The Sheriff had tried all of the usual places he expected to find her. He immediately went to the gardens. He thought for sure he'd find her by the garden wall. There was no sign of her. Then he wandered through the mazes of hedges beyond the gardens. Caught up in circles, he walked for miles it seemed. Still nothing. He made his way back to the castle, retracing his steps visiting the usual places she favoured. Still, he could not find her. He wandered through the castle aimlessly after all of this confusion, lost in thought. Somehow he ended up walking along the stone floors of the corridor which led to the balcony. The same one he stood upon with Guy and some local dignitaries at midday.

He could only imagine the scene that transpired in Madam Oberon's home. Somehow this maiden Brigid, must have found out that Rhiannon is my bride, he thought. Hector never said he was engaged, but then again, why would he? And after whatever happened there, if she witnessed the hanging, the Sheriff knew she would be affected by it. Rhiannon was a strong woman, there was no question about that. But even though he was aware how hard she tried to maintain that part of her character, there were still some things that could penetrate that exterior. Alas, she was almost like the female version of himself. The difference was that she had more heart. She was confident and self reliant, but there was also a glimmer of vulnerability in there, if one paused long enough to see it.

It was growing very dark. The sky was still covered in a heavy layer of clouds. The air was dense. Rain would come soon. Torches still lit the castle walls surrounding the village square down below. As he took in the sight before him, shaken out of his thoughts, he saw a figure crouched on the scaffold far below from his vantage point on the balcony. He blinked a few times to adjust his vision in the dark. Was that…a woman?

Rhiannon.

He ran back to the corridor running down the length of it and flew down the staircase. He ran through the long halls of the main floor and then found the exit to the courtyard. His sentry eyed him curiously as he passed by but he ignored him.

He walked out into the center of the village square toward the steps of the scaffold. He looked up. Rhiannon was sitting on the floor of the scaffold, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her arms were hugging them and her head rested there upon her knees. He walked up the steps.

"My lady?" he said.

She looked up. "I meant to be back a long time ago. Yet strangely, I could not move." She said.

"Rhiannon." The Sheriff whispered.

"I saw it." Rhiannon said.

"I know." He said.

"I saw the hanging."

He said nothing. For he knew, that his duty was now to listen.

"I met the man's bride today." Rhiannon began. "Hours before his execution. It was horrible. Do you know what she said to me?" Rhiannon asked.

The Sheriff shook his head. His eyes searched hers and his face softened. He could see she was upset. He expected to see she'd been crying. But it was obvious she had not.

"Well, first she spat in my face. That was special." Rhiannon said as she stood up and smoothed her skirts. "She called you a murderer. Then she told me that you made her a widow, before she could offer her man just one night in the marriage bed!"

"Rhiannon…" He said.

"And so I attempted to return long before the hanging. But alas, who knew? Who knew I'd get tangled up in utter pandemonium, unable to break free?" Rhiannon said.

The Sheriff sighed and attempted to speak. "My lady." He slowly walked toward her.

"And then I saw you and Sir Guy. And I saw him! I saw the whole scene and do you know what?" She asked him, her voice raised a decibel or two.

"No." He replied after he drew in a heavy sigh.

"It was like I was looking at everything – him, the people crowded around me, my surroundings, and yes – even you, through her eyes!" Rhiannon shrieked.

"Lady Rhiannon." The Sheriff said.

"From down here, mingled in amongst the crowd, you almost appeared menacing." Rhiannon said.

"My lady…" He tried again.

"And I felt it – when he hung. I imagined how I would feel if I were his lady. Her name is Brigid." Rhiannon said. She was talking so fast he feared she would run out of breath. "If that were you up there, condemned, and nobody could save you. Not even my undying love for you could save you…" Rhiannon paused. She was breathing too rapidly. She needed to slow down.

"Wait, my lady. Before you contin…" He was cut off.

"And I almost felt my heart was torn from my bosom the moment he died. Because I put myself in Lady Brigid's position. I imagined the man hanging there was you!" Rhiannon exclaimed. "It could've been us this happened to!"

