The town council meeting was underway on Thursday just after midday. The Sheriff had rescheduled it from the usual day of Monday because of Rhiannon's recovery. The truth was – it was a good excuse to get out of it. Most of the points of business had by now been discussed. The Sheriff sat at the head of the large oak table, sipping water from a silver goblet in an attempt to stay alert. He found himself yawning a few moments ago. How he loathed these meetings.

"Your lordship, there is one last thing I wish to call to your attention before we adjourn." His Knight who regularly attended the meetings as a spokesman for the Sheriff's militia spoke up.

The Sheriff sighed and shook his head. "Let me guess. Problems with the armour again? Or is he now making a mess of the weapons?" He huffed.

"It's the armour again, sir." The Knight said.

"What is it this time?" The Sheriff asked.

"This time it's the couters, my lord. Some of the men received replacements, as I pointed out weeks ago they needed new armour. Some of the couters are too large to fit. Some of them are too small. It presents a problem with elbow movement should they need to take aim at anything." The Knight said.

"This must end!" The Sheriff growled. He stood and looked around the table to those gathered in the Council Quarters this day. "You were asked to find me a replacement. One of you speak now – and you better have some good news for me!"

"Alas, my lord, he's the only one in the county." The town crier reported with chagrin.

"Curses! Well, it's a damn good thing we're not at war here, isn't it? I shall have to pay a visit to him. Are there any other matters anyone wants to share with me?" He asked curtly.

Nobody spoke.

"This cursed meeting is adjourned." The Sheriff said. He looked to his Scribe. "Except you, Scribe. I need you to come with me."

"Yes, my lord." The Scribe obeyed.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The armoury was located in the sublevel of the north wing of the castle. Several men worked there under the supervision of the blacksmith. There were swordsmiths employed there as well by the Sheriff. Torches blazed inside, and along with the fires used to coax metal into workable blades and armour, it was filled with smoke, haze, and the result was a very warm atmosphere. The Sheriff and his Scribe entered into it twenty minutes after the town council meeting adjourned. The Sheriff nodded to his sentry who was posted near the threshold.

"Where is my blacksmith?" The Sheriff asked him hurriedly.

"That's him, over there, my lord." The guard pointed straight ahead to a middle aged man with graying hair. He was of average height and lean. The man was hammering a piece of metal plate armour on an anvil. The Sheriff nodded to his Scribe and together they approached the blacksmith.

"Remind me, Scribe…" the Sheriff said as they slowly made their way to him. "What is this man's name again?"

"It is Stephanus, my lord." The Scribe replied.

A minute later, the Sheriff and the Scribe were standing three feet away from Stephanus the blacksmith, who was so busy labouring he was unaware he was now in the company of his master. The Sheriff cleared his throat.

Stephanus looked up, but he never made direct eye contact. He seemed just to be looking in the Sheriff's general direction.

"My lord?" The blacksmith said. It was a question, not a greeting. As if he couldn't really tell who stood directly in front of him.

"Your one and only master." The Sheriff replied with his left eyebrow raised curiously.

Stephanus stood up and nodded in respect to the Sheriff.

"Are you aware of the errors in the crafting of the various pieces of armour issued to my men?" The Sheriff asked. His instinct was telling him not to proceed with the approach he originally intended for this man. For some reason, the usual manner of shouting and brute force he normally would use did not seem appropriate. He couldn't yet put his finger on why?

"There are problems with the armour, sir?" Stephanus asked, still not maintaining direct eye contact. "What problems are there? I shall be happy to fix them for you."

"Are you trying to play games with me?" The Sheriff asked curtly.

"No, my lord." Stephanus said.

"Well, let me bring you up to speed, Stephanus. Five weeks ago it was reported to me that some of the hauberks were too long. One week after that, my Knight informed me that the poleyns were too large. Next, just over a fortnight ago, I was told the helms were too small. And now – it seems there's a problem with the couters! What will be next, Stephanus? Will the blades of my swords be dull and weakened?" The Sheriff demanded pointedly.

Stephanus rubbed his eyes and squinted. "Forgive me, my lord. It was not the intent to fail you. I didn't realize the pieces were inadequate." He said apologetically.

"What?" The Sheriff shook his head. "How could you not know? Surely you jest!" The Sheriff barked.

"My lord." The Scribe interrupted.

