This should be an update for my Lucas North fic, Chimaera, but after writing a quarter of the chapter, I hit a block. So I wrote this instead. Thank you, as always, for your continued interest in this story. It means more than you know (unless you, too, are a writer).

partygirl98: I consider stupid grins on my readers' faces a big accomplishment, so thank you! Yes, contraception in the Middle Ages is a tricky thing to write about, and research it actually took me longer than writing the chapter itself. But medieval women did indeed use wild carrot seed (aka Queen Anne's Lace later on), among other herbal and...natural remedies.

Kassandra Khaos: Yes, I think sex can be a great catalyst for deepening characters' affections for each other. In fact, I rarely write sex scenes for the sake of the sex; there's usually some emotion between the characters that I'm trying to highlight. So I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Chapter 18: Caught Again

Sunshine filtered in through the wooden shutters, casting thin rays of light onto the occupants of the room. One of Gisborne's legs was hanging off the cot, while Ajsa slumbered peacefully, her back pressed against the wall and her face tucked into his neck. That was the state Mary found them in, when she entered the room looking for Ajsa.

Stopping short at the doorway, she exclaimed, "Oh!"

Ajsa opened her eyes, her vision still unfocused, and peered at the figure by the foot of the bed. She sat up quickly, clutching the blanket to her bare chest. In her haste to cover herself, she had exposed Guy's naked torso, which held Mary's attention for just a second.

With an awkward cough, she stammered, "I-I was just comin' to prepare the mistress's breakfast." She glanced anxiously at Gisborne, who was also waking.

"Well, come back later," he grumbled.

"That is not necessary, Mary," said Ajsa, ignoring Guy's admonishing glance. "I can make the mistress her breakfast this morning."

"If you're sure...," said Mary uncertainly, her gaze flicking between Guy and Ajsa.

Ajsa smiled reassuringly. "I am sure."

The woman needed no further persuading. Untying her apron, she hung it onto a hook and retreated.

Guy pulled Ajsa back down so that they were nose-to-nose. He kissed her, savoring the sensation. The bed had been too small and too hard, but the discomfort had been worth it to wake up with Ajsa in his arms.

"Ah, I see," he remarked dryly, with a nip to her bottom lip, "you sleep with the master once, and you think you have the authority to order the other servants about."

"You did not object," she pointed out.

"True," he conceded, "though I did show my displeasure, which was apparently in vain." He kissed her again, and this time, his tongue sought entrance, too. "You know, I wanted Mary gone, as well, because then I'm able to touch you for longer. But that doesn't mean she should be relieved of her duties." Despite the reprimand, his voice was husky from lust.

"Indeed, but mind where you touch, Sir Guy. It would not do for another person to stumble upon us in a comprising state." Ajsa lay on her side, one arm hugging her waist, and watched him with a sleepy gaze. "Mary appeared to be quite surprised," she commented. "More surprised than I would have expected."

Gisborne arched a brow. "Why do you say that? Do you believe she sees me in bed with a different woman every night?"

"Does she not?"

"No, she doesn't," he replied tersely. "You're the first woman in many, many months." Her presumption stung, but considering his reputation, he could not blame her for it. "I think she was more surprised to find me in bed with you. We didn't exactly get off to a good start."

"And which slave and master do?" she inquired flatly. "She may assume that you coerced me."

"She may," he agreed, looking troubled.

"Or she may not," said Ajsa. She brushed her fingers over his furrowed brows to smooth out the wrinkles from his frown. "The very fact that you did not do so in the beginning speaks to your character. Many of my friends in Orosháza were maidservants, and some of the men they worked for took them to bed, whether they desired it or not. I was fortunate to be spared from that." She paused, hesitating. "But when I arrived here, when you-"

"I know, Ajsa," he said gently. "When I ordered Mary to prepare a bath, you thought I had more in mind than mere hygiene." She nodded and averted her gaze. "I don't condone rape. It shows weakness and cowardice, rather than strength."

She looked at him with mild surprise. "Then why do you not have such views on violence in general?"

"Because violence is sometimes necessary, while rape is not," he answered.

"Was it necessary to torment the people of this village?"

"You know why I did that, Ajsa," he said impatiently. "At the time, yes, I thought it was necessary."

Ajsa studied his face for signs of anger, but saw none. She ventured, "And now?"

"Now?" He sighed heavily and shifted so that she was draped across his chest. "Now I don't know. You expect me to be a good man, and for reasons I can't fathom, you seem to believe I can be a good man. But I fear you'll be disappointed in the end, as Marian was."

"I do not expect anything from you," she said. Hurt, or an emotion like it, must have flashed across his face, because she pressed a kiss to his chest. "I have long ago learned that expectations always breed disillusionment. Even in the best of circumstances, nothing and no one are ever as wonderful in reality as they are in our minds."