"My lady, if you would just permit me to…"

"And do you know what I found?" Rhiannon asked.

The Sheriff opened his mouth to speak but failed to form the words quickly enough.

"That she is not that mad after all, for dying her wedding gown black! Because if that were you hanging there like a ragdoll, I'd want to wear my morbid black wedding gown…every day of my wretched miserable life after that!" Rhiannon shrieked.

"Rhiannon!" The Sheriff shouted. She was in danger of reaching the boundary of madness!

"I wanted to hate you then. Isn't that ludicrous? But I looked up at you. You looked cold…almost cruel. And I wanted to Hate You!" She screamed.

The Sheriff walked toward her and gently placed his hands upon her shoulders. "Shh…it's alright my…"

"I so wanted to hate you for what you had done to her." Rhiannon hissed. "But I couldn't. I couldn't and then something even crazier than that happened." Rhiannon sighed.

He looked at her. He didn't speak because it did appear she was calming…somewhat.

"I felt guilty." Rhiannon said quietly.

"What?" The Sheriff asked. Trying to make sense of her was boggling his mind.

"I felt guilty because I couldn't hate you for what you had done to Brigid!" She shouted.

"Oh, my angel…" He sighed.

"You and that foul, loathsome executioner, altered her life and her dreams…forever!" Rhiannon exclaimed. A tear spilled onto her cheek. He desperately wanted to wipe it away for her, but he hesitated until he knew what she was trying to say. Was it now too late?

The Sheriff shook his head. "You do not understand…" He said.

"And that's how I ended up here. I felt guilty because I wanted to despise you. But I couldn't. So tell me…why is it do you think, that would glue me to this platform? I should not have given the matter any thought and come straight to you." Rhiannon mused. "But I couldn't."

"I don't understand." The Sheriff said. It was difficult to conceal his frustration. She was talking in circles.

She looked up into his eyes.

"I couldn't, because I needed to work this out in my mind. I couldn't face you with doubt in my heart. I needed to return to you…pure."

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes and shook his head in confusion. Had she been drinking again? It was difficult to make sense of her words.

"My lady…what are you trying to say?" He asked gently.

"To put it simply – I cannot look you in the eye and lie to you. And if I returned to you before I worked this out myself, then that would be like I was lying to you." She said.

The Sheriff was stunned. So all of this time that she had been gone, it was because she couldn't lie? To him? He was so moved by those words, for the first time, he knew not how to react. He couldn't move, or even speak. He couldn't even coax his facial muscles into a smile. He was momentarily frozen in place.

"It was all so real to me." Rhiannon said, her eyes downcast. "I met her, albeit briefly. It was hostile but it was very apparent – her love for him. Then I saw him. And I don't know why but…I felt her pain."

He finally found his voice. "My lady Rhiannon." The Sheriff whispered as he reached over and lifted her chin with his hand. She lifted her eyes to meet his.

"It could've been us." She whispered.

The Sheriff held her close to him and stroked her hair. "I am sorry, my lady, that you were subjected to such cruelty and were forced to witness the hanging." He said. "It shouldn't have happened."

"No." She said. "If I am to be your wife, than I must accept all that comes with it, even if it includes your enemies." She pulled away to look at him.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I'm sorry I worried you, but I hope you understand why I couldn't return to you right away. I was so…confused." Rhiannon whispered.

"Come, my lady." The Sheriff said. "This is no place for my angel to be."

She smiled and nodded. He offered her his arm and she took it, then he helped her down the steps. They walked together back to the castle. The rain began just before they got to the entrance.

Later, when Rhiannon was fast asleep, the Sheriff was in the den outside of his private chambers. Unlike Rhiannon, he suffered from a bout of insomnia. His mind was a tangled up web of thoughts. His child. Was the Duke getting closer to finding his child? The Fallen Knight. What sort of scheming was he up to? Was he moving back in the direction of Nottingham? Were any more maidens missing? The wedding. Lady Rhiannon. The execution. Thrusting the dagger into Hestia's chest. He took a generous gulp of the tincture of rapture in an attempt to quiet his thoughts.