"What is it, you little ferret? Can't you see I'm busy?" A beat. "Why the hell aren't you taking notes?" The Sheriff demanded.

"I need to have a word with you, my lord. It's crucial. May we step away for a moment?" The Scribe asked.

"What?" The Sheriff asked, incredulous.

"Please, my lord." The Scribe implored him.

The Sheriff shook his head. "This had better be good!" He growled. He grabbed his Scribe roughly by his arm, and practically dragged him back toward the door of the armoury.

"What is so important that you would be so brazen as to interrupt me?" The Sheriff demanded angrily.

"My lord, I think your blacksmith may be going blind." The Scribe announced.

"I'm supposed to be surprised?" The Sheriff remarked facetiously.

"I mean….he is really going blind. Did you see his eyes?" The Scribe asked.

The Sheriff shook his head, his jaw agape. It was difficult to see through the smoke and haze that surrounded them when he was speaking to the blacksmith.

"They are clouded over, sire. Also, he never once looked directly into your eyes when he spoke to you. He only looked in your direction." The Scribe pointed out.

"How can you be certain?" The Sheriff asked impatiently. "What would you know of it?"

"Because I have a brother who is blind. When my brother went blind ten years ago, his eyes looked exactly like that. He was unable to make eye contact, just like your blacksmith. Your blacksmith, I am certain, is losing his sight." The Scribe said.

"Splendid." The Sheriff muttered. He looked to his sentry. "Have the page summon my physician at once!" He ordered. He nodded to the Scribe to follow him back in.

Stephanus stood waiting. The Sheriff observed now that the blacksmith didn't seem to notice him.

"Stephanus." The Sheriff spoke.

It was then that Stephanus appeared to be aware of the presence of his master.

"Is there anything you wish to tell me about yourself which may be a factor in your performance?" The Sheriff asked.

There was a pause and then…

"You know." Stephanus said with a heavy sigh.

"How long has this been going on?" The Sheriff asked.

"I started noticing changes in my vision in July, my lord." Stephanus admitted. He looked downcast, ashamed at being discovered.

"You should have told me." The Sheriff said.

"What good is a blind blacksmith, my lord? I've been serving you for four years. I was hesitant to say because I wanted to retain my position in your armoury." Stephanus explained.

"I've sent for my physician. He may have recommendations for you. Is there anyone you can think of who could assist you?"

"There is a man in here who has been helping me. I have him make adjustments to the pieces that require a keen eye." Stephanus admitted.

"Does he know your trade?" The Sheriff asked.

"If I guide him. He knows the basics but he still requires training, my lord." Stephanus replied.

"Right. Well, continue with what you're doing. And let's both hope my physician can do something about it." The Sheriff said.

Stephanus nodded. The Sheriff and his Scribe took their leave.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A short time later he walked through the door and entered into his private chambers. He paused in the den and went to the table where the decanter was. He pulled the stopper from it and poured a libation of the tincture of rapture. He needed something to calm him. He hoped his physician could do something for his blacksmith. Now the matter was more urgent than ever. He was going to need to replace his blacksmith if Thomas couldn't come up with a solution. But who would do it? There was nobody else in the county? He would need to send his men on a mission to find one. But his militia was depleted at the moment because there were seven who were already engaged in a more important mission.

No word from the Duke in a month. Shouldn't the proclamations have yielded results by now? The infant was now four months old. He shook his head. There were reasons why he left the search for the infant in the capable hands of his lead investigator, but now he wondered if he made the right decision? He shook his head, took another sip of the brandy, then he went into the private chamber.

Lady Rhiannon was on the bed. She was wearing the black silk nightdress again. He sighed at the sight of her. She was semi reclined against several pillows propped behind her, reading a book.

"My lady." The Sheriff said.

Rhiannon looked up and placed the large book on her lap. It was bound in worn leather, and covered her lap when she placed it there.

"How are you faring, my lady?" The Sheriff asked as he walked toward her.

"I am well, my lord. I have some pain but – "

He turned around and started back toward the door. He was headed for the flask of opium he kept hidden in the den.

"Stop." Rhiannon called to him.

The Sheriff turned back to face her. "If you have pain, then you should have it. You haven't taken a measure of it since dawn." The Sheriff pointed out.

"I know. But it's not that intense." Lady Rhiannon said.

The Sheriff smiled. He walked over to the bed.

