Settled

It wasn't long before Allan arrived at Nottingham castle. A washrag - courtesy of Locksley kitchens - and the pocketbook that dangled at his waist, gingerly cradled the precious container. He could hardly suppress a grin but knew that he had to. If Spencer noticed his mood as being one of gaiety and not of somber shame, he would be done for.

Allan quickened his pace, standing to Guy's right before the Sheriff could have a good enough chance to question his whereabouts. Guy barely let his eyes flick to the side and look at him.

Spencer was there as well. His face darkened with spots that had turned a deep blue. His lip curled at Allan but morphed into a smirk, so serene and dangerously pleasant that Allan felt the hair on his neck rise. Dear lord.

Though the glint in Sir Spencer's eyes sent a chill to his marrow, Allan felt a sense of pleasure when he noted his adversary's split lip. The salve smeared on that particular wound did not appear to be helping.

Adorning the table were three chalices and the dark burgundy liquid looked so very tempting to Allan. It was not for the fact that he wanted to imbibe the wine along with the others in the room. Oh no - he just wanted to get close to it. Close enough to dump his container of liquid revenge into Sir Spencer's cup… He slowly took a sidestep in the chalices' direction.

Before Allan could continue, Vaisey interrupted his plan of action, "The Prince is arriving."

Guy knit his brows, "When, milord?"

"After you leave."

Guy blinked in surprise; he loathed it when the Sheriff spoke in riddles, "Leave, milord?" He did not feel like playing Vaisey's game.

"I expect you and Spencer to be gone within the hour. You'll arrive at Northampton in the morning and escort the Prince and his entourage through Sherwood Forest."

Guy felt a bolt of anger run through him; he addressed it, "Within the hour? That doesn't give us any time to prepare - Marian needs-"

"You shouldn't be worried about what Marian needs - you should worry about what I'll do to you if you don't worry about my needs!" the Sheriff shouted, slamming a fist down to the table - rattling the cups.

Allan took the opportunity of distraction to take two more steps in the direction of Sir Spencer's cup… He almost prayed that the Sheriff would send the cups flying off the table - then Allan could volunteer to get them refilled. He came close to praying to God that such an incident would occur but thought better of it. God wouldn't listen to his prayer for revenge. Now it might be another story if he prayed to defeat his enemy in battle - priests were always asking 'bout that - maybe there was something to it.

"Are you loyal to me, Gisborne? Or your fledgling family?"

Exhaling, Guy spoke calmly, "My loyalty is to you, but-"

"Wrong. There can be no 'buts' when loyalty is involved. If I ever hear you say something like that again, I'll make it so that you won't have to worry about a choice. Do I make myself clear?"

Guy could almost feel his fingertips graze his pommel, he closed his eyes, "Yes, milord."

Vaisey wrinkled his forehead as if he didn't quite trust Guy's response. "You leave now - no more questions. Go!"

Allan only had one chance left - he would knock over Spencer's chalice himself. One little bump is all it would take… He readied himself - and Sir Spencer picked up the cup and quaffed it. It was at that moment that Allan knew Spencer was a pig. Swallowing his drink down in one gulp - not even being courteous enough to allow Allan time to slip the contents of his vial into the liquid.

He growled under his breath, his thoughts occupying his mind to the point that he didn't even notice Guy quit the room. Though he was quickly brought to his senses when Spencer brushed roughly past him and leered in his face. Almost convulsing in disgust at the sight of his features - Allan didn't have much to say about the man's breath either - he trailed Guy out of the room. Unfortunately he came dreadfully close to rubbing his nose to get his foe's breath out of his nostrils. Spencer was trying to unnerve him - that much was certain.

"Stay here and ready your horse," Guy told him.

"Oi, where are you goin'?"

Silently Guy continued down the hall. He caught hold of a kitchen girl, turning her to face him, "Prepare three flasks and enough provisions for several days and have them out by the stables in an hour." He released her and she hurried away. "Do not be late!"

It could be said that Allan jumped in Guy's path - though if the common man got to hear of this act of insubordination, Allan would have met a violent - albeit a quiet - end. So for the sake of his soul Allan would call his act an accidental trip, whereas Guy would refer to it as an act of stupidity. Either way Allan would be spared. "I'll fill the flasks, Giz!"

"No," Guy said, shoving Allan out of his way.

"I'm much more trusty than that wench - God knows she might try an' poison you or somthin'!"

