Post of the Month

~ March 2009 ~

*************************************************************************************

Jenet & Gisbourne ~ Written by Angela & Karyn.  Posted on the HoS Yahoo group August 2007.

The centre of Elsdon was a mire of mud.

Jenet picked her way carefully around the edge of it, carrying the bundle of washing she was taking down to the river. It had rained again overnight - though this time gently and nothing like the storm of two nights ago, when she had stood at the door of her cott and watched entranced as the lightning had zig-zagged across the sky over Sherwood on a thunderous night which had seemed blacker than any she had ever experienced.

It had cleared away the oppressive heat of the past week. The air was now fresher, and she hoped as a result the usual summer pestilence which came with such sticky heat would now not manifest itself.

She glanced behind her at Nesta who was trailing behind her, too picking her way gingerly around the edge of the mud, holding her skirts clear with both hands as she avoided the ruts a cart had made. The mud would soon dry up - the day was proving to be pleasantly warm. Gwydion had been out with other men of the village this morning at first light, dumping stones they had cleared from the fields over the worst of it, so that neither beast or cart or man would become bogged down. He had seen her standing outside her cott, watching, and he had given her a smile. She had smiled back at him. Even from that distance, understanding had shuttled between them. Nothing was said about Alan, but nothing needed to be said.

She watched the children playing on the edge of the village as she passed on her way down to the river. Richard and William, two eight year olds, were duelling with some broken twigs from the ground, tumbling in the grass, whilst some of the other children watched on.

Jenet looked over her shoulder at Nesta, who followed her through the village. "Go and join them," Jenet encouraged.

Nesta shook her head, and ran to catch up with her mother.

Jenet sighed to herself. They had returned to Elsdon a few months ago but Nesta still found it hard to fit in.

_Like mother, like daughter,_ Jenet thought suddenly. She had never really been a part of the gaggle of gossiping women of Elsdon. They were a little group and they excluded her. Friendly enough on the outside, but who knew what they said about her in their own little circle. She suspected they did not easily forget the events of six years ago. Maybe some of them even felt a little guilty for testifying against her in that farce of a trail for witchcraft Gisbourne had thrown up. She didn't bear them any malice. They had been forced to testify.

Gisbourne, however, was a different matter, and she shook her head to herself at memory of the encounter in the barn whilst she had been sewing the shrouds of the two dead soldiers.

"They don't want me," said Nesta.

"I'm sure they do," Jenet said.

"No they don't." Nesta brightened. "I liked Sarah. Will her hand heal?"

Jenet had always determined on being optimistic to her daughter without giving her any false sense of optimism when things were bad. But now she spoke with confidence. "I hope so. She was cheered by having you to talk to."

"She asked me if I was going to be like you," Nesta said.

"Like me?" Jenet questioned.

"Be a healing-woman." With that, Nesta ran happily ahead, taking the stony path that led away from the village and down to the river where the long grasses waved.

Jenet watched her six year old daughter go. _Like me - a healing-woman. But am I not a woman first before healer? - a mother and once was a wife?_

A lot of the village didn't seem to see it. But she knew Alan did. That was part of the attraction of him. She had to admit that part of the attraction also was his slow shy smile, those dark eyes with their direct honest gaze. She read people by their eyes, could tell whether or not to trust them. The eyes of a person told her a lot. Alan's eyes held secrets - but of a time before her, long before her, and she knew whatever those secrets were, they would not harm her. They were to do with the own private part of him that everyone had. She had the same.

Jenet reached the river and along it a way, till she came to a shallow place that had a bed of gravel, and some flat rocks. There, she stopped, stooped and undid her bundle of washing, keeping an eye on her daughter, who had taken off her shoes and was paddling in the shallows, looking for fish.

"Don't go too deep," Jenet cautioned across to her.

Nesta nodded, wading carefully. The event of falling into the river and being rescued by the outlaw still lingered vividly in her mind.

Jenet took a chemise, dampened it in the river and spread it across one of the large flat rocks, then bending, dug her fingers into the jar of soft-soap she carried with her, and rubbed away at the garment with a small brush. That done, she rinsed it in the river, wrung it out, lay it spread over the long dry grass of the riverbank to dry and repeated the process with another garment.

She washed hers and Nesta's clothes regularly. More regularly than the other villagers did - especially in the winter. They thought she was strange. But Jenet had long since discovered that cleanliness of body and clothes helped to keep away illness. It made sense, if pestilence was transmitted by foul odours. Rather than cloak the foul odours with herbs, it made sense to banish the source of at least some of them.

