On His Behalf (open)

[Isabella]

Isabella realised too late that Bronte did not know the reason she was in Nottingham – of course he didn’t, he had only just arrived. She’d been so focused on trying to escape the topic of Thea Linnet that she’d forgotten. She let him take her arm and wander out of the Great Hall, to nowhere in particular, it seemed. Admittedly, he did have a charming smile, pleasant manners, and was somewhat intriguing, but she couldn’t help but think that he knew this. He wasn’t openly arrogant, but there was something about him – he was just too sure of himself. And evidently, his powers with women were not to be underestimated – he appeared to rate them highly, and Isabella was wary of them.
“Oh, I forgot, you do not know,” she said apologetically, “I caused something of a scandal when I arrived in Nottingham, not that long ago. I was married off when I was thirteen – sold – like a piece of meat.”
She could not keep the anger from her voice as she spoke, so she paused, took a breath, and continued in a more composed manner.
“Well, it is common practice nowadays,” she said dismissively, “I am not alone in my situation. My husband treated me like an animal. A few months ago I left his company, and came here. My brother, Sir Guy of Gisborne, has given me protection whilst I live here.”

[Liam Bronte]

Internally, Liam sighed. Women always had some notion about how they should be treated, regardless or their personality. Shy ones seemed to gain a voice when they were treated as a wife should be. The strong-willed ones, while more fun to watch struggle, were much harder to control. Women had no respect for their husbands nowadays. It was rather appalling to see some man's wife walking around town as if she were as free as a bird. Did she not know the disgrace she was bringing to her husband? Liam believe that most women benefited from a stern hand, since far too many were spoilt.
That wasn't to say that he was opposed to showering a girl with gifts, but only to a point. Only fools believed they could live like that forever.
Thirteen, Liam thought with a shake of his head. Too young for his tastes, but he had heard of worse. He heard the anger in her voice and again shook his head with a sad frown. Sold like a piece of meat. Of course she was. Wives were trophies to show where you stood socially, someone to stay at home, do the things you're too busy to.
"That's dreadful," he said softly when she had finished, speaking of the fact she'd run from her husband, not his domination. Though, it would sound the same to her. As Liam thought about Isabella's story, he gave up on any thought of pursuing her. She'd seen it all before and would run for the hills the minute she suspected anything. Still, she could be useful as a friend.
"Lets not speak of such morose topics. Tell me, what else is going on in Nottingham?"

[Isabella]

Isabella was uncertain as to what Bronte’s response meant. Did he really sympathise with her, or was he just pretending to for his own reasons? She got the feeling that he wasn’t really sorry for her. What could she expect? A runaway wife was a disgrace to her husband, and she was very fortunate that she had protection, and even a position at Nottingham Castle. She had realised that Bronte was confident in making women do what he wanted them to, so to him, her defiance must be irritating – if he took a side, it would be Thornton’s. Still, if it came to taking sides, she would have very few people on hers, if any. But no, she’d have Roe, wouldn’t she?
Bronte moved the conversation on quickly, asking what else was happening in Nottingham.
“Apart from the arrival of your good self,” Isabella began, “Unfortunately, not a good deal.”
Nothing could be further from the truth, but it served its purpose.
“I’m still dealing with the aftermath of Prince John’s problematic wedding, and there are so many guests to the castle as to keep me busy trying to organise it all. My brother is occupied with trying to capture Robin Hood and his outlaws, who are causing him no end of trouble. So England must be very dull compared to where you have come from, I’m afraid,” she continued, hoping to glean more information about him.

[Liam Bronte]

"Ah, yes. The wedding." One of Liam's duties in the Holy Lands was to have one eyes and one ear on England. As a result, he had heard about the infamous non-marriage of Lady Court and Prince John. The woman was bent on killing Prince John, that much was known by Liam. But it was amazing what you could get from men and women in the pubs. The news of Robin Hood interfering didn't surprise Liam. He'd met Robin in passing while fighting in the Holy Lands.
"Trouble? From an outlaw? I would have never guessed," he said dryly. "Where I'm from, my job is to keep an eye on dull England. Besides, I wouldn't say it's been too dull. For example, I've met a wonderful woman today, within minutes of my arrival, the weather is glorious and I've received news that a friend of mine lives in the castle. Not to mention Robin Hood. I can't imagine he's ever dull."