Guy was taken aback by her answer and was struck once again by how different Marian and Ajsa were. Marian had been hopeful-an optimist and an idealist-, while Ajsa was a realist. What had happened to the Hungarian woman to make her think that way?

As if reading his thoughts, she said, "I, like you, have experienced my share of hardships."

He wanted to ask what those hardships had been, but he'd learned enough about Ajsa to know that she did not readily reveal her secrets. In one respect, he liked that air of mystery surrounding her. But in the other respect, he yearned to understand her and for her to understand him.

"I'm sorry for that," he lamented. And he was, truly.

She kissed his chest again in thanks, then climbed over him to collect her clothes. The sunlight was brighter and stronger now, presenting Gisborne with a tantalizing view of her bare figure, before she stepped into her dress. Ajsa flashed him a half-amused, half-reproachful glance and went into the kitchen. After pulling on his own clothes, he followed her.

"Let Mary take over your work this morning," he suggested.

Ajsa arched an eyebrow as she sliced the bread she had baked last night. "Am I exempt from chores now that you have bedded me?"

"No," he replied, tying the laces of his breeches. "I just thought you might want to collect your herbs instead." Guy smirked at her. "Besides, I believe you were the one who bedded me."

"Yes, I suppose that is true," she said, with a self-satisfied grin. Isabella's voice floated down from the second floor. Ajsa inclined her head in its direction. "You should go and greet your sister."

"I should," Gisborne agreed sulkily, "but I would much rather remain here with you and watch you cut that cheese into cubes."

Ajsa snorted, but there was a small, pleased smile on her face nonetheless.

"Go, Sir Guy. Make peace with her."

He went, reluctantly, and waited for Isabella to come downstairs. By the time she did, he was on his second goblet of mead and regretting heeding Ajsa's advice.

"How did you sleep?" asked his sister.

"With one eye open," he answered, though it had actually been with one leg hanging off the bed. But Isabella did not have to know that.

"If we are going to work together, we must learn to lower our guard," she said. He snorted derisively, then winced as the cut on his hand smarted. Isabella noticed. "That looks painful."

Gisborne averted his gaze, unwilling to acknowledge the genuine concern he heard in his sister's voice.

"It's a scratch. I'll be fine."

"Here," offered Isabella, holding out her palm.

Gisborne stared at it, then placed his hand in hers.

"So, how am I to get back into the new king's favor?"

"I've decided to speak to him for you," said Isabella. He looked at her sharply, surprised. "On one condition." She began to clean his wound, gently dabbing at it with a damp cloth. "I need you to apologize."

Ajsa walked into the room and set down a plate of bread and cheese for Isabella. For an instant, her gaze lingered on the small box of vials on the table, before she dipped into a curtsey and headed towards the kitchens. She paused at the doorway.

"Apologize," he repeated. "What for?"

"You know what for."

"Isabella, had I not arranged your marriage, we would still be living in some godforsaken corner of France, without a penny or an acre to our name," he explained impatiently.

"Better that than to have been with him."

"No," he snapped. "It is not my fault that you failed to make the best of your chance." Gisborne did not see Isabella uncork a small, clay bottle, but Ajsa did. She also recognized the faint but pungent aroma that emitted from it. "In fact," continued Guy, heedless of his error or cruelty, "it's down to me that we're still in with a chance of anything, so instead of wasting time, I say we work out exactly what it is you're going to say to the prince."

Isabella poured the contents of the bottle onto Guy's hand and massaged it into his cut.

"I was thinking maybe I should just drug you and hand you in to him myself."

"What?"

"I was willing to forgive you, Brother," spat Isabella, "but you don't deserve my absolution."

Guy suddenly felt weak and tired. He peered into his cup, thinking for one, terrible instant that Ajsa had been working against him with Isabella. But Isabella dispelled that fear and replaced it with another.

"Oh, no, it's not your drink," she said, gloating. He stared up at her, confused, his vision growing hazy. "It's your wound." And then he keeled over onto the tabletop, unconscious.

Ajsa, having seen enough, slipped out the back door and headed for the forest.

#

It was hours later when Guy finally came to, gagged and tied to his bed. Taking a moment to gather his wits, he reflected on the fact that this was the second time in a less than a week that he had found himself bound by Isabella.

"Did you have a pleasant sleep?"

He turned his head and saw Ajsa leaning against the doorframe, her eyes glinting with amusement. Gisborne struggled against his bonds, to no avail, while Ajsa watched his attempts to free himself. He shouted a muffled curse.

"Would you like me to help you?" she inquired.

He glared at her. She was taking far too much enjoyment from his predicament, but he was not so proud as to deny her aid. He nodded, and she untied the ropes with only the barest hint of a smirk.