He stared into the fire. It mesmerized him. The flames drew his eyes in as they licked and sparked. Soon he was warmed and feeling a little more relaxed.

But when the bell pealed in the den, he realized he wasn't as relaxed as he thought he was. Because he was so startled he spilled some of the brandy from the goblet that shook in his hand when he jumped off of his seat.

Mortianna was calling for him. He topped up the goblet with more brandy from the decanter and walked toward the heavy oak door that led down the depths of the stone circular stairs to Mortianna's lair.

"You called, Madam?" The Sheriff smiled as he greeted her.

"Come, my child. The stars have aligned. I must bade you warning." Mortianna said as she extended her hand out toward him gesturing for him to come inside.

"What?" the Sheriff said. "God's nightgown, woman! What more could there possibly be to warn me about?" The Sheriff exclaimed. He suddenly wished he ignored her summons.

"Something vexes thee?" She asked.

"It's been a very long day." The Sheriff sighed as he paused to sip the brandy from his goblet.

"The hanging." She said.

"Yes." He huffed.

"You should've come to me first. I could have spared you from all of the nonsense your lady endured today." Mortianna stated nonchalantly as she walked over to the fire to stir the brew in her cauldron.

The Sheriff's left eyebrow shot north. "How do you know about that?" He asked.

"The runes and the blood do not lie." She said.

"You knew?" The Sheriff repeated. He was stunned.

"Yes. And I could have spared you all of this." She said as she quickly stirred the mixture in the cauldron.

"Well, it's too late, but enlighten me, Madam. Just how could you have prevented it?" The Sheriff asked, unconvinced.

"Five days ago I was made a Druidic Prophet." Mortianna announced as she searched around the apothecary for the items she needed.

"Prophet's can only be men!" The Sheriff spat.

"Historically, yes." Mortianna said as she paused what she was doing to face him. " But there is one other Druidess I am told. She is Bodhmall of Sliabh Bladhma. Though, I'm not sure if she is a prophet."

The Sheriff sighed. "We could've killed him by another means." He said.

"Indeed. It could've been done privately and quietly and…" She was cut off.

"You could've told me where the leperous former prisoner of mine is." The Sheriff spat. "Curses, Mortianna! Why didn't you tell me?"

"You did not ask." She said.

The Sheriff released an audible sigh and walked over to one of the chairs at the small table and took a seat. He took a gulp of the brandy. Mortianna spoke of the Prophet's role in Druidic ritual. It was the custom for animals to be used in sacrifice. The Druidic Prophet was able to predict the future, often by observing flights and calls of birds, and by observing the sacrifice of holy animals. In matters of extreme importance a human victim could be prepared for sacrifice. A dagger was plunged into the victim's chest, and by observing the way in which the person's limbs convulse, how he falls to the floor, and the way in which the blood flows, the Druidic Prophet is able to predict the future. If the Sheriff had known this about Mortianna, Hector could've been used in sacrifice. He shook his head. Mortianna was right. There was something to be said for breaking the rules. For that manner of execution would have been a better choice. Less fuss, no politics, it would've been carried out quickly, and he would've obtained some of the answers he was looking for. Curses!

Mortianna glided to the table. Her black and silver robes rustled along the stone floor. A rat scurried along the floor of her apothecary. She was oblivious. She brought a shiny copper platter, the bone dice runes, and a large vial of snake blood with her.

"It is time for portents." She said.

Mortianna put the platter on the table. She opened the vial. The Sheriff watched her curiously. "I've grown to prefer this method." She commented. "It's cleaner than slicing at the eggs." The blood spilled onto the platter. Then she took the bone dice and cast the runes onto the platter. She picked it up and swirled them, then stopped to study them.

"What do you see?" The Sheriff asked her.

"I see someone who wants you dead."

"Well I know, Mortianna!" The Sheriff said. "But he is long gone, until he gets bored and comes back for more adventure."