[Isabella]

Isabella was annoyed with Bronte’s sarcastic comment about Robin Hood, but didn’t let it show. Honestly, she was only trying to make conversation, and she was normally quite good at it. Something about this man just seemed to thwart her somehow – he was one step ahead of her, too confident and collected for her liking. Though there were likeable aspects to his character, she was wary of him and what trouble he might cause. If he thought he could turn her head, he was wrong – but when it came to other women, the same would probably not apply. But that was their lookout, not hers. Isabella never expected anyone to look out for her, and she thought that other people should do the same. She had spent most of her life relying entirely on her own resources. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about other people – she just thought they should take care of themselves. If anyone wanted to get involved with Bronte, on their own head be it. She would be amiable towards him, of course, but on this matter, as on most others, there was a line firmly drawn in her mind that would never be crossed.
She doubted that he actually believed she was ‘wonderful’, but at least he had some optimism. She had to be careful with Bronte now that Robin Hood had been mentioned. Isabella knew that in joining forces with the outlaws, she put her life on the line, but it hadn’t worried her so much as it did now. Before, she’d felt fairly secure that no-one would find her out – but if anyone could, it was Bronte. He’d come here to investigate who was planning on seizing the throne, but he seemed to be finding out everything else at the same time. He was definitely someone to keep an eye on, and she would be wise to keep on his good side.
“I expect he’s too busy causing inevitable trouble to be dull,” Isabella replied, before pausing to think about what she was saying.
She bit her tongue. That was a stupid thing to say, especially as she could usually handle words well. But when her temper flared up, there was nothing she could do to stop it, and these words just came out. She did her best to quell it, and smiled, saying, in a brighter tone:
“And what exactly is your job? I know you are here for the King, but do you do things like this all of the time? I expect that’s not dull in the least. Or is that secret?”

[Liam Bronte]

"My, my, Lady Thornton. What are you keeping from me?" he smiled at her little slip up. It was written on her face that she'd said something she hadn't meant to. Now, of course Robin Hood caused trouble for the Sheriff, Liam would have guessed that regardless of whether or not he was an outlaw. But something in the way Isabella had spoken caught his interest.
"And what do you know of Robin Hood's trouble, Lady?"
She asked about his job, and he considered it for a moment. "I am a member of the King's private guard, like Robin was. I am one of the King's most valued men, he trusts me with some very important business. Normally, I would be in the Holy Land, fighting along side my King, but he's sent me back to protect the throne. People think I'm too young to have such a high position, but I've proved my loyalty to the King numerous times before." Liam's lips pulled back into a smug smile. He was proud of what he did and wasn't ashamed to show off a bit.

[Isabella]

Isabella cursed silently. Bronte was a hound on the hunt, and she was the fox. He’d definitely latched onto something with what she’d said about Robin Hood. She swallowed at his breezy question: what are you keeping from me?
“Only the things that a woman hides from a man to keep herself interesting,” she replied.
There’s your insight into my very complex mind, she thought, sticking to a lesson she had learnt well – if in doubt, flirt*. It was often simpler to turn the confused things men said into a compliment, and it could deflect his attention, if needs be. She doubted it would be as successful with Bronte as it was with others, but she had to come up with some reply.
But he pressed her for more information about Robin Hood, asking what she knew of that outlaw’s trouble.
“Why, he steals from the rich and gives to the poor,” Isabella remarked, “With a lot of trouble in between. I believe that’s the general consensus.”
Asking Bronte about his job proved to have been a good idea. He was clearly very proud of his position, and he did have reason to. Being a member of the King’s private guard was a high rank, especially for one so young. Either he was something special – which he evidently thought he was – or very manipulative. He claimed to have proven his loyalty many times before.
“Such as when?” she asked.

(OOC: *This doesn’t always work in real life. Trust me, I’ve been there.)

[Liam Bronte]

Of course, Liam thought a bit bitterly. Now she was flirting with, which he was opposed to but the sudden but subtle change of heart bothered him.
"And has Hood ever gotten his hands on valuables, Lady? Or have you had the fortune and intelligence to stay away from the outlaw?" Liam asked as they turned down another hall. He paused to consider his answer before speaking. Yes, he had proven his loyalty before, but much of his rank came from sweet talking the right people. For obvious reasons, he decided to omit this from his answer.
"When I first went to the Holy Lands, I was nothing but a simple soldier, but I, with the help of a few others, lead a night attack on a Saracen camp and rewarded later for its success. I commanded a battalion of soldiers and with them, we took two Saracen port cities. I was fighting and traveling alongside King Richard when he took Jaffa and we were so close to taking Jerusalem," his voice held rage, thinking of how he'd been. Just there, in Jerusalem, he could have had it all. Richard could have easily disposed of in the battle that would have ensued. He wouldn't have had to dirty his hands with the King's blood either, just wait for a Saracen to take care of him, then rise to power as the second in command. His fists clenched and his faced colored lightly, but he managed a smile.
"I advised the King when Frederick drowned. His death left a very unstable alliance between the French and English." Liam sighed and sat on one of the half walls that looked out onto the courtyard, trying to calm down. He was here for a reason now. He'd missed his chance before, but it wasn't going to happen again. He needed Prince John out of the way and then he would take care of his brother.
"Forgive me," he said tersely. "You must not like to hear of such things." He closed his eyes for a moment and just breathed. He'd almost lost himself there, and needed to be more careful about how he spoke in future.

