This is the third story that Sally and I wrote (or at least started to write) after "Savage Surrender" and "The Big Thrill". Once again, we chose to write it in sections - I wrote a paragraph, Sally wrote a paragraph, and so on. This one was going to be an X-Files Skinner/Scully story, set in the Middle Ages.

The rough stone walls loomed before him, as grey and cold as the rain that dripped steadily from the tree branches. It had been a miserable week, camped here on the edge of the Baron's lands, fighting both the chilly spring weather and his own impatience, but now the hours of waiting and scouting were coming to fruition.

Skinner glanced once more to his men, secreted like he was in the heavy undergrowth that surrounded the baronial estate. He knew where each man was, of course, and the expression that each wore in this moment of rest before action, but though they had fought together now for almost two years, he still needed to make that direct contact, to reassure them, and himself, that they would succeed in this mission as they had all the others.

His gaze returned to the Baron's castle and the familiar feelings of hatred and rage went through him. He welcomed them; they had been the only thing keeping him alive for the past few months. But now, at last, he and his men would have their revenge. Revenge on the man who had betrayed them and hounded them through the winter, revenge on the man responsible for the deaths of nearly half of his troop.

Skinner gritted his teeth. The Baron de Scully would regret ordering his own men to turn on Skinner's mercenaries after they had won the battle for him...would regret withholding their promised payment...and most of all, would regret ever crossing Walter Skinner.

A whistle brought his attention back to his men. One of his youngest soldiers, an eager red-head named Pendrell, nodded toward the gates of the estate. The wooden doors swung open silently as they each day for the last week, and a single figure moved out across the yard.

Her cloak was a bright smear of summer green against the brown and lingering white of spring, making her easy to track. At last the road she was following curved into the forest, and they sprang.

To her credit she put up a hell of a fight, screaming and kicking and beating at his chest with her leather-gloved fists.

Skinner ignored her pleas, ignored the pain that came when she bit his arm. He simply strode deeper into the forest, sure that his men were behind him.

Dana Scully was bruised, frightened, and helpless. She couldn't see a thing past the cloak that had been draped over her head, and breathing was difficult. Her cries had stopped swiftly as she realized she wasn't getting enough air. Fainting was the last thing she wanted to do.

Actually, the first thing she wanted to do was give a hefty kick to a delicate portion of this brute's anatomy. Her older brothers had told her, years ago, how to incapacitate a man, and the moment she got the chance, she was going to use everything they had taught her.

How dare they kidnap her!... Anger surged up within her, replacing the fear, and she welcomed it. She had the nasty suspicion she was going to need it.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, her captors slowed and came to a stop.

The man who had been carrying her slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes unceremoniously deposited her on her feet and moved away from her. The blood that had previously rushed into her head now rushed away from it, leaving her dizzy and weak and as the world spun under the blackness of the cloak and her knees buckled she thought that perhaps fainting wouldn't be so bad after all...

...then a pair of strong hands grabbed her arms and pulled her upright, holding her until she regained her equilibrium. There was no comfort in the grasp, just efficiency, and Dana shrugged it off as soon as she felt steady on her feet. The hands dropped and a voice rumbled, "Get the horses."

She already recognized that voice, though she had only heard it pronounce less than a dozen words. It was the voice of her kidnapper, a voice, she thought, that under different circumstances she might find pleasant. But this was hardly a court ball, and as her head cleared, her anger returned.

Without warning, she lashed out with one foot. Fortunately she was wearing her boots, and she definitely inflicted some damage, for her captor grunted and flinched. Then, she was seized once more and pulled close to a large male body, his arm going around her and cutting off her breath.

This wasn't quite the outcome she had been looking for. She struggled futilely, uncomfortably aware of the body pressed so intimately against hers. "Let me go!" Her voice was muffled.

He spoke again, the words clear even through the smothering cloak. "Though you may find it difficult to believe under these circumstances, Lady Scully, I have no desire to hurt you. However, if you continue to behave in this manner I will be forced to change my plans." His arm tightened around her to emphasize his point.

"What do you want with me then?"

Another voice interupted. "Sir, your horse."

"Help me with her." Her captor released her briefly, and she heard a faint creaking of leather and tack as he mounted. Then his hands again closed on her shoulders, the other man's hands circled her waist, and she was being lifted, shifted, and deposited on the horse.

