"Goodnight, Boo."

What had seemed like a perfectly normal, family day at Locksley was drawing to a close, while Robin and Marian tucked their daughter safely into her cradle and kissed her goodnight. With any luck, they could return later tonight from Nottingham, so that Ellen would wake up tomorrow morning, never even knowing they'd been gone.

"You look gorgeous, Marian," Robin told his wife, helping her step into their carriage.

"For a pregnant woman, you mean," Marian answered curtly back, anxious for her husband's safety.

"For any woman. You're gorgeous."

He surprised her by suddenly telling Ian to unsaddle his horse, and climbed into the carriage alongside her.

"Since when have you ridden in our carriage?" she asked.

"I thought it'd be easier, carrying my bow along," he lied, sheepishly.

She reached for his hand, appreciating his loving gesture, and enjoyed his company all the way to Nottingham. With God's good grace, they'd be able to ride home together in a few short hours, this dangerous nonsense of Annora Fitzhugh's accusation behind them forever.

...

Although Robin had alerted Marian that Isabella might be dressed as "the Nightwatchman," Marian still had to quiet her own outrage when she saw their new queen's attire.

Isabella wore a pair of tight trousers, high heeled kneehigh boots, a low cut revealing vest over a blousey shirt, and a hooded mantle. A small mask covered the upper portion of her face, but her hair flowed freely, for she was dressed to attract all the male attention she could garner, particularly that of Robin of Locksley.

King John wore his Robin Hood costume, a Lincoln green version of the clothing Robin had worn his first two years as an outlaw, complete with Saracen bow and quiver.

"Unbelievable!" Much muttered under his breath to Robin as the trio enterred the Great Hall, for Much had waited for Robin and Marian to arrive in the castle's outer bailey. "Who are THEY?"

The king had hired a company of travelling players to act out various roles representing members of Robin's Hood's gang. A dark haired adolescent boy whose face was stained with walnut juice was pretending to be Djaq, speaking in gibberish that was supposed to pass for Arabic, while a tall, lanky youth silently brooded over a piece of wood. The chief comedy player of the acting troupe wove his way through the assembled guests, picking pockets, telling jokes, pinching women, and asking in a whisper, "Anybody seen Giz? Not bein' funny, gents, but I got somethin' to tell him." But most outrageous of all was the huge hulk of a man pretending to be Little John.

He was covered in a floor length, dirty leather coat, and a long, tangled wig and false whiskers. But worst of all, he wore a tremendous sausage sewn to the inseam of his trousers, which swung back and forth in a huge arc when he walked.

"Presenting, my mother's paramour, Little John!" the king announced, and the sycophants in the room laughed appreciatively, applauding.

"Unbelievable!" Much cried again. "That is revolting!"

"Good evening, Locksley," James Fitzhugh coldly greeted Robin, his young wife Annora cowering unhappily by his side. "What a crime it is, letting you roam free."

"Master Chancellor, Mistress Fitzhugh," Robin answered, ignoring the chancellor's barb. "May I present my wife, Lady Locksley?"

"Master Chancellor," Marian responded, polite yet chilly.

"We have something in common, milady," Fitzhugh mentioned, further igniting Marian's ire. "We have both been wronged."

"Speak for yourself," she snapped tersely back. "The one truly wronged here is my husband, an honourable man, whose life is at risk by your lies."

James Fitzhugh cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "He will not face death, milady, merely castration, if this ridiculous trial by shooting proves his guilt," he explained.

Much shifted back and forth on his feet, nervously. "I hope you can shoot, Robin, with your wrists sore."

"I can do it, Much," Robin assured him. "Excuse us," he said politely to Annora, who couldn't take her red rimmed eyes off him. "I believe the shooting demonstration is about to begin."

King John was gesturing for Marian to join him on the dais, where she approached him, wearing the same charming half smile she had used to deceive Guy of Gisbourne.

"Lovely, my dear!" the king cried, as his wife sat spitefully by. "You're with child!"

"I am, Your Majesty," Marian answered, hoping to charm the king, and prevent him from reneging on his promise to pardon her husband.

Turning sneeringly toward Isabella, John asked, "Why aren't YOU expecting? It certainly isn't MY fault! Twelve children born on the wrong side of the blanket, yet not a single royal heir!"

"In time, my king," Isabella soothed, wondering how long she could hide the fact she was barren.

She hadn't always been so. After her louse of a brother sold her to the vicious Squire Thornton, she had become pregnant at thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen years old, but had secretly taken a mixture of herbs to kill and dispel the children from her womb, and had since been unable to conceive.

Marian shot her a proud, disapproving stare, wishing to tell her what she really thought of Isabella's revealing Nightwatchman costume, but turned her attention back toward her husband, who stood waiting for the king's command, leaning casually on his upright bow.

The king smiled, sinisterly. "Locksley," he simpered, "I trust you're enjoying my outlaw gang assembled here today. Have they managed to rob you yet?"

"Not yet, Your Majesty," Robin answered, "but then, haven't you forgotten one? I haven't seen anyone pretending to be Much here today."

"Pudgy?" King John asked. "I didn't see any reason to supply him, knowing Lord Bonchurch would follow you here, like the loyal dog he is."

Robin couldn't hide his lip from curling into an unpleasant sneer, growing angry at hearing his best friend insulted.

"In fact," King John added brightly, "I have use for him, in your little shooting demonstration! Pudgy," he called to Much, snapping his fingers. "Here, boy! Here! Good dog! You will serve as the target I select Locksley to hit, to prove his innocence and regain his freedom! After all, Locksley, you did say I could pick ANYTHING!"

Much's eyes widened in fright. "Me?" he cried, incredulous. "Run, Robin?" he begged. "Run?"