Chapter 9: Gambling with love

The shining silver was like a tonic to his palm. Allan grinned as he slipped the gleaming coin into the pouch at his waist, the leather already bulging with good fortune. He had missed this – had missed the challenge of working out the opposition, spotting the way their eyes slid downwards if they had a bad hand or the eager twitch of fingers if they thought their luck was in. He had missed the convincingly persuasive patter that came so easily to his lips, missed engaging his gilded tongue in pursuits other than persuading Cassie he was innocent of whatever misdemeanour she accused him of.

He had missed gambling, and he hadn't realised how much until he was reinstated upon his throne of a rickety old stool in the dingy corner of a tavern, his fingers deftly flicking and shuffling and dealing his dog-eared old cards, twiddling and sliding and lifting his three silver cups, lies and excuses gliding from his mouth as easily as coins slid into his purse.

"It just isn't your lucky night, gents," he said with an easy grin, faux sympathy lacing his voice until it was almost mocking. He flashed his defeated opponents a wink as they turned away grumbling wondering how they would explain their empty pockets to their wives.

Leaning forward, Allan rested his elbows upon the table as he shuffled his cards with ease, the feel of them as familiar as his own skin. "Any takers?" he asked, ignoring the wench who simpered at him from behind the bar.

"I'll have a go," a cold, stiff voice replied from behind him.

Allan tensed, the cards falling from his hands and fanning across the table as he closed his eyes with a silent groan. Cassie marched into his line of vision, arms crossed tightly across her body. She unfolded them to enable her to deliver a stinging slap to the back of his right hand.

As Allan yelped and yanked his hand away, cradling it against his chest, Cassie glared down at him with eyes as hard as stone. "I believe the term is 'caught red handed'?" she said in that same cold, taut voice, before turning and striding away.

Groaning again, this time audibly, Allan stood up and followed her, casting a silent plea to any god that might exist to please help him get out of this alive.

He caught her before she left the tavern, catching her arm as she became entangled in a group of drunks and twisting her round to face him.

"Cass, I can explain," he began, the familiar words spilling naturally from his lips, even though he did not have a clue how to do so.

"You cannot talk your way out of this one," she snapped. "You promise you would not gamble again, you swore to me not two days ago that it was over! And now I catch you tricking innocent men out of their last coin."

"I'm trying to help!" he protested, although his insistence sounded weak, even to his own ears. He did want to help, had been planning on giving every last penny of his winnings to the poor – but the motives behind his trip to the tavern had not been entirely selfless and honourable. He had wanted to gamble again, wanted to feel the strength it gave him, the thrill that came from a successful con. Allan A'Dale was not good at many things, but he was good at gambling, and had wanted to feel that power again.

Cassie shook her head witheringly. "You can keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, but the point is you lied to me! How can I trust you again?"

"Cass, you know you can trust me…"

"No I can't!" she shrieked, her voice suddenly shrill, all composure lost. "You're as bad as the Sheriff, you're as bad as Sloane, tricking and deceiving innocent, good people to make yourself feel like less of a pathetic, yellow-bellied traitor!"

A deathly silence followed her outburst. Forgetting all about the captive audience of intoxicated tavern patrons Allan stared at her, an unprecedented wave of hurt washing over him. Was that really how she saw him?

The silence was shattered by a shout from one of the mail-clad guards lurking unnoticed in a shadowed corner. "Outlaws!" the rough voice bellowed. "The scoundrel that betrayed Gisborne! Seize them!"

Coming to his senses first, despite the anguish that grasped his heart, Allan caught hold of Cassie and shoved her ahead of him. "Run!" he hissed in her ear, pushing her forwards until she snapped out of her furious trance and started to move.

Allan sheltered her from the reaching hands of the guards, yanking his own arm free of their grasping fingers as he and Cassie emerged into the fresh air. They pelted towards the nearest escape route, a narrow alleyway between two rows of dilapidated houses. Leaping over a water trough and dodging a discarded bucket Allan desperately tried to engage his brain and mentally study the detailed maps he had drawn in his mind whilst he had free reign of the town. The Salutation Inn…the alleyway they were running through led to the Trip, and beyond that the castle, which meant they had to take a right turn and run down towards the market place to have any hope of escape.

Allan knew they were approaching a break in the alleyway, a narrow gap between two houses. Catching hold of Cassie's arm he yanked her back towards him, steadying her as her weight landed against him, and dragged her into the gap.

"Turn right," he gasped, his heart pounding in his chest. "Use the market for cover, then run down to Crown Lane. Don't go to the butchers, you'll lead them to Will and Djaq. Once you've lost the guards double back and hide at Alyson's, I'll find you there."

She stared at him, trying to process his words with her muddled mind. "I'm coming with you!" she replied at last.

Allan clamped a hand over her mouth as the guards clattered past. "It's me they want," he told her once they had passed. "Just go!" Planting a rough kiss on her mouth he pushed her away from him, sending her stumbling out into the street on the other side of the houses.

Allan stuck his head back into the alleyway. "I'm back here!" he yelled at the retreating backs of the guards, giving them a grin and a wave as they turned around. "Catch me if you can!" With the challenge issue he ducked backwards, following Cassie. Looking to the right he caught a glimpse of her green shirt disappearing around the corner. With another silent prayer, for her escape and his own, he turned to the left and set off at a run.

Lungs burning, feet pounding along with the rhythm of his heart, he charged up a deserted lane to the castle. Throwing a two-fingered salute towards the castle gates as he passed he turned a sharp right, almost sending an old woman flying as he pushed through the washing she was pegging out to dry.

He passed the Salutation Inn again, this time cutting across the rear of the pub before taking another shortcut through an alleyway. He ran towards the tanners, hurdling over the low brick wall with a yell of excitement mingled with fear, sneezing as the stench of tanning hides assaulted his nose.

Allan ran down the opposite side of the market place to the route Cassie would have taken, cursing his burning leg muscles and swearing to God that he would run sprints through the forest every day until his conditioning improved. He was just imagining how smug Much would look when a familiar scream reached his ears.

Stopping abruptly, Allan suddenly realised that his pursuers were no longer paying attention to him. He took the opportunity to dart into hiding behind a water barrel, then peered out of his hiding place at a commotion fifty yards away.

In the midst of a crowd of black-suited guards he could make out Cassie, her hair flying as she lashed out with feet and fists, but to no avail. She was massively outnumbered, and as he watched her arms were caught and twisted violently behind her back.

Letting out a furious yell Allan leapt up from his crouched position, shoving aside the barrel, fuelled by anger at the guards for touching her, for hurting her. As he reached for the dagger at his hip he was seized from behind, an arm wrapping around his shoulders and dragging him backwards. Allan pulled the dagger free of its sheath and twisted his arm behind his back, driving the blade firmly through the chain mail protecting the guard's stomach. With a grunt the man collapsed, his dead weight falling against Allan and sending him to the ground.

When he managed to scramble back to his feet, Cassie was gone.

Author's Note: So, I am finally back in the country, and finishing this story because I am in complete denial of how ridiculous season three was! I prefer to live in my own fantasy world and have thing finish up this way!