Scully found herself sitting in front of the man she knew as the mercenary, Walter Skinner, the dark cloak still wrapped around her. She twisted in the saddle as his arm slipped firmly around her waist. "If you don't take this cloak away," she said firmly, "I'm going to throw up."

"Go ahead." There was no sympathy in his voice. She felt his legs move and the horse stepped forward. Her stomach lurched.

"I mean it."

Perhaps he caught the tremulousness of her voice, for there was a pause, and then his hand moved, and, without warning, the cloak was pulled away. Light assailed her.

She blinked rapidly, trying to figure out exactly where they were while her eyes adjusted to the sunshine. The trees that surrounded them, however, were tall and anonymous, and she shuddered slightly as the hopelessness of her situation settled down around her. "What do you want with me?" she asked again, her voice tight with fear.

Skinner's silence was his only response. He pressed his heels into his horse's flanks, and the animal broke into a gentle trot, taking her further and further from her home.

Fox Mulder bent over the scrap of torn cloth, taken from the thorn bush, and fingered it silently. His men sat motionless on their horses, only the occasional kick of one of the geldings breaking the stillness. Tension mounted.

Finally, Mulder straightened, still holding the cloth. Finally, the man holding the reins of Mulder's horse spoke. "Is it...?"

Mulder's voice was grim. "It's Skinner's men. And they've taken my fiancee." Cold fury lit his voice.

Frohicke, his gnome-like man-at-arms, brushed his palm over the pommel of his sword. "Are you sure?"

Mulder tucked the cloth into the leather pouch he wore slung over one shoulder. "I gave her this cloak as a betrothal gift."

"Hmm." The older man hunkered down, studying the crushed undergrowth that marked the passage of the mercenary's band. "He's not going to be easy to find."

Mulder swung quickly into his saddle. "We don't have a choice."

Frohicke nodded, then settled on his own mount and put his fingers to his lips. The men responded to the piercing whistle immediately, forming a neat queue behind him. Then they headed into the forest, a silent Mulder in the lead.

Skinner finally reined in his horse and allowed Scully to slip down out of the saddle. He wasn't prepared for her next move though as she spun like a snake, hit the horse hard on the hip and bolted back the way they had come.

It took the mercenary several moments before he could regain control of his startled mount, and, by the time he had managed to swing the steed back around, one of his men was lying on the damp ground and the rest of the troop were staring in startlement at the bushes through which she had obviously just vanished.

The thorn bushes.

Damn.

"Do we go in after her, sir?"

Skinner stared straight ahead, considering. It was almost pointless to pursue her there. As small as she was, she'd be able to hide in the thicket like a rabbit, and they'd never find her. However...

"Yes, go after her." He gestured to the three closest men, and they immediately mounted. "But stay close to the stream," he called after them. "She'll try to follow it out."

"Yes, sir."

He then turned to his downed man. He was sitting up now, but was still doubled over and pale. It didn't take much imagination to determine how such a petite woman had dropped a man that size.

Skinner pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn. And this had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Damn. This had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Scully pulled the edges of her dress away from the thorns for what seemed like the thousandth time. Already her arms and ankles bore multiple scratches, and her hair had come loose at some point during this nightmarish journey. Still, freedom would be worth it.

They would have expected her to follow the river...after all, that's what any sane person would have done. So instead, Scully had headed around through the thickest parts of the forest and doubled back on her own trail, until she was now behind her pursuers.

There. Just ahead. She froze, melding into the background (she had long since discarded her bright cloak). Just ahead, one of her captors was kicking at his balky horse, while simultaneously pulling on the reins, trying to force the beast deeper into the bushes.

Scully darted forward. In one swift motion she seized the man's foot, pulled it free of the stirrup, and pushed. He hit the ground on the other side of the horse with a startled oath. But Scully was already in the saddle, turning the animal around with a light touch to the reins.

She never got a chance to urge the horse forward though, for waiting behind her, staring at her with dark, smouldering eyes, was Walter Skinner.

"You are very clever, Mistress Scully. I'm impressed."

"I thank you for the compliment." She glared at him and tightened her hold on the reins, weighing her options.

Skinner noticed her slight movement. "I wouldn't. Running now would only injure you or the horse."

