When Rhiannon awoke early Friday morning, she instinctively reached out to her man. She was alarmed when she found he wasn't lying beside her. She sat up.

The Sheriff was seated in a chair near to the window. He smiled when her misty green eyes found his.

"It is very early, my love. Did you even sleep?" She asked him.

He arose from the chair and came toward her, then seated himself beside her on the bed.

"No much." He admitted.

"Something troubles you, my Lord?" Rhiannon asked as she softly caressed his cheek and his soft beard.

He took her hand from his face and kissed it softly. Where to begin? He thought facetiously.

"There's always something for me to think upon, my lady. Far too many tedious and or troublesome matters." The Sheriff said.

"Yes." She said quietly.

"And there is one matter that I'm thinking about right now which is not so tedious or troublesome." He hinted with a smile.

"Oh?" Rhiannon asked. "What is that, my love?"

"We have not set a date for our wedding." The Sheriff reminded her.

Rhiannon smiled. For lately, she had been eager to make concrete plans for her wedding to the Sheriff. Until – she ran into Lady Brigid at Madam Oberon's home the day before.

"What date do you have in mind?" Rhiannon asked.

"What about a fortnight from now?" The Sheriff asked.

Rhiannon grabbed one of the many silk covered soft down pillows from the surplus and hugged it to her as she pondered the idea.

"No." She said. "That won't be enough time for my gown to be ready." Rhiannon mused.

"Okay. What about September twelfth?" The Sheriff suggested.

"No." Rhiannon replied, shaking her head. "Too close to the thirteenth – an unlucky number."

The Sheriff raised his left eyebrow. Was she parrying?

"Rhiannon." He admonished. "We are not waiting a year in case you get the idea to throw that at me…" He was cut off. He was going to add 'again'.

"September twenty sixth." Rhiannon interrupted. "That will give me plenty of time to plan, and it is three days before Michaelmas."

The Sheriff smiled. "Perfect, my angel." The Sheriff said as he embraced her. "You shall be my Lady Nottingham, officially on September twenty sixth."

Rhiannon pulled away from him gently and looked up into his amber eyes.

"We're getting married in the same month we met." She smiled.

"I know." The Sheriff said. "It is, and it shall be….perfect."

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

August 15th, London…

The woman pushed her dark auburn ringlets from her face as she checked a last time to ensure she'd packed everything for her journey. Her journey home. There it was. The one item that was the most crucial to bring with her. She held it in her hands. The light shone through the window and reflected from the stones. The brilliance assaulted her eyes. She didn't know why she felt the need to take it so many years ago, when the opportunity presented itself. She just had a feeling that one day, it would serve a purpose. Her former lover had a purpose for it, but alas, the plan failed.

She sighed. She thought of her handsome yeoman, his strong arms enfolding her. His sandy coloured hair, and his blue eyes. She thought him invincible at the time. For how could a man who was capable of aiming an arrow and shooting it perfectly on target at three hundred yards meet such a tragic end? Three years had passed and she still found it difficult to believe. But she knew it to be real. She witnessed it. There would be no other man for her, she had resigned herself to that. And now, she was finally ready to carry out a plan she'd been rehearsing in her mind in various methods. It was time for revenge. She'd never killed anyone before. The man who was the intended target was powerful, cunning, and ultimately ruthless. It would definitely be a difficult task. She was willing to take whatever steps necessary to see her plan come to fruition, however. Even if she died trying. For she was already dead anyway. The day her lover was murdered, was the day that she died too. The time that had passed since, imposed a nightmare upon her. Every day since, as she awoke in the morning and opened her eyes, she wanted to scream the words: "Why is everything in colour?" For in her mind, the world should have been painted in shades of grey.

She put the item deep within the folds of her skirt pocket. Looking at it was causing her alarm. For she remembered the day it was given to her. It was him who gave it to her. Very slowly, a satisfied grin spread across her face. There was going to be some poetic justice served.

She closed her bag. She heard a noise outside of the door. It was one of her ladies in waiting.

"The guard has informed me that your horse is ready, my lady."

"Thank you." She said. "I have left a note for my mother. It is there on the table." She pointed to it. "Give it to her after I'm gone."

"Of course." The servant woman replied.

"I will return, though I am not certain when. I have some important business I need to attend to in Nottingham." She smiled.

"Yes, my lady."

She picked up her bag and headed down the stairs. Soon she was standing outside. Her horse was waiting for her not far from the gates.

She took a breath. She went to the horse and smoothed the mane on the mare, then caressed its' soft neck.

"We're going home, old friend." She said. "It is time."

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

The following Wednesday after dusk, the young woman Lady Brigid was alone, walking along the road which led to the outskirts of Nottingham toward the direction of Sherwood Forest. She knew it to be risky, for it was fraught with danger. Especially since she had no one to accompany her, and no horse to make a hasty escape if needs be. Yet, for once, her own safety was of no concern to her.

