Any shameless flirting that seems out of character for Isobel is my attempt to reconcile her character with that of Eleanor of Aquitaine, as seen in the said series of Robin Hood. Those of you who have seen it will know exactly what I mean.

They were running like fury across open countryside. The sun was shining brightly, and she had to squint to be able to make out the uneven ground. The last thing she needed was to fall flat on her face. To take her mind off the agony the action of running seemed to be stirring up in every nerve of her body, she tried to recollect the last time she'd run like this. She found she couldn't; in fact she was almost certain that before now she'd never charged across open fields, bedecked in very heavy royal costume and regalia and accompanied by an entourage of armed bandits- all of whom were calling her "your Majesty". However, lost in her thoughts her pace automatically slowed and she started to lag behind. Matthew had stopped up ahead and turned around, a couple of his followers slowing too.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but we really must hurry," he called, "Until we're out of open ground, at least. The forest will offer us some cover."

Why?- she wondered- Why must we hurry? She had half a mind to tell him that he should try doing this when he was her age and see if he felt like hurrying then. But she did not have the breath to say anything, and so she struggled on, seeing the trees ahead gradually getting closer. However, when at last they reached the dark shade of the wood, they did not slow down as promised. They did not progress as quickly, but they veered from side to side dodging trees and roots, so that they were having to move just as quickly. Most of the group seemed to be quite used to this sort of activity and moved with remarkable grace and speed, except Dr. Clarkson- whose body, Isobel noted, looked quite considerably bulkier than it usually did- and a funny man in hat, which his ears stuck out of; whom everybody seemed to call "Much" but who Isobel thought bore a rather startling resemblance to Mr Branson. Along with those two, Isobel continued to muddle on at the back of the group.

Up ahead, she saw Sybil to come to an abrupt halt- clinging onto a thin tree to prevent herself skidding down the slope- and wheel around. Her face bore a distinct expression of fear.

"The Sheriff's men are approaching!" she hissed, "Everybody get down!"

Isobel barely had time to wonder where exactly she was going to "get down" or how she was going to do it without killing herself, before she found that those problems had been taken care of for her. For the second time, she found a pair of arms around her, pinning her to the forest floor with some remarkable force. They seemed to be concealed, flat on the ground, behind a very large log covered in ivy. When she dared to look, she wasn't surprised to see whose face was above hers.

Though he looked so very much like Dr. Clarkson, she somehow suspected that she wouldn't get very much of a response out of him if she addressed him as such.

"John, wha-...?"

"Shh!" he hissed furiously, pressing a hand over her mouth, taking none too much care to me gentle, "Forgive me, your Majesty, but are you trying to get us all killed?"

Taking his warning into account, she lowered her tones considerably.

"You do seem to like grabbing ahold of me, don't you?" she asked in a whisper, partly through indignation, partly through something much more akin to wonderment than she was willing to admit, "That's twice now in the past hour."

"Well, you do seem to like wandering straight into the path of danger, wouldn't you say, your Majesty?" he asked rather testily.

She got the feeling that he wasn't best pleased to find himself lying on the leafy ground next to her either. She exhaled deeply.

"Do we have to do this every time the Sheriff's men come past us, or is today some sort of special occasion?"

She got the feeling he was not entirely impressed by her frivolity, but then she found the situation so ridiculous that there was little else she could think of doing.

"It's highly recommended," he told her, "In terms of staying alive, at any rate."

She wasn't too sure about that, it could be said that it was rather agreeable in terms of more than just surviving. But for the surprise and the residual pain of having just run across goodness knew how many fields, she might have otherwise quite enjoyed been pinned to the forest floor by a ruggedly handsome bear of a man.

Ahead of them she heard Matthew's voice.

"Can anyone see anything?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes," came Sybil's voice, "But I don't think they can see us. They've gone past."

Cautiously, one by one, they all raised their heads out of their hiding places. Peering over the log, her head in line with John's, Isobel was able to see a group of men below, clad ominously in black; some on horse back, others on foot. They were far enough away now for them to be able to talk quietly without fear of being overheard.

"Was Allan with them?" she heard somebody ask. A boy emerged from behind on of the trees. He had a rather familiar look about his face but she could not quite place it.

"Yes, he was, Will, I saw him," Sybil replied. That was it! Isobel realised, the boy had the exact look of William, the footman from the big house.

An unspoken but highly noticeable air of hostility seemed to grow among them at the mention of this Allan.

"Who's Allan?" she whispered to John, not wishing to seem ignorant.

"You see that man up there on the horse?" John pointed to the back of one of the riders among the Sheriff's men. Isobel nodded. "That's Allan A'Dayle. He used to be one of us, but now he's gone over to the Sheriff's men. Likes the life of privilege a bit too much. Look out, he's looking this way! Don't let him see you, your Majesty!"

"It's alright," Isobel replied, "That tree's in the way."

