[Robin Hood] The Alchemy of Love: Chapter Two (3/11)
Title: The Alchemy of Love
Rating: R. This chapter includes some unpleasant content between Isabella and Thornton, but it isn't graphic or prolonged.
Pairings: Guy/Marian/Isabella/Robin (Guy/Marian, Marian/Isabella, Isabella/Robin, Guy/Robin); a teeny bit of Allan/Will/Djaq
Word Count: 5467 (/~40,000)
Summary: During her last Nightwatchman gig before her marriage, Marian is caught while helping a woman in need through the forest. Grateful for her aid, Isabella convinces her brother to spare Marian and a friendship is born. Though each have their own goals, Guy, Robin, Isabella and Marian are forced to work together to heal old wounds, learn to trust, and ultimately save Nottingham.
Author's Note: Ursula K. LeGuin uses the word sedoretu to refer to a union between four people; within the sedoretu there are four marriages, two heterosexual and two homosexual. In the interest of being period- and linguistically appropriate, I've chosen to use the Old French word alyaunce (alliance, betrothal, union) instead. It's pronounced pretty much how it looks. Many many thanks to ladykate63 for her wonderful beta work : )
CHAPTER TWO
MARIAN
Marian had always enjoyed riding, and now, as summer had cooled into fall, she found herself escaping the house more and more to go on long rides. It was too quiet in the village after the bustle of Nottingham; even after several years the house felt too large and empty with only two people for the servants to fuss over. She and her father had done their best to keep their spirits up when they had moved permanently from the city to their family's lands, and after a few months they had learned to fill their days with routines of meals and work and visits and simple pleasures. But in the pauses in their conversations there was always the memory of what should be there but was not.
She liked better to be outdoors, where the past did not seem so heavy, nor the future so close; right now there was only sun and clear blue sky, the feel of her horse cantering beneath her and the first hint of the brilliant autumn colors that were to come. Marian found it easier to think on the move, and lately there was much for her to mull over. She was still upset about Lambert's death and had purposely avoided Nottingham in the days since so she would not have to speak to Guy. She had little confidence that the marriage would actually happen, but if it did . . . how, a small voice asked, could she reconcile her conscience with marrying a man who would kill his friend for political advancement?
Easier to think of Robin and his arms around her and how it had felt comforting and familiar, almost like old days. But it wasn't, she reminded herself. He had changed in ways that she couldn't understand. Then again, he must feel the same about her.
Marian arrived on no grand conclusions on her ride, but she returned home feeling refreshed, as if things weren't quite as complicated as they'd seemed before. In the house, she was greeted with the now-familiar sight of her father at his books, at the small table below the south-facing window, where the warmth of afternoon lingered.
“Hello,” she called breezily, running her hands through her hair and heading towards the stairs to change.
“A letter came while you were gone,” her father said, closing his book.
“A letter?” Marian frowned and turned her course towards the table, where a folded bit of parchment lay. It was addressed to both her and her father and had been opened. It was an invitation, she read, to a hawking party at the de Buslis' seat at Tickhill Castle.
Marian folded the letter and dropped it on the table. Invitations from the de Buslis had been rare since Vaizey had become Sheriff; the purpose of this one was clear. She had hoped, after the engagement party, that Sir William would no longer consider an alyaunce with Guy, but she was not so lucky.
“The weather has been poor for hawking,” Marian said. “I do not think it would be amusing.”
“I have already said we would go.”
Marian looked at her father in distress. “Father, you know what this is about.”
“I do. And regardless of my feelings on the matter, I think it would be ill-advised to refuse.” He started toward her. “Marian,” he said, more gently, “I am not asking you to marry Sir William. I am asking you to go to a party. The de Buslis would be good friends to have.”
Her father was right. So far north, they would not have felt the presence of the Sheriff as Marian and her father did. A de Busli presence that could be felt in the south-that was friendly to them-could take some of the pressure off of them. Marian did not like it; she already felt as if she had yielded too much. But her father had been so good to her about the Nightwatchman, and so she acquiesced.
“Very well.”
Her father smiled a little. “It doesn't have to be anything more than a friendly visit if that's what you want.”
Marian tried to return her father's smile, but she knew that other people would have different ideas.
ROBIN
He watched her awhile before he let her know he was there. From his vantage point on the roof he could see her pull dresses and jewels from her chests, laying them out on her bed and debating the merits of each with her maid. Marian seemed preoccupied, not happy or excited. It gave him a grim sort of pleasure. For it made him melancholy to watch her so, literally peering in on a life that should include him but didn't. He couldn't help but wonder if all hope for them to be partners in an alyaunce was lost-for he was the one she'd come to when she'd heard of the death of Gisborne's friend, and he could still feel her in his arms. But it was foolish to think about that as long as he was an outlaw. She deserved better.