She thought of her Hector. Not only did she lose him, she lost her dreams. Her mother had made a grave mistake last night by telling Lady Brigid she understood her daughter's pain because of the death of Brigid's father five years prior. Brigid was overcome with anger though she said nothing. Her mother would never understand! For her mother and father were granted fifteen years of history together, including children. For Brigid was aware that not only had she lost the man who would be her husband, she had lost her future children as well. Yet now, she couldn't even make herself hate the Sheriff of Nottingham anymore. She couldn't summon any feeling at this moment in time.

She was apathetic. Inside she was lost. For she was so bereft for her lover she was numb. She couldn't see the good in anything. She felt dead. She felt nothing, which is why she didn't see the man approaching up ahead in the distance on a dark horse, for alas, her eyes were downcast.

Finally, as she meandered slowly down the path, her mind began to wander going over the bittersweet memories. She craved quiet every day. For when no one was near her, she could immerse herself into the memories, so that she could somehow keep him alive. She hated to be around anybody lately, which wasn't like her. She was angry most of the time, when she wasn't completely numb.

She had no destination in mind. She just kept on walking, not caring that it was becoming increasingly dark. She was thinking of the day that Hector proposed to her when she became annoyed by the sounds of a horse's hooves on the dirt road and realized she was no longer alone. That was the last thought she had in her mind before the last sight her blue eyes beheld.

She looked up. A silhouette of a large, dark and sinister hooded figure atop a black horse, juxtaposed against the moonlit, starry sky, swooping down off of the horse and fast approaching her, was the very last thing that Lady Brigid of Nottingham was later able to remember. She awoke in a dark foreign, cold place. Suddenly, she could feel something then that she hadn't felt for herself in a very long while….fear.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thursday afternoon on August twenty first, the Sheriff was meeting again with his staff in the Council Quarters. Once again, there was news of the inept Blacksmith. The same knight who had been reporting to the Sheriff these last few weeks on the shortcomings of the Blacksmith in the Sheriff's employ, presented a new concern at the meeting this day.

"My Lord, if I may – I suggest you consider hiring a new Blacksmith." The knight said.

"What's he done now?" The Sheriff huffed.

"Well, now the poleyns that attach to the greaves and the chausses are so large that several of the men are having difficulty with their agility."

"Curses!" The Sheriff barked. He looked to the Scribe.

"Scribe!"

"Yes, my Lord?" The Scribe replied, looking up from his writing tablet as he had been taking notes for the meeting.

"Remind me…" The Sheriff began. "How much am I paying this twit every month?" The Sheriff demanded.

"Five crowns my Lord." The Scribe replied.

"Reduce it to three!!" The Sheriff spat. He looked around the table. "All of you ask around the village. Find me a real Blacksmith for the love of Zeus!"

They all mumbled agreement. Suddenly the page appeared in the doorway. He cleared his throat to make his presence known to the Sheriff.

"What is it?" The Sheriff asked.

"A woman is here to see you, sir. She says it is important." The page said.

"Huh!" The Sheriff snorted. "I highly doubt it." He sighed. "Send her in."

He dismissed everyone from the room except his Lieutenant and his Scribe.

A guard ushered in an attractive middle aged woman with dark hair and blue eyes. She smiled at the men when she was summoned to come forward.

"My lady." The Sheriff said upon greeting her.

"Good day, my Lord. I come to you about a matter of importance concerning my daughter. I request your assistance." She said.

"How can I help you, my lady?" The Sheriff asked.

"I am Lady Ostara Brimley. I am Lady Brigid's mother. I fear she is in grave danger." The woman said.

The Sheriff and Guy were mirror images of each other's sudden piqued curiosity. For a shadow seemed to cross both of their faces.

"My daughter has been missing since yesterday morning." Lady Ostara announced gravely.

"Can you describe your daughter to us, Madam?" The Sheriff asked her gently.

"She is of average height and a slender frame. She has long golden hair, and eyes of blue." She paused. "She has been rather melancholy these last seven days." Lady Ostara remarked quietly.

"Why is that?" The Sheriff asked. Where had he heard that name before?

"Well…." Lady Ostara started to speak, but her words became distant and faded.

"Continue, my lady." The Sheriff encouraged her.

"She was betrothed to Hector of Nettlestone." She announced.

The Sheriff suddenly remembered.

"What was she wearing?" Guy asked her.

"Probably a black gown." The woman replied.

"You do not know?" The Sheriff asked, puzzled.

"No. Because you see, the last time I saw her was when she bid me good night the night before."

"But, you said she's been missing since yesterday?" The Sheriff pointed out.

"I am not certain when she disappeared. Alas, it was yesterday morning when I noticed her absence." Lady Ostara reported.

The Sheriff sighed.

"Are you missing any of your horses?" He asked.

"No, my Lord. If she left voluntarily, she is on foot. All of my horses are accounted for."

The Sheriff and Guy were quiet for a few moments. The Scribe was busy writing.

"She is not herself." Lady Ostara continued. "She has difficulty maintaining her sensibilities of late. I fear it places her in more danger than she already is."

"Yes. I can understand your concern." The Sheriff said. For, he was worried about his infant with each passing day. "I will designate a team to begin a search for her." He reassured her.

"Thank you, my Lord." She said.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On Friday, Guy and his patrols began the task of scouring every square inch of Nottingham and the immediate surrounding areas in search of the missing maid of Nottingham.

