Nikita stared at the outlaw who had stolen her heart. "It is too dangerous for you to stay much longer. You must go!"

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."

"For what?"

"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.

His eyes followed hers as they shifted away. He leaned closer, near enough to kiss her. She gasped. "Please…"

"Please what? Leave you alone?" Michael asked. "I cannot. You touch something in me, and I must answer its summons."

"You make me want too much. I was happy with my life—"

Michael grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. "How can you say that?"

"You would hurt me, too?" she asked.

"I want no one to hurt you ever again," he whispered. "Especially not me."

He kissed the side of her face, and she closed her eyes, tears leaking pitifully from underneath her eyelids.

"Let me love you…" he said in a voice that sounded curiously tremulous itself.

"How can you call what we have done love?" Nikita 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."

She opened her eyes, startled. "You love me?"

He looked just as surprised as she. "I—"

She sighed. "I did not think so."

He cupped her chin with his hand and forced her to make eye contact again. "You did not let me finish, girl."

"I think you cannot love someone you call ‘girl' in such a tone," she said in a low voice.

"I think I can…and do," he said against her mouth. "Girl…"

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

She smiled, almost against her will. "You do know my name after all, sir," she said, sounding satisfied with that turn of events.

"Tis most unusual to call the man who lies with you ‘sir'…Ni-ki-ta."

"I-I do not know your name…"

"Michael."

"King of Thieves? Wolf's head? Outlaw?"

His hands palmed her breasts as he licked her mouth impudently. "Just…Michael."

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?"

"For anyone or just us? Mi-chael." She tried out his name on her lips, and he smiled.

He kissed her with all the longing in his heart. "Just us, my sweet Nikita. Just us."

A pleasant ache grew between her legs, and that took Nikita 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 Nikita," he whispered, certain he had no right to demand such a thing.

"How can I stop him?" she said brokenly. She had never dreamed she might love one day. It was both too much and not enough.

"Tell him you are sick, tell him you have your monthly flux, but keep him away."

"He will not listen, Michael. You know he will not." Tears stood in her brilliantly sparkling sapphire eyes.

"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?"

"Tis not enchantment, my sweet Nikita. Tis only love. Mortal love."

"How shall I live when you are gone?" She wept, and his trembling hands could not wipe away so many tears.

"I will come back for you, Nikita. I swear it."

She stared at him, bereft. "If you love me, you will spare me the pain of living through this vile night with the Sheriff."

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"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 Nikita.

"I will save you from your fate, my sweet Nikita. I swear it."

"Take me with you," she begged.

"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.

"Hide me there. I promise not to ask anything more of you, Michael."

"Hide you? I want to protect you from men like me, my sweet Nikita. How can I claim you as my own?"

"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 wrapped her arms around Michael's neck, kissing him repeatedly. "How can I ever repay you? I am so grateful, Michael!"

He frowned. "I do not want your gratitude, girl."

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.

"What? What did you say, Michael?"

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."

"But I do, Michael. Truly I do."

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?"

She took his hand and pressed it to her face, touching it gingerly with her lips. "Yes."

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 Nikita. 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.

Nikita 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 Nikita 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 Nikita, 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 Nikita 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.

"An exclusive wench, then? Hmm…" Mick pondered. No, this had never happened before, within the time of his recollection.

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

Michael wrapped his arms possessively around Nikita. "Hands off. Everyone. You mess with her, you have to deal with me."

Mick backed off slowly. "Okay, okay…"

Greg winked at Mick and Scarlet. "This must be the infamous Cherie then, eh?"

Michael glared at Greg, wondering why he had ever kept anyone around with such limited use to the small band. He led Nikita 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.

"It is more than enough, if you are here."

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.

"I love you, my bright angel."

She who never dreamed of her own happiness…was content. The babe that even now grew within her…a reality.

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 Nikita. 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?"

"Trouble."

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

"What kind of trouble?"

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

"Not his. Never was. Never will be," Michael commented tersely, actually conveying quite a lot in so few words.

Scarlet shrugged.

"And the other kind of trouble?"

"The Sheriff's taken Much."