Scully's shoulders slumped at the truth of his words, but she defiantly held his gaze. "Why have you kidnapped me?"

Again, he didn't answer. He only brought his horse next to hers and curled his arm around her waist, scooping her effortlessly into the saddle in front of him.

"I hate you," she said calmly, staring straight ahead, her body stiff in his arms.

"You don't even know me," he responded, muffling a faint smile.

"I know enough. I know that you betrayed my father."

"Is that what he told you?"

She tossed her head back, her hair flicking across his face. Irritably Skinner brushed it aside. "I know that my father hired you to regain his castle and destroy his enemies."

"And he has his castle, and his enemies are dead."

"No thanks to you," Scully said bitterly.

"No thanks to me, hmm?" Skinner touched his heels to his mount and horse moved forward, picking his way carefully through the prickly trees.

"He told me how you turned on him after the battle. You killed some of his men, and then ran." The words dripped with contempt. "You murdering..."

"Bastard?" he supplied dryly, and smothered another smile at her flinch. "Well, I suppose what your father told you is true. To a point."

She twisted awkwardly on the saddle and narrowed glacial blue eyes at him. "Are you calling my father a liar?"

"No. I'm simply suggesting that he left out one pertinent fact when he talked to you."

Scully arched an eyebrow expectantly.

"He attacked me first."

She stiffened. "I don't believe you."

"Quite the little sceptic, aren't you?"

"I value truth. Something you obviously hold in short regard. Along with honour."

The mercenary's arm tightened around her as a wave of anger shot through him. "I know more about honour than that bastard who calls himself your father ever will. Because of him, more than half of my men are dead."

"And because you Jack Willis is dead!"

Skinner was surprised at the raw pain in her voice. "Jack Willis?"

"He is...was a dear family friend. He taught my brothers to fight. He taught me Latin. And now..." Scully ran her tongue nervously over her lip, trying to keep control of her emotions in spite of her exhaustion and fear. "You killed him."

For a long while the only sound was the soft clop of the horse's hooves in the soft earth. At last Skinner spoke. "I am sorry for the loss of your friend, Mistress Scully, but I will not apologize for my decision. I was attacked, and I fought back."

Scully heard the sincerity in his voice but ignored it. "I hate you," she repeated.

"I know," he replied.

Skinner's men sat scattered around the lodge's main room, warm and well-fed for the first time in weeks. He listened to the contented murmur of their conversation, wishing that this respite could last and knowing that they had to press on in the morning. Staying here for even one night was a risk, but he needed a place where he could plan without worrying about his soldiers.

"Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

Pendrell was there at his elbow, and Skinner gave him a nod. "No, I'm fine. Go get some sleep."

"All right, sir. Good night." The younger man took a step or two away then stopped and turned back to his leader. "Uh...Sir..."

"What is is?"

Pendrell shifted uncomfortably. "I...Are we doing the right thing, Sir?" It came out in a rush.

Skinner turned to give him a long level stare. "What are you getting at?"

"Well...it's just that she's scared. And alone. And...and she's not responsible for what her father did."

Skinner rose to his feet like a cat, silently and gracefully. Pendrell paled and took a step backward.

"What do you suggest we do instead, Pendrell?" Skinner asked. "Just let this go? Just forget our comrades who died because of Baron de Scully?"

"No, sir, of course not." Pendrell sighed. "I just know how I'd be feeling right now if I were her." The two men contemplated each other silently a moment, then Pendrell shook his head. "I trust you, sir. Good night."

As soon as the young man disappeared around the corner, Skinner let his shoulders sag. Pendrell was right. This wasn't Lady Scully's fault, and she was scared. He moved to stand at the bottom of the stairs, irresolute, then began to climb.

When the door slowly swung open, Scully was prepared for it. She waited an instant until the figure took a pace forward into the darkened room, and then she acted. She emerged from behind the door like a wildcat, swinging the silver candlestick holder with all her might. It connected on the man's head with a satisfying thud. Skinner fell like an ox.

Scully didn't pause. Instantly she had launched herself past him, diving for the open doorway. She had nearly made it, was almost in the adjoining hallway...when a hand seized her by the ankle. She toppled to the floor, wincing as the air left her lungs, then she gasped as a large, muscular body moved over hers, pinning her to the ground.