"What is it you're reading?" He asked.

"Yes. You know how restless I get. I asked Lady Margaret to take a look in your library for me. She brought me this." She said as she held it up to show the Sheriff. The title of the large manuscript bound in leather read: "Lancelot – a Tale written by Chretien de Troyes".

"Isn't that a French transcript?" The Sheriff asked.

"Originally, yes. But it was translated by scholars and preserved by monks so that the English can read it as well." Rhiannon explained.

"Interesting." The Sheriff said.

"It is tedious being locked up in here all day. You are kept busy, and my dear companion is still away. I have to amuse myself somehow." Lady Rhiannon pointed out.

"Not the usual source of entertainment I expect to see a maiden amuse herself with in her leisure." The Sheriff remarked.

"Right. You expected to see me working on some kind of sewing or needlework endeavor? As if!" A beat. "As I told you the first day we met, my sweet prince: you confuse me with other maidens. We are not all cut from the same cloth." Rhiannon reminded him.

"Oh…indeed I know. You are definitely unique, alright." The Sheriff smirked.

"Lady Margaret tells me that knowledge is power. For once, I think she is right." Rhiannon said.

"What are you learning from that then?" The Sheriff asked nodding to the book.

"Nothing. It is only literature. I should have read his manuscript before this one though – Erec and Enide. That was the first of his books where the character of Lancelot was introduced, but this looked more appealing to me when Lady Margaret brought both of them to me, asking me to choose." She replied.

"Well, that's one thing you have in common with other maidens – a fascination with Lancelot, Guinevere, and King Arthur's court." The Sheriff pointed out. He cleared his throat. "Well, my cousin and Lady Gisborne should be returning soon. I have a task for my cousin when he returns, so I'm sure that she'll be glad to keep you company." The Sheriff said.

"Oh?" Lady Rhiannon remarked curiously.

"I'm sending him to Portsmouth to investigate a matter for me. It may take him a day or two to complete the mission." The Sheriff said thoughtfully.

"What is going on in Portsmouth?" Rhiannon pried.

"You know I cannot tell you." The Sheriff replied.

"Why not?"

"Rhiannon, you mustn't concern yourself with it. I'm still in the very early stages of this investigation." The Sheriff said, curious as to why he constantly needed to explain this to her.

Rhiannon sighed. She wondered if he would ever be willing to share anything of importance of his duties with her? As if he could read her mind, he went to her and kissed the top of her head.

"I shall be able to tell you more when I know more myself, my angel. It's too early yet to disclose the matter." The Sheriff said.

Just then, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. The Sheriff went through the den to the door and opened it. The young page was standing there.

"Yes?" The Sheriff said.

"You have two visitors waiting to speak with you in the Council Quarters, my lord." The page announced.

The Sheriff sighed. "Who is here to see me?" He asked.

"Brothers Gerardus and Elyas from Shrewsbury Abbey in Shropshire, sir." The page replied.

The Sheriff's left eyebrow shot north. "They are here to see me? Whatever for?"

"I'm not sure, my lord. But they brought some sacks with them. They won't tell us what's inside." The page answered.

He went back to Rhiannon and explained he had some business to attend to but would return. She returned her attention to the book. After he was gone she opened it to the back. There was the folded parchment. The Sheriff's proclamation. She had it folded so she could only see the drawing of the man's face. She touched her fingers over the outlines of it. Robert….you're supposed to be dead. Why? Could there really be another man out there who closely resembled him? Because every time she stole a glance at this document, she felt a chill travel the length of her spine. The resemblance was eerie. She sighed. There must be some mistake? Robert would never do this to her. He would never abandon her, not his youngest sibling. He wouldn't. He was a lot of things but he was not a liar, or a schemer. No. He would never do this to her. She sighed. Indeed….it must be another in this sketch. There was no way that was her brother!

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A short time later the Sheriff strode through the doors of the Council Quarters. Inside there were two monks waiting to see him, accompanied by two of the Sheriff's sentry. Both of the men wore long floor length robes in a boring shade of brown.

"You wished to see me?" The Sheriff asked of them.

The tall elder man spoke first. He had silver hair which was balding, blue eyes, a long roman nose, and was a little on the stout side.

"Greetings, my lord Sheriff. I am Brother Gerardus. This is Brother Elyas." He nodded to the younger man beside him. "We were sent to you by our Abbot, Hugh de Lacy, to deliver a gift for you." He said.

