A/N: Hello lovely little readers! Sorry for the long break after Chapter 5, I've been insanely busy now that I'm back at work and I wanted to make sure this chapter was good before I added it to Simply Addicted. :) Because I felt like everything else has been too short, I decided to give you all a longer chapter. Enjoy all!
Chapter Six: Suspicions
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit
Gisbourne is going to kill me. Lock me in the dungeons, chain me up, and whip me to within an inch of my life.
Allan walked slowly down the stone corridor towards Gisbourne's room, focusing on the constant 'click click' of his boots on the frigid floor. He didn't want to go in there; he knew Gisbourne was going to be livid because of him. He was supposed to return late last night and meet with Gisbourne to discuss how they were to carry out the Sheriff's new plans for tax collection. Disregarding his order completely, Allan spent the night with his lovely little outlaw and never showed up for the meeting. On top of that, he and Djaq's special morning exercise kept him away from meeting Gisbourne for breakfast at Locksley, as they always do on Mondays to discuss the week's agenda. Gisbourne was always a man prone to losing his temper. With his right-hand man missing two important rendezvous, Allan knew this would not bode well for him.
Before he realized, Allan's reluctant feet had finally dragged him to the heavy mahogany door which guarded him from his undoing.
Well life, it's been a great ride. Djaq'll kill me once she finds out I'm dead…wait...never mind.
Allan clenched his shaking fist and gave three solid raps against the center of the tall door. He heard Gisbourne's gruff voice call out from within, "Enter." With one last heavy sigh, Allan turned the iron knob and pushed in, opening into Gisbourne's castle office. Allan glanced around the room, looking for his boss and checking for a possible ambush.
The place looked as it usually did. The coals in the fireplace glowed faintly, barely holding on to the heat of a fire and allowing an eerie chill to seep into the room. The midday sun blazed through the window, setting a rainbow of color in wild patterns across the barren floor and walls. The cheery hues seemed alien in such a foreboding room. The scratch of a quill on parchment finally brought Allan's attention to the over-large desk that sat to the left of the door. The desk was the main focus of the room, part because it was the only decorative item the office had, and in part because of its ostentatious design.
Deep cherry (what Allan knew to be a rather expansive wood, obviously he did learn something from that carpenter) made up the entirety of the desk. It was immense in size, what Allan believed to be compensation for a rather small…personality. Battle designs were carved into the front of the desk, depicting a savage episode of Saracen deaths at the hands of the English soldiers. It was who sat at the desk that made Allan's stomach sink down to his ankles.
Looking down at his scribbling, sitting behind the monstrous desk, was Sir Guy of Gisbourne, current Lord of Locksley. Dressed in his usual black attire, the man didn't even look up at Allan before speaking to him. "Sit", Guy ordered, not even bothering to stop writing as his spoke. Allan hesitantly stepped towards the uncomfortable looking wooden chairs that were placed directly in front of Guy's desk.
Allan strode over to the nearest char, sitting rigidly while he discreetly rubbed his sweaty palms against his breeches. After a few minutes of tense silence broken only by the constant 'scritch scratch' of quill on paper, Guy ended his writing with a firm dot and scrawled signature, placing the quill back in its ink pot before looking at Allan. He leaned back in his chair, the familiar lazy smirk working its way onto his face as he folded his hands across his chest.
"Allan, Allan, Allan. Whatever are we going to do with you?" Guy clicked his tongue in a disapproving cluck that sounded very much like an angry nun at church. The comparison would have had Allan laughing, if he wasn't ready to pass out from nerves. Allan said nothing, only raising his gaze to meet Guy's glinting gray eyes. After working under Guy for so long, the once outlaw quickly learned that this was the one person he couldn't constantly talk to, couldn't talk at all to in situations like this.
"Would you mind explaining to me, my young friend, where you were last night and this morning? I believe I explicitly told you that we had very important business to attend to on both occasions. If you remember, last night we were supposed to be meeting with the Sheriff. You may think you can stand me up, but you most certainly cannot miss an appointment with Vaisey." At this last statement Guy stood up and wandered to the window, looking down on the courtyard below.
Allan couldn't stand this much longer. His stomach twisted into a maze of knots, his mouth dried completely and made swallowing near impossible, sweat trickled down the back of his neck as his brain seemed to stop and whirl at the same time. The combination made him feel sick.
Come on Allan, lie, you know you can. It's what you do. Lie your ass off and you may just get out of this. Think man, think.
"Well? Do you have anything to say Allan? Aren't you going to tell me where you've been all night?" Guy turned from the window, his hands behind his back and looked at Allan expectantly. Apparently, he knew Allan had no response.
Like Hell that's true. I always have a response.
Allan thought back to what he had learned when he was younger. What his Uncle had helped him master, the Art of Lying. His Uncle has been a professional trickster (in Allan and Tom's minds anyway) and he could clearly remember the rules that his mother's brother had told him every day.