Though it was certainly likely, she wasn't quite sure if she was absolutely assured of protection. She didn't care though, she was far more set on catching another glimpse at Allan's face; because she could have sworn he was... yes, he was! Thomas, the footman! Well, she supposed that made some sense at least.

"Filthy swine!" she muttered under her breath so that only John could hear, "He had no business to to abandon you all like that."

Such was her indignation that she didn't catch the small sideways smile that John momentarily threw in her direction.

"Right, men," she heard Matthew's voice again, "The way seems to have cleared. Let's get moving again."

Something within Isobel seemed to groan resoundingly at that prospect. She had only just got her breath back from the last lot of running! Still, she got up and continued as best she could.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of running, she found she had to come to a halt altogether.

"I'm... sorry," she called, her hands on her knees, struggling furiously for breath, seeing that again Matthew had stopped to wait for her, "Can't... go... on. No... air..."

"John," she heard Matthew's voice, "Carry the Queen."

"What?" John sounded horrified.

"You heard. Pick her up and get a move on, we haven't got all day."

She got the feeling that any favour she'd won with John for cursing Allan A'Dayle had just been lost. To say that he didn't look very happy was an understatement.

"Robin-..."

"Don't argue," Matthew told him, "You are carrying the Queen and that is final. Now, come on."

While John was still staring after Matthew in stunned fury, Isobel- her breathing somewhat recovered- decided that she had better speed the process up. She walked up to where John stood and tugged gently on his sleeve.

"Come on," she told him, "I'm sure it's not every day you have the privilege of having someone of royal lineage on your shoulder." It would be entirely inappropriate, she was sure, at that moment to wink at him, but she was sorely tempted, just to see the look on his face.

He heaved a heavy sigh, still looking very unhappy about this arrangement. It seemed that he was going to need a little more cajoling.

"Come on, Big Bear," she told him softly, placing her hand on his very strudy shoulder, "Just lift me up."

Looking even more unhappy- and slightly mortified- he finally consented to do so- but none too gently.

"Steady on!" she told him, as they took their first rather bumbling steps.

"I'm not going to drop you," he told her rather irritably.

"Well, just make sure you don't," she replied, in equal irritation, "Because it doesn't feel like it!"

"Hold on tight, then," he commanded, his pace increasing slightly as they began to descend the slope in the forest floor.

She found herself halfway to being upside down, her arms latched hopelessly around his middle, his arm wrapped- with quite a degree of familiarity around her hips. How her crown did not fall off as they lurched about was quite beyond her comprehension.

Finally they stopped. It seemed that they had reached where ever it was that they had been heading because John put her down and they walked down the final slope to where the rest of the men sat together on a cluster of rocks, some resting on fallen branches.

"What took you two so long?" the funny little man called Much called out as they approached, a rather impish grin across his face.

"I'd like to see how you'd get on if you had a great big woman over your shoulder," John told him, scowling and knocking his hat so it fell down over his eyes.

Isobel was torn between indignation at that remark and being amused by Much as he attempted to straighten out his hat. He really was very like Mr Branson.

"Remember that's the Queen you're talking about, John," Sybil told him, smiling herself.

John seemed not to care very much, and threw himself down on a stone beside Matthew. Isobel did admit that he looked rather tired, but after his comment she was not particularly stirred to be sympathetic towards him.

"Will, I think you should give the Queen your seat," Much called, "You can't sit there while the Queen is left standing, it isn't right."

"The same could be said of you, young man," she told him, "Come on, up you get."

There was a rumble of laughter among the men as Isobel tapped Much on the back, and made him get up and took up his place on the nice flat rock instead.

"We should have some food shortly, your Majesty," Matthew told her, "Once Djac obliges by getting a move on and preparing it."

Sybil looked affronted.

"You only make me get the food because I'm the only woman," she told him, not moving, "I'm sure her Majesty will agree that I shouldn't have to."

Isobel grinned a little. Matthew was watching her rather expectantly.

"Quite right," she told Sybil, who looked very satisfied and shut her eyes, putting her feet up on the nearest branch.

She saw Matthew roll his eyes a little at Sybil.

"You'd better see to it, Will," he told the young man who looked like William.

"Did you say that we were the only two women here?" she asked Sybil.

Sybil nodded.

"Then who's that girl up there?"

She pointed up to the ledge on top of the cave in the face of the hill where they were all gathered. The ledge was mostly covered in thick foliage but Isobel had seen the girl lurking there for a while. It had occurred to her that if they really were hiding out she ought to warn one of them that someone they were unaware of them was watching them.

Seeing the girl too, Matthew got up without saying anything, and walked away, making to ascend the hill up to where the girl was perched. Isobel cast her eye around the group of men for an explanation.

"That's Marian," Much told her, smiling to himself.

"Ah, I see."

That rather made sense she thought, watching as Matthew ascended to meet the girl. He looked very right with her, as if she had always seen them together. Well, of course he did, Isobel realised, given that the girl was the very image of Cousin Mary.

She turned her head away, wondering vaguely if there was any member of her family who wasn't going to turn up here.

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