"A gift?"

The younger of the monks spoke next. He looked to be a middle aged man. He was tall and lean, and he had brown hair and eyes the same colour.

"Yes, my lord. It comes directly from the cellarium of the monastery." Brother Elyas said.

"What is it?" The Sheriff asked.

Brother Gerardus reached into the burlap sack he was carrying. He extracted a large flask.

"To commemorate two things: the murder of the evil heathen responsible in the deaths of several missing maidens in this kingdom – " He was cut off.

"And in celebration of your upcoming marriage…" Brother Elyas added.

"Yes. We give to you a special issue brandy made in our monastery." Brother Gerardus said.

"How very kind." The Sheriff said. He walked closer to them and took the flask from Brother Gerardus.

Brother Elyas held out his sack to the Sheriff. "There are more of them inside of this sack, my lord."

The Sheriff smiled and placed his gifts upon the table. Then he opened the flask and poured a small amount into a goblet, which was already placed on the table. He took a sip. It was slightly sweeter and even more smooth than the tincture of rapture which was a vintage from ninety four. He savoured it then smiled in satisfaction. It was very pleasing indeed!

"Can I offer you two gentlemen a sip?" The Sheriff asked without thinking. Then he added: "Abbot de Lacy need never know." He winked.

"No, my lord. With regret…we must decline. It would go against our vow of poverty." Brother Gerardus spoke for them both.

"Poverty? How does a sip of brandy constitute wealth?" The Sheriff asked, bewildered.

"Indulgence would come under the vow of poverty. Not to mention the vow of obedience." Brother Elyas explained.

"You truly are a humble lot, aren't you?" The Sheriff noted.

"You might see it that way, my lord. But we chose this life." Brother Gerardus said.

"Indeed. We serve God and our people." Brother Elyas added.

"From what I can tell, all you do all day is pray, and labour. Not much of a life from what I can gather, if you'll forgive me for saying so." The Sheriff remarked as he took another sip of the brandy.

"Yes. We do labour all the day on anything that needs to be done in and around the monastery. Or we may be feeding the hungry, aiding the sick, distributing medicines, or educating young lads to become priests. We do many things that the general populace are for the most part – unaware of." Brother Elyas explained.

"Some of our brethren also copy transcripts of authors to preserve them, and keep records of important events. We hope they shall survive for many generations to come as a record for history." Brother Gerardus nodded.

The Sheriff nodded. He remembered what Rhiannon said earlier about the book she was reading, originally recorded in French, but it had been preserved by monks, after the scholars translated it, for the English speaking public.

"That does sound like a great deal of work. Sounds more tiresome than what I do in a day!" The Sheriff said with a sigh.

"To labour is to pray. That is our motto, my lord Sheriff." Brother Elyas smiled.

The Sheriff shook his head slightly and rolled his eyes, though he tried to be subtle about it.

"More issues of this brandy shall be arriving to you, my lord. The Abbot asked us to bring the first of them directly to you. Alas, he didn't wish to trust this with a messenger, and he wanted to see that you were satisfied with it." Brother Gerardus said.

"Yes. It is very pleasing indeed." The Sheriff said, as he took another sip.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we must get back. We promised to arrive on time for the eighth sacred office in two days hence. It happens at dusk." Brother Gerardus said.

"Sacred office?" The Sheriff asked. "Is that a time for prayer?"

"Indeed." Brother Elyas spoke up. "And we must depart, for we don't wish to end up in the misericord, having to explain our absence." He shuddered.

"Indeed, you're right, Brother Elyas." Brother Gerardus agreed.

The Sheriff thanked them again, and the two monks departed on their way.

Moments later, after the Sheriff put the flasks back into the sack, save for one, which he would take to his chambers, he opened the door and bumped into Guy.

"Cousin, you're back so soon?" The Sheriff greeted him.

"We've been gone a week. I felt it best to return to you." Guy said.

"How does your wife fare?" The Sheriff inquired.

"She is well, my lord. The respite proved restful for her. And yours? How is Lady Rhiannon?"

"She is much better than when you last saw her. She is still recovering but much improved." The Sheriff said.

"What's that you have there?" Guy asked, pointing to the flask and the large burlap sack.