Slowly Guy turned his head to look Allan in the eyes to see what manner of madness possessed him, "What good would that do her?"

Thinking quick Allan said, "Dunno maybe ya jilted her and she's barmy."

Guy raised his hand at Allan's ill thought comment.

No one could say Allan cowered but he did take quick action to cover his already sore nose.

Seeing this, Guy lowered his hand and then, feeling angry with himself for his moment of pity, turned his back to him and stalked off. Allan was tempted to comment on the state of Guy's mood but decided against it because he didn't have another nose to spare…

Robin gripped the frail trellis that trailed down from the master window at Locksley. It was not weak with age or poor craftsmanship - for Dan Scarlet himself had built it - it was in poor health do to the fact that throughout his childhood and into his teenage years, Robin had become overly familiar with the grips and handholds that he had invented himself.

Hoisting himself up he began to scale the trellis, being careful to avoid the vines that adorned it - he had learned the hard way about those vines giving way when he was a young lad. He cursed under his breath at a fleeting memory. Climbing here never failed to remind him of a young Guy fetching Lord Malcolm because his son had fallen and could not breathe properly. Though Robin would never be temped to use the word 'friends' when he recalled their childhood relationship; he couldn't completely rid himself of any pleasant memories associated with their occasional adventures into the surrounding woods or when they practiced the ancient arts of swordplay and archery together. At this moment - forcing himself to remember that Gisborne had stolen everything from him - Robin pushed those reminiscences aside and focused on scaling the side of his manor.

His feet hit the floor harder then he anticipated and he cringed. Standing completely still for a moment, he listened for the telltale sign of anyone of the household coming to investigate the thud from upstairs. No one came. As a point of fact - no one was in the room. He had hoped that Marian would be there and he might get to at least speak with her for a few precious moments.

Quietly he moved across the floor and over to the wall. It didn't appear that Gisborne had made many changes to the décor and layout of his room. The only difference worth speaking of was a black and yellow shield that hung above the bed-frame. It took all his willpower not to rip it down and hurl it across the room. How dare he stake claim to his room.

Though he was seeing red, it was then that he saw green. His scarf - the one that he had slipped to Marian - was barely peeking out from behind the shield. A clever hiding place, Robin thought as he tucked the wayward end back into its concealed spot. His chest felt light and airy as he smiled to himself - she kept it. He wanted to believe that her hanging it on the wall was more than just an attempt to keep it hidden. That it was, in fact, his colors hanging up where his coat of arms should rest. That she had done it symbolically, showing that he was still the rightful owner of this manor and all therein. He could only hope and he wouldn't ever ask her if it were true - the possibilities of how she would answer might only serve to make his heart ach.

He ran his hand over one of the pillows at the top of the bed - praying that is was hers. The thought of it being the false master's repulsed him to a degree that almost made him stop his ministrations for fear of it. It was at that moment, when he was standing there, in a place that was no longer his, touching something that belonged to a woman that he couldn't have, and thinking about what once was and what might have been - that he heard footsteps on the stairs…

Guy took the steps two at a time; he had to speak with Marian before he left. He hated the fact that he had gone before she had woken today - what must she think of him? "Marian!" he called as he swung open the door. What he saw made his insides tighten and deep feelings of hurt, pain, and regret fill him.

"You!"

A voice that was more mouse than man answered, "Me, Sir Guy?"

Guy looked to the heavens and turned better to face the stairs. "Who else do you see?" he asked the young servant passing under the railing.

The lad gulped in response.

"Where is Lady Marian?"

"I believe she went to town, Sir. She said she would be back before you arrived home."

Swearing Guy slammed the bedroom door closed and stormed down the steps. He would never have time to find her at the market. He would never have time to bid her goodbye. It wouldn't even be possible for him to tell Edward. Thornton informed him that the fragile man had gone to bed right after a visit from the healer.

Though he had raced here as fast as his horse could run, in spite of Vaisey's orders and his own better judgment, he still was unable to do something to please Marian. Even then, she might have scoffed at his attempts but he still would have felt better then he did now. At least she would have known that he cared enough to try. She would never know now.

Robin gripped the edge of the windowsill as tightly as he could. Should he fall, Gisborne would not run for help this time but from this height there would really be no need to - he would be far worse off then when he had the air knocked out of him as a boy. Moreover, if by some miraculous feat he should survive this fall he would beg Guy's mercy to kill him instead of allowing him to suffer for the rest of his years as a cripple. However, he doubted that his enemy would oblige him so readily…

By God's good graces Robin did not fall. And he thanked the Father above for that fact and for preventing Guy from hearing his feet slip and scrape against the side of the manor. Though listening to Guy yell had always grated upon his ears before, Robin was grateful for Gisborne's strong temper at this moment.

