Memories of the Past

"Stand and deliver!" came the traditional shout of the highwayman. The road to Nottingham was fraught with many perils. Thieves, wastrels, wenches hellbent on making an extra copper by selling their nubile young bodies, old hags, toothless and abject.

The coach came to an abrupt stop. Its driver jumped down, brandishing a weapon. He was shot where he stood, precisely and through the heart, stung by a marksman’s arrow. Its occupants, mostly female, looked through the windows of the coach in terror.

The masked man in black held a bow in one hand, a large canvas bag in the other. Tossing the bag inside the coach, he commanded them in stentorian tones, "Fill it up, and be quick about it! Or feel the righteous end of my arrow, tipped with poison, to make your death a misery."

She drew herself up regally. She had the poise and grace of a queen, though she was undoubtedly but a poor relation of some local aristocrat, he surmised. He decided to let her go. Her clothing was fine, but out of fashion by some several seasons. They were not rich enough for him to bother with.

His well-proportioned lips curved upwards in a sensual smile. "I think you do, girl." He ventured closer, thinking perchance to touch her arm, her face, or even the hem of her sleeve. The young woman drew back sharply, causing her pale blonde hair, carefully piled on top of her head, to fall into total disarray. Instinctively, she attempted to smooth her hair into some semblance of order, although she knew the masked man was no one of consequence. But his soft leather-gloved hand touched her hair, then her face. She closed her eyes against her will, knowing it would be futile to fight. She was but a woman, and a gentlewoman at that. She had less power than a peasant.

"Who are you to command me, wolf’s head?" she said in a quavering tone, shaking and trembling inside, though not, she now suspected, from fear.

He stared at her, his face still hidden by his mask, his eyes glinting a vivid shade of green. Unnatural eyes. No one but witches would have such eyes. She backed up against the door of the coach, and she could hear her younger sisters chattering as they lay prostrate on the floor of the now-still coach.

"How is it that a wolf’s head such as yourself possesses such fine horseflesh?" she called out to him, unable to resist prolonging their encounter.

"Perhaps I am but a sheep in wolf’s clothing, wench." He tipped his forelock to her and with a wave, he turned his horse and was gone.

Nicci, daughter of a once-wealthy merchant, now fallen on hard times, stared after the masked man. Her blue eyes sparkled mischievously.

The masked man in black blended in with his surroundings so perfectly, it was impossible to see where he’d gone. In a few moments, he was encircled by his men, the band of thieves and erstwhile cutthroats he consorted with daily. There was Walt Scarlet, a flamboyant ladies’ man who dressed completely in shades of red, and Friar Mick, a man of the cloth who was the least pious amongst them. Rounding out the ragtag group was the leader’s naive younger brother, Seymour Much, and the resident con artist, Greg a Dale.

Michael removed his mask and tucked it away in his hip pouch. "Much." He smiled at his brother and ruffled his hair. He nodded to the others and divided up the coins he had. "Your share, boy."

Much giggled. Michael sighed. The boy acted like he was slow-witted sometimes, but Michael knew it was his innocence that made him seem that way. He had yet to lose his virginity, and though this was not an issue that weighed heavily on Michael’s mind, he knew it concerned the boy.

Scarlet was, in that sense, more Much’s mentor than Michael. Years separated Much and Michael. But more than that, Michael still remembered what it was like to be a member of the nobility. Much did not. Sometimes, if Michael seemed too distracted, the others would accuse him of reverting to his aristocratic roots.

Born the eldest son of an Earl, newly come to England, Michael had everything he could have wanted. One of the first things the Normans did in many cases was to take the titles of those they conquered. In latter years, however, the king had taken to dispensing titles to various gentry in reward for fealty or favors done him.

Unfortunately, Michael scorned his title. When his father died, brutally, at the hands of a neighboring lord craving his lands, Michael disdained the inevitable succession. He did not want to be Earl in this foreign land that killed his father. His anger was not misdirected. He sought out the lord who took his father’s life, but honor was never satisfied. One day, he dreamed it would be.

Much regarded his brother. Tall, attractive in a very sensual way, Michael carried himself like a noble, despite his contempt for them. His unusual eyes, dismissed as unnatural by some, were the result of a long, proud lineage dating back to medieval France. It was a sign of gentle blood, and he made no effort to hide them. But he often referred to himself as the byblow of an illegitimate son of a noble, rather than claim the interest generated by talk of him reclaiming his rightful title.

Scarlet smiled lasciviously at Michael. His tastes ran to beautiful women, but he had a fine appreciation for Michael’s sensual good looks as well. Not that Michael ever noticed. "You look tired, Michael. Will you stay with us tonight or venture into the city?"