"Oh, yes. I almost forgot." The Sheriff said. He turned to his sentry and handed the sack to him. "Give this to one of my servants and ask them to place these in the cellar. And be careful with it, the contents are fragile." The Sheriff directed.

"Yes, my lord." The guard replied then took his leave.

"Come, Guy." The Sheriff said. "Come and join me for a welcoming libation of my newest tincture of rapture! I was just visited by two monks from Shrewsbury Abbey of the Benedictine Order who brought me a gift. A new issued brandy in honour of the demise of our leperous friend, and to commemorate my wedding." The Sheriff said as he put his hand on Guy's shoulder to lead the way.

Guy nodded and they went on their way.

"Where is Lady Gisborne?" The Sheriff asked.

"Where else? She went looking for your lady." Guy replied.

"My lady will be pleased. I can tell she's almost restored to her former self. She's complaining of boredom and has noticed Lady Meridwyn's absence."

"Yes. They do seem quite close friends." Guy commented.

"How fortunate for us." The Sheriff said.

"Indeed." Guy agreed. "Is there any news?" Guy asked.

"Huh! Funny you should ask. Where to begin?" The Sheriff remarked facetiously.

Guy looked at him curiously while they continued making their way down the long corridors where torches burned brightly ensconced along the walls lighting their path.

"You remember we've had an ongoing problem with some of the pieces of armour?" The Sheriff reminded him.

"Yes. Did you find a replacement?"

"No. Not as yet. But now I know why the problems were occurring, and why it remains ongoing." The Sheriff sighed.

"What is it?" Guy asked.

"Today I discovered that my blacksmith is in the process of going blind. And I don't mean that in the figurative sense of the term either." The Sheriff said with his eyebrow raised.

Guy shook his head. "You cannot be serious?"

"Indeed I am. I met with him in the armoury earlier. Even standing directly in front of him, he didn't know I was there until I spoke to him." The Sheriff said.

"This is indeed a predicament, cousin." Guy said shaking his head.

"Indeed. I've sent for Thomas to examine him. He might have some suggestions to help with the symptoms, though I doubt he has a cure. So, there's one priority I must deal with." The Sheriff huffed.

"And…there's more than that, I'm guessing." Guy surmised accurately.

"Indeed." The Sheriff sneered. He stopped in his tracks, they were on the stairwell leading to the second floor. "Do you recall…Hestia's brother? He came to see us the same day I hired Luke in early August." The Sheriff prompted him.

"Oh, yes. He was rather unfortunate looking if my memory serves me well, wasn't he?" Guy remarked.

"Indeed. Homely is what I would call him. He came to see me yesterday. His name is Hamon." A beat. "Homely Hamon. Don't you just love the alliteration there, cousin?" The Sheriff chortled, amused by his coining of the phrase.

Guy grinned. "Indeed. That's even better than what I once came up with for the Sherwood bandit! Remember that? I suggested 'Reeking Robin', and I think the other one was 'Locksley the Lethal'. Though, I kind of preferred 'Reeking Robin', myself. The Knights told me he always did seem to smell curiously like…dung!" Guy chuckled.

"Indeed. Anyway, he is even more troublesome now than he was then." The Sheriff seethed.

"He's still spreading word around, accusing you of burning down her manor?" Guy asked.

"It's more than that." The Sheriff said. He turned to Guy fixing his amber eyes into Guys. "Remember what I've always told you about doubt?" He said, his eyes narrowed piercingly.

"Indeed. We eliminate all doubt." Guy said.

The Sheriff nodded with an evil grin. "Well, I let him go – this time. Because I have some plans in store for our 'Homely Hamon'." He paused a moment before he continued. "Both of his sisters were found to be witches." The Sheriff began.

"Hecate was one too?" Guy asked, surprised.

"Indeed. Mortianna tells me she used to consult the crone frequently regarding spells and potions. Seems she was rather fascinated by the craft." The Sheriff said.

"So, where does this Hamon come in?"

"Obviously it's in their blood, cousin. The chances are great that this Hamon character is more than likely practicing acts of heresy as well. So, I would like to send you on a mission for me to Portsmouth." The Sheriff explained.

"You want me to run him through for you?" Guy asked with an evil grin. "For I'll be happy to do so, because him – I do not like."

"No. I want you to check things out for me over there. Find out more about him. Keep surveillance on him, the same way you did with his loathsome sister. Find out if he's engaged in similar practices to his evil sister, Hestia. The Scribe has his address in Portsmouth." The Sheriff directed.