((ooc: It should be historically accurate. Yes, I did research.))

[Isabella]

The short answer to Bronte’s question – had Isabella had had the fortune and intelligence to stay away from Robin Hood? – was no, and the long answer was actually, I work for the outlaws, and help them whenever I can. However, neither of these was the answer he actually received.
“Regrettably, no,” Isabella replied, “Robin Hood and his men stole valuables from everyone attending Prince John’s wedding, including myself. They took everything that was worth anything.”
This was true, though she did fail to mention that one of Hood’s men, Allan A Dale, had secretly returned some of the jewellery she had offered when he had come to collect it.
She listened with interest to Bronte as he told her how he had showed his loyalty to the King before. Though he spoke of his successes, his countenance betrayed the fact that he was angry about something. Something more than being tantalisingly close to victory in Jerusalem – something personal. He sat down heavily, closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. Isabella looked at him, wondering what it was that had so incited him. He looked – somehow – almost vulnerable now – the easy confidence he’d had before had all but vanished. Maybe he too had scars from the Holy Land, things that he had done, or things that others had done to him, that haunted him now. She realised there was more to him than met the eye. Yes, he was dangerous, yes, he was an unknown quantity, but there was something else to him as well – Isabella just couldn’t put her finger on it. She felt like her opinion of it was very strong, though whether it was positive or negative, she could not tell.
It was a somewhat subdued lady that sat down beside Bronte and watched him breathing with searching eyes. Who was he – her friend, or her enemy? And what was he going to do in Nottingham?
“It is I who should ask to be forgiven,” Isabella said, almost gently, “I ought to have realised you would not like to speak about it before I asked you to.”

[Liam Bronte]

Liam smiled internally. She'd softened, finally. It seemed she responded to those who were vulnerable as opposed to those with confidence. Strange, since he found that most women flocked to men who flaunted spirit and elan. He knew that not all women were the same and decided to use this new finding to his advantage.
"No," he said softly, not looking up. "It was foolish to speak of the Crusades. I'm proud of my position and what I have done, yet, as I find myself further from the battle, I see flaws in what I've done." He looked up finally, his eyes sincere with emotion. In truth, he saw no flaw in what he'd done or in himself, but there was no need for her to know that. At this point, it was about gaining her trust. Nothing further could be done without her trust, so he took her hand gently and shook his head.
"You must think me weak for this, milady." He paused, thinking of a justifiable reason for his sudden change of heart. "It's just that I've been gone for long in a war-stricken land. And seeing someone such as yourself reminds of the horrid things I've done."

[Isabella]

God, was anyone going to take responsibility for mentioning the wars? First Bronte said it was his fault, then Isabella said it was hers, now he said it was his again. Fine, he could take the blame, but only because otherwise they’d be here all day. Still, Isabella’s words hadn’t been without meaning. She had actually felt something for him when he was sitting there like that – not that she’d been sorry for him – no, it was different, more like… empathy. She knew what it was like to feel worthless and alone. If he was going through anything like what she had, then maybe they weren’t so different after all. She found it easier to be friends with people who had experiences similar to her own – she could understand them better, and they her. That was one of the reasons why she’d joined Robin. So if Bronte was like her in this respect, then maybe he wasn’t so bad. Maybe. She still couldn’t quite get over her gut instinct about him.
As he spoke, she couldn’t help but feel that his words made some sense. He wasn’t the only one to return from the Crusades with scars. Now she came to think of it, there were quite a few in Nottingham. She knew three knights who’d fought in the Crusades – she loved one, liked another, and couldn’t make her mind up about the last. What was she going to do with all of them? She could see that Bronte could have regrets about the past – she had enough of her own, most of them quite recent – but still thought it odd that he was behaving in a way so differently to that which he originally had. Gone was the confidence and easy charm as soon as the wars had been mentioned. Was he really that hurt? Or was it something else? In a way, she preferred him simply as the arrogant noble. Then she’d have known what to do about him; be polite and gracious and show him good manners. He’d have felt distant from her. But now… if this was what he was really like, someone who understood, maybe he could be a real ally? A friend? If she gave it time enough, she might see. She couldn’t trust him yet. Isabella didn’t trust easily – that was one thing her life so far had taught her.
“I do not think you are weak, Li– Sir Liam,” she told him, trying to move on swiftly from her near error, “I think it takes courage to admit to yourself what you really think about who you are. Especially if it isn’t what you’d want to be.”
Hell, she was philosophising now. She stopped talking before she got too deep, surprised at how much she actually believed in what she said. She wasn’t sure what Bronte meant when he said that seeing her could remind him of the unpleasant things he had done. Was it because she was a woman? Or because he knew she had suffered?
“I can always leave if my presence distresses you,” she offered, though she didn’t know quite what she intended him to say after the words had left her mouth.

