Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire

Allan couldn't relax. He had been pacing the camp for an inordinate amount of time, ever since Robin and Much had left to pay Sir Edward a visit at the secret village of Second Chance. Robin intended to update the former Sheriff on the plight of Marian before the outlaws left for Portsmouth.

Allan had been furious at the decision. Although the rational part of his mind understood that Edward was worried about his daughter and would appreciate any news on her well-being, Allan was struggling to control his emotional responses, and his overriding concern was for Roana. He didn't want to wait around. He wanted to be out there, on the road to Portsmouth, on the way to rescue her.

He sighed and ran a hand over his chestnut hair. He couldn't remember ever having felt so antsy, and worried, and impatient, and melancholy, all at once. He knew he was acting out of character, and probably annoying the other members of the gang, but he couldn't help himself. Fear for Roana's welfare was more consuming than anything he had ever experienced before, even more so than when his mother had disappeared all those years ago. Back then, he hadn't known what was going on, whereas now, he knew exactly what the Sheriff and Bridlington were capable of, and he couldn't place his trust in Gisborne to ensure the girls were kept entirely safe. The black knight, or former black knight, or whatever he was, didn't seem to hold any sway in the castle these days, and was almost certainly living on borrowed time. As were Roana, Marian, and Alice. Allan was under no illusions about the Sheriff's end game. He would kill them all if the gang didn't rescue them as soon as possible.

Taking a deep breath, Allan sat down on the edge of the nearest bed and tried to calm himself, leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbing his hands over his face. Brother Tuck, pausing for a mouthful of ale after helping Djaq and Little John prepare the horses for the journey ahead, spotted him and came over.

"May I join you?" He indicated the empty space beside Allan.

Allan shrugged and gestured to the seat, indifferently. "If you like. But I must warn you, I'm not in the mood for a sermon."

Tuck laughed as he sat down, careful to leave a spare between himself and Allan. "I'm not one for preaching, my friend. But I am a very good listener."

"I'm not being funny but I don't have much to say right now," Allan replied in a prickly tone, which Tuck chose to ignore.

"Djaq has been telling me about Roana. She sounds like quite a girl. I'm looking forward to meeting her very soon."

Allan paused and looked at the floor between his feet, suddenly immersed in a warm feeling that lightened his heart, despite himself. He turned his head to scrutinise Tuck before focusing on the mug of ale in his hand. He straightened. "Are you sharing that ale or what?"

Tuck smiled and handed him the mug, watching as Allan took a long draught. "Djaq says you love this Roana. She says it has made you a better person."

Allan shrugged again, handing back the mug and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe she has. I know that being with her makes me want to be a better person." He paused for a few beats, and then continued. "She has this way about her... I can't really explain it. It's incredible. There's just something special about her. I've never met a woman like her. I admit, I've not been the best behaved person over the years. But that feels like a different me, someone who doesn't exist anymore. So I guess I have changed, for her. She's like Robin. People look up to her, she's courageous and determined. And she's beautiful, you know?"

He looked at Tuck for confirmation, a smile on his face, and then stopped dead in realisation. "What just happened?"

Tuck grinned at him. "You had more to say that you initially thought."

Suspicion crossed Allan's face. "You fooled me."

"No, no, no." Tuck shook his head, adamantly. "I merely encouraged you to speak your heart. You know," he held the mug out again, "it is fine to worry about the people we love, but we also need to remain strong for them in their times of need. And the best way to do that is by keeping our minds healthy and positive, and our hearts open to support from others." He raised his eyebrows. "Your friends want to be there for you. Don't push them away."

Allan stared at Tuck for a moment, and then snatched the mug from him. "I thought you said you didn't preach," he grumbled, but there was the hint of a smile on his face as he drained the mug.

"Allan, you ready?" Will called, entering the camp to collect his axes and bow. "Robin's back and we're ready to close up the camp."

Tuck placed a hand on Allan's shoulder. "Let's go and rescue your woman."

The road to Oxford, Leicestershire

"I don't like this," Roana declared as the carriage that she, Marian, and Alice were bolted into rumbled along the undeveloped track, jerking them roughly in their seats. "I don't like this at all. Where are they taking us?"

Marian attempted to peer through a gap in the door but there was a guard riding close beside the carriage, blocking her view of anything but his chainmail.