Nikita sat up, pulling her clothing together after a fashion. "Who is Much?" she asked anxiously.

Michael's mouth tightened into a fine line, betraying his inner tension. "My brother."

Nikita leaped to her feet with a lightness of being. "What can I do to help?"

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?"

"Perhaps we can bargain with the Sheriff…perhaps there is something he wants…"

Michael cut her off shortly. "Tis you he wants, Nikita! You cannot offer yourself in my brother's place! I will not allow it!"

"Who are you to command me, my fine wolf's head?" Nikita said quite haughtily.

"Your husband, girl. Have you forgotten the vows we made last night already?"

Nikita drew back, puzzled. "There was no ceremony that I recall. No priest."

"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.

"I would congratulate you on your good fortune, Michael. She's a beautiful woman."

"But?"

Scarlet's eyes looked anguished. "But is she worth the life of your brother?"

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."

Much spat on the ground in front of her leather-clad feet. "He is too smart to fall into your pathetic trap."

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.

The Sheriff entered the chamber, and Gisbourne glanced at his hard face. "Any word yet?"

Paul shook his head.

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.

"Or you will."

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.

Meanwhile…

Michael took Friar Mick aside, telling him of the new relationship between him and Nikita. "I need your help, Mick."

Mick laughed. "You need more help than I can give you, mate," he quipped cheekily.

"Mick…she wants a ceremony…and a priest…"

"I ain't no real priest, Michael, I'm allergic to church, you know that."

"But you could pretend—"

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 looked as frustrated as he felt. "I just want to make her happy, Mick."

Mick chortled merrily. "Judging by the way the blankets were jumbled up, I'd say you made a fair start of it so far."

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."

Michael smiled gratefully, clapping the older man on the arm. "Thanks, Mick, I owe you."

"I'll say. You'd better name the first babe after me then."

Michael snorted, muttering to himself as he strode away. "I don't owe anyone that much, Mick."

"Are we going in after Much? And when?" Scarlet asked Michael a short while later.

"We are. But first, we have some unfinished business up north, by the abbey."

"The abbey? Why the hell are we headed way up there?"

Michael glanced significantly at Nikita, who seemed totally unaware of the sometimes hostile undercurrents directed at her. "So Nikita and I can be married."

Nikita blinked at him. "Properly," he added.

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 Nikita wanted a proper wedding ceremony, he would give her one.

"But your brother is languishing in the Sheriff's dungeon, along with Gisbourne the harpy!" Scarlet shouted at Michael.

"Aye," Michael agreed somberly.

"Well, where the hell are your priorities, man?"

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 Nikita. 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.

"The man hates you with a passion, Michael. He will use any weakness he can find against you. The girl is perfect."

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

"I love her, Walt," he said hoarsely. He could not have said more if his life depended on it. And it might.

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."

Michael stared at Scarlet bleakly. "You've made your decision?"

"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."

A smile broke free from Michael's lips, transforming his face. "Thanks, Walt."

Michael turned on his heel, intending to go to Nikita, 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."

That was an understatement.

"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." Nikita'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.

"Nikita, 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.

"Think you he would rape a married woman, then? A woman with child?"

Michael stared at Nikita. "My sweet Nikita, 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 Nikita. 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.

"Much needs me, girl." He stroked her face with his roughened fingertips. "But I cannot barter your life for his. He would not want that any more than I do." He kissed her again, even more sweetly than the first time.

"I do love you, my sweet Nikita, 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."

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

His hand sought hers, his grip tightening convulsively. "I do."

"Then I must do as you ask," she said shyly. Michael kissed the back of her hand. "Thank you."

"I will await your return there…"

"…but you must promise me one thing." She stared intently into his beloved face.

"Anything within my power," he whispered.

"Bring yourself back to me."

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 Nikita's reaction to Michael's leaving reminded them all of their own mortality.

Nikita 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 Nikita."

He would come back to her. If it were humanly possible.

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.

"There is an old nun who still lives here. She will look out for you," said Mick kindly.

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

Nikita's fingers tightened around the metal gate. Michael's fingers touched hers briefly. Then he was gone.