"And Pendrell was worried was about you," Skinner panted.

Scully struggled to throw his weight off her. "Let me go!"

"I can't do that." He lurched to his feet, dragging her up with him. "Now, Lady Scully, you can either agree to cooperate, or I can find a nice length of rope and tie you to a chair." He maneuvered her back into the room and slammed the door.

"It had better be pretty strong rope." She wrestled against his grasp and tried to bite his wrist.

He easily twisted her arm up behind her, pulling her roughly against his chest. "I don't want to hurt you."

Scully gasped a little as the pressure on her arm increased and realized, quite clearly, that he could hurt her if he chose. She froze and stood gasping, caught in his rough embrace. And she became uncomfortably aware of the intimacy of their position... which gave her another idea. Swiftly, with no warning, she brought her knee up...and connected with thin air. In less than a second, Skinner had somehow managed to shift his grip so that her blow missed him all together, and he had moved them both backward so that she was pinned between the wall and the mercenary... Talk about a rock and a hard place... She couldn't budge an inch.

Hastily Scully rethought her strategy and, again without warning, allowed her body to go limp, her eyelids flickering closed. Skinner gave a muffled curse as she slumped bonelessly in his arms.

Scully kept her eyes closed and her breathing shallow as he lowered her to the floor. As soon as his hold on her loosened, she burst back to life, clawing at his face and rolling away. She hadn't crawled more than five feet before her captor took hold of her wrist and drug her back.

Skinner flipped her onto her back and pinned her to the floor. "Are you finished?" he ground out between clenched teeth. "Because I assure you that you will tire out before I do."

She didn't answer. She lay there, panting and contemplating doing something most unlady-like, like spitting in his face.

"I wouldn't," he said warningly.

"Wouldn't what?"

"Wouldn't do what you are so obviously considering."

"And how would you know what I'm thinking?"

The mercenary smiled. "I can read minds, Lady Scully, didn't you know?"

She narrowed her eyes. Skinner laughed out loud, then climbed to his feet, pulling her with him. "And it doesn't certainly doesn't take a mind-reader to know what you're thinking right now."

A faint smile curled reluctantly at her lips. "All right then. What am I thinking?"

"You're thinking that I'm black-souled bastard who you would happily gut given the chance. That I am treating your father unfairly and should be punished for it. That you will run like a deer the first chance you get. And that I'm villain capable of anything, including harming you." He leaned against the oaken door. "How was that?"

Scully crossed to the window and stood staring out into the night darkened forest. His guesses were almost eerie in their accuracy. If she had been more gullible, she would have believed his claims of clairvoyance. However, she was more inclined to believe that he was just a very observant student of human behavior, not a wizard.

She turned to him and arched a delicate brow. "You should consider working country fairs. You do seem to have a talent. But you were wrong in one of your supposings."

"And that would be?"

"I don't think you would hurt me."

The stunned expression on his face was her reward. She smiled sweetly, keeping him further off balance, and turned her back smoothing her hair back with one hand. She glanced back over her shoulder at him and Skinner suddenly became uncomfortably aware of the luminosity of her blue eyes. His mouth went dry.

"I would like a bath. Do you think your band of cutthroats and pirates could run to that?" Her smile widened, taking the sting from her words and Skinner found himself smiling back.

"Yes, Lady Scully," he said, "I think we could manage that."

"Thank you." She turned away again and Skinner realized he was being summarily dismissed. He opened his mouth to reply, realized he had nothing to say, and, with one final look at her, turned around and left.

Outside the door to her room, the mercenary paused. He had just been thoroughly manipulated, he realized. Shaking his head, he started slowly down the stairs.

"Fox!" Her voice echoed through the forest, as elusive as fog. "Fox! Help me!"

He ran after her voice, dodging trees and tripping over fallen branches. "Samantha! Where are you?"

"Help me, Fox!"

There, just ahead in the clearing, he could see her, her long dark hair whipping in the wind. The figure who held her turned toward Mulder, showing him a face that was almost human.

"No!" he screamed. "You can't have her!"

The figure smiled, revealing slightly pointed teeth. "But she belongs to Faerie already."

"Fox!"