Once she had removed the cloth from his mouth, he said, somewhat accusingly, "You're a healer. Didn't you realize that Isabella was going to drug me?"

"Of course I did," she affirmed, "but you were despicable to her and to females in general." He tried to protest, but she cut him off with a stony expression. "I have known cruel brutes like Isabella's husband, who force themselves upon their wives or upon whatever poor woman is unlucky enough to catch their fancy. She was thirteen, Sir Guy. You did wrong by her."

Gisborne did not usually tolerate being reprimanded, but in the face of Ajsa's indignation, he was silent. He considered how he would feel if it had been Ajsa instead who'd been subjected to Thornton's abuse, and the answer startled him. Someone would have to restrain him from killing the man.

"You're right," he admitted reluctantly. "I did wrong by her, but I had little choice. We were destitute and living on the streets, begging for food and money. Thornton offered a fair price for her. I didn't know then what sort of man he was. I thought I was giving us both a better life."

To his credit, he did sound regretful. Ajsa softened.

"Why do you not tell Isabella this?"

He sighed. "Because at this point, she would neither listen to me nor believe me. I fear I am now truly irredeemable in her eyes."

She nodded, agreeing, yet she also sympathized with Guy. It was a hard decision he'd had to make, and he, too, had been inexperienced.

"I do not condemn you for what you did," she said, "only for the way you dealt with the consequences of it. You mishandled them, Sir Guy."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear," he said, bristling at her continued reproval. If it had been anyone else scolding him, there would have been a blade at his throat by now. "What did she use to knock me out anyway? My head feels like it's stuffed with wool."

"Valerian root," Ajsa replied. "Isabella used enough to put a horse to sleep. That is why you feel as you do. Eat something but do not drink wine, and you shall begin to improve."

He followed her downstairs into the kitchen, fetching himself a goblet of water and a plate of bread and cheese. As he ate, Ajsa stirred a small pot of a fragrant concoction. Ladling it into a cup, she sipped it slowly.

"Do you think I'm irredeemable?" he asked her.

"If I did, I would have left you tied to the bed."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. A sweet, vegetal scent wafted towards him, and he nodded at her cup. "Is that the...remedy?"

She smiled, amused by his choice of word.

"This is the wild carrot seed, yes," she replied. "But it is quite bitter, so I have added some honey to it."

"Can you brew me up something for this headache?"

"I already have," she said, handing him a goblet of liquid. He sniffed it, then took a cautious sip. To his surprise, it tasted like sweet, floral leaves. "It is feverfew and butterbur, with a touch of honey to make it palatable." Ajsa paused to take another drink of her infusion. "Valerian is an interesting plant," she mused aloud. "In small doses, it can alleviate headaches. But in large doses, such as the one Isabella gave you, it causes headaches and can even lead to death."

Guy drained his cup and set it down, fixing Ajsa with a hard look.

"Yet you stood idly by while my sister poisoned me."

"You deserved it," she said, shrugging. "I also knew that the amount she gave you would not kill you."

"You push your luck, Ajsa," Gisborne warned her. As she walked by to take his plate and goblet, he pulled her into his lap. "Any other person to take such liberties with me would have met with unpleasant consequences."

"Yes, but as I recall, you were in no position to dole out punishments," she remarked lightly.

"Quiet, woman," he growled and nipped her earlobe. He glanced outside, at the position of the sun, and cursed. "I have a coronation to attend. Afterwards, I will return for you."

Ajsa stood, placing her hands on her hips and gazing at him with a determined fire in her eyes. He knew that expression well.

"You are not coming," he said.

"And how will you prevent me?" she inquired. "Will you invoke your authority as Master and command me to stay?"

"That's exactly what I'll do," he replied. Her gaze turned icy, and, for an instant, Guy glimpsed something almost sinister in her features. It made him wonder exactly what she had done in the past to perfect such a reaction. His attention shifted to the infusion simmering over the fire, and he reconsidered his previous decision. "Fine, you can come," he groused. "But while I'm inside the abbey, you will wait outside with the horses."

Ajsa nodded, satisfied with the arrangement, and the darkness lifted from her face.

"That is acceptable."

Guy opened the door for her to walk through and sighed. For all her healing abilities, he reckoned that she would in fact be the death of him.

#

Bedecked in mail and armor, Gisborne stood at the entrance to Kirklee's Abbey, his face hidden behind the helmet of a guard now lying unconscious in the bushes. He glanced behind him, at the small copse of trees in which Ajsa was hidden with the horses. They'd agreed that once everyone had gone inside, she should emerge. There would not be much time to escape, for killing a prince was a serious crime, so she needed to be ready the moment he ran through those doors.