Michael shrugged. "But the Sheriff collected the last of the King’s taxes today. I must go. Or we will have nothing to give to the poor this month or the next."

Michael drew his short blade and ran it across Scarlet’s throat in a precise line, drawing blood. Scarlet protested loudly, and Michael laughed. "The wound is but a superficial one, Walt. When you bleed...it makes you look weak in the men’s eyes," he said, echoing Scarlet’s own words.

Scarlet wiped the fine line of blood away with his fingers, spitting at Michael’s feet. "Point taken, Michael." The older man nodded his head, apparently realizing that there were other, more tender parts of his body that Michael could have afflicted had he chosen to.

"Come, Walt, Much, Mick, Greg...we will have wine this eve." Michael lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "Gather close that I may tell you of the trembling beauty I stopped on the road..."

"Aye, Much, more than passing fair." Michael’s green eyes glowed warmly as he recalled the young gentlewoman’s pale blonde hair, curled around her shoulders in disarray.

Michael shook his head sadly. "No...she had no coin to speak of." His eyes brightened again. "But what gold she had was in her hair."

"Blue. Like the flowers in the field, Mick." Michael so rarely shared his feelings or waxed poetic about anything, Mick was stunned.

"You fancy her, don’t you?" Mick said, almost instinctively crossing himself. It was one of the few ironies left that Mick pretended to be a castout Catholic priest, when he in fact shared no religious affiliation of any kind with any man. If he was devout about anything, it would be lovemaking. If he were an acolyte to anyone, it would be a female.

Michael took a deep breath, exhaling as the sun finally set on the other side of the trees. They were hidden so deeply within the forest’s confines, no one save a few villagers even knew how to reach them.

Everyone laughed, including Michael, who looked thoughtful. "Her name is...Nikita. And I vow, I will see her again. Make no mistake."

Nicci had little time to ponder about the dashing highwayman she had encountered on the road. Her younger sisters, Charlotte and Elaine, were but twelve and fourteen years old, respectively, their connection to Nicci not one of blood but of intermarriage. Nikita’s father, a once-wealthy merchant, had indeed fallen upon hard times.

Nicci’s mother was long dead, not that Nicci remembered her for her loving touch. Truth to tell, Nicci was abused long and hard by the woman who called herself her mother, and Nicci prayed often for forgiveness for wishing she had died sooner. Nicci's father was a good man, under the right circumstances, but these were not the right circumstances. No longer wealthy, he married a much younger woman, purportedly for her riches.

Unfortunately, the woman had no money to speak of, but she did leave behind two young children when she died of pneumonia two years ago. Two young female children.

Now Nicci’s father found himself beset by creditors day and night, with no end in sight. He did what any man in his position would do. He bartered his eldest daughter, for money to pay off his debts as well as provide dowries for both his younger daughters. That this demanded the ultimate sacrifice of Nicci. Nicci’s father did not see. It was simply the way things were.

With no money and even fewer prospects, Nikita had no hope of marrying well. Nor did she have a chance of marrying for love. She was at her father’s mercy, and there was precious little of that. It was up to her now. She would have to give in to the demands of the most ruthless man in Nottinghamshire. Paul, the infamous Sheriff of Nottingham.

The Sheriff, to be honest, was not interested in marriage. He remained single for a very good reason. He loathed women. But that did not prevent him from pleasuring himself on them. His tastes were not bizarre so much as sadistic. He was a cruel man, and he fed his appetites well.

He wanted Nicci in his bed. If her father decreed that the only way this could happen was to make her his wife, so be it. He would allow the man to think that Nicci would become the wife of the Sheriff of Nottingham. But she would never live that long. He would have his way with her and discard her, the same as the rest.

His right hand man and chief enforcer, much to everyone’s surprise then, was in fact a woman. If one could call such a she-wolf a woman. His partner in crime, the Lady Madeline Gisbourne, was well noted for her sexual appetites. Easily as sadistic as her mentor, Gisbourne dressed in black leather. It was rumored that she favored young boys, barely into their teens, but no one ever came forward to accuse her. They were too frightened of what would happen to them if she turned her witch-like eyes in their direction.

Like the Sheriff, Gisbourne enjoyed inflicting pain. Unlike him, however, she also enjoyed being on the receiving end of such pain. It made for a unique but solid working relationship between the two.

The Sheriff kept Gisbourne as a mistress, only to slake his thirst for pain. He cared little that she liked how he beat her, only that he could and did.

It was into this den of iniquity that Nicci walked. Unknowing. Innocent. Pure of heart. Had she known, it would have made little difference. She had no choice, but to save her two sisters from the fate she faced now.

Her compassion and her empathy for others were what people often remarked on. There was no one quite like Nicci. She didn’t know it, but word of mouth had declared her a person of considerable renown.

