Mum," He cringed his nose up as another hot wave pulsed from the sore, "I shouldn't have gone out there. Should have known better, but I wanted them to know –"

"Shhhhh, my dear, don't talk. It's going to be alright." Lacie kissed his hand and noticed her husband's demeanor; it was grief, empty of pain or anger, empty of anything. Her gaze fired over to the castle's physician who dared not look directly back at her. Eventually an answer was coaxed from him.

"M'lady, I have done many, many things here but I don't see that they are very effective."

"Try harder." She demanded. The doctor gave a nod and turned back to his formulas and concoctions. Gisborne itched all over and ached deeper in his tissue than what he realized existed, knowing he could not stay here, he could not handle this. He rose and placed his bare hand on the back of his son's head with affection.

"Drake, remember what I told you."

"Yes, Dad."

"Always… always remember it." Guy pressed. Drake nodded and gave a tiny shift on the cot. Guy then took a deep stare at the Lady Gisborne, so gentle, yet so tense. So loving. So scared. He could not allow himself to ruin her life any more. As Lacie returned his observation he shut his eyes and walked out; he could not bear to look at her another moment. Pain had built too much into his life, tearing at his heart, keeping his sanity at arm's length, denying him sleep, showing him the poison he slipped into other people's lives. Heartache taunted him and he had had enough. Maybe he should have left her to return to Leeds where she could have lived and rejoiced without his weight; Guy knew for sure, however, that he could not continue hurting his wife any longer.

Lacie remained by her son's bedside as the wound was drained yet again, wincing each time he yelped. She would have done anything to carry this cross for him. As a last resort the physician had smeared an herbal cream into the gash as the aging mother desperately prayed. Fingers fiddling with a small cross, she withheld tears. Lacie did not doubt her son's strength for a moment; it was the indecision and elusive nature of God's plans that worried her. She could not afford to lose anything else she loved in this life.

As purple began to wade into the sky for the evening both Drake and his mother lulled into some peace. The searing of his wound was steadily declining, giving him time to think over whether he would be rubbish at sword fighting from this point on. What would his father think? Lacie, too, pondered over Guy. She realized how selfish and, dare she admit it, childish she was being over the spat with the Sherriff. It was nothing to be so hung up about, really. She felt a nudge inside demanding she apologize to him. It was at this moment the youngest Gisborne was allowed in to see her big brother considering his health was, for the first time, stabilizing. Little Margaret didn't pay much mind to the bandage on Drake but rather focused her banter on the fact that he had technically been in a bed all day.

"Oh really, and what did you do today?"

"Well I went and pet the horses with Daddy."

"Just now?" Lacie injected herself into the conversation. Her daughter nodded innocently.

"Yup, we saw the horsies and then Daddy told me to come be with you."

"Well you're my sister, I hope you want to come see me."

"Not you," she sneered a bit, "Mummy."

"He told you to come see me?" she inquired to yet another nod with an odd discomfort kicking in her stomach like an unborn child, "what else did Daddy say?"

"Just that he loves me and that he doesn't want me to be mad at him."

"Why would you be mad at him?" Drake asked with the slur of medication on his breath. Margaret shrugged and screwed up her brows as she noted Lacie's wide eyes. "You don't deserve to be put in this hell with me," he had told her in the deep of the night yesterday. "Forgive me," he had written, "and know that I will always love you," he had scribed to her. He had exposed his soul to the kids, professing his love for them, and asking forgiveness all around? This was not Sir Guy of Gisborne. This was a different man controlling his body and Lacie was struck with the fear of God that this new monster was about to do something terrible. She bolted from the room and sprinted as fast as her thin legs could manage down staircase after staircase to… to where? Her face ran hot with pure and concentrated anxiety as she squeezed shut her eyes and desperately attempted to bend her mind into understanding her husband's. He would not hide himself to do it, but he would not give the public the satisfaction of seeing it. Where did he want to be, rather, where did he think he deserved to be? With the jolt of ideas connecting in her mind Lacie dashed to the Sherriff's office and pleaded aloud to God that she was not too late.