Then his sister's face began to shift and change, and his fiancee looked back at him over the broad shoulder of her kidnapper. "Fox! Help me!"

And Mulder awoke with a start.

He ran a shaking hand over his now damp forehead then slumped back to the ground, trying to steady his breathing. Damn. It was happening again. He hadn't had the dreams in months...he thought he had managed to escape them at last, but now... He closed his eyes again in despair.

And the figure in the nearby trees watched silently, unmoving.

Scully awoke to the smell of toasting bread. She sighed and stretched, smiling slightly as she revelled in the softness of bed. She opened her eyes...and let out a yelp. The mercenary was sitting in the chair nearby, a plate of sliced toast on the table nearby. Hastily she pulled the cover up around her neck, heartily wishing that she hadn't disrobed so completely before she had gone to bed. How much had he seen?

His voice gave her no indication as he said, "Good morning, Lady Scully."

"Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Would you like some breakfast?" He picked up the laden plate and held it invitingly under her nose.

Scully sniffed at the toast and wondered if she could snake her arm from under the sheet and snatch a piece without revealing any more of herself than was absolutely necessary.

Skinner watched with no little humor as her hunger and her modesty battled it out. He felt vaguely guilty for teasing her like this, but after her manipulation of the night before he also felt justified in getting a little of his own back. Finally he showed her a small measure of mercy. "I forgot your honey. I'll be right back."

A sudden vivid image, involving herself, the mercenary, and a large jar of honey, went through Scully's mind, shocking her with its intensity. A fiery blush rose to her face. What was she thinking of? The man had kidnapped her. There was no telling what would happen. He was a criminal and a thief.

But he had treated her kindly. He had not hurt her, even when she had attacked both him and his men. In fact, he had done nothing more than restrain her when necessary.

A frown creased her brow and she reached for the rumpled dress on the back of the nearby chair. She struggled into it hastily, her thoughts on her situation...and Skinner. What did he really want? she wondered.

A knock at the door heralded his return. Scully finished with the fastenings on her dress and called, "Come in."

The door swung open, and Skinner entered with a small tray and something dark draped over one arm. "I also brought some tea."

Scully took the tray with a small smile. "Thank you." She settled again on the bed and lifted her tea cup. The familiar scent of chamomile wreathed up from the cup, and she took a sip of the steaming liquid with a sigh.

Skinner watched this performance a moment before speaking. "I hate to rush you, Lady Scully, but we need to get moving." He tossed the other item he carried on the beside her. "I'll be waiting downstairs." He nodded and left.

Recognizing the command in his tone, Scully smeared a piece of toast with honey and munched it while she pulled on her boots. She quickly ate another piece of toast, finished the tea, piled the remains of her breakfast on the tray, and then turned her attention to what Skinner had dropped on the bed.

It was a cloak, well-worn and neatly mended, and when Scully swung it around her shoulders, it brushed against the floor. She wondered for a moment if it belonged to her erstwhile captor, then she heard the sound of voices below and hurried down the stairs.

The mercenaries were ready to go, milling just inside the oak doors. Scully paused at the bottom of the step, getting her first good look at them. There were ten, including Skinner, plus a couple of what looked like "camp followers". The two women, wearing just enough to remain on this side of decency, gave her a cold stare, which she returned, her chin coming up an inch, even as her estimation of Walter Skinner sharply declined. She shot him an icy stare but he was ignoring her, busy gathering up some saddlebags and other equipment instead.

"Let's go," he said to the others, "Mulder and his men won't be far behind us."

Mulder. Scully's heart sped up.

Skinner turned to her. "Are you ready?"

An excuse, she thought desperately. She needed an excuse, any excuse, anything to stall, delay, give Mulder time to find her. "Uh, no. I think I left my...hair combs upstairs." She gestured vaguely toward the lodge and made a move to leave.

"You weren't wearing any hair combs."

She halted in her proposed flight and closed her eyes briefly. Damn him for being so observant. She had always been a bad liar, but she had hoped she could pull this one off, if only because he didn't know her. Scully met his gaze and was surprised to see a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Well, she though, there's nothing for it now. "I believe you're right. I thank you for saving me an unnecessary trip."

"You are most welcome, Lady Scully. Now, if you're ready..."