The Sheriff stood as Nicci was brought before him. Nicci gave a small curtsy and dropped her head obediently as she had been trained. Still, she could not find it, even in her most generous heart, to respect a man with such a reputation. She wondered if her faith in God would be enough to sustain her, for it certainly seemed as though He had forgotten her.

Paul slid his lascivious eyes over the figure of the young woman before him. She was a virgin. His first. It was why he was willing to give her merchant father so much in return for her. Little did her father know that he was literally selling his daughter’s flesh to a hideous monster.

The Sheriff gave himself a gentle rub, thinking of the pleasure that Nicci would bring him tonight. Gisbourne noticed, and she sidled up to him, hoping he would need her soon. "Perhaps you should assuage your excess energies on me first. The girl will be too frightened to provide you with much until she is...broken in." Gisbourne’s dark eyes lit up at the prospect of breaking in a new girl for the Sheriff.

Nicci was taken to a glorious bedchamber. Or it would have been glorious if it hadn’t belonged to the infamous Sheriff. Attendants appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, stripping her clothing from her body, stepping back in awe of her truly pearlescent skin.

Nicci slid beneath the warm water. It felt delicious against her skin. Her lovely pale skin flushed from the heat of the water. She closed her eyes and tried to think of better days. For one thing, her younger sisters were not being housed here. That was excellent news. They would be staying at a relative’s house here in Nottingham. Once the Sheriff made Nicci his wife, and their dowries were settled upon them, her sisters would be able to hold up their heads in public again.

She shooed away the attendants, who seemed to be under orders to disturb her as much as possible, and once more, Nicci slid beneath the water. Despite her innocence, Nicci was a sensual being, addicted to textures and color and music. She thought about the stranger she would never see again and sighed. Would that she was to give herself into his arms, instead of the Sheriff’s.

Little did she know it but she was being watched. Having traveled to Nottingham under cover of darkness, Michael was inside the Sheriff’s castle. Ostensibly to collect the tax that the Sheriff sought to send to Prince George. Of course, the Sheriff was always careful to line his own pockets before he deigned to fill the coffers of anyone else.

Michael knew his way around the castle well. It was a rundown place, for despite the money that the Sheriff spent on its upkeep, there was never enough. He had such...divertissements. Diversions.

He knew he was in the right place. This was the Sheriff’s main bedchamber. But that...was definitely not the Sheriff. He crept up behind the young woman, recognizing her instantly as the one he’d accosted on the road. Ah, well...she was the

Michael rarely wanted for female company, it was one of the assets associated with being a wanted man. When he was a wealthy lord, he never knew if a woman appreciated him or what he represented. Now that he was an outlaw, he knew what they appreciated most. And it wasn’t his money. He had none.

He stared at her silently, watching her hands trace lazy patterns over her breasts. What was she thinking with her eyes closed so tightly? Was she--could she possibly be thinking about him?

He knew he had not one altruistic bone in his body, but he pledged that the girl would have more pleasure under him than under the Sheriff. He knew her fate and though he could not stop what would happen to her, he could at least give her a little happiness.

The Sheriff’s deflowering would be brutal. Grim. Evil. Michael could give her pleasure, if not the first time, certainly the second. But wait, he was getting ahead of himself.

He didn’t even know the girl. What was to know? His heart cried out to be one with her, and he was not a great believer in superstition. Perhaps it was part of God’s plan for him. To seal their fates together in this way.

He stepped behind the tub of water, where Nicci’s fair hair shone brightly. He bent down and kissed the top of her head, and she opened her eyes, about to scream when she saw him. Then he covered her mouth with his, mainly in an effort to stop her from crying out, but when he felt her response, he gentled the kiss, earning a reward of sorts. She permitted his tongue entrance to her mouth.

She had never been kissed like this before. She knew, perhaps instinctively, that she would never be kissed like this again. Her wet hands broke free of the water and clung to him, exposing her breasts to his view. He glanced at her, but he knew he didn’t dare touch her any further. Not here. He pushed her mouth apart, his fingers moving across her face softly, then more urgently. He drank heavily from her mouth, slowly, ever so slowly, sinking to his knees beside the tub. He would take her here, damn her. And soon.

The water rippled alarmingly close to the edge of the tub as Michael pulled Nicci up and out of its depths. Her water-slicked body slid through his hands as he picked her up, his mouth still joined to hers. Never breaking off the kiss, Michael let her slide down till her bare feet hit the wooden floor. Grabbing a huge toweling cloth, he wrapped it around her body, to prevent her from taking a chill.

What he contemplated was very, very dangerous. But he could no more stop now than he could stop the moon from rising in the night skies. His lips caressed her mouth until Nicci was quite incapable of speech. Or should have been. If she’d been an ordinary woman. But she was not.