"Alright."

"I've already spoken to Bishop of Hereford about the matter." The Sheriff announced.

"My, you're determined to be rid of him." Guy remarked.

"I told you he's more troublesome than ever. As I told the Bishop: he's as much a nuisance as a buzzing fly! Buzz, buzz, buzz!" The Sheriff spat.

"What if find nothing?" Guy pointed out.

The corners of the Sheriff's mustache slowly curled as a malevolent, satisfying grin spread across his face. "Then…I have other plans in store for him. I'll explain the details to you later, but first, let us share a goblet of brandy." The Sheriff said.

They continued on their way. They were already on the second floor, and walking the corridor leading to the Sheriff's private chambers.

"Any news from the Duke?" Guy broached the subject as delicately as he could

"Not yet." The Sheriff sighed.

"The manor in Nettlestone is in readiness for the arrival of your child. I've assigned the servants to prepare a room for him or her. There's a cradle there waiting for the infant now." Guy stated. He hoped this news would ease the Sheriff's mind.

"Good. I appreciate that, cousin. Now all I need is the child!"

"I'm sure your men are making progress." Guy reassured. "For surely the proclamations containing their likenesses have caused someone to spot them?"

"You would think. But why no news?" The Sheriff pointed out.

"Give it a few days. I'm sure you should hear something from the Duke soon." Guy said.

"I hope you're right." The Sheriff said as he drew in a sigh. He just needed to know his child was safe. That's all. Just some sort of a sign. He hoped that word would present itself soon. Now that Rhiannon was on the mend he found himself less worried about her. Now his focus was shifted to concern for the child he had yet to look upon.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

"It's so good to see you're much stronger." Lady Meridwyn said to her friend.

"Am I?" Rhiannon remarked sarcastically.

"Of course! You are up and moving about, and you have much more colour to your cheeks, I can tell you that. You were starting to look worse than I do in the mornings." Lady Meridwyn sighed.

"How do you fare, friend?" Rhiannon asked.

"Very well. Each day there is gradual improvement with the vertigo at least. Though some new changes took place. God only knows what I am to expect next!" Meridwyn rolled her eyes.

"So…I gather you're not liking the experience thus far?" Rhiannon guessed accurately.

"You jesting? Next time I hear a lady say: "I just loved the experience of carrying my children.", I'll be hard pressed not to strangle her! It is tedious and unpleasant. I feel like some carpenter nailed a shelf upon my bosom. I feel stout, and I might add…like total rubbish in the mornings." Lady Meridwyn lamented. She realized she had said too much by the surprised look on Rhiannon's face.

She cleared her throat. "But Lady Margaret assures me this will pass in about a month's time. She also tells me that I'm one of few who experience such unpleasantness."

"Oh." Rhiannon said. "My, that is good to know."

"Have you heard how the progress of your gown is coming along?" Meridwyn asked abruptly changing the topic.

"Yes, I have. I cannot wait to see it." Rhiannon smiled.

"I'm sure you're going to be looking ravishing, my dear." Meridwyn said.

"Well, as a matter of fact, Meridwyn, I shall be looking grand all of the time. Not just on that day." Rhiannon hinted.

Meridwyn regarded her suspiciously.

"Good news, friend. Madam Oberon is to be my wardrobe mistress. She has agreed!"

"Splendid!" Meridwyn exclaimed.

"And she shall be making herself available to you as well. We are the ladies to the two most important men about town. We must look our best." Rhiannon winked.

"Oh, Rhiannon!" Meridwyn smiled. "Won't this be fun? Hey…maybe she can make us match our attire in some way! You know…so we won't look hideous together at formal occasions!"

"A grand idea, Meridwyn! We wouldn't want to embarrass our men by clashing! Or ourselves…" Rhiannon laughed.

"We shall be the most beautiful Sheriff's and Lieutenant's wives in all of England! God knows that lady is talented." Meridwyn said.

"Indeed!" Rhiannon agreed.

"What are you two ladies exclaiming over?" The Sheriff's voice pierced through the air silencing their jocular voices.

They turned around, startled by the abrupt interruption. The Sheriff stood there holding a flask in his right hand. Guy was beside him. Both men bedecked head to toe in shiny black leather. Both looked upon their respective ladies with a mixture of love and lust in their eyes.