She sat back with a deep sigh. "Well, I can't see a thing, but we're definitely not on the Great North Road, that's for sure." She ran her hands down the front of her skirt. "At least the Sheriff allowed us to wear appropriate clothing, though. Something to be thankful for, with that pervert William hanging around."

"Guy won't let anything bad happen to us, now he's here," Alice said with certainty. "I would imagine he requested the change of clothes."

"Well, if so, thank you, Guy," Marian said with relish.

Upon being dragged unceremoniously from the dungeons earlier, they had been shown to a room and presented with bathing water, three gowns, undergarments, cloaks, and the cloth slippers that women of nobility were expected to wear. They weren't exactly practical, but the gowns were pretty and snug-fitting, and the material of the skirts were layered to keep the cold out. The cloth slippers would at least keep their feet warm, although wouldn't withstand walking for long periods of time, which had probably been the Sheriff's plan all along; to keep them helpless and prevent a quick escape, while limiting any cause for complaint.

They hadn't been given long to clean using the water, but at least they were now warm and fully clothed. Being stripped of their clothing and, very nearly, their dignity by William was not something any of them wished to repeat.

Their convoy had been on the road for a good part of the morning before they stopped for refreshments, pulling the entire cavalcade to the side of the track they were travelling on. The women were shackled again and allowed to leave the carriage to stretch their legs and relieve themselves in the small copse that bordered their area of the route.

"Who are all of these people?" Roana hissed to Burne, who had been placed in charge of the prisoners. She subtly indicated the nine strangers who accompanied their group, determined-looking men dressed all in black.

Burne shot her a warning look and she raised her eyebrows. "Black knights? Are these the black knights?"

He gave an imperceptible nod, and Roana let out a sharp breath.

"They're going to kill the king?"

Burne turned his shoulder slightly to disguise their conversation from the Sheriff, who was further along the grassy area, speaking to William and two black knights. "Yes. We set sail for France tomorrow."

"We?" Roana was stunned. "All of us?"

"Yes." Burne stared straight ahead at the copse, where Marian and Alice were just emerging from the trees, straightening their clothes. Marian was clearly berating the two young guards who were keeping watch over them, bows aimed and nocked arrows quivering as they attempted to avert their eyes to protect the girls modesty, at Marian's fervent request.

For a second, Roana wondered if Marian would make a run for it, but she'd have been shot down straight away by one of the many trained soldiers around them. Marian was intelligent. As she snapped at the young guards, her eyes were sweeping over the assembled company, assessing her success in breaking free, and coming to the swift conclusion that she wouldn't make it out the other side of the small copse alive. She caught Roana's eye and gave a grim smile.

Roana turned her back fully on the rest of the group and edged nearer to Burne. "I didn't realise we were coming with you. I thought the Sheriff was moving us to another stronghold while he was gone."

"You'll be of more use to him in Europe. Alice in particular." Burne looked at the ground. "Sir Guy has a job to do in Germany, and he's more likely to do it if Alice's life hangs in the balance."

"The Sheriff is determined to kill the king, then," Roana murmured.

"More than anything. Come on! Back in the carriage," Burne shouted across to the two young guards, who were retying Alice and Marian's hands. "Time to move on."

Around them, men were gathering up weapons, cutting conversations short, and mounting up. The Sheriff glanced over with a smirk as he climbed back into his sumptuous carriage, followed by William and Guy, who had made a brief appearance. He gazed longingly at Alice for a moment before ducking his head to enter the carriage.

"Burne, help us," Roana whispered, quickly, as she allowed him to lead her back to their own carriage. "Please."

Burne's expression was pained. "Lady Roana, I've done all I can. It's up to Robin now. I don't want to get into any trouble. I have a family, mouths to feed. A new bairn on the way. I'm sorry."

Crestfallen, Roana nodded, knowing she had put him in an impossible position by even broaching the subject. She touched her hand to his, quickly and lightly, and gave him an apologetic smile when he looked at her.

"Robin will rescue you. You can bank on it. I don't think Allan will let you go anywhere without him."

"I hope not," Roana said.