Nothing about Nicci was ordinary. Even the fact that she was allowing him such liberties with her body was not ordinary. Any other female would have screamed to high heaven by now, regardless of how much they enjoyed his advances. They would be worried about their reputations. Why wasn’t she?

She blushed. No demure miss, Nicci owned her feelings, and she knew she was attracted to this daring stranger with the sensual hands and soul-drugging kisses.

He gently pushed her toward the bed, knowing that if this was going to happen at all, it would have to happen now. She lay back amidst the comforters and quilts, her pale blonde hair spilling across the oversized pillows. He knelt on one knee on the edge of the bed, wondering if he dared remove his own clothing. He would never escape if he were caught. It would mean certain death. It would be worth it.

He removed his black tunic and his leather boots. Bending over her lovely but as yet untouched body, Michael paused. "You know that this will render you unsuitable for marriage?"

"Aye," she replied, her sapphire eyes welling up with tears. "I thought you knew my fate. You seem well acquainted with the goings-on here."

But he never marries them, Michael thought, his brain feverishly working at this piece of information. Perhaps he had a change of heart? No, the man was a scurvy villain. He had no heart.

Michael’s eyes fell. She cupped his chin in her hands. "If I am to live out this drama that fate has dealt me, at least give me something magical to remember for the rest of my life..."

She reached up and kissed him, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks in a silvery trail. He closed his eyes and relented, his mouth softening under hers. "I would change your fate if I could, girl, but I can barely change my own."

He slid his leggings off, revealing muscular thighs borne of long hard hours of riding horseback. She gasped at the sight of him. She had never seen a man aroused before. But she was not afraid. Excitement rose in her throat and made her breasts heave with restless breaths.

He paused at the entrance to her body, perhaps hoping to spare her pain, but he soon realized that he must be swift. Prolonging the taking would only bring her more pain. He pierced the very heart of her, and she cried out softly. Her cry upset him. He didn’t want to hurt her at all.

But he was unbearably aroused by the taut feel of her body around him. They fit together like hand in glove. Suddenly he felt the tension in her relax, and he slid deeper into her silken depths.

His weight far from uncomfortable to her, Nicci ran her hands along his bare arms. "You are truly the most beautiful man I have ever seen," she whispered.

He kissed her neck, eventually burying his face in her hair. He moved within her, knowing he must be hurting her, but trying desperately not to think about that. When he spent himself inside her, he immediately moved to leave her, but she grasped his shoulders. "Stay."

He took the toweling cloth and wiped at her body gently, noting the blood that decreed her virginal status was no more. He threw the cloth on the floor. Taking another cloth, he wet it in the tub water, now gone tepid. Slowly but surely, Michael bathed every inch of her lower body, removing all traces of their lovemaking.

His curious green eyes flickered back and forth in an effort to evade the straightforwardness of her gaze. She was only a female, but she saw what she wanted and took it like a man would. She was an enigma to him. She was a mystery. A mystery he wanted very much to explore.

He almost did not answer. Almost. He kissed her mouth, nudging it open with his tongue, tasting her again. He groaned against her mouth. "Oh, God, you are..."

He made no move to go as yet. His lashes drifted down to cover his beautiful green eyes. Still he waited to take his leave of her. "I would stay a while longer."

"To lie with you again," he whispered. "You took no pleasure from the first time. That is not unexpected. But I would show you how good it can be," he said kindly.

She winced. "Why? So I can compare you to the good Sheriff? Think you he will care about whether or not I am satisfied? Women are not supposed to be satisfied. Tis not proper nor expected." She refused to look at Michael, but he could hear the imminent arrival of tears in her voice.

"How can you call what we have done love?" Nicci looked at him in abject despair, knowing how difficult it was going to be to survive his leaving now.

"How can I not? You may not have the experience to judge such things, but I do." He kissed her eyelids shut, trailing tiny, soft as satin kisses down the side of her face to her neck. "And I know what I feel."

Michael refused to let Nicci move away from him, sweeping her into his embrace. "I will love you, my sweet Nicci, and you will feel pleasure under my hands this time."

He claimed her mouth almost defiantly, as if daring her to say she was not his. He rained wet, open-mouthed kisses upon her until she felt nearly drugged, simply from the prelude before the storm. "Do you see how much better it can be?"

A pleasant ache grew between her legs, and that took Nicci by surprise. She did not expect to feel anything but pain this night. Michael’s mouth replaced his hands, and the suckling at her breasts produced a wondrous tugging sensation within her womb. "Oh!" she cried, so softly only he could hear.

