WARNING: extremely random chapter with three different viewpoints, just so we know how everyone's doing. Also, a little suspicion about our sheriff's motives. Hmmm----

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Later that day, I received a curt message at Whitby Manor. The sheriff had sent me home after the ordeal, promising to send my father as soon as I was back. He said he had some secrets I was not allowed to view. Interesting. But being so worried for my dear sire's safety, I had obeyed him. Besides which, I could not stand being in that evil place a moment longer.

And now this. I ripped open the package anxiously, recognizing the seal instantly.

"Your father cannot be returned to you at this time."

That was it? I glowered angrily at the messenger, who trembled at the sight of my ferocious gaze. The warrior edge of Marian of Whitby was known well in small Nottinghamshire. "I am coming back with you," I told him. He knew better than to defy MY orders. Within minutes, my horse was saddled and I was on her back. The sheriff would pay for this behavior.

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Meanwhile, in outlaw country---

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Will was near tears. Robin was lost. It was all his fault. He should have followed him anyways. It was all his fault. He was supposed to look after Robin. No one else ever did. It was all his fault. That was his job, and he had failed. He always failed.

Sara raced into camp. "Will!" she screeched, twisting her neck back and forth as she searched for him. She saw him sitting on the ground, head in his hands. He was leader for now, and they all turned to him. Would Robin think he had wanted him gone, just to be leader? Will prayed not. But he would rather have Robin alive and doubtful than dead and trusting.

Sara saw his agony, and she ran gentle fingers through his hair. "Will, love," she whispered, kissing the crown of his head, "Nan and I found where they attacked him." She kissed his forehead when he peered up at her, and he stood to look at her even more closely. She still seemed beautiful to him; even through there were clumps of mud on her face and arms. He picked a dead leaf out of her hair. "Show me," he whispered in reply, holding the side of her face. At least they had not taken Sara. She grinned and rolled her eyes. "It is not your fault Robin is gone," she told him as they walked. "He would not blame you, so do not expect the rest of us to do so."

But it was his fault. It was always his fault. Sara wrapped both her arms around one of his, and grinned up at him. He forced himself to grin in return. They headed towards the road, meandering through the trees, and soon came upon Nan kneeling in the dirt.

Her fiery red hair blazed in the sunlight. Nan was the ":mother" of the outlaws. Actually, more a mother bear - sweet tempered, loving – until you touched her friends. Her temper would blaze as red as her hair, and Nan's revenge would be brutal. Will had only seen her that angry once before, when a group of the foresters had beaten her younger brother senseless. They did not do it again. In fact, they shied away from him now, as if afraid he would go tell Nan on them. That rising of fury did not happen often. She usually walked round with a peaceful, content expression on her face.

Now she was gripping a broadsword with her bare hands. Her docile features contorted with animosity, and she clutched the blade until her hands began to bleed. Will and Sara stood above her. "Nan?" Will asked.

She whirled around and stood, the sword still in her hand. Old blood stained the point of the weapon, along with the new red Nan had just now shed. "How could she?" Nan whispered, eyes intent on the sword. She was quaking with hatred. "How could she betray us?"

"Who betrayed us, Nan?" Sara asked. She could not read, and was puzzled by the sudden discovery Nan had made. Nan pointed to the hilt, and tears began to flow down her face. The crest of Whitby mocked them, stained with day-old blood.  Nan looked up at them with pain in her eyes, as she thought of the lady she had believed her friend.

"Marian."

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And now, to OutlawEris's favorite victim ----

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Robin leaned against the wall of the dungeon. It had no bars, but for those barring the windows that let air in. It did not need them. He lay in a pit beneath closed square door looming above his head. There was no way out, but the guards used a ladder to get in when they felt like beating him.

He had tried escaping at first, running at the ladder. But they had flogged that out of him. They had laughed it out of him. They had rendered him lifeless. And the real torture had not begun. He could be in here for months.

The door opened, and light shone down on Robin. He held a hand over his eyes and winced. The sheriff had come down. Robin backed up against a wall. Leave.

The sheriff grinned. "Scared, are you?" he sneered. Robin shook his head. He was not afraid of this man. He feared the power of this man's position and the pain it would cause him, but never the man himself. He was not afraid of the sheriff. He never had been. But he was afraid of other things. He feared the people's forgetting him. He feared their disapproval. He feared foresters; he feared the new day. But he would never fear this man.

 "Shall I make you fear me?" the sheriff asked cruelly. Robin glared at him. "Nothing should make me fear you," he replied, desperate not to slur his words.

"What if I were to bring you in front of those filthy commoners in Nottingham and show them this?" The sheriff raised a hand, and Robin cringed, turning his head away and closing both eyes. An instant later, he snapped back to reality. He had never done that before. Never. He stared, amazed at himself for a moment. Why had he cowered before the beast? What had happened?

The sheriff laughed. "You have been conquered. You fear me, as all in this shire will – even your outlaw friends."

"You are wrong!"

Robin felt his loathing grow. He hated the fear of pain. It should not have been there. It had never been. He had made sure it would NOT be there. But this man's evil had made it come. Robin lunged at him.