Nottingham, Nottinghamshire

Carter was beginning to wonder why he had ever left the Holy Land. Since returning to England and making his way to Nottinghamshire, he had been manipulated by the Sheriff, encouraged in his attempt to kill an innocent man, and locked up and left for dead when he had tried to leave. Not only that, during his stay in the castle, he had witnessed clandestine and treasonous conversations between the Sheriff and his closest, most unpleasant confidants, seen Gisborne, who he now considered to be a friend, bullied mercilessly and his woman locked away, and been alarmed by the regular abuse of the servant girls by the repulsive and entitled predator, Bridlington.

If this is nobility, then they can keep it, Carter thought grimly as he left the castle keep and hurried out of the inner bailey, heading for the town gates. It hadn't taken long for him to unlock his cell door, thanks to Burne, and leave the dungeons for good, opening the doors of the few cells that were occupied on his way past and dropping the jailer's key ring down the nearest garderobe for good measure. He didn't intend to ever return to Nottingham Castle, unless he was burning it to the ground with the Sheriff and his cronies inside.

Carter had always been popular among his peer group, and for all the right reasons. An honest and thoughtful man, he had followed his elder brother Thomas to the Holy Land at twenty to join the fight for Jerusalem, and had soon realised that fighting against injustice was something that appealed to him. The atrocities of war weighed heavily on his mind, yet he diligently carried out his duties and made a committed and steadfast soldier, patiently awaiting the day that he could return to his family.

Until he had received news of Thomas's death.

Carter and Thomas had been extremely close, and his passing had hit Carter hard. In the weeks following, he had looked desperately for someone to blame. There was talk of Robin of Locksley, and suggestions that he may have been too reckless with his squadron. Mainly jealous rumours, Carter realised in hindsight, but, at the time, he had latched onto them with a ferocious intent. Hatred and sorrow consumed him, and, eventually, he was discharged and sent home to deal with his grief.

After months of travelling, he had found himself in Nottingham, out of his mind with anguish and anger, and the Sheriff had sensed an opportunity. Only it hadn't worked, and Carter had inadvertently annoyed the wrong person by refusing to kill Robin when he had the chance. But Carter sensed in Robin a kindred spirit, someone as filled with disgust at injustice as he was, an honest man who cared deeply about people and would no more cause the deliberate death of a comrade than he would allow the Sheriff to continue to wreak havoc in the villages of Nottingham. Carter respected that, and he respected Robin.

Hurrying through Nottingham towards the main gates and freedom, Carter slowed slightly as he saw a small group of guards approaching. His heart lurched in his chest. Luckily, he had retrieved his twin curved blades from the small storage room at the rear of the dungeons, but his cloak was nowhere to be found, and he was therefore unable to use the hood to disguise himself. He was certain he would be spotted.

He lowered his head and continued on his way, hoping for the best. However, as he drew level with them, the guard in the lead looked at him, suspiciously. Carter avoided his eye, focusing instead on the ground before him, but it did little to deter the guard.

"Eh, isn't he that Carter? I thought the Sheriff said he 'ad to stay in the dungeon."

Carter attempted to ignore them, but there was the distinct sound of swords being drawn. Someone shouted, "Oi!" and, suddenly, his path was blocked by a wall of chainmail.

Carter stopped in dismay and held his hands out in a placating manner. "Aww, come on, lads. Easy now."

"Escaping, are we?" The first guard grinned at him, brandishing his lance. "I don't think so."

"I don't want any trouble," Carter said, mildly. He assessed his surroundings quickly as he spoke: four guards, armed with lances and swords, blocking the way out. He had no choice but to fight.

"Seize him!" the first guard yelled to his companions, and Carter drew his swords, grimly assuming a fighting stance.

"Don't even try it," he warned, but two of them ran for him.

The arrow seemed to come out of nowhere as Carter raised his swords to parry the blows from the approaching guards. There was a yelp and one of the guards dropped his sword with a clang, clutching at his wrist and staring in alarm at the arrow impaled through his hand. This was followed in quick succession by three more arrows, which zipped through the air, thumping into a leg, a buttock, the ground at their feet. Next minute, the area was swarming with outlaws, weapons drawn, and the guards didn't stand a chance. They turned and ran, heading for the castle, limping or helping injured companions, glancing back in terror.

Carter hadn't even had to use his swords. He sheathed them and turned to Robin with a grin.

"I thought you'd never turn up."

Robin laughed. "As if we'd leave one of our own to rot in the dungeons." He looked around at the rest of the gang. "Right, lads. Let's go and rescue the girls."