Robin let a smile cross his lips at Guy's lack of observation. He didn't even notice that only one shutter was closed, preventing the tips of Robin's fingers from being seen. He tried not to dwell on the fact that Marian had been Guy's main concern…

Holding back a groan, Robin lifted himself back over the window ledge. He rested on his ribs for but a moment until the pressure caused him to wince. Heaving himself onto the floor with as little noise as possible was a hard accomplishment.

Standing up and wiping the sweat from his hands onto his breeches, Robin grinned. She was in the market, the boy said. Then that was where he intended to go find her. Without hesitation Robin strolled down the stairs and out the front door - silently asking God for one more favor, that being that all his servants were as loyal as they once were… He could have maneuvered himself down the trellis again - but where would be the fun in that?

Guy galloped to the stable at Nottingham castle. He was angry at having missed her. Now he would not get to bid her goodbye and she would make it a point to be annoyed with him. Quickly he dismounted his horse and stomped around the side of the stable - meeting up with the kitchen girl bringing the flasks out.

Allan saw her too. He felt compelled to race Guy for the flasks, deterred by the fact that it would look greatly suspicious. He prayed that Gisborne would leave well enough alone and let her finish carrying them out to the stable.

No such fortune befell him. Almost violently, Guy snatched them from her and slung them over his shoulder. He gestured for her to return to the castle in rough angry movements. Allan had lost his chance yet again!

Robin moved quietly through the market. He was quite proud of himself and he figured he had every right to be - his disguise was perfect! Not a soul would recognize him. Though the scratching was one downfall that his attire had to offer him…

She was by the draper; fingering some cloth as she walked past. Coming up behind her, he twisted his face away from the crowds, "Do you have anything to spare for a weary field worker?"

Marian did not start at his sudden appearance or proximity. Instead, she slowly turned to face him. She blinked when she saw him, he had a sagging straw hat over his head and a straw - what Marian could only describe as a dress - hanging loosely over him, "What are you wearing?"

"A disguise," he said under his breath, "What does it look like?"

Marian fought the smile that threatened to overtake her, "A haystack."

He looked truly offended, "I'll have you know I took great pains to go undetected."

"No Robin - you're so out of place that everyone is staring."

Quickly he changed the subject, "I didn't see the cloth dangling out your window."

Marian rolled her eyes, "It was only yesterday that you gave it to me."

"Yes but I was expecting to see it a lot sooner." He wondered - privately though it was - whether the green cloth was for her if she needed to see him or for when he needed to see her. He hated to think he was being that selfish. Nevertheless, he could not deny the happiness seeing her brought him. It was like filling his starving lungs with air.

"Guy is not so cruel that-" she couldn't even take the words back - it was too late. Though her husband wasn't unkind to her - many others held a far different opinion of him… "He would not hurt me."

A thought struck Robin hard, "What if he finds out your secrets? What would he do then?"

He was prying. She hated that, "That is not your concern any longer." She wouldn't even tell him that Guy already knew of her being the Nightwatch Man.

She could not have hurt him worse if she had struck him across the face. He hung his head; his straw hat tilted forward and covered his eyes. She knew he was pained and it hurt to know that she had caused it.

Marian's fingers brushed the straw at his shoulder, "Robin-" But it was then that three horses came trotting through market - Guy of Gisborne at the head. Robin ducked behind a cart and Marian followed him out of sight - she couldn't risk being seen with him…

"Where are they going?" Watching the horses as they rode past, she noticed it looked like they were loaded for a trip - Guy hadn't said anything of having to leave… That was when it hit her - he had not bothered. Anger bubbled up inside her, "He's leaving! And he didn't tell me!"

Roughly she stood, almost knocking over some wares that were teetering on the edge of the cart. Robin followed suit and weighed his options carefully. He knew that Guy had been by Locksley looking for Marian. He also knew that she was angry with Gisborne now and that could work in his favor… But hiding information from her would provoke her wrath later, should she find out. However, that was a risk he would have to take. He did not tell her. Yet, once his decision was made, he couldn't deny the heavy feeling that threatened to suffocate his heart. His lungs were being starved again; his conscience was smothering them.