"I'm ready," she thought grimly to herself. She nodded, a carefully defeated look on her face, and then, without pausing, threw herself out the open window. Behind her, the mercenaries froze in shock.

Scully fell a couple of feet and landed in a rosebush. She let out a most unladylike curse and wrenched herself loose, hearing something tear but not bothering to pause. And then she was leaping onto the closest horse, already saddled and bridled.

The horse whinnied and half-reared as her weight hit the saddle. Then he bolted forward, almost throwing her. Hastily Scully seized a fistful of mane and leaned forward, her heels kicking against the horses' sides. "Go!"

After an instant, the horses' ragged gait steadied and became an all out gallop. Scully risked a quick glance over her shoulder, to see the mercenaries boiling out of the lodge like wasps. And then her horse was soaring over a fallen tree trunk and all her attention went to staying on board. Another few strides and they had vanished into the forest. She had done it!

Skinner had long ago run out of curses.

After the Lady Scully had made her dash for the forest, he had, of necessity, gathered his men and moved them several miles up the road to a less conspicuous location. Then they had begun the arduous task of finding their missing captive. That had been hours ago, and Skinner was still combing the forest for one lone woman. One lone, incredibly stubborn, and quick woman.

Skinner pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to diminish the ache that pounded behind his eyes. If she weren't so damned valuable he'd just say to hell with her and let her find her own way as best she could. But she was valuable, and, if Skinner were being honest with himself, he was worried about her.

A noise off to his left interrupted his musings. There was a faint whistling noise, and he only had time to fling himself into the undergrowth, before an arrow flew over his head. Skinner hit the ground hard, his muscles already coiling to catapult him further under cover...

When something hard and heavy hit him in the back. Skinner let out a muffled grunt, more of surprise than anything else, and reached one hand behind him. His fingers encountered a long wooden shaft, already sticky with his own blood.

As realization hit, so did the pain, and, for an instant, his vision blurred. And then someone moved around in front of him. Skinner struggled futilely to get back to his feet, trying to ignore the agony coursing through him, but then something else hit him hard on the back of the skull. He saw only the dark silhouette of a man, emerging from the trees, before everything went dark. The mercenary slumped unconscious to the forest floor.

Scully leaned close to her mount's neck, whispering encouraging nonsense into its brown ear. The horse, however, was not to be moved by such mollycoddling and stayed stubbornly in place. Scully sighed and slipped from the saddle, taking the bridle in hand and tugging the animal gently forward. She couldn't blame the poor thing, really. They had been on the move since daybreak, and she was exhausted, too.

"All right," she said wearily. "We'll stop for the night."

She had often been in the forest with her brothers and had spent many happy nights around a cheerful campfire, listening to her father's stories and drinking the special tea her mother brewed for their exersions. This night was not like those, though, and the forest seemed too dark and uncomfortably filled with unseen life for her liking.

She came to a halt and the horse stopped gratefully, turning to rub his sweaty neck against her body. Scully staggered, more tired than she had thought, and absently pushed him away. Her attention was becoming more and more focused on the dark trees around her and a shiver ran up her spine. There was something out there...watching.

The horse sensed it too. His ears flicked backwards and he snorted, the noise seeming loud in the quiet forest. Scully jumped, then put a hand over his nose, quieting the animal. She caught her own breath, listening. Silence fell.

Suddenly a crash of noise, like lightning hitting a tree, sounded just to her left. Scully gasped and spun, losing her balance as the horse shied away. The reins fell from her grasp; she reached for them, but it was too late. In an instant the horse had disappeared into the darkness.

"Damn," Scully swore softly to herself...and then the sound of a horse's terrified screaming filled the air. There was a great thrashing sound...and then silence once more. Scully's breath froze in her throat.

She stood silently, listening to the vague growls and yips that filtered to her ears through the bare branched trees. It didn't take much imagination to determine what had happened to her mount, and even less to realize that the same thing was likely to happen to her if she stayed in her present location much longer. Scully took a quiet step backwards, then another, then stopped as the brush behind her began to rustle, too. Dana Scully was suddenly a woman with no options left.

Scully changed directions, moving toward a tree to her left, her legs shaking with each step, a half-formed notion of scrambling up the tree's gnarled trunk flitting through her mind. Then she felt something touch her shoulder, and though she willed herself not to, she screamed.