On Saturday morning the Sheriff was interrupted just as he was beginning to seduce his Lady Rhiannon. He was kissing her shortly after she awoke that misty rainy morning, in her state of afterglow from the night before with her dark prince.

"Must you answer the door?" She murmured as she kissed his lips, then broke free, slowly making her way down his smooth chest, his rippled abdomen, and further down to the part of him where his love began for her.

He would hate himself for his answer. For he lost interest in making love to her after he answered the knock on the door outside of the den.

"I must." He said. "It may be important. Just… stay like that." He instructed. "We shall continue."

Lady Rhiannon smiled. "You go ahead, my love." She said. "I'm going to take a bath. I have a delightful new soap that Mortianna gave to me. She made it herself using wood ash, sheep tallow, and oil of lavender."

The Sheriff smiled. "I will return, my lady." He closed the door between the private chambers and the den outside of it. He walked toward the door that led out from the den. The Scribe was there.

"An urgent message for you, my Lord. It is from Duke Farnsworth." The Scribe announced as he motioned for the messenger to come closer. The messenger came forward and passed a rather thick scroll sealed in wax to the Sheriff.

"I was implored to give this only to the Sheriff of Nottingham, for the matter is urgent. Are you he, sir?" The messenger asked.

"I am." The Sheriff replied.

The Sheriff took it, waved his dismissal, and asked the Scribe to remain there while he read it. He quickly pried the wax from it and almost tore it open. There were three pages of documents. He chose to look at the cover page first.

"Thursday, 14th August, 1197 Anno Domini

My Lord Sheriff;

Your men are now divided in two groups. Richard created maps and we follow separate paths in pursuit. The result of that proved invaluable to our mission. Alas, enclosed you will find here two drawings, which were penned by your talented Officer, Master Richard. I believe you shall find them useful. I wonder if you could commission a local artist to copy them for distribution throughout the country?

Richard's drawings are accurate. I saw them with mine own eyes and described them to your Officer. You are looking at the man and his lady who have your child.

I trust you will use these documents wisely, as always, my Lord.

Sincerely,

Duke C. Farnsworth"

The Sheriff paused to look at the drawings. He studied them a few moments then looked up.

"Scribe…" He said quietly.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Write this down. For I want it duly noted that the wages of the Duke and Officer Richard shall be raised by five crowns each month commencing now." The Sheriff directed.

The Scribe was surprised. "Yes, my Lord."

"Ask the page to go into the village and find me a talented artist." The Sheriff said.

"Sire?" The Scribe asked, confused.

"Someone who can draw faces!" The Sheriff replied angrily as he held up the drawings to show to the Scribe.

"Yes, my Lord."

"After you send the page on the errand, meet me in my office in ten minutes. I need you to take dictation for a new proclamation." The Sheriff said. "You haven't much time, so go!"

"As you wish, my Lord." The Scribe replied before he scurried down the dark stone corridors at his master's command.

When he went into the private chambers, Rhiannon wasn't there. She was in the bath chamber that was separated by another door from the bed chamber. It was just as well. He would see her after the meeting with the Scribe. He hastily threw on his voluminous, black silk robe that was trimmed in fur, and headed back out and to the office.

Later, in his office, he began to dictate to his Scribe.

"Proclamation…" The Sheriff recited. "This man and his wife, charged with kidnapping. Wanted….alive, for the sum of…" The Sheriff paused. "Hmm….make it ten thousand gold pieces." He instructed the Scribe.

"Yes, my Lord." The Scribe said as he wrote it down quickly.

"And…you know the rest." The Sheriff reminded him.

"Indeed, my Lord." The Scribe replied.

The Proclamation would be written up in mass quantities later that day. Eventually, when the work of the artist he was seeking was completed, messengers would be sent to distribute the notices from Nottingham throughout the realm.

Not long after, when he was back in his private chambers, he entered into the bath chamber. The smell of lavender permeated the air. Lady Rhiannon was in the tub, wearing a white bath shirt in the linen lined bath tub. The water made the garment cling to her skin, accentuating her curves and her beauty even more. He advanced slowly toward her.

"My lady…" He smiled.

"Mmm… this feels like heaven." Rhiannon murmured.

"Interesting - this...lavender soap." The Sheriff mused.

"Indeed." Lady Rhiannon said. "Mortianna created it herself. She's been working on the proper ratios of ingredients for a long time, evidently."

"It will be useful for many things." The Sheriff said.

"Such as?" Rhiannon asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Clothing? And perhaps, we could use it later on."

"For what?" Rhiannon asked him.

"For bathing an infant." The Sheriff smiled.

Rhiannon stared at him a moment before she began. "I hope that won't be too soon, but alas, it will be when it will be." Rhiannon remarked absently as she created creamy lather with the pleasantly fragranced soap in her hands.

"Rhiannon." The Sheriff said.

"Yes, my Lord?" She looked up.

"Would you turn your back on a child in need if you weren't prepared for it?" He suddenly blurted.

"Well… no, my Lord." She replied, puzzled.

"Good." The Sheriff said, as he slowly turned away from her and left the chamber, leaving Rhiannon in a state of confusion.