Guy was not able to prevent his eyes from roving about the market. He hoped that he would spot her among the crowd, then he would be able to talk with her - all would be well. But that was not to be.

He thought that he saw her once, but when he looked again she was gone. It could not have been her. His heart sank and he steeled himself against her impending anger by gritting his teeth. Glancing sideways, he looked at Allan who seemed himself to be distressed and brooding over some unknown torment. Guy couldn't care less at the moment - his own troubles were weighing him down.

Allan glared back at Sir Spencer but the glance was so quick that it was almost imperceptible. How could he get his plan to work if he wasn't allowed to come into contact with his foe's beverage? It was a mystery to him.

The healer had only told him what to do with the product - not how to get near Spencer's drink. She had been more then willing to furnish Allan with the container for, as the story goes, Spencer had come to her demanding attention for his battered face and had left without payment. Though Allan had to acknowledge that she was of a higher intellect then he had first given her credit for. She had gotten a bit of her own retribution by doling out a salve that would not keep Spencer's torn lip soft and moist, but one that would continuously dry it out.

It was late when the trio arrived in Northampton and Allan again found himself designated to the uncomfortable, undesirable, accommodations of sleeping on the floor of the room. However, being as how Gisborne was paying and Allan didn't have a stitch of coin for the time being, he couldn't complain. It was far better than sleeping with the horses. This, sadly, Allan knew from experience…

The only other downside was the fact that - at this time of night - there was only one room available. Therefore, Sir Spencer was a fixture as well. None seemed comfortable with these sleeping arrangements and Allan knew he would end up remaining awake the majority of the night, endeavoring to keep his neck safe.

The night went even worse then anticipated when Allan took it upon himself to tamper with Spencer's flask. He crept up and slinked over to the extra cot pressed into a corner of the room. This cot had been brought in for Spencer and Allan was bothered by that as well. His heart was pounding so loudly that he was certain that it would wake the others. His hands were shaking and he could only imagine what would befall him if he were caught…

It was then that he saw the flask, tossed carelessly atop a satchel on the side of the cot pushed against the wall. Paranoid Sir Spencer hadn't left any of his belongings within the grasp of others. To retrieve the item in question, Allan would have to reach over the sleeping man to acquire it.

Gulping, Allan eased his knee onto the edge of the bed and stretched forward. He touched the flask strap and felt a rush of joy. Amongst the possessions, Allan also noticed a belt with a dagger sheath - but no dagger…

The chill that raced down his back was colder than any winter frost or rain. It penetrated his entire body. Allan couldn't keep from picturing Spencer, having never been asleep at all, sitting up and plunging the dagger into the soft flesh of his stomach. He glanced at his enemy's eyes and thanked Mary that they were still closed.

He leaned a little further over the sleeping man and gripped the waiting strap between his fingers. That was when Spencer moved. Images of death running rampant through his brain, Allan inadvertently stumbled backwards and into the rickety stand that held the washbasin. The pottery smashed to the floor with a shattering bang. He didn't even have to look to see if Gisborne and Spencer were awake - he knew. He was done for…

"What the bloody hell is going on?" The yell was from Spencer.

Allan did what he did best - he thought fast. Jumping up from his prone position of the floor, Allan stomped his feet. Though this might sound queer to many who are imagining a child's dramatic tantrum, Allan had a very good reason for his escapades.

Guy hollered at him next, "What are you doing?" Gripped in his hand was his own dagger and he had a strong notion to use it on Allan.

Sweat beaded on Allan's forehead, "Oi, it's rats! They're bigger'n dogs!" He stomped at the ground a few more times for effect. If fortune were smiling on him, he would be able to pull this off. He was ever so grateful for the dark.

Guy sighed rather loudly and Spencer flopped back onto this mattress. Allan walked back over and lay down on the floor. It hadn't ended how he had planned but at least he was still among the living. He pulled the blanket up to his neck and rolled onto his side. He stiffened when he swore he felt something small and furry skitter past his foot. There would be no sleep tonight…

Allan lay on the floor wide-awake when Guy used his boot to rouse him. Unnecessary as it was, Allan obediently 'woke' and groggily stood.

"Get some food brought up," Guy said, his own eyes had dark circles embedded into his skin. Apparently, no one attempted the feat of slumber again after his 'encounter' with the rats…

Slowly and without ambition, Allan walked to the door and opened it. He combed his fingers through his unkempt hair and yawned - not caring that it would grate on Guy's nerves. Allan stopped in his tracks when Gisborne called his name, "Here!"