"No." Mortianna said. "It is not the man you once held in your dungeon I am seeing."

"Well it could be anybody." The Sheriff remarked.

Mortianna looked up at him. The Sheriff returned a sheepish grin. She returned her gaze to the runes.

"The past shall meet the future." Mortianna continued.

The Sheriff shook his head. "This tells me nothing!" The Sheriff barked. "Always incessant riddles with you!"

"You must be vigilant." Mortianna advised, unfazed by his outburst.

"When?" The Sheriff demanded. "Now?"

"A visitor shall come from afar. Someone you once wronged."

The Sheriff sighed. "As I said, that could be anybody."

"Beware of the cross." Mortianna said.

"Which one?" The Sheriff chortled. "There's crosses carved all over the damned castle!" He rolled his eyes. Had the woman gone daft?

"Upon the person who bears you ill will. You will know it to be so if thine eyes should look upon it." Mortianna warned. "It gleams of red stones, yet can yield red liquid."

"You are certain?" The Sheriff asked.

"Indeed. The runes and the blood do not lie."

"It's not this woman my former jailer was engaged to?" The Sheriff prodded her.

"No." Mortianna said. "The past shall meet the future."

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

"That is perfect!" Well done, Richard!" Duke Farnsworth exclaimed as he stood with Richard and Nigel, examining both of the completed drawings.

It was well after dusk. The men were huddled near the fire. Richard massaged his neck as he gave the two drawings to the Duke. He had spent the entire day, and part of the night before working on them. He lost count of how many attempts it took before Duke Farnsworth declared the likenesses were exact.

"Let me see those!" Nigel said as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. The Duke handed the drawings to him.

"So…this is them?" He asked the Duke.

"Indeed." The Duke said. "It's remarkable! I'm sure my Lord Sheriff is going to be finding many other uses for our Master Richard, now."

Richard smiled. He paused to take a drink of water from his flask.

"Forgive me, mate." Nigel said to Richard. "I just never knew you were an artist." He gave the drawings back to the Duke. The Duke took them and went to sit down to complete his letter.

"I'm a Knight. The skill has no use to me as one in the Sheriff's militia." Richard shrugged.

"You should be proud." The Duke called as he finally finished his letter to the Sheriff. He needed to see the end result before he put his stamp of approval on them in the letter. "This will prove invaluable indeed. My Lord Sheriff is going to be very pleased." He smiled.

"I hope so." Richard said.

The men were startled and turned when they heard a rustling noise at the edge of the clearing where they were gathered. A tall, gangly lad with cropped, curly, mousy brown hair was approaching them. He led his horse alongside him by the reins.

"Good evening." Nigel greeted him. He turned to the Duke. "Duke, this is our messenger."

The Duke was just finishing sealing the three documents together. He picked up the scroll along with a small sack, stood up and came toward the others.

"These documents are of great importance." The Duke said to the lad. "It must not fall into anyone else's hands but those of my Lord Sheriff of Nottingham." He instructed.

"Indeed, my Lord." The young lad said.

"But can I trust you?" Duke Farnsworth wondered.

"I had him checked out by the county's local Sheriff." Nigel reassured. "Turns out the man's castle is just beyond that giant hill over there!" He said as he pointed west.

The Duke was surprised. "Good thinking, Nigel." He said. "This is perhaps the most important message I shall ever send to the Sheriff."

"You have my word, that none other but he shall even touch the scroll." The messenger said.

"Good." The Duke replied. He held a small chocolate brown suede leather sack tied with a drawstring in one hand, the scroll in the other. He handed the small sack of coins, and the scroll to the messenger.

The messenger took them, and shook the Duke's hand in agreement of his contract, then departed on his way toward Nottingham.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

"When may we stop running?" Isabelle asked her husband.

She was seated on a high backed chair, holding the infant in the empty cabin they had found deep in the woods, far in the north of the country.

"I think we're good for now, my dear." Robert said as he put some logs on the fire.

It was early Friday morning. Even though it was the dead of summer, there was a chill in the morning air.