She worked on at her task, as Nesta grew bored of paddling and donning her shoes once more, wandered across the meadow to pick the bright blue cornflowers and chase the butterflies that alighted on them. The work soothed Jenet. She liked being busy. She liked being down here, in the peace, away from the village. The sun on her back, the whisper of the tall river-reeds as they moved in the breeze, the flow of the river, the butterflies that skimmed past over the surrounding meadow in summer. She loved it all. She could think her own thoughts down here.

She had always been something of a loner - even as a child. Now she wondered whether Nesta would take after her and whether or not it was a good thing.

Gisbourne had let Fury have his head over the last mile or so, happy to let them both blow off some steam. Being confined to the close environs of Nottingham had them both prickly, so Guy had chosen today to continue with his visits of the surrounding villages.

Hubert and his men had fallen far behind him, but Guy wasn't concerned. He wouldn't need a show of force until he actually arrived in the village. He had picked Elsdon at random and for no apparent reason. De Rainault had liked to conduct his tours of the countryside to a set pattern, which always gave the villagers and the outlaws a way of staying one step ahead. One of the most valuable lessons he had learned as a squire had been that you never gave the enemy any reason to predict your next move – it was suicide. He sneered to himself – it was no matter, this wasn't the enemy, the villagers were merely serfs, a herd of frightened cattle ready to bolt at the earliest opportunity and probably in the wrong direction at that.

He slowed Fury to a walk when it became apparent that the lane ahead was filled with a mixture of mud and standing water leftover from the storm. Horseflesh was too damned expensive to replace if it slid out from under you and broke a leg. And he wasn't about to been seen riding a rouncy or a carthorse.

Gisbourne thought back to the first horse he'd had as a knight. As a squire he'd had to follow the Duke of Gloucester into combat on his rouncy; a gangly packhorse with a tough mouth that was only useful for carrying his lord's baggage. After he'd been knighted the Duke had gifted him with fine stallion, a grey with an evil temperament and even bigger hooves. A proper knight's horse, trained not just to carry his master but also to lash out, to fight back at the enemy. Such a horse would have cost seven times the amount of a normal horse and Guy could never have hoped to afford such a mount. As it was his father had parted with only enough marks to buy him decent armour. It was his only acknowledgement to his son of his new status in life and spoke volumes about their strained relationship.

He leaned forward and stroked Fury on his withers, a gentle patting motion designed to placate the animal. He rested both reins in his right hand and allowed himself to enjoy the journey. His thoughts strayed back to the Lady Marian again; these last couple of days he had been mulling over a plan of action loosely in his mind. If he was honest with himself, it wasn't just the Lady of Leaford he was interested in; her lands were just as important.

When his father had died, Guy had been only twenty-one. He remembered the day as clearly as if it had happened only yesterday. Newly to the sheriff's service, Gisbourne had been struggling to adjust to life in Nottingham. After many years of growing used to the Duke of Gloucester's moods, he was now confronted with Robert de Rainault's changing personality. He could be capricious man of varying moods, and Guy always felt as if he was off balance, as if he were attempting to catch up, trying to glean the meaning from de Rainault's actions.

As if this wasn't enough, a messenger had arrived from Gisbourne, bearing a letter. Guy had asked to be excused so that he could read it in private. The sheriff had shot him a mocking look and waved him away, making the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach flare all the brighter. Even holding the letter made his mouth dry and he had marveled how his father still managed to keep such a hold over him, even from so far away. Still, he had not expected the letter to be from his mother, stating in plain language that his father was dead.

He found himself fumbling for a stool, and sat down heavily. As he clutched the missive, Guy felt an intense moment of relief wash over him, making him lightheaded. It was an almost physical feeling, and was followed by a surge of inner triumph. He was finally free of his father after all these years – free of the abuse, the feeling of being useless, good for nothing. He was finally his own man.

In a matter of a few moments Guy found himself lord over the estates of Gisbourne. Surprisingly, Edmund had settled the entire estate on his so called son, completely bypassing his wife in a final act of revenge. In her letter, Margaret stated that she was to keep control of the lands of Barnoldswick, which she had brought to the marriage, but that was all.

Guy had dictated a letter back to his mother immediately, expressingmeaningless and empty words of grief. Both he and his mother knew they were just for show and held no real sorrow.