His hand found the increasingly wet space between her legs, and his fingers slid gently inside her, while his thumb caressed outside. When he felt her climax approach, he quickly joined their bodies together. The tenderness she might have felt otherwise was obliterated by the incredible sensations that overcame her. He meant to withdraw before he risked giving her a child. He truly did. But he could not. He felt her spasm around him, and he poured his essence into her, as though she were a holy vessel. "Mine, mine," he chanted, perhaps unconsciously. She gasped her climax into his mouth, and he sealed whatever cries she might have made within himself.

"Oh, Michael..." She could not help but gaze at him tenderly. For he was both mysterious and familiar to her. This man who was no stranger to her heart and body.

He kissed her one last time, reluctant to leave her, but knowing that he must. "Promise me you will not let him have you, my sweet Nicci," he whispered, certain he had no right to demand such a thing.

"I was not happy before, you know, but I was resigned to my fate. Now...I cannot bear the thought of anyone but you touching me, Michael. What have you done? What manner of bewitching is this?"

"Kill me," she commanded, clutching his hands to her breasts. "Thrust your blade into my heart and kill me where I lay, right now. It would be kinder."

Tears sprung into Michael’s bright green eyes. "No!" he said, aghast that his love for her was being turned into a soulless weapon to be used against Nicci.

"To live in the forest?" He was incredulous. How could he bring her there to live? Her reputation would be ruined. Wait...her reputation was already ruined, did anyone but know it.

"How can you not? I am already yours, Michael. Prends-moi. Je suis a` toi." Take me, I’m yours. She was echoing the very words he had spoken to her that first day on the road.

For thirty seconds, he deliberated. Argued with himself. Berated himself for starting this affair. Then Michael realized something. He did not need to be convinced of how ill-fated their relationship would be. But it was beyond the power of anyone, including them, to stop it. It would be there, between them, whether they acted on it or not. The love.

He gathered her into his arms. The decision now made, he wasted no time in plotting their escape. "Be quick, love, or we will be discovered for sure."

She abruptly sensed that she had somehow offended him, and she was sorry. His face was enigmatic and gave nothing away. His feelings were close to his heart, where no one but he could read them. He shrugged his way back into his black tunic and pulled on his leggings, muttering to himself.

She pulled on his shaggy head until he turned to face her again, a distinct thread of pain etching its way across his face. "I said, it would be tempting fate to hope that somehow...you returned my love."

Slowly the veil fell from Michael’s face and eyes, revealing his true feelings that her heart might read them, too. "And if I said I wanted to take you to wife, what say you to that, woman?"

Michael heard a noise outside in the hall and froze. "Come," he whispered, pressing a finger to his lips to indicate she should remain silent.

She was barely half-dressed, but she was giddy with all of the turns her life had taken in the past few hours. Michael touched a stone in the wall, and a door appeared within the wall. He beckoned to Nicci. Maintaining silence was important. Noise was magnified within the confines of the old castle, and one could never be certain just who was listening to who.

Nicci followed him in complete silence. Michael paused finally. They were at a place where the path led to the outside and eventual safety. "Here," said Michael, giving Nicci a quick but thorough kiss.

The moon was full, illuminating them both. He took her to where his horse still waited patiently. Michael vaulted into the saddle and held out his hand to Nicci, helping her up behind him. He took off, ignoring the main road as too dangerous, and he urged the mare on, riding as if the very devil were after them.

When they arrived at the clearing within the forest, Michael’s men stared at the couple, dumbfounded. Friar Mick was the first to find his tongue. "You brought a wench to us cause we could not come to ‘er? That was right thoughtful of you, your lordship."

He moved to help Nicci off the horse, and Michael slapped at Mick’s hand, making it very obvious the way the land lay. "She’s with me, Mick," said Michael, leaping from the saddle to the ground, seemingly without any effort at all.

Michael held out his hand to Nicci, treating her like a lady to the manor born. Mick quipped, "A right toff, then?" indicating that Nicci must belong to the ruling class.

Michael glared at Greg, wondering why he had ever kept anyone around with such limited use to the small band. He led Nicci to a spot far enough from the others for privacy, but close enough to keep an eye on the ragtag group. He spread a blanket on the ground and invited her to join him. "It isn’t much," he said, suddenly aware of how pitiful it must look, seeing everything through her eyes.

She smiled, and all at once, it was as if the moon had erupted from behind a cloud and lit up the heavens above. Michael held her close, his cheek against hers. He felt possessive of Nikita, and he knew why now. It was no longer enough to admit such feelings to himself.

Scarlet woke Michael with an ungentle shove of his boot. Michael opened his eyes slowly, vaguely aware that he never slept this late as a rule. He turned to face Scarlet, who seemed strangely out of sorts this morn, suddenly realizing that someone or something was preventing him from sitting up. It was Nicci. She lay across his chest, her arms wrapped around him.

Pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, Michael shifted her body back onto the blanket. Pulling on his boots, Michael looked up at the older Scarlet. "What’s up, Walt?"

Michael jumped to his feet at once. The vibration as his booted feet hit the earth woke Nicci. She glanced at the two men sleepily.

Scarlet glared at Nicci, indicating she was at least part of the problem. "Two kinds. The Sheriff knows that you’ve got his woman."

Scarlet regarded her as if she were a flea that had somehow fallen off a nearby dog. "Pfah! You’re a woman. What could you do to help us?"

"You take me at my word, girl. We are well and truly married, before God, which is all that matters, and I will not give you up." Michael stalked away, Scarlet following at a distance, perplexed at his master’s reaction to the wench.

Scarlet spoke his mind. "You married her? Are you daft, Michael? We can barely support who we have now. Yet you take on another mouth to feed?"

Michael spun around, clutching Scarlet by the neck. "Aye, I do, and make no mistake, there will be a babe soon enough as well. What say you to that?" He abruptly let go of Scarlet, aware that his reaction was not unreasonable, given their circumstances. He raked a hand through his long, cinnamon-colored hair.

Much was in the sadistic clutches of the Lady Gisbourne. He knew his own inexperience was to blame. He had mistaken her interest for something else, and he had blindly followed her into this torture chamber she kept in the bowels of the castle.

Somewhere along the way, Much had indeed lost his virginity, but he could not boast of trysting with the she-devil. So much pain had followed the simple act, he could barely remember what he had once considered to be the moment he would cherish all his life.

Gisbourne liked the energy of a younger man, and she was not immune to Much’s charm, part of which was undoubtedly due to his relationship with his outlaw brother. He knew little about women, and that worked in her favor. He was easy to trick, even easier to handle.

Gisbourne tested the shackled arms and legs of her young charge. "It will not be long, Much. Your brother will no doubt come to free you any time now."

Gisbourne trailed a hand over Much’s face, and his blood chilled. Touching was a prelude to other, more evil torments. She smiled, but the effect was frightening. Sadistic urges had transformed her dark features into something wicked.

"He has something we want, Much. He will give it up in return for your safety." Much did not like the sound of that. What did they want that was so important? And as for his safe return? He doubted that he would ever feel safe again. Anywhere.

Gisbourne ran her hand down the Sheriff’s arm in a gesture that betrayed their long and sensual association. "I do not understand why you place such a value on the girl. She is beautiful, to be sure, but surely she is no longer a virgin, ripe for the plucking."

The look in the Sheriff’s eyes stopped even Gisbourne. This was no ordinary woman then. The Sheriff hated Michael with a passion he normally reserved for his base appetites. "He took something that belonged to me. He will pay for his outrage." The Sheriff shifted his malevolent gaze to Much.

Much was torn between wanting to be rescued and wanting his brother to stay far, far away. He did not doubt for a second that Michael would defend him to the death, if need be. But he couldn’t live with that. He cursed himself for stupidity and sexual curiosity, damning himself for being a fool to believe in Gisbourne’s lies.

Mick looked sadly at Michael. "I’m damned surprised at you, Michael. That you who value honesty above all else would suggest I lie to your new bride...tsk, tsk."

Michael turned away at last, aware he had failed to make himself understood. Mick grasped him by the hem of his tunic. "Michael? I might know someone...up at the abandoned abbey...no promises, you understand."

He knew that common law marriage demanded only that a wife be declared such in front of witnesses, as he had already done. But if Nicci wanted a proper wedding ceremony, he would give her one.

Michael stepped right up to Scarlet and forced the man backwards until his back hit a tree. "I know exactly what I’m doing, Walt. I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else, but I will. This time."

He paced restlessly back and forth, his inner agitation betrayed only by the force and length of his stride. "The Sheriff wants Nicci. He cannot have her. I--" Michael stopped, unable to confess his true feelings to one of his men, even Scarlet, who perhaps understood women better than he did.

Scarlet, in an intuitive burst, suddenly realized what Michael was struggling to say. "You’re making sure the Sheriff cannot reclaim what he considers to be his property."

Michael nodded. "If we are married, properly, by a priest, and the marriage is consummated, which it is, the Sheriff cannot take her away from me."

Scarlet was not convinced of that. It seemed to him that the Sheriff played by his own set of rules, and he liked to use real live people as his gamepieces.

Michael avoided looking at Nicci and moved away to speak with Scarlet more privately. Even then, he could not meet Scarlet’s eyes. The depth of his feelings for Nicci frightened him. But giving her up, to anyone, but especially the Sheriff, was simply not an option.