"I just told Meridwyn about Madam Oberon agreeing to serve me." She stopped and patted Meridwyn's hand, then nodded to her. She turned back to the Sheriff. "I mean – us." Rhiannon said. She tried not to blush. The way he looked at her then. She was drawn like steel to a magnet. Why did he have to look at her that way? Now?

"Yes. A most fortunate find." The Sheriff said. She looked so radiant she was positively beaming. He enjoyed seeing his lady so animated and lively.

"What do you have in your hand?" Rhiannon asked.

"You shall taste it momentarily, my angel." The Sheriff smiled.

He walked to the table and poured a measure from the flask into four goblets then he passed them around.

"I really shouldn't." Lady Meridwyn said holding her hand up. "Nobody has ever proven that spirits taken by ladies are harmful to their unborn children. But I once knew a lad in my village who was surely strange and unusual. And I don't mean in a good way! His mother overindulged in spirits frequently, even when she was with child!" Lady Meridwyn shook her head. "I always knew she had something to do with his peculiar manner."

"Uh…yes." The Sheriff said, surprised at the length of her explanation.

"I'm sure a sip or two will do no harm to the child, my dearest. We have much to celebrate. Let us make merry." Guy said to his bride.

"Alright. But just this once." Meridwyn agreed.

The Sheriff handed the last goblet to Rhiannon. "You haven't taken your medicine today, my lady. Share a toast with us." The Sheriff smiled.

She cast him her sultry glance that drove him mad with desire as she took it from him, caressing his fingers as she did so. What was it he said to her, the Friday before her unfortunate accident? Oh, yes…. " Flirt with me all you want, my angel. It will not go unnoticed I can promise you that." Did he notice? She wondered….

She was doing it. She was flirting with him. He sighed. He hoped he could contain his desire for her. How to get rid of Guy and Lady Gisborne now? He narrowed his eyes, burning them into her cool aqua depths. He cleared his throat and nodded to her goblet.

"This was brought to me today by two monks from Shrewsbury Abbey in Shropshire. The Abbot Hugh de Lacy and the brethren there bestowed to us a gift, my lady. It is a new issue of brandy in celebration of our wedding." The Sheriff said.

"Our first wedding gift." Rhiannon smiled.

"Hmm. I never thought of it that way?" He mused. For it was true. He was not going to tell her the other reason they sent the new supply of the tincture of rapture to him. That – she didn't need to know.

Rhiannon looked at him curiously. She sighed. "Perhaps if this is indeed a wedding gift, we should wait until our wedding feast?"

"To hell with proprieties!" The Sheriff said. "Do not fear, my angel. We have enough to last us until Candelmas!" The Sheriff laughed.

"Really?"

"Alright. Perhaps I exaggerated. Maybe not until February, but it should indeed last us until Martinmas." The Sheriff assured her.

"Your birthday, cousin." Guy pointed out.

"Thanks for reminding me." The Sheriff said sarcastically.

"So…your birthday is November eleventh?" Rhiannon asked.

"Yes. I told you that?" The Sheriff answered.

"No. You never did tell me. Good. I haven't missed it." Rhiannon smiled.

It was the first time the thought of his birthday warmed him. He could only imagine what lie in store for him as a surprise from her. He hoped it involved something in the private chamber. He licked his lips.

Half an hour later, Rhiannon took Meridwyn into the private chamber to show her the soaps that Mortianna had made for her.

Guy turned to his cousin. "When do you wish me to depart?"

"Give it two days. You only just arrived." The Sheriff replied.

"Are you going to tell me the plan if my efforts turn up nothing?" Guy asked.

"Oh…I have a plan, alright. You're going to plant the items we found in Hestia's manor into his home in Portsmouth." The Sheriff said with his left eyebrow raised.

"They burned with the manor!" Guy pointed out.

"No they didn't. Do you think me a fool? When you had your back turned after I killed her with the dagger, I grabbed the curious items and hid them in my cloak. Oh, yes, and I still have the silver pentagram medallion you gave to me." The Sheriff grinned.

"Why did you do that?" Guy asked. He decided to reword it when he saw the reaction emerging on his cousin's face. "How did you think of it?"

"Gut instinct, Guy. Remember I told you: you should get one? Once again, my instinct was right on target." The Sheriff said.

"Indeed." Guy agreed. His cousin's cunning never ceased to amaze him.