Finally Marian's maid left the room. Robin grabbed hold of the beam above the window and swung himself inside.
“You look like you're packing.”
He grinned as Marian started and turned to face him. She frowned at him playfully and then went back to what she was doing. “My father and I are going on a visit.”
“Where?”
“Tickhill,” Marian replied, her eyes on her work. “There is to be a hunting party.”
At Marian's answer, his melancholy sharpened. Robin sauntered over to the bed, surveying the dresses she had laid out. “William de Busli was at your engagement party, wasn't he?”
“He was.”
Robin drew a finger along the embroidered trim of a gown. “William de Busli is also Morning.”
Marian snatched up the gown. “So are a lot of people.”
“Is Gisborne trying to bring him into the betrothal?” He words came out with an edge, even though he didn't mean them to, for he knew he had no right to her any longer. It didn't mean he felt any different, or that he suspected that she'd retained some of her feelings for him as well.
Marian pursed her lips and set to folding the dress. “How is that any of your business?” she asked coolly, though the fact that she still did not look at him spoke volumes.
“I thought you did not want to marry Gisborne,” Robin replied, leaning against the post at the foot of the bed.
“I don't.”
“Well, bringing someone else in will make it a lot more difficult to get out.”
“I know that,” Marian snapped, setting the now-folded gown onto the bed and fussing with the trim.
“So why keep up the charade? You'll have Gisborne sniffing around for as long as you do.”
Marian straightened and turned towards him. “What other choice do I have, Robin? My father's position is precarious and mine even more so. The Sheriff thinks-he knows-that I have helped you. As much as I don't like what it entails, Sir Guy can provide protection for both me and my father.”
Robin crossed his arms, feeling the anger that had simmered ever since he had discovered Gisborne's treason flare up again. “But how do you know that? Only through him. He could be-”
“Lying to get me to marry him?” Her mouth was pursed, her eyebrows arched.
It had been the wrong thing to say, though he wouldn't put it past Gisborne. Stubbornly, he stuck his course and nodded.
Marian rolled her eyes. “He wasn't lying. Now, if you have nothing further to say, I have things to do.” She turned away and began setting things into a leather travelling satchel.
Robin dropped his arms in frustration. How did she not see how foolish she was being? How did she not see that she should be keeping her distance, not getting in closer? That Gisborne did not really love her, that he only thought of her as a possession. That the Morning man in her alyaunce should not be William de Busli.
It should be him.
But he couldn't dredge up words that had been hidden deep inside for years, not when she was being like this, all cool and formal and distant. “Alright then,” he said, instead of all the things he really wanted to.
“Alright,” Marian replied. There was an awkward pause as they stood, looking at each other, and for a moment Robin felt keenly the loss of those times when the two of them had known each other so well they didn't even have to speak, because they were Morning and they were to be married and they were as close as any two people could be in this world.
And then he shrugged it all off, or told himself that he had, and swung back out of the window.
MARIAN
As she had expected, Guy had insisted on travelling with them to Tickhill. Her father, though not without a moment of hesitation and a glance in her direction, accepted Guy's offer of a guarded escort through the forest.
Thankfully, though, their ride through the forest was uneventful. Once they had left Sherwood behind and the road began to follow the rolling hills of farmland, the mood in the small party began to change dramatically. Marian's shoulders eased, she could hear Guy's men joking amongst themselves, and Guy's wary watchfulness eased to something that could almost be called cheer. He asked about the farms they passed, which were less and less familiar to him the farther they got from the city. He told her of his plans for Locksley, which she listened to with only half an ear because she knew he was trying to impress her.
They stopped for lunch and to let her rest; Marian didn't need it but she was grateful for her father's sake. After lunch she was able to persuade Guy that she wanted to ride with her father for a bit, so for the first time that day he left her side. Conversation with her father was infrequent, and eventually Marian found her thoughts drifting to her exasperating encounter with Robin a few days ago. Perversely, his accusations made her want to give Guy greater credit-for all his awkwardness, he had made every effort to see to her comfort on the journey, and had even had a set of ivory-inlaid hairpins sent over the day before.
Yet despite her irritation with Robin had said, she regretted the way that they had parted, that they always seemed to part-moving in different directions, never quite seeing eye-to-eye as they once had. Marian wished she had not been so callous in speaking about the betrothal to Robin. She was pleased-or not pleased, precisely, she couldn't quite put a word to the feeling-that Robin was bothered so much at the thought of her entering into an alyaunce of which he would not be a part. But never so bothered as to tell her she had a reason not to take someone else as her Morning husband. Yet even if he did speak, it would not be enough to change her course. For he should have stayed to be with her and build a life and look after the shire. But he and Henry had wanted to go on Crusade and now Helena was married in Suffolk and Henry was buried somewhere in the desert and Robin was outlawed and Marian was alone. No, it was not enough to know he was not happy with her decision.