Gisbourne paced restlessly back and forth. "Are you quite certain he knows that his brother is here?"

Paul, Sheriff of Nottingham, sat back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at the woman who would question anything he said.

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."

Gisbourne frowned. Sometimes even she found the Sheriff somewhat distasteful.

"But what if she is already with child?"

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."

"You would force her to lose the babe?" Gisbourne said, slightly shocked.

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.

When they finally freed Much, they wanted to shout their jubilation to the heavens. But it was too little, too late.

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.

"The girl." Paul commanded. "Where is she?"

"Somewhere safe," Michael responded.

"You do not understand, do you? You have nothing to trade with, if you do not have the girl with you."

Michael drew himself up to his full and not inconsiderable height. "Tis me you want, not the others. Let them go. All of them."

"Why? Give me one good reason."

Michael sighed. "I will give you the girl."

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.

"She is not my wife. She is merely a girl I lay with."

Nikita 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.

Meanwhile…

A huge smile creased Paul's face. "Let them go, Gisbourne."

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

He ordered her to let them go in a thundering voice that rattled the rafters. She obeyed.

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.

Michael did not move a hair. But his eyes looked bleak for a second. "Guard her with your life, Walt. Please," he whispered back.

Scarlet blinked. "I will," he answered gruffly.

The men never saw what happened next. They were already well into the forest by the time it occurred.

Much kept looking back over his shoulder, as if he expected to see Michael riding up at any moment. But he never came.

Not that day. Nor the next.

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.

Nikita 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 spat blood at the rush-filled floor. "I lied."

"Then I will kill you!"

"Thank God!" Michael said sarcastically.

"I can prolong the agony for days, outlaw. Give me what's rightfully mine."

"I would love to give you what you deserve, you scurrilous dog. Just set me free."

"Never!" Paul shouted, his face almost apoplectic with rage.

"Then why should you have what you want?" Michael tried to smile, but he finally passed out.

Just when Michael thought he could stand no more, an ally came from an unexpected source. The malevolent Lady Gisbourne.

"Wolf's head!" she barked, forcing his head up to look at him. "Ugh, I do not think you will last much longer."

"What do you want then?" he asked wearily.

"I will give you your freedom, thief. But you must go away, never to return."

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."

"And you want what in return?"

"Merely your word that you will go away. Far away. Never to return."

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?"

"An outlaw who was once of noble blood, yes." Gisbourne nodded.

"You would have me run like a coward, with my tail between my legs?"

"I cannot claim to know what love is, wolf's head, but if you value the life of this wench you love, you will do as I say."

Michael dropped his head to his chest, unable to bear another moment of not knowing what had happened to Nikita.

"You have my word."

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.

It was too kind a death for the man. But Michael could not take the time to linger over such things now. He needed to get home.

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.

Nikita sat up with a start. It was the middle of the night. No matter. She felt him coming.

When Michael's horse clattered loudly into the churchyard, Nikita 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.

Nikita 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. "Nikita…"

The old nun bent over him and sponged his brow. He was so very feverish.

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.

He did not even try to sit up by himself. He wanted his wife.

When Nikita came into the room, he knew immediately, though his eyes were now shut. He could feel her presence. Warm. Open. Caring.

"Michael?" she said tentatively, uncertain if she should awaken him or not.

He opened his eyes then, and there was a flash of vivid green that nearly blinded her. "My sweet Nikita…" he said softly.

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.

Her hands clutched at his convulsively. "I was so afraid you would die…"

He smiled, despite his own tears, kissing the top of her head. So precious to him. "I came back for you."

He stroked her face lovingly, longingly, wishing he were stronger.

"So you did."

"I love you," he said, but the words were muffled as he buried his face in her bright hair.

"I love you, too," she said, meaning it in a way she had not truly understood before now.

End

It was the wedding to end all weddings. It was the kiss to end all kisses.

The bride was dressed in a long, flowing white dress. The groom was dressed completely in black.

The bride was newly delivered of a babe. A boy. His name was Luc. Named for the light that brought him into this world.

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.

It was a dream come true. For a man and a woman who dared to dream it into being.

End