Just then, Ladies Rhiannon and Meridwyn came back into the den. Meridwyn held her hand to her forehead and seemed to be faltering. Rhiannon had her arm about her to steady her as she walked.

"Meridwyn! What is it, my love?" Guy exclaimed as he walked toward her.

She looked up. Her face was as white as snow.

"The brandy was a bad idea, Guy." Meridwyn said.

"Come, my love. Let's get you to bed." Guy said.

The Sheriff and his lady looked at each other and grinned. They were going to finally be alone. After his cousin and Lady Meridwyn left, he quickly put down the goblet and went to her.

"My lady." He whispered. He pulled her to him and kissed her. He devoured her, tasting her desire for him with his tongue.

"Tell me you're up to this…" He breathed.

"I am."

"Do not lie to me…not now!" He whispered gruffly.

"It is no lie. I am ready for you." She said.

He was all over her. Then he picked her up and carried her into the private chamber. He gently placed her on the bed. She grabbed his coat tails as he was turning to go back and close the door.

"Forget the door. Get back here." Rhiannon demanded.

The Sheriff turned around and collapsed on the bed beside her. He began to kiss her soft lips. His soft beard brushed against her velvety soft cheeks. As he did so he slowly and deftly unlaced the ribbons that held the two edges of her bodice closed.

She was desperate to run her hands along his flesh. As he slowly began to undress her, she tore off his coat, unlaced his tunic, then began to loosen the strings of his codpiece. She cast it aside then unlaced his breeches.

He felt the fabric graze his skin, his hard manhood as she slowly loosened it. Then her hand was finding it's way there to touch him.

He stopped her to remove her gown. He slowly ran his hands along her curves, over her smooth abdomen, and up toward her breasts. He cupped one and brought his lips to it.

"My lady…" The Sheriff whispered.

She felt his lips and tongue upon her nipple, his beard tickle her skin. His breath was upon her and the heat of his touch sent ripples of anticipation through her.

"Take me. I'm yours…" She breathed.

And then - a knock on the door. Curses!

"Ignore it!" He commanded her. "I don't give a damn if the King is there. Whomever it is can take their leave!" The Sheriff growled.

He continued to seduce her and brought his face up to hers.

"My beautiful lady. I've desired you for days." He said. He began to slowly kiss her.

She felt a warmth settle into her depths. She forgot her pain. His touch induced a response that was like the effects of a drug on her. He was her drug. She desired him, and now she had come to need him.

"Are you sure you're ready?" The Sheriff asked her, breathless. "I will not hurt you. Even though it will surely kill me now to stop, I will not – "

She put her soft fingertips upon his lips. "Shh…touch me, my prince. I crave your touch more than any drug." She whispered.

"Oh, my lady…" He breathed and then he was upon her. He was just about to take her….

Bang. Bang.

Damn the gods! He stopped and shook his head. He looked down upon her. "Forgive me, my angel. I shall get rid of them. Don't move." He ordered.

She smiled.

He arose from the bed and fastened his clothes. Then he strode angrily though the chambers. Curses! Were his dead enemies haunting him? Why did it feel like there was some higher conspiracy going on to keep him from being intimate with his lady?

He opened the door. He let out an audible sigh when he saw his page standing there.

"Why, you little runt!" The Sheriff snapped. He swiftly reached across and grabbed the lad by his shirt and literally picked him up off the floor. "Whatever it is you're here to tell me – it is not important enough!" The Sheriff barked. He put him back down on the floor and folded his arms across his chest, his jaw was clenched in anger at being interrupted.

"Your medicus has arrived, as per your instruction." The page announced.

"Thomas…" The Sheriff said shaking his head.

"What shall I tell him then?" The page asked.

"Tell him to give me a few moments. I will take him to my blacksmith." The Sheriff sighed.

Damn! Maybe he should have asked to summon the physician to come tomorrow? He went back to the bed.

"My lady…"

"You must leave me now. I understand." Rhiannon said. "Save it for later, my love. After my evening bath." A beat. "Your lady will be waiting for you then." She promised.

The Sheriff smiled. Though he was still annoyed at being interrupted during such a crucial moment. He should have spoken to his sentry. He would be sure to tell his sentry when he retired that nobody – on pain of death, must disturb him tonight! For he craved her too. And damn it…he shall have her!