Scarlet’s blue eyes gentled as they lit on the younger man. "Aye, I can see that you do, son. There’s nothing for it then. No choice."

"Aye. I cannot find it in my heart, such as it is, to go against a man who loves someone that much. I’m with you, Michael. The others will follow."

Michael turned on his heel, intending to go to Nicci, but he heard Scarlet’s deep voice behind him. "Convincing the wench to go hide in the abbey whilst we fight for her virtue might be a tad more difficult than you think, though. She seems like a spirited thing, if you ask me."

"No! I will not let another fight my battles for me, Michael. The Sheriff’s quarrel is with me. Tis me who needs to explain to him how things have changed." Nicci’s attempt to be so brave was touching. He knew she was deeply frightened of the man, and even to contemplate returning to the Sheriff’s castle must be unnerving.

"Nicci, you are the one who told me he is not a reasonable man. He will not listen. He will only take out his hatred of me...upon you." Michael shuddered. The thought of her sweetness being defiled by that monster and his wicked accomplice did not bear thinking about.

Michael stared at Ncci. "My sweet Nicci, I am not certain that marriage alone would be enough to protect you, but yes, that was my intent. To marry you and give you my protection."

Nikita’s big blue eyes filled with tears. "Was that the reason you lay with me, Michael? To get me with child? To thwart your enemy?"

Aghast, Michael realized his mistake at once. "No!" He saw the others look interestedly in their direction and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her further away from the men.

"I am not a pawn, merely to be moved here and then there at will, Michael. I am a real person. With real feelings." She bowed her head tearfully, but Michael caught her chin, refusing to allow her to hide from the renewed intensity of his gaze.

"I know, my sweet Nicci. And I love the real person that you are. With all my heart." Michael kissed her tenderly, with none of the desire of the previous night, but all of the love he found in growing in his heart by morning.

"I do love you, my sweet Nicci, and tis for that reason, I beg you to stay at the abbey in safety while we free Much from the Sheriff’s clutches. I cannot fight the evil in that man if I must worry about him stealing you back."

Nicci met his eyes evenly, noting the brilliant green shimmered with unshed tears. "You do love me truly," she said, almost reverently.

It was a goodbye kiss. Everyone could see it in their eyes, though they tried desperately not to watch. Even Greg, who was usually quick with a sharp word or a cutting remark, kept his silence. None of them knew how many of them might fall in their effort to re-take Much.

It was a moment fraught with very real danger. And Nicci’s reaction to Michael’s leaving reminded them all of their own mortality.

Nicci tried not to cry, but she felt as though she would choke if she tried to take a breath without him at her side. Her hands played restlessly and unceasingly with Michael’s hair. "I know...you must go..."

He could not answer. He could only stare at her. Swallowing what seemed to be a huge rock stuck in his throat, Michael said only, "I will honor my promise, my sweet Nicci."

She stepped back into the old churchyard and watched silently as Mick fastened the gate. He regarded the girl sadly, knowing there was every chance that she would not see her husband again.

He turned as if to go, then hesitated. "If we succeed...I will bring the priest with me. For your wedding." He smiled at Nicci, noting that she was beyond hearing about the wedding that had already taken place in her heart, if not in reality.

Gisbourne continued, strangely oblivious to the Sheriff’s moods. "Well, if he is, then why the delay? What could he possibly be doing?"

Paul smiled sardonically. "He thinks to prevent me from taking the girl. He thinks that deflowering her would make her less valuable to me. He does not realize that he has merely made it easier for me to begin training her in how to pleasure me."

He leaned forward in his chair, propping both elbows on his knees, as if he were eagerly anticipating something. Perhaps he was. "Twould give me the greatest of pleasures to supplant his seed with my own."

His sardonic smile grew broader. He was truly evil. And if he could scare the Lady Gisbourne, he was a man who would live up to the fear he engendered.

Much listened to all this in horror. He could not bear the thought of anyone suffering the way he had, especially not a defenseless woman. Especially not someone his brother claimed as wife.

He struggled with his shackles, to no avail. He was not strong enough. No one would be strong enough to remove such shackles with his bare hands.

When Gisbourne finally left, following the Sheriff, Much heaved a sigh of great relief. He knew they were plotting something, but he could not help feeling grateful when they would leave him alone.

Suddenly there was a chittering noise, followed by a series of birds chirping. It was the signal. Michael had come. Much was both scared and excited. His brother was formidable. But he doubted anyone could match the Sheriff for sheer meanness and vindictiveness.

Michael appeared at Much’s side. In a sudden burst of movement, Scarlet, Mick, and Greg joined them. Greg knelt down by Much’s ankles and began picking the lock on the shackles that bound his feet together. Mick eyed the hall for any unwelcome intruders, while Scarlet worked to free Much’s hands.