He soon discovered the estates of Gisbourne were sadly run down, and didn't amount to much, perhaps only 10 hides of land, a small village with a mill and about 40 acres of woodland that was only good for pannage and the feeding of pigs. Working for the Sheriff hadn't afforded much of an opportunity to properly oversee the estate as de Rainault had refused to release him from service. Guy had hired a steward instead to oversee the property, but he was convinced the man was less than honest. The land was starting to suffer from neglect, the yearly profit growing less as time went on.

And what better way to augment a failing holding than having title to one closer to his present location? He had overheard the de Rainault brothers talking about Leaford shortly after he had returned from Lichfield a few years ago. They had been congratulating themselves on finally getting Sir Richard to sign over the deeds to the estate in return for help in rescuing Lady Marian from Owen of Clun. For a professed man of God, Hugo was very well versed in the arts of land husbandry and seemed to have a good grasp of the exact yields for the estate. But then again he'd spent years unsuccessfully trying to get his hands on Leaford Grange.

_Perhaps I will write to Hugo after all. _ he thought. No doubt Hugo would be conversant with Guy's current status, and may in fact wish to be seen helping him. Any action that may forward the goals of Gisbourne would also indirectly forward the goals of the Earl of Huntingdon. Hugo would not want to miss such an opportunity.

Horse and rider passed from the open meadow and into an area where the track was surrounded by trees. They crowded close to the road, and while Guy knew it opened back up a mile or so further on, his hand still strayed to the pommel of his sword.

The sunlight was muted here, and the patterns of the sunlight through the leaves dappled the ground with a patchwork of shade and light. The flickering light reminded him of the time he had danced with Lady Marian at Huntingdon in the glow of candlelight. He had been caught off guard by her beauty, the way the other men paid attention to her. As the pavane progressed and he moved down the line of dancers, he found himself face to face with her. Her skin was offset by the dress she wore, her wealth of red hair spilling down her back in a cascade of curls. He found he wanted her, to possess her, but at the same time he wanted her as an equal. Guy had found himself unable to speak, and the lust he felt was countered by his anger at how awkward and self conscious she made him feel. That shrewd smile she gave him, as if she realized how insecure he felt. Gisbourne had mulled those moments over in his head many a time since that night, and cursed himself for the banal insults he had thrown back at her when no honeyed words had come to mind. In that moment, the soldier had replaced the anxious courtier, and he had fought back with the weapons he had to hand – words. He had asked her if she had danced in Sherwood, and called her Lady Wolfshead. Even now he could feel embarrassment creeping up his face in a red flush.

Gisbourne had not been paying attention to his horse. He felt the stallion slide from under him before he saw it. Fury regained his balance suddenly, throwing him to the side. Guy cursed loudly; thankful Hubert and the other men hadn't seen him. They were still far behind on the track, meandering along in a loose formation. Something else to bring his new Captain's attention later, he thought acerbically.

He pulled in his reins, regaining his seat in the saddle and giving the horse a gentle reminder with his heels to keep him moving. Fury snorted and Gisbourne spent the next few minutes listening with his body to the feel of the horse. After a few steps he stopped and dismounted, running his hand experimentally down the side of Fury's left foreleg. It wasn't hot, so the horse hadn't pulled a muscle.

"Pick it up," he ordered to the destrier, running his hand down its leg to the hoof. "I said pick it up!" he barked, his temper starting to rise. Not at the horse, but at his own carelessness. Why hadn't he been paying attention instead of thinking of his inheritance and women? Fury finally allowed Gisbourne to take his left hoof. Supporting the weight on his leg, Guy pulled out his knife and scraped the mud from the underside of Fury's hoof. A large stone was imbedded near the tender part of the foot, causing the horse to limp. He pushed the edge of the knife gently under the stone and flicked it away, dropping the leg back down. Fury snorted and switched his weight to the other leg, resting it. Guy decided he had better walk the horse for the next mile or so until they reached Elsdon; that way he could make sure there was no lasting damage. By that time his men would have been able to catch up to him as well.

As he walked he noticed the river coming up on his left as the trees fell away. It would be a good place to allow the horse to drink, and for him to cool his temper at the same time. He left the road and started to cross the meadow. Curious, he could make out the sounds of a child playing and as he came closer he realized it was a girl, twirling circles in the grass, trying to make herself dizzy.

He allowed himself a smirk when he recognized the girl – she belonged to the witch, Jenet. Which meant the woman wouldn't be far away. The girl stopped twirling to stare at the man with the horse for a moment. Childish curiosity took hold and she took a few steps towards Gisbourne, stopping just out of arms reach, a hesitant look on her face.