"I still can't believe we have the Sheriff's baby." Isabelle commented. "Who would want…"

"To get near him?" Robert interrupted. He shook his head. "I can't imagine what manner of lady would wish to play with the Sheriff of Nottingham's codpiece!" He retorted.

"I feel like I'm doing the right thing, yet the wrong thing all at the same time." Isabelle remarked.

"We're doing the right thing." Robert said. "We have no other choice."

"True." Isabelle conceded as she began to feed the infant. "If they find us, we'll lose the baby." She sighed.

"You shall lose more than that." Robert said as he arranged the logs on the fire with a poker. It was time for the truth.

Isabelle narrowed her blue eyes. "I don't understand." She said. "What do you mean?"

"There's some things I've never told you." He sighed as he stood up and turned around to face her.

Isabelle searched his eyes with hers, demanding explanation.

Robert came toward her. "I should have spoken long before now, but…" His words trailed off. He reached out to gently caress his child's shiny, dark curls - the same hair as the Sheriff of Nottingham. He sighed.

"But what?" She coaxed.

"You've heard me speak of my sister?" Robert began.

"Yes, of course, my love. One day I hope to meet her. But…what does she have to do with this?"

Robert sighed. He looked down to the floor. "She thinks I am dead." He stated.

"What?" Isabelle exclaimed. "That cannot be!" She shook her head in disbelief.

Robert looked up to face the weight of her stare.

"What do you mean she thinks you are dead?" Isabelle demanded.

"Because… I was a wanted man. And I probably still am, aside from the matter of the infant." He announced.

Isabelle picked up the infant and arose from her seat. She held the baby next to her and began to burp the child as she paced about the room.

"You were wanted?" She asked. "You?" She snorted. "Gentle Robert, what could you be wanted for?" Isabelle asked, still stunned by his admission.

"I was one in Robin of Locksley's band of merry men. Though… the Sheriff of Nottingham would disagree with that choice of adjective. To him, we are outlaws." He confessed.

Isabelle subconsciously inched closer to the fireplace. For she felt a sudden chill pass through to her bones.

"I don't understand…" She struggled to say.

"You shall." He said with a sigh.

Isabelle took a moment to put the child down in the cradle, then came back to finish the discussion with her husband.

Robert began to tell her the story of how he joined the Crusades. He spoke of how he ended up held captive in a Saracen prison where he first met Robin of Locksley and Azeem the moor, along with Robin's friend Peter Dubois. He spoke of the day they escaped the prison and made their way back to England four months after that, in 1194. He went on to tell her about them parting ways, his meeting Little John and the rest of the men, and then meeting up again, days later, with Robin, Azeem, and Robin's servant, Duncan, when John challenged Robin to a quarterstaff duel.

Isabelle was slowly feeling the blood drain from her the more her handsome husband spoke. His blue green eyes shifted nervously as he continued the story.

"And the day that Robin came flying into camp upon the Sheriff's horse, after what he had done to the Sheriff, I knew I was doomed." Robert said.

"Because you were associated with him, even though you mostly kept to yourself." Isabelle surmised. She was beginning to feel sick.

"Yes. And that was the day I decided it would better for my sister if she thought I was dead." Robert explained. "She thinks I died almost two years ago."

Isabelle shook her head incredulously. "Wait… you said this happened three years ago? When - you were involved with Robin."

"Yes, my love. It did. You know that? Everyone in the kingdom knew about Locksley's murder?" He said.

"But I don't understand?" She said. "Your sister thinks you've been dead two years. So, if you decided then to be dead to her, why does she think you've been dead only two years?" Isabelle asked. She felt like she was in a bizarre dream. For asking that question sounded completely ridiculous to her as she uttered the words.

"I couldn't do it right away." Robert admitted. "First of all, I was too busy about lengthening the distance between me and the Sheriff." He began. "And then, when I had time to think on it, I hesitated."

Isabelle sat back down and put her head in her hands.

"Robert, you're a very intelligent man, but right now, you're not making sense." She pleaded.