The Sheriff stood in the doorway, his arm around Mick’s neck as if to break it. Gisbourne palmed the blade Mick carried and noted that man’s doleful look.

Even Scarlet’s eyes widened at that. A gasp escaped Much’s lips. He grabbed his older brother by the shoulder. "Michael! You cannot! You do not know how terrible they are, or what they mean to do to your wife!"

Michael’s eyes were glacial, a pale, cold-as-ice green. He renounced her. In front of everyone. He renounced the woman for whom he had just proclaimed undying love.

Nicci lay on the makeshift bed in the austere little room once meant for a novice entering the religious life. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, knowing that a babe was undoubtedly growing within her. His babe. She closed her eyes and dreamed of him coming back to her. Alive and whole.

She protested. Giving up their hostages seemed foolish, especially given the fact that Michael had tricked them before. Not just once, but repeatedly.

But the men were curiously reluctant to leave Michael there. Scarlet in particular lingered by Michael’s side. "What are you up to?" he whispered carefully.

They waited anxiously in the little forest camp. Scarlet paid regular visits to Nikita, bringing her what food and drink he could spare, knowing it was what Michael would have wanted.

He did not dare think of Michael as dead yet. He knew that the Sheriff would torture him first. He would not give Michael an easy death. He hated too much for that.

Nicci never asked about Michael. It was almost as if she were superstitious. As if somehow by not mentioning him, he would be safe. "God will keep you and hold you in His heart, my love," she prayed each and every night.

Michael was shackled in Much’s place. Blood dripped down his face from an open wound on his forehead. Sweat poured into the wound and made it sting fiercely. He was barely conscious. But that was perhaps the best way to be in the presence of evil.

The Sheriff roared his anger. "You promised me the girl, wolf’s head! Do you toy with me yet? I will give you a merciful death if you but give up the girl!"

Michael could not quite get his mind to function well enough to comprehend what she was telling him. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Well, not for love, that is for certain. But the Sheriff and I share a certain proclivity...suffice to say, we have the same vice, and I am not anxious for competition from your wench, be she wife or nay."

Michael grinned crookedly, the effect somewhat bizarre given the amount of blood on his face and the smears of dirt across his chin. "You would accept the word of an outlaw?"

The moment he obtained his freedom, Michael ran without thinking to the Sheriff’s main bedchamber. His sacrifice would be for nothing if he left now. If he left without completing his task. He did not care what he said to Gisbourne, his word meant nothing now. He would have vengeance on the Sheriff. Or he would follow them to the ends of the earth. Then they could never be truly free.

The Sheriff lay sleeping in his bed. Twas not the kindest thing to take advantage of a man in such a state, but Paul was not noted for fairness in a fight himself. And in his weakened condition, Michael knew it would not be a fair fight.

The Sheriff woke when Michael’s blade pierced his chest. Grasping the handle of the blade with both hands, the Sheriff struggled to pull it free of his body, but was unable to do so. He died trying.

Oh, and Gisbourne lived to regret her good deed. Though Michael could not bring himself to kill her in cold blood, as he did the Sheriff, he left her shackled in her own dungeon. Someone would discover her. Eventually.

When Michael’s horse clattered loudly into the churchyard, Nicci came running, her white nightdress fluttering wildly in the breeze behind her. An angel come down to earth.

When she saw the blood, she nearly fainted dead away. Michael was so pale, so weak, he could barely stand. Somehow, he had managed to ride back to the abbey in his condition, without even stopping at the forest camp to alert the others.

Nicci threw her arms around him, and he winced, his blood staining her nightdress dark red. "Let me help you!" she exclaimed, her words of love dying in her throat. He was in no shape to hear her feelings now. She was lucky he was even alive.

Michael struggled to stay conscious. Did she not see that he came back to her? "I kept my promise..." he said weakly, before losing his struggle.

When Michael awoke, he had a blinding headache. His throat was parched, and he could barely speak. But the first words he did speak were to call for her. "Nicci..."

The next time Michael awoke, he was alone. The fever was gone. His head felt calm, his thoughts ordered. Whatever infection had tried to claim his body, it was no more.

He opened his eyes slowly, the sunlight giving him a twinge or two before he could adjust. He was able to determine where he was finally, but he wondered where his wife was. He had such a desperate need to see her, but he was not strong enough to go to her himself.

She hesitated one more second, then, her face crumpling, she ran to him, kneeling by the side of his bed. Her tears saturated what was left of his black tunic, as she lay her head on his chest, weeping.

The merry men were temporarily without a leader. No matter. They had something better. Michael had reclaimed his title as Earl. Together, he and Nikita had decided that he could help more people with the money, power and title behind him than he could as an impoverished outlaw.