Number One: Always, always maintain solid eye contact with the person. As soon as you look away, you lose any chance of convincing them. And don't make your gaze anything other than calm.
Allan, still looking down at the space between his feet, tightly squeezed his eyes shut one final time before looking serenely into Gisbourne's steely silver orbs.
Number Two: Do not jiggle, shake, or make any movement of any kind that hints at nervousness. This will not only give reason for doubt, but also make them focus on something other than what you're saying.
Despite his body begging for an outlet for it's pent up nerves, Allan folded his hands in front and placed them in his lap. He didn't twiddle a thumb or bounce a leg; he sat there still as an untouched lake, a picture of calm.
Number Three: Once you begin talking, keep all things steady. Never hurry through your story to reach the end or go so slow it seems that you're creating everything on the spot—even if you are. Also, keep a level tone. If you're voice raises too high, it'll be a dead giveaway.
"Well sir," Allan began, "Here's what happened."
Number Four: And last but not least, be believable. Make them trust you; your lies are to become truths.
"I swear Sir, I was on my way to come and meet you when I was stopped by a woman. She was a right mess, sobbing so hard her face was blotchy and swollen; I couldn't even recognize who she was. Her name she never mentioned, but she said she knew I was one of your men and that she needed my help to find her daughter who had run off somewhere. When I said I was late for an important meeting and that I would get some other guards on it, she nearly wrenched my arm off pulling me out saying 'No, no, it has to be you. I think she wandered into the woods and you were once one of Robin's men. I know you know your way around there and won't cause trouble amongst the outlaws.' So, I figured I would hurry up and help her look for the girl, then rush back to the meeting and hopefully still make it in time," Allan drew a short breath and continued with his story, praying that what he was saying sounded somewhat believable.
"Anyway, she drags me to the very edge of Sherwood and a split second after we're under the cover of trees she turns around. It was right creepy it was; she had this scary grin on her face, like she knew some secret that she just lured me into. Then, she looks over my shoulder and just before I can turn around to see what she's looking at, bam! I feel a smack in the back of my head so hard the world just went black. Honest to God I can't remember a thing after that. Next thing I know, it's early morning, my head feels like it's been split by an axe, my purse is stolen, and I've got a note saying 'Down with the Sheriff, long live King Richard!' stuck to my chest. So, I hurried here as quickly as my head would allow so I could tell you why I was absent last night and early this morning."
Allan's heart stuttered and practically stopped as he maintained his calm yet frustrated expression, attempting to convey the 'pain' and 'outrage' he felt due to his ambush. Silence ensued. The only noise that could be heard was the pop of embers dying out in the hearth, taking with them the last of any warmth. Guy unfolded his arms and leaned away from the wall, his eyes focused on Allan's as if searching for the spark of a lie. Step by step, Guy closed the distance between the two of them with torturously slow steps. Allan could hardly breathe. All he could focus on was maintaining the cover of a perfect liar.
Finally, Guy came to stand directly in front of Allan and leaned down until their noses were almost touching. Allan suppressed a shudder as Guy whispered darkly to him, "Is this really what happened, an ambush by some helpless woman and her mystery man? Do you really expect me to believe this Allan?"
Allan locked on to Guy's gaze one final time and spoke with as low deliberate tone, "I am not lying Sir. I swear it happened." Guy finally pulled away and gave his hired man a solid once-over. Finally, Guy gave his decision.
"Although your outlawed and traitorous past doesn't speak all too highly of your character, I have never had any trouble with you before. You usually make all of your appointments and are a dutiful assistant. I suppose I can let this one occurrence slide, especially since it must have been so," Guy paused for a low chuckle to arise, "traumatizing."
Allan couldn't believe his ears. I'm not going to die. I'm going to live. Thank the sweet Lord Almighty; I can see my Djaq again. You are one lucky bastard Allan A'Dale. Allan stood up and gave a slight bow to Guy, who seemed entertained enough by Allan's story. "Thank you for your understanding and forgiveness Sir, I promise nothing like this will ever happen again."
Guy chuckled once again and turned away to return to his seat behind his desk, "Yes Allan, see to it that it doesn't."
Allan bowed once more and with a hushed 'thank you' finally exited Gisbourne's office, being able to breathe properly for the first time in what felt like hours. All he could do as he walked back down the hall was thank the lucky stars above for his uncle.
The familiar raucous voices of the gang could be heard just below the hill as Robin and Djaq trudged through the familiar scenery of Sherwood Forest. They had finally reached the camp. Just before they were in visual range of the camp, Robin let out a high whistle, the sign that they were friends returning once again. The voices stopped and a returning whistle could be heard from within. Robin turned and grinned at Djaq before setting towards the hidden entrance with a slight spring in his step. Djaq could feel herself relax, knowing that everything was once again at peace with their leader.
