Sir Guy of Gisburne was not alone in his relief that this was the last day of the so-called 'magical' Christmas season. But before the guests the King had forced the Sheriff to invite could leave, they had to endure another evening and night of feasting that de Rainault had to pay for. This was something that had caused the man's mood to deteriorate from day to day. And the fact that he could not vent his anger as he usually did - so as not to offend the illustrious guests - only made matters worse. The knight shuddered at the thought of what would happen here once the last of the Earls and Barons, and the representatives of the Church - with the exception of Abbot Hugo - had left for home. And then a smile crept across Gisburne's face, for then he would no longer be here. The Earl of Chester had wrested permission from the Sheriff - an image that deepened the grin - to 'borrow' the knight for a while, and Sir Guy had no intention of disobeying the order. Of course, de Rainault was not going to take this lying down and had placed the entire responsibility for organizing the final feast on his steward. Gisburne, however, was convinced that he would have to do all the work anyway, even if he did not ride with Blondeville. Unfortunately, he would only be part of the Earl's entourage for a short time, returning to Nottingham after a few weeks, but the absence was better than none. "No, that doesn't belong here," he ordered the servants, who were struggling with one of the tall, heavy candle stands. "And get rid of that shrubbery," he ordered another group, pointing to the mistletoe that decorated the passage to the kitchen and cellar. Gisburne suspected that the branches were there only to give the servants - and the soldiers - an excuse to neglect their duties while pretending to be following tradition. "Aren't you going to kiss a pretty girl under the mistletoe, Guy?" the Earl of Chester's voice suddenly sounded behind him. The knight turned with a smile on his face, and in this case the expression was genuine, which was not the case with every guest. At least not everyone who was in the castle at the time. "I don't need any green stuff for that, My Lord," he replied. "And what about traditions, Guy?" came the next question. The answer was given in a lowered voice, as if the knight did not want anyone else to hear what he had to say. Which was true. "The Sheriff doesn't believe in these traditions. If it were up to him, we wouldn't celebrate at all. And all this," Sir Guy could not resist moving his hand and arm in a semi-circle, "being forced to host has already made his mood rather... worse anyway. I must make sure there's nothing left to annoy him." That was true, but it had nothing to do with his order to remove the mistletoe from the hall and, if possible, the whole castle. Unfortunately, he himself had had the misfortune of being unable to escape encounters under the mistletoe on several occasions. And more often than not, he had been unable to get out of the old tradition. Much to the delight of the Sheriff and usually his guests. And this year, there was no one among those present that he would have wanted to kiss. Nor did he want to be forced to kiss one of the - albeit young - female servants in front of everyone. He preferred quieter corners of the castle, as kissing alone could not give him enough satisfaction. "I can't imagine that de Rainault is in danger of being kissed by anyone," Ranulph replied just as quietly. He allowed himself this familiar tone not because he was far above Sir Guy, but because the two men, who were almost the same age, had known each other since childhood. And because they had fought together in Normandy. And whatever had happened in the years since, Chester still looked on Sir Guy with favor. That was why he had asked the Sheriff to lend him his steward for a few weeks. "Although," he continued with a mischievous smile, "you can never be too sure." He paused, and Guy thought he would turn away. But his comrade in arms still had something to say. "I should warn you. Lady Penelope d'Arques has just arrived and she won't be missing the festivities tonight." "Lady Penelope?" Gisburne was sure he had heard the name mentioned before, but at that moment he had no idea in what context. "Ah... thank you," he managed to say before his duties caught up with him again. And any thought of Lady Penelope vanished from his mind.
***************************************************************************************************************************************** Sir Guy stood at the foot of the stairs leading down from the Sheriff's chambers to the Great Hall, waiting for him to appear. Most of the guests had already gathered, but the knight was sure that de Rainault would make the others wait a little longer. It was the only way he had left in this situation to show that he considered Nottingham to be his domain. However, the delay also gave the knight a chance to take a last look around the hall, perhaps to correct any last minute mistakes. But much to his delight and immense relief, he found nothing. The soldiers were all at their posts and not distracted by what was going on in the hall. The servants were present in sufficient numbers and were already busy serving the guests with warm spiced wine. The food was already on the festively laid table, and a large piece of the log that the Earl of Huntingdon had brought with him still lay in the room's largest fireplace. Gisburne was more attached to Christmas traditions than he would ever admit to the Sheriff, and he was glad that the log had been allowed to burn for twelve days. And he did not mind if the servants scraped the ashes from the fireplace to keep them until next year. As long as de Rainault did not know. A rustling and whispering on the floor above him told him that the Sheriff was approaching. He looked up to find that there was still no sign of the man. But it could not be long now. The brief distraction had been enough for someone to approach him unnoticed. Turning his attention back to the hall, he spotted an elderly - no, an ancient - Lady next to him whom he had never seen before that evening. But it was not that that made him take a step back at that moment, but the smile that had appeared on the Lady's wrinkled face. And the furtive glance she cast upwards. As he followed her gaze, the knight suddenly remembered where he had heard the name Penelope d'Arques before. Or rather, he remembered that she was rumored to bring her own mistletoe to every Christmas gathering to which she was invited. And she had done so for seventy years. Sir Guy wanted to put another step between himself and the Lady, but more importantly, between himself and the threat of the mistletoe. But before he could move, out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure of the Sheriff blocking his escape. And Lady Penelope had taken the opportunity to come very close to him. The knight had to realize that there was no escape for him. He was trapped.