Then her father called out to her, and Marian was no longer left to her thoughts.
*
“I see you are not much for embroidery,” Ismena said, holding up the fine gown that Marian had brought for evenings.
Marian felt her cheeks flush. “I find it tedious.” She had expected things to be somewhat uncomfortable when Ismena had offered to help her unpack, but she hadn't expected to be judged straight off.
“No matter,” Ismena said, running a hand over the gown to smooth out the wrinkles, “I'm good enough at it for the both of us.”
Marian looked again at the other woman. “I did not think you were inclined to the match after Robin Hood stole your necklace.”
“I am still not inclined to the match,” Ismena replied. “But no one has asked my opinion of it. It is nothing against you,” she said, looking suddenly self-conscious. “But I do not know Sir Guy and I do not like the idea of a husband constantly feuding with the man whose house he now owns.”
Marian sat on the bed that would be hers. She was a little more comfortable now to know that Ismena felt the same way she did-that she wasn't trying to push for things Marian was unsure she wanted to give. “I do not like that either,” Marian confessed.
Ismena smiled tentatively. “William thinks it would be advantageous to ally himself with Sir Guy. My father agrees.”
Marian looked down at the forgotten pair of stockings in her hands. “Sir Guy means well,” she said, and she believed it to be the truth, at least with respect to her. She knew that defending Guy to Ismena was the last thing she ought to do, but part of her felt she ought to try to assuage Ismena's fears if she had no say in the matter. At least, Marian thought, her father listened to her wishes and would support whatever decision she made. Finally, she said, “I think he will try his best to make his spouses happy.”
Ismena looked at her thoughtfully, but did not respond.
*
It was a busy few days. There was the requisite admiring of the barons' new peregrines and hunting, as well as less-than-subtle attempts to throw her into conversation with Lord de Busli and Sir Godfrey of Blyth, not to mention Ismena and William. Marian had not known Ismena at all before the engagement party, and William only slightly, mostly through his reputation for being something of a rake. And she could see why, for when he turned his attention to her he somehow made her feel like she was the only thing in the room. Yet as his attentions were unwanted, Marian found it unnerving rather than flattering. Ismena was clearly smitten with him, if reserved, and in return William was conscientious towards her-maybe even, at times, tender.
Marian noted, as she watched from the corner of her eye, that the awkwardness Guy always displayed around her seemed to fall away in Ismena's presence. The natural kinship they possessed in being of the same moiety was perhaps why Guy seemed so much more relaxed with Ismena, though Marian didn't know quite what to make of the fact that he had somehow managed to make her laugh once or twice and, from across the room, appeared . . . suave, almost. He was also more self-possessed around Sir William than Marian would have expected, but there was also tension between them, a wariness in Guy's posture and manner that he tried to cover with false confidence.
Despite its diversions, the party felt like several days of gauging who said what to whom, how one person got on with another, how well someone had impressed someone's parents, and the constant feeling of dozens of pairs of eyes on one at all times.
Sometimes, it all just made Marian want to scream.
On the last day of the visit, the women went to pick the last of the blackberries from the hedge at the back of the garden while the men amused themselves at the lists. Marian took the opportunity to stray a little from the group, following the hedge back until it began to grow unruly and lose itself among the weeds beyond the edge of the garden. The solitude was welcome after so many days in constant company.
The parents all seemed to be in favor of the match, beginning to use “will” instead of “would,” and Marian could feel the walls beginning to close around her. Guy could be delayed, but could the powerful Lord de Busli and his husband? So lost in her thoughts, Marian reached for a berry high above her head. As she plucked it from the bramble, her hand jerked back onto a thorn. She dropped the berry and put her hand to her mouth as a drop of bright red blood welled up on the back of her hand.
Guy appeared next to her suddenly and stooped to pick up her errant blackberry. “You dropped this,” he said, holding it out to her.
Marian lowered her hand. “Oh-thank you.”
“Let me take that,” he said, and she reluctantly let him lift the basket from her arm so she could draw out her handkerchief and press it to the back of her hand.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Marian shook her head. “It's just a scratch. It will stop bleeding in a moment.”
“Do you want to go back?”
“It's nothing, Sir Guy,” Marian replied with an awkward laugh. “Just a hazard of blackberry picking.”
Guy nodded and then, after a moment, began to pick the berries at the top of the hedge, the ones that had been out of her reach. “Have you had an enjoyable visit?” he asked.
“The de Buslis have been very generous hosts,” she replied.
Guy looked at her, seeming to sense that there were things hidden beneath her words. “Lord Walter is formidable, is he not?” he asked, referring to William's father, the Lord de Busli by birth and blood. “He reminds me of my Morning father.”
Marian's interest was piqued. Guy often talked about family, but almost never about his own. “What was he like?” she ventured.