The sheriff sidestepped quickly, taking full advantage of his foe's weakened state, and grabbed the outlaw by the hair. Robin winced, and the sheriff laughed. "Not so strong now, eh?" he jeered. Robin kicked him in the shin. The sheriff kicked him in the spine. Robin groaned. The marks of the whip burned with the mud from the sheriff's boot. "That's right," the sheriff mocked, "I can cause you more pain than you can express. Do you wish it?"

Robin chose not to respond.

"Be silent, then," she sheriff said. He threw him to the ground. Robin cried out. His tormentor brought his face close. "Tell me where the young brat of Norwell is," the sheriff ordered. Robin grinned, forcing himself not to grit his teeth. "In England," he replied.

The sheriff crushed Robin's face with his boot, and there was a loud crack as Robin's nose bridge snapped. Then the sheriff flung him into the wall of the dungeon. "Wrong answer," he spat. Robin winced when his torn back hit the stone, but he kept his cries inside this time.  "Tell me how to get him," The sheriff ordered.

"Bend over and kiss your own ass."

The sheriff pushed him into the points of the stone until he screamed with pain. The edges of each individual stone dug mercilessly into the slices on his spine. The few wounds that had closed up began bleeding anew, and those still gushing blood let force a stronger stream of red. "There will be more coming," the sheriff threatened. Robin gritted his teeth, silencing the screams that wanted to continue.  "I would sooner die than inform you, pig," he replied.

"That can be arranged." 

Robin only grinned. "I will have you weeping for want of the noose round your scrawny neck," the sheriff continued, temper rising. Robin raised one eyebrow. Indifference was a weapon, even if it were only false. 

"They will hear your screams in London." The sheriff slammed Robin's head into the wall and strode for the ladder. The guards quickly removed the only escape route and closed the door. As if he could escape. Robin sank gratefully to the ground and lay there, curled helplessly. For the first time since he was seven, he felt the urge to sob. God, his body ached. His spirit even more. But it had been so long since he last wept, he forgot how to.

Marian knew. She knew he adored her. And she had laughed at him for his love. He had burned with intense pain in every atom of his body, and now in every particle of his soul. Curse her. Nay. He cursed himself.  He could not force himself to stop loving her and needing her approval. He peeled himself off the wall. That stance had pained his back far beyond what he could stand, so he moved forward. Lord, it would be hard to sleep, if the guards allowed him to. Last night, they had come in and beat him whenever he began falling asleep. He groaned quietly to himself, hoping he would not fall senseless as he had when they flogged him. Tears stung his eyes. Beautiful, perfect Marian danced mockingly through his tortured mind, laughing at him. Fool! Silly little Saxon, thinking he could best the Norman sheriff of Nottingham. Robin fingered the wooden cross around his neck. Nearly all the outlaws wore one. He rubbed his finger nervously against the point where all four rods met. The indent there, placed by constant contact with Robin's finger, no longer gave off splinters. Robin found a tiny comfort in the constant motion. He closed his eyes, an aching weariness overtaking him. The sheriff always kept his word. 

But why in the name of heaven did he wish to catch Will?

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Okay, Marian's father not being returned to her was important because ----

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It was growing late, and I had completed his task. Standing in his office, I was about to open my big mouth and screech at the sheriff regarding his dishonorable behavior when a wiry messenger came through the door. His hair stood on end, and his left shoulder was exposed by the askew feature of his oversized tunic. He grinned, and shifted his tunic. "Goodie day, me lordie sheriff," he murmured abashedly. Odd greeting, to be sure, but there was no mistaking a lower class accent (Robin had one), apart from the added "ee"s.

The sheriff forced himself to smile in return. "The same to you, my good man. And I suppose you bear a message for me?"

The other man nodded eagerly, reaching into the folds of his tattered cloak. His dirty, callused hand offered a crumpled message to the sheriff's aristocratic ones. The master of Nottingham snatched it quickly, not wishing to dirty himself by touching such a hand.

His eyes scanned the message, and his eyes bulged out. I leaned casually over his shoulder, twirling a strand of hair coyly, and made out the message.

"I was, as you know from my last letter, very excited to hear about the capture of the infamous rogue, Robin Hood. I suspect you have had him these three long months as you told me last in our correspondence. I shall arrive in three days' time to watch the hanging. I suppose that the three months' time I granted you have been ample for the gaining of any information regarding that Norwell brat, and acquiring that handsome reward offered by his father."

So, our sheriff had been telling a few falsehoods of his own. The idiot! How very intriguing. Here was something else to gain by Robin's imprisonment – the saving of his own skin. I grinned inwardly, afraid to do so with my actual lips. Did I hear someone cry, "Blackmail!"? The sheriff looked up from the message with astonishment in his eyes. He glanced up and down at the pathetic messenger. "This message --- who has written it?" he whispered, although he could clearly see the signature.

"Pardonie, me lordie?"

"Who is the author of this message, you twit?"

"Why, me lordie, it is Princie John."

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A/N: Okay, now you all hopefully understand why Marian had to leave and come back. In order to read the sheriff's letter, she had to catch him unawares. I was originally going to have her sneak in on her way out, but that would be impractical, since guests were usually escorted from the castle by someone. And a stable boy would have gotten her horse for her, etc. So, unfortunately for story flow, she had to leave and come back.  

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