Gisbourne watched the girl, a cruel smile playing over his features. "Where's your mother, child?" he said, regulating his voice so as not to frighten her.

The girl pointed to the river, as it turned out exactly where Guy had been heading. Dropping the reins, he crouched down to the child's level. He had heard that this put children at ease, but what the reasoning was he had never bothered to find out. "Can you take me to her?"

The child watched the man for a moment, and then decided he wasn't a threat. She nodded, and Gisbourne took the child's diminutive hand and they began to walk towards the river bank. Fury followed alongside the pair, perhaps smelling the water ahead.

Within a matter of moments they had reached the river and he could see Jenet. Her back was to him and she was bending over a garment she was washing. Guy smiled slowly, allowing himself to savour the moment before she realized he was behind her, holding her child's hand.

The restless snort of a horse nearby brought Jenet out of her thoughts as she scrubbed away at a woollen cloth gown on the flat rocks. She jerked her head round - at the same time becoming aware that eyes were boring into her back - and there she glimpsed the figure of a man blocking the path of the sun; the figure of Nesta beside him. For a moment, squinting into the sun, she thought it was Alan, and the name hovered on her lips - then as her eyes made sense of the shadow his face was in, she saw the square features of Sir Guy of Gisbourne.

He was smiling at her. His hand was in Nesta's, who stood beside him and was looking up at him curiously, completely unafraid. The sight of Gisbourne and her daughter hand in hand made an incongruous sight - and a strangely frightening one.

Jenet quickly turned to face him fully, dropped the brush she had been scrubbing the garment with, and faced him over the three or four yard distance between them, slowly wiping her wet hands down the front of her gown.

"My lord of Gisbourne." She acknowledged him with more eveness than she felt, and she met his eyes calmly as she spoke. "You will find Patrick the headman up in Long field."

"Really?" Gisbourne replied mockingly. He watched the woman, letting his gaze linger on her face and then slowly travel the length of her body. It was an insulting look and he almost hoped she would react to it, give him cause to move closer. "I'll visit with your headman when I decide to."

He laid a hand on Fury's neck, pushing the horse towards the river to drink. "Besides, I think I've found two reasons to delay my business for a moment."

Jenet kept her gaze calmly levelled at him, but spoke to the child. "Nesta, come here." Whilst she spoke, she held out her hand to her daughter.

Nesta looked curiously up at the tall man beside her, then wriggled her small hand out of his and came over to her mother.

Jenet unbent her eyes long enough from Gisbourne to find the jar of soft-soap she had set on a flat rock at her feet. She handed it to the child and again spoke with far more eveness than she felt. "Here, go take this back to our home. I'll be along in a few minutes."

The five year old looked bewilderedly from her mother to Gisbourne, sensing the tension, but took up the jar of soft soap. As she turned to go up through the meadow towards the village, she paused by Gisbourne, looked up at him quite unafraid, and with a smile, pushed the fistful of cornflowers she had picked into the hand she had been holding.

"For you, my lord," Nesta offered, bobbed her head to him, and then ran carefree back through the long grasses of the meadow towards the village.

Jenet watched her daughter go, then turned her guarded gaze back on the knight. Gisbourne standing there with a wilting bunch of cornflowers pushed into one hand made an incongruous sight, and despite the tension in the air, she had to bite the inside of her lip.

Gisbourne locked eyes with Jenet for a moment, daring the woman to say anything. His fingers convulsed around the stems of the cornflowers and he found himself fighting his immediate reaction, which was to throw them to the ground. He found the child's actions touching; the way she had looked up at him and smiled. Guy realized he didn't know how to respond to the situation. He turned slightly, watching as Nesta disappeared into the village and then returned his gaze to the witch.

He wondered why the child was not frightened of him. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when someone hadn't been afraid – not just of him but of his position; what he might do to them if they disobeyed his orders. Unless he was being mocked of course, both Edmund of Gisbourne and then de Rainault seemed to know how to do exactly that with practiced ease.

"Your husband, he's dead then?" Once more he found himself reacting to the situation by going straight on the defensive. He sneered, not caring whether the woman thought it was for her benefit or not.

Jenet almost winced; the man it seemed had found one of her most tender spots. "Aye, my lord."

"The girl – Nesta – she's his child?" Guy found himself stumbling for words to fill the silence and in the process making more of a fool out of himself. He found his temper was rising and he looked at Jenet with something akin to hate in that moment.