The trapdoor to the camp opened quickly, and the remaining members of the gang sprung out like rabbits from behind a bush. "Where is she? Did you find her?" Was the hurried questioning coming from Will, whose green eyes frantically searched behind Robin until they found Djaq. His shoulders slumped with obvious relief and a great sigh followed. He tossed aside the small piece of wood he had been whittling with his dagger and rushed towards her, sweeping her into a tight hug before placing her quickly back onto the ground. A faint rosy blush warmed the normally pale cheeks and Djaq could help but laugh at his embarrassment.
"We were worried sick you know," was the greeting she received from Much. He walked out, spoon in hand, probably interrupted in his cooking by their homecoming, "You have no idea what it was like wondering where you wandered off to."
Djaq slyly looked at her friend and said, "Oh Much, I am so sorry I had caused you so much trouble. I didn't disturb your making supper by returning, did I?"
Much huffed at her obvious teasing, "As I matter of fact—"he began, before being interrupted by Little John.
"Much, shut it. Come here lassie." Little John spread his arms wide, inviting Djaq for one of his big bear hugs. She ran into him, causing an 'Oomph!' to come out of her large friend. If Robin felt like an older brother, than Little John had become like a father to Djaq. She had to admit, she felt bad for worrying him about her going missing. She finally let go and looked up towards the twinkling eyes that were hidden beneath a matt of curly black hair and beard.
Djaq reached up and tweaked his nose, feeling a rumbling laugh run through John's massive chest. "What's wrong old man? I'm not here for one night and you are a complete mess, don't even brush your hair! Honestly." Little John ruffled her hair before stepping away from Djaq. Finally Much turned back towards the camp, waving his spoon in the air like torch.
"Alright, now that we know Djaq is safe and sound, let's get to supper. I've got rabbit stew cooking and I am absolutely starving. Come on everybody, back inside. By the way Robin, it's your turn to wash the dishes." Robin quickly followed Much, their argument about dish duty clearly heard to the rest of the gang. Little John shook his head and followed the pair in, most likely to break up any scuffle that could break out between the two. Djaq, who laughed happily at the familiar antics of her companions, was about to follow the others when she heard the soft clearing of a throat from behind her.
She turned back around, catching eyes with Will who glanced down at his boots which kicked the leaves beneath him. "Yes Will?" She asked him, wondering what he could need.
"Well Djaq, I really want you to know that I was truly worried about you last night. I couldn't really sleep, I though the Sheriff had got to you or something." Djaq smiled at Will's endearing words. He truly was one of the sweetest men she had met, in both the Holy Land and England. She couldn't help but remember Allan's words from their night together before last.
"Truly Djaq, he wants you. I saw it when I was at the camp and from what you told he still feels the same. He loves you Djaq," Allan looked at her as he said these words; worry seeping in at the corners of his eyes.
"I don't think so Allan, Will has always just been friendly. And even if he did feel that way you know I don't return his feelings. Those are all for you." She ended the conversation by fully kissing him, erasing any concern he may have had about the feelings Will Scarlet had for her.
Now, looking back on what Allan said and hearing Will's words, she finally understood. Oh Allah, he does love me. She gave a short smile at Will's words, "Thank you Will, that's very kind of you to say." Once more Djaq moved to walk away but, a tug at her arm turned her around once again. She looked at Will, feeling confusion splayed across her face.
Will spoke hurriedly, asking the question before he even realized what he had said. "Where were you last night Djaq? Honestly." Djaq looked at the tall man, wrenching her arm aware and losing her calm demeanor all at once. She was tired of interrogations; she did not need one from Will as well.
"That is my private business Will Scarlet; I would hope that you would have respected that. Robin has said that I am forgiving for not returning and that is all you need to know." With her final statement Djaq rushed off into the camp, leaving Will outside and alone. He followed her retreat with his eyes, suspicion clouding his thoughts.
"That's strange," he muttered to himself, picking up the half-whittled horse and dagger he had thrown on the ground, "Djaq is never so short. There's something else going on here, and I'll be damned if I don't find out what it is." He looked down at the head of the Arabic horse he was working on, its elegantly craned neck and wildly flowing mane making a perfect replica of a stallion's upper body. Djaq's birthday present he thought, rubbing the white pine wood and cramming it back into his pocket. Hopefully she'll still want it. Hopefully she'll want me. Finally Will inhaled the rich spices of Much's rabbit stew, and listening to his rumbling stomach entered the camp and closed the door behind him.
A/N: Well darlings, I hope you all loved it! Honestly though, I need more reviews. Only one per chapter is making me a wee bit sad :( Sooo, please make my day and write me a review! I will love you forever. And if you do, I promise to make you a great Chapter 7!