"I know it sounds strange, but it took me a year to send her the letter." Robert stated. "It seemed so final, even though I knew it had to be done."

Isabelle slowly raised her head. "And how did you say you…died?" She asked. It was difficult to speak of it, even though it was a lie.

"She knew I went to fight in the Holy Land." He said. "So in September 1195 she received word that while I was en route to England from Jerusalem, that my ship capsized during a storm."

Isabelle sighed. "And… the handwriting on the message?" She asked.

"I commissioned a stranger to pen the scroll for me. I told him Robert was a friend of mine, and that I was illiterate." Robert replied quietly.

Isabelle closed her eyes a moment and shook her head. "You've already told me how close you were to your siblings." She began. "That was a cruel thing to do to her, after everything else she endured."

"No, my dearest." He countered. "In fact, I was being kind."

"How was that kind?" Isabelle asked.

"I am guilty by association with Robin of Locksley. I feared she may be in danger just because she is related to me."

"So you thought this would be better for her?" Isabelle concluded.

"Indeed." Robert said.

"But you didn't do anything wrong?" Isabelle exclaimed.

"I said I mostly kept to myself." Robert began. "But I did engage in treacherous acts."

"Like what?" Isabelle asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"Stealing for the most part…" His words trailed off.

"Is that all?" She pried.

"No." He said. "The day that Locksley was murdered, we had stolen into the village square in disguise. We had a plan of attack to save our men who were scheduled to hang that day. We were also going in to rescue Lady Marian."

"And?..."

"The plan was to kill the Sheriff of Nottingham. That was Robin's intention. We had had enough." Robert said.

"But the plan went awry." Isabelle guessed accurately with a sigh.

"Yes. One of our men was spotted in the crowd. He ended up severely injured in a fire." Robert began. "After Robin came to his aid, he later found his way into the castle with Azeem, but it was he who met his end…not the Sheriff."

Isabelle fidgeted in her seat and wrung her hands on her skirts. Her blue eyes moistened as her fears mounted.

"What happened after that? Was any of the men captured?" Isabelle asked.

"Some. But for the most part, all of the key players in Robin's gang managed to escape capture unscathed. We scattered after that, and ran for our lives. It was foolish to stick together." Robert said.

Isabelle took a deep breath. "So…we are wanted because we have the Sheriff's baby. And you are wanted in connection to Robin of Locksley."

"Yes." Robert replied.

"Oh, Robert!" Isabelle cried. She could no longer conceal the tears that spilled onto her cheeks. "We are doomed!" She exclaimed.

"It is I who am doomed." He said. He walked closer to her and knelt in front of her. He put both of his hands upon her knees and looked up at her.

"Forgive me, my love. I should have confessed years ago. I thought it was all behind me, until the two guards came knocking on our door from Nottingham." Robert said.

Isabelle dried her tears and looked into his large, blue green eyes. "You are not an outlaw, Robert! I don't care what the Sheriff of Nottingham says. It grieves me that you kept this from me all this time, but we shall face whatever comes together." Isabelle said.

Robert attempted to smile, but it was difficult.

"Are you certain we are safe here?" Isabelle asked.

"Yes, my lady." He said.

"Oh, Robert!" Isabelle exclaimed. "I'm frightened!" She leaned forward and put her head on his shoulder. She began to sob.

Robert placed his strong arms around her. "Hush, my love. It will be alright." Robert soothed. He hated that he had to disappoint and grieve his beloved. But he could no longer shoulder the burden alone. He finally felt a small measure of relief for confessing the truth to Isabelle.

Isabelle had calmed down somewhat. "Is that everything?" Isabelle asked, her cheek still resting against his shoulder.

He felt her breath upon his neck. He drew in a heavy sigh.

"No. There's one more thing you need to know." Robert said.

Isabelle pulled away and looked into his eyes.

"Oh, Isabelle…" He shook his head slowly.

"What is it?" Isabelle implored him.

"My name is Robert Wordsworth. It is not Whitfield." He stated quietly.