Jenet flared up before she could stop herself. "Of course she's his! - I be not a whore! - though you seem to think otherwise!-" She stopped short, suddenly and acutely realising just who she spoke to in such a foolish manner, and she stared at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly parted, the echoes of her words caught in the silence that hung heavy between them.

"And how would know what I think?" Guy demanded.

The woman stood there by the river as if frozen to the earth, both hands by her sides. He watched for a moment as the slight breeze took up small wisps of her long hair, the strands caught by the light wind. She looked down to the ground, but for Guy her supposed deference to his position came too late. Jenet's sudden passiveness after her outburst infuriated him. Suddenly he found himself remembering the embarrassment of that day in the forest after the outlaws had captured him and attempted to drown him. How this woman was ultimately to blame.

He threw the wilting cornflowers to the ground, watching them fall amongst the long grass. In three long strides he was by her side and he grabbed her wrist, holding it tightly. He leaned in towards her and he felt her stiffen at his closeness. He smiled at her reaction, enjoying it. "Don't think I haven't forgotten your dealings with the outlaws and Loxley," he whispered gruffly. He pulled on her wrist, dragging her still closer to him. "I'll warrant you're still in contact with them, even now." Automatically he looked up, his gaze scanning the trees beyond the river.

"What would I want with the outlaws? - It was the Sheriff who threw me into their midst that time; I didn't choose to seek them out!" Jenet retaliated angrily. "Didn't ask for any of that which came my way!" She tried to twist her wrist out of Gisbourne's grasp but he still held it fast. "It's been six-year since all that happened!"

Gisbourne laughed bitterly. "You're an outsider, Jenet of Elsdon. Every one of your fellow villagers looks at you with suspicion. Its one thing I've learnt over the years – the peasantry have long memories. You can guarantee none of them have forgotten what you did to the outlaws, drugging them, rendering them helpless. The last thing they think of at night is whether you might come creeping in, ready to do harm should it suit your purpose."

Jenet levelled eyes with him. "I came back here this spring, wanting only to raise my daughter in peace in the place where I belong! You think I'd jepoardise that?"

Her words amused Gisbourne. He let his thumb slide across the delicate skin of her wrist, stroking the spot where the blood ran closest to the surface. Almost daring her to pull away. "I'll be watching you Jenet, remember that when you try to sleep at night."

She shuddered and made to strain away from him, twisting her face away from him and praying to the saints that Nesta would not take it into her head to wander back down through the meadow to them. From here by the river, the long grasses of the meadow hid any sight of them from the village and the men working in the fields. Not that she expected any rescue. But if she was to be raped then at least no-one would see the act.

In some distant part of his brain Gisbourne knew Jenet's words made sense, but he was beyond caring. The woman had made a fool out of him once more and she wasn't going to get away with it again. She was flushed, her breath catching in her throat although she was trying to hide her fear.

Guy felt himself reacting to her fright and he grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulling her roughly against him. He leaned down and laid a hard kiss on the part of her throat where it joined her shoulder.

Jenet stiffened at the touch of his lips on her neck. She put her free hand against his chest and strained away from him, twisting around away from him as far as she could. If she was only prolonging the enevitable, then she would prolong it for all she was worth, if only to make it clear to him that in no way was she going to be a willing partner in this; that there was nothing about him that made her want her to be his willing partner in all this, despite the fact that he was young and limber.

His fingers twisted around her plaited hair, preventing her from moving further. Slowly and deliberately he kissed his way up her neck to the tender area just below her ear.

Jenet kept still, straining away from him. He released her wrist and ran his palm up over her breast, pressing his body hard against her. He laughed softly, a menacing laugh that threatened much more. His fingers found the lacings of her gown and he pulled hard, releasing the ties. The lacing parted easily and he slipped his hand inside, feeling the soft, warm flesh against his callused palm. Jenet kept her face averted from his, screwing her eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but where his hands were touching her.

His eyes locked with hers for a moment and he smirked at her. She was going to pay for the way she had humiliated him. He pushed Jenet back against the rock just behind her, forcing her down until she was pinned by his body weight. He kissed her on the lips with bruising force, Jenet gave a muffled protest and twisted her mouth aside, finding as though she could not breathe under his suffocating presence. She clenched her jaw, gritting her teeth as a barrier against the tongue that tried to force entry into her mouth. He found the feel of her fighting him excited him more and he forced his tongue into her mouth. Gisbourne began to pull at her skirts, feeling the coarse material bunch up between their bodies. He shifted, allowing the material to come free and then his hand connected with her skin at last. He ran his fingers up her leg, moving slightly until he could run his hand over the soft skin on the inside of her thigh.