[Liam Bronte]

Liam nodded slowly at Isabella. "Wise words," he said gently, his thumb moving across the back of her hand lightly. "No, don't leave. You just remind me of what good is possible, despite what evil is present. You must have been through so much, yet you seem so bright and cheerful, at least to me." He spoke in the same tone as before, but a bit stronger. Casting a sideway glance her way, he smiled softly. He'd found her weak point. Every woman had one; it was the one spot that they allowed themselves to be themselves, with little fronts or facades. In many, it revolved around a member of the family, or a tragic experience, and most of the time it was easy to detect. But Isabella had taken a bit more time and he knew because of her wit he would have to move slower and smoother than he'd ever needed to before.
"You're stronger than some of the men I've fought beside, you know. I admire you for your courage." He turned to face her and looked at her intently. "How did you find the courage to leave?" he asked gently, still holding her hand.

[Isabella]

Isabella was finding herself even more confused with Bronte’s character. Was this how he was really? Was his act before just that – an act, a façade to stop him from being hurt? She knew all about those – she used them often enough. There were very few people in the world who she could be herself with. There were the outlaws, the men who she supported in their fight against the Sheriff, especially Much. The two had had a conversation once when they were both going through a hard time, and ever since, she’d felt like she could really trust him. It was an odd friendship – they were very different people, but it was there. Then there was Robin – she knew he liked her for being her, but there was always going to be that strange feeling between them, an echo of what had happened before and they could never really change. They could try to forget it, but it would still be there – a mixture of guilt and loss, even though they knew that it was for the best. And of course, Roe, who she’d known since they were children, and could always rely on… even if he did confound her beyond reason. Did Bronte think that she was someone he could be himself with? She didn’t know whether this should please or worry her, or if it was true. Did she want him to trust her? Did she want to be his friend? Or was this just another technique he used to get a woman to do what he wanted? She’d have to be careful with this one.
She noticed he was still holding her hand – he’d taken it and had not let go, and she found that she didn’t really mind sitting with him here like this. She did like him, but he still worried her. He spoke of her courage, and Isabella realised that he was talking about how she’d left her husband. He admired that? She wouldn’t have thought so. Not many people were – he was full of surprises.
“Everyone has courage,” she told him, “It might take a long time to find it – seventeen years in my case – but it’s in here.”
She placed her free hand over his heart. She felt it beat against her palm, and it was a strange sensation.

[Liam Bronte]

"People spend entire lifetimes searching for it," he said slowly, watching her hand as it reached out to his chest. This was going much better than he could have planned. But he would save his celebrations for later. For now, he had to stay in character. "I suppose we're the lucky ones? The ones who found it early on." He supposed he'd always had courage. Even when he was younger, he'd never been afraid to strive for something more. It was his courage (and perhaps a few other things) that got him to where he was today.
He watched her face with a sarcastic smile. "Surprised to feel a heartbeat?" he asked wryly, though his voice was quite. His brows drew together. Where's that come from? He'd never thought himself heartless before, or cold, but for one moment he'd worried about the possibility. He blinked a few times to clear his head, at a loss for words.

[Isabella]

For Isabella, the situation was becoming altogether more complicated. She was flitting like a restless moth from liking Bronte to being scared of him, and this constant shifting of boundaries between them was something she’d never experienced before. He was an enigma to her, and the way his eyes watched her so intensely was both unnerving and stirring. She couldn’t decide if he was merely looking at her, or waiting for her to make a mistake.
She thought about what he said – that they were fortunate to have found their courage near the beginning of their lives.
“I wouldn’t have said I found it early on in my life,” she replied, “But it’s better late than never, I guess.”
What he said next completely threw her.
“Surprised to find a heartbeat?” he asked wryly.
She drew her hand away from him quickly, troubled by his words. Had she dreamt it, or had his heart sped up as he said it? As strange as it seemed, part of her had wanted to check that he was real and alive, and finding a heartbeat had almost been a relief. Yet she knew that that wasn’t what Bronte had meant – he had asked if he was heartless and unfeeling. Isabella frowned, unsure of what to say. Did he think himself cruel? Was this about the Holy Lands – or something else? Again, a nagging at the back of her mind came back to her. There was something about him.
“Should I be?” she asked, the words involuntarily leaving her mouth.