It was Mulder. Relief, so strong it nearly knocked her to her knees, went through her. With a gasp and a muffled cry, she flung herself into his arms, her heart beating rapidly. "How did you find me?" she managed to say, her voice shaking slightly.

He didn't answer. Scully frowned and glanced up at him. His face was in shadow. "Mulder?" she said again, the quaver in her voice increasing. "What's wrong?"

Still no reply. Something, some sense of danger pierced her and she took a step back...or rather tried to. His arms tightened around her body like iron. Scully began to struggle in earnest. "You're hurting me!" She glanced up again...and froze. A stray gleam of moonlight shone through the trees, illuminating her companion.

It wasn't Mulder. As she watched, his face fused and changed, like melting candlewax.

The man was tall and lithe, thinner than Mulder, but stronger than she would have expected. His face was angelic, but his dark hair hung low over eyes that sparkled with malevolent humor. "What have we here?" he purred.

"Who are you?" Scully demanded, squirming in his grasp.

"Someone who belongs here, unlike you." He lifted one hand and trailed his fingers over her cheek.

Scully's skin crawled at his cold touch. "Then let me go and I'll depart."

"I can't do that." His breath brushed her ear. "Once you enter these woods you belong to me."

"I don't think so," she snarled before kicking him in the shin. He only laughed, the sound sending a shiver up her spine. Scully gritted her teeth and struggled harder, but to no avail. It was like fighting with a tree.

Finally, his humour faded. "Be still," he said, a faint frown marring the pale brow, "before I lose my patience."

"Let me go!" She was shouting in earnest now, fighting down a rising sense of horror. Tales of...things...inhabiting these woods returned to her, and Scully threw her whole heart into the battle. Suddenly another voice came from behind her.

"You heard the lady. Let her go."

Surprised by the sudden intrusion, her captor loosened his hold. Scully took advantage of his momentary distraction and wrenched away from him, heading instinctively toward the voice she knew would protect her.

He was dirty, she noticed vaguely as she stumbled toward him, and his tunic was bloodied and torn, but the hand he extended to her was strong and warm.

Skinner grasped her wrist and forced her behind him, shielding her with his body. "Thank you. And now we'll be leaving."

The man of the forest folded his arms over his chest. "I think not."

Though his head still pounded from the blow he had received early, and his wounded shoulder desperately needed attention, Skinner pulled a small dagger from his belt and brandished it like a broadsword. "Your kind still bleeds."

The being paused, a look of consternation on his face. "Iron," he said in dismay.

"Iron," Skinner repeated, his voice mocking. "And unless you'd like to feel its effects up close, I suggest you leave."

Rage flickered briefly over the man's face. "You will regret this, Walter Skinner. I will remember." And then the fog curled more heavily around him...and he was gone.

Scully drew in a startled breath and started to turn to the mercenary beside her...only to find him toppling forward onto the wet ground. She tried desperately to catch him, only to find his weight driving them both to the forest floor.

Scully lay there a moment, oddly comforted by the feel of his warm, heavy body pressing her into the moss and damp leaves. Then, recognizing the counterproductivity of such thoughts, she tried to wriggle out from under him. Skinner helped her as best he could, levering himself up with his good arm and collapsing with a grunt when she was free.

"What happened?" she asked, her hands reaching instinctively toward his shoulder.

"An arrow," he hissed as her fingers found the raw wound through his shirt. "I managed to pull it out..."

"I can't see," she muttered. "Can you sit up?"

Skinner closed his eyes a moment, gathering his strength, then rolled over and sat up in one explosive movement. He sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. "Yes."

Scully brushed her hair back and gave him a long look. For an instant, just an instant, she considered bolting into the woods again. She could escape for good this time. There was no way he'd be able to follow her. She glanced briefly behind her at the trees.

Skinner followed her gaze, holding his shoulder. "So why don't you?" he asked softly.

Scully turned back to him, sucking in her breath. "Stop that," she said, a tremor in her voice. He raised his eyebrows. "Stop reading my mind."

"I don't have to be a magician to know what you were thinking, Lady Scully. You could escape right now. That...creature won't be back. So why don't you?"

Scully hesitated, searching his brown eyes, then heaved a sigh. "Call me Dana," she said, reaching for his wounded shoulder.