There was a jingle of harness and a discrete cough. "My Lord, we've arrived," said a voice from behind him.

Gisbourne froze. The meadow was silent except for the sound of the woman's jagged breathing from beneath him. Slowly, Guy pulled away and looked over his shoulder. Hubert sat on his horse, pointedly looking over Guy's head and into the distance, refusing to make eye contact with his superior. The four castle guards were not so polite, and one of them was standing there open mouthed in surprise.

Gisburne removed his hand from under Jenet's skirts and stood up, stepping to one side. He forced down his embarrassment and glared at Hubert, daring him to say anything about what he had just witnessed.

The sound of the guard's voice was like the sound of salvation to Jenet's ears - but only for a second as then she realised that the scenario could become even worse if my lord of Gisbourne invited his men to take part in the pleasuring of her. She had heard many a tale of a village woman being subjected to the desire of a group of soldiers; one being Scarlet's wife.

As soon as Gisbourne released her, she rolled over away from him and immediately found her feet to stand, presenting her back to the soldiers whilst she quickly pulled the front of her gown closed. There came a suppressed snigger from a couple of the soldiers; though whether they sniggered at her or their master, she knew not.

She paused in lacing up the front of her gown and looked over her shoulder at the group of five horsemen behind her. The one who headed the others glanced at her, and then away again, clearly discomfited. He was young, lanky as though he had not yet finished growing, looked barely twenty.

_I'm old enough to be his mother,_ Jenet thought.

She did not turn to face the soldiers or Gisbourne, but kept her face calmly, defiantly, turned to them over her shoulder whilst slowly lacing up the front of her gown.

As Gisbourne continued to stare at Hubert, he could feel his temper continue to rise. Embarrassment and frustrated lust clawed at him. "What are you looking at, you idiots?" he shouted at his men. He could feel his face burning, an angry flush traveling from the base of his neck to his cheekbones. Refusing to even look in the direction of the woman he stalked towards Fury, who was calmly drinking from the river.

He didn't even have to look at the woman; he could feel her presence like a burning brand. He grabbed Fury's bridle and yanked the startled horse's head upwards. Fury snorted with displeasure, and tossed his head to the side. The bridle slipped from Guy's fingers as Fury shied away. Gisbourne forced himself to calm down, whispering words quietly to the horse. Finally the destrier allowed him to get a hold on the reins, although there was a heavy amount of distrust in the look Fury gave Gisbourne.

He led the horse towards his men. It was not enough knowing that nothing would be said by his men; Gisbourne felt as if he'd rarely ever been this humiliated. He could feel his jaw locked with suppressed rage, an impotent anger that he knew would take an age to subside. Killing the woman would not be enough, he thought. The thought flickered across his mind briefly, only to be discarded. There were too many witnesses to what had happened today.

Gisbourne stopped and grabbed the saddle, putting his foot into the stirrup and mounting. Concern for his horse overcame his rage for the moment, and he let Fury walk forward a few steps, checking the horse's gait. Clearly the stone had not done lasting damage to the horse's hoof.

Despite himself he felt his gaze flicker over to Jenet and the humiliation he was feeling returned full force. She still stood with her back to he and his men, but her face was turned over her shoulder and she was watching them, almost defiantly. Gisbourne gave Fury a small nudge with his heels, letting the horse sidle dangerously towards Jenet.

He didn't care if she acknowledged his presence or not. "Remember what I said earlier, Jenet of Elsdon. I'll be watching you." He sneered, still staring down at her from a position of power once more. He felt more in control again.

Guy turned the horse away from her and joined Hubert. "We go to Elsdon, to see Patrick the headman," he said, staring at the captain. Hubert looked as if he was about to say something, his eyes sliding back to the woman.

"Well?" Gisbourne barked, daring the man to say anything.

"My Lord," Hubert said finally, pulling his gaze back to Gisbourne with some difficulty.

Guy stared into his subordinate's eyes for a moment, his gaze never wavering. Hubert finally broke eye contact and turned his horse towards the village. It was what Gisbourne had been waiting for; the acknowledgement that he was still in control. He urged Fury into a gallop, refusing to look back towards the woman behind him.

As the horses and riders moved off, Gisbourne at their head, Jenet slowly turned around. Only when they were far in the distance, did she allow herself to sag back against the rock in relief, one hand at her throat, and as she stared after them, after Gisbourne, the fear on her face was replaced by determination, a hardening of her eyes, and she nodded slightly to herself in resolve.