Allan had to react promptly in order to catch what had been thrown at him.

"Have these filled as well," Guy said, turning away from the door and the expression of his man.

Looking at the three flasks that just dropped into his arms, Allan received a sudden burst of energy and ran down the steps as if he were a fox running into an open hen house.

A Dale was to the point of giddiness. His horse shifted - even it could feel his excitement. For good measure, he had added slightly more then the suggested amount… Oh well - it couldn't hurt anything. However, he had to admit that it was taking its time to work.

Spencer took another long swallow from his flask, by midday he had all but finished it. "It's well past morning - where the devil is he?" Spencer said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

Guy ignored him and kept his eyes focused on the road that ran before them. The Prince would be arriving any time and he refused to be caught unwatchful. It was only a half an hour later that he finally turned to look at him.

Sir Spencer had given a horrified sounding gasp and was clutching his reins so tightly, Guy was certain that they would leave permanent marks in his hands. The look in his eyes was of utter panic.

Carefully but with increasing speed, Spencer dismounted his horse. Guy looked quizzical when the former hobbled from his steed to the nearby tree line and disappeared behind it.

Guy looked in Allan's direction wondering if Spencer had given him any indication of what was wrong. Allan was too busy biting his lip to keep his laughter in, to pay attention to Guy. Lord knows what would happen if it showed. It did not take Guy long to figure out that Allan had something to do with this and a pang of worry hit him. He looked down at his own half-empty flask…

Directly Spencer returned from his momentary laps in attention and began to remount his horse. He had one foot in the stirrup before he got that look in his eyes again and took off for the forest. Allan slapped his knee and beamed.

By the time an hour had passed, Allan had assumed an amused smirk and a steady stream of cursing was coming from the vicinity of where Spencer presumably was. Guy sighed; this was almost to the point of being boring. Though he couldn't doubt that it would be most entertaining for the Prince to come and catch Spencer with his breeches down… It would be wonderful for his rival to fall agroof.

Guy hollered for Spencer when he saw an ornate carriage drive up the way. He couldn't imagine what difference the three of them would make in escorting Prince John with the large amount of guards trailing the rig. But they were guards after all…

It was apparent that Spencer tried to come but was prevented - a slew of cursing followed the attempt and a new set of cursings ensued as 'squatters cramp' setteled into his legs. Guy quickly wiped the smirk from his own visage. Allan clutched his hand over his mouth. Guy had no doubt that he was involved with this nefarious plot but he was not going to be the first to admit this notion to anyone.

Guy dismounted when the carriage came to a stop. He practically yanked Allan off his own saddle - the man had no notion of respect! He bowed his head and dropped to one knee. Allan did the same and Guy was pleased that he was at least smart enough to follow his lead.

The Prince flipped back the curtain that hung over the window and glanced at the two men and the three horses. "Lose something?" Perceiving Allan's puzzled look Prince John continued, "Or can't you count?"

Without thinking Allan opened his mouth, quite possibly a bad mistake anytime but now it was even less opportune. Guy saw what was about to occur and considered cutting Allan off and saying politely that Spencer was indisposed. Nevertheless, he decided against it. He let Allan answer, "Oi, pardon my saying your highness but Sir Spencer has a case of the runs."

The Prince blinked back at them in shock but then laughed. Guy uneasy as he was, relaxed and addressed the Prince with respect, "Your Majesty, we're here to escort you to Nottingham."

"And what of your comrade? Am I supposed to wait on his leisure or are we to proceed without him?"

"We will continue on without him - he'll find us." Guy looked around and that was when he saw the boy - Philip. Despite the fact that he was tethered to the sorry looking horse he rode, there was no doubt in Guy's mind that this was King Richard's son. His greasy blonde hair was tousled and he looked pitiful - no better than a serf did. But he had a look of pride that made his illegitimate heritage unmistakable.

The boy's sharp eyes caught his and he looked on him closely, examining him curiously - almost questioning his motives. Asking why he was doing this. Guy looked away, unable to meet his piercing gaze any longer. What would Marian think of his murdering a child? He shuddered to think and prayed to God that she would never find out. Guy hoped that the Sheriff would call on Spencer to carry out the Prince's wishes for he wasn't sure if he would be able to live with that lad's eyes forever bored into his memory. But should the Sheriff demand it of him, he was not sure that he would be able to deny him…