Swallowing down his anxiety, Guy refocused his attention on the approaching party. Prince John was gleefully advancing through the cheering crowd, followed by a smug Sheridan and a dour-looking Isabella. From the clench of her jaw, Guy supposed the fickle prince had given her to Sheridan as a reward. Although he felt a spark of pity for his sister, she was foolish to have believed that Prince John would be loyal to her.

The assembly moved inside the abbey, and Gisborne moved with it. With what appeared to be great reluctance, the archbishop began the coronation ceremony, reciting the age-old verses and anointing the prince with consecrated oil. Prince John, on the other hand, smiled serenely throughout the initiation rites. Guy's hands twitched upon the crossbow, eager to transform the man's idiotic expression into one of pain and shock.

When the archbishop held the crown above the prince's head, the abbey's doors burst open and a figure, hidden behind gleaming shields, proclaimed, "Hold! I am King Richard, king of the English, duke of the Normans and Aquitanian."

"You should be in the Holy Land," accused Sheridan, aghast.

"The wax work lives," came the voice of the king.

The archbishop turned to Sheridan. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

Sheridan fell onto his knees in front of the archbishop and confessed to him the entire plan. A wax model of King Richard had been commissioned by the prince, he said, to fool the archbishop into believing him dead.

Desperate, the prince snatched the crown from the archbishop. But before he could place it onto his head, an arrow knocked it out of his hands.

"Hood!" cried John. "You impersonate the king?"

Indeed, Robin Hood came forward, another arrow pointed at the treasonous prince. His ruse was up, the plot revealed for all to hear, and the archbishop refused to make him king.

Glancing frantically around, Prince John searched for the crown.

"Is this what you're looking for?" asked Guy, holding aloft the golden object. "How about a state funeral?" He aimed the crossbow at John.

Hood intervened. "Gisborne, don't do it. I know he deserves it, but with no leader at home, England could be ripped apart," he explained. "It could be torn up by war."

"And what has England ever done for me?" snapped Guy.

"Brother," pleaded Isabella.

He glared at her. "Don't think I won't shoot you, as well, after everything you've done."

She stepped in front of Prince John, blocking his body with hers, and challenged her brother. Ajsa, who had crept inside the doorway, observed Isabella's misguided bravery with nervous anticipation.

Guy's gaze flicked between her and the prince, the latter of whom was attempting to sneak away. He let the bolt loose. Instead of hitting John, however, it embedded itself into Isabella's arm as she ran to protect the prince. And then Gisborne was falling forward, with one of Robin's arrows in his shoulder. He crawled towards Ajsa, but the guards intercepted him before he could reach her. Spooked by the chaotic events, the horses wrenched away from Ajsa's hold and galloped into the forest.

"Get your hands off me," he commanded. He kicked at the nearest soldier, but another took his place and restrained him. Guy nevertheless continued to struggle against his captors, especially when Ajsa's arms were pulled roughly behind her back. "Let her go, you bastards," he shouted. "She was only following my orders."

The guards ignored him, but Isabella did not.

"Release the girl," she said, flashing Ajsa a reassuring, if slightly pained, smile. The bolt had been removed from her arm, which hung in a makeshift sling. "She is my brother's servant and therefore had no choice but to follow his orders."

When the soldiers complied, Ajsa joined Isabella. "Thank you for speaking in my favor," she said, and the black-haired woman nodded. As they walked side-by-side, Ajsa remarked, "He did not intend to shoot you."

"I know," said Isabella, sighing. "But, loath as I am to admit it, Hood is right. With King Richard in the Holy Land, England needs a leader, even if only in name. My brother was about to jeopardize that, so he needed to be stopped." She grinned, looking nearly as smug as Prince John had before his presumed victory. "Besides, the prince has just made me Sheriff of Nottingham for saving his life."

Ajsa raised her eyebrows skeptically. "And you really believe that he will not renege on his word?"

"Of course he won't," assured Isabella. "Sheridan has betrayed him, so there's no one else."

Although Ajsa still empathized with Isabella, she no longer liked her. She understood her ill will towards Guy and Hood, but to throw her lot in with Prince John, who was as selfish and uncaring as they came, made it impossible for Ajsa to view Isabella in a positive light. Granted, her brother was no innocent either, yet he was slowly changing for the better.

"Then I hope for your sake that this time is the exception to the rule," she murmured.

The two women mounted their horses, urging them into a walk. Ajsa glanced back at Gisborne, whose wrists were currently being shackled. He caught her gaze and held it, his features softening, like they usually did when he looked at her. Their fate, it seemed, was to constantly be separated, and Guy was growing weary of it. From the concern he saw in Ajsa's eyes, it appeared that she shared his sentiments. He offered her a wan smile, then turned to glare at Isabella's back as his guards yanked him forward.