He was quiet a moment, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. “I don't remember him as much as I would like to. My fathers left for the Holy Land when I was a boy. He died there. But I remember that he always pushed me to be the best that I could be. He was not affectionate, but . . .” he paused again, his eyes slipping to hers. “But I could always tell that he loved me,” Guy finished quietly.
Marian did not know what to say. She knew so little of Guy, mostly by choice; she did not ask personal questions of him because she did not want to invite intimacy. Now she felt a moment of connection with him because she had lost her Evening mother at a similar age, and immediately resented the feeling. Marian wanted to say something snappish, to reinstate the distance between them, but to do so would be unkind, and so she covered her confusion by starting to pick blackberries again. They worked for a few minutes in silence and slowly Marian began to relax. If she was really to marry Guy-which was looking increasingly likely-they would have to find some genuine connection if they wanted their life to be better than cold and miserable.
Marian ventured a glance at Guy; he was unselfconsciously hunting through the foliage for ripe berries, his black leather uniform looking incongruous amongst the tangle of plants-with the berry basket on his arm, even amusing. He saw her looking, and smiled, and Marian could suddenly feel her heart speed up in her chest. That surprised her more than anything. It was just nervousness, she told herself, and the strangeness of being so alone and so close to him. Marian could tell the moment when Guy grew self-conscious, for his smile abruptly grew strained and his gaze darkened. Marian looked away under pretense of hunting for more berries, her relief that the moment had passed marred by a stab of disappointment.
ISABELLA
“Marzipan, Bella?”
Isabella took a bit of almond paste that had been shaped and colored like a peach, then passed the tray on to the woman sitting on her other side. Mahaut had already turned her attention back to the story that Lady Bamber was relating animatedly.
“I think it's not long before we hear of a betrothal,” she said, amusement thick in her voice. Lady Bamber's eldest daughter sighed, while a few other women murmured their approval.
“I heard your nephew is practically betrothed as well,” one of the ladies said.
“You are all terrible gossips,” Lady Bamber replied, but it was clear she was pleased to have something to tell. “It's about time, anyways, William is nearly thirty. For an heir, he's been utterly remiss.”
“Who are they?” another lady urged, the wistfulness in her voice suggesting that she was remembering her own betrothal days.
“His wife will be Ismena of Blyth, of course-it's been agreed on since they were children-and the Morning marriage will be Marian of Knighton-you know, the one who was to marry the Earl of Huntingdon and poor Henry Mortimer? And I don't know much about the Evening man, but he's Lieutenant to the Sheriff in Nottingham. His name is Sir Guy, Guy of Gisborne.”
Isabella stiffened. News of her brother was the last thing she had expected to hear at Lady Bamber's garden party-in fact, it was the first news she had had of him in years. They hadn't so much fallen out as fallen apart, but Guy's increasing busyness, coupled with her steadily growing resentment, meant that their correspondence had all but dried up years ago. Isabella hadn't even known he was living in Nottingham.
“Oh!” Mahaut said suddenly, startling Isabella from her thoughts. “That's your brother, isn't it? I can't believe he didn't tell us!”
All eyes in the room were suddenly on Isabella. “He's a terrible correspondent,” she said, forcing her expression into feigned dismay.
“We'll all be family!” Mahaut cried, laying her hand on Lady Bamber's arm.
Isabella struggled to answer the flood of questions that came about her brother. There was much she didn't know, for they were practically strangers now, and it took some effort to keep her answers light. She no longer thought of him very often, save when she was feeling nostalgic for her childhood, or particularly despairing of her marriage. But her new-found connexions meant that Isabella was very much in demand for the rest of the party. She found that it became easier to talk about him, at least, and soon Isabella was warming to all the attention despite its source.
And that was perhaps why she was freer with her smiles than normal at dinner that evening, and quicker with her laughs. Her dinner partner, Lord Bamber's much younger (and handsomer) brother, was also quite witty, and she did not hold herself in check as much as she normally did when Edward and Geoffrey were present.
“Lady Isabella,” the younger Lord Bamber said, as the party left the tables, “this dinner has been delightful. Whyever did I leave this charming country for that cursed Saracen waste?”
“Because you did not know me then, my lord,” she said, and he laughed heartily at that. Isabella's own smile died when she saw Edward approaching them, his face set in a mask of tight civility.
“My lady, it grows late. Attend me.”
Isabella murmured hasty excuses, and then followed Edward out of the room, her good cheer quickly evaporating.
“My god, you were practically all over him,” Edward hissed, once they had left the room.
“I was only being polite,” Isabella protested. Edward was at his worst when he was jealous, and she was anxious to defuse the situation quickly. Because it could get much, much worse.
“You were acting like a whore,” he said, rounding on her. “You shame me.” He took off again in the direction of their room, his angry strides covering ground faster than she could easily keep up with.
His words fell like a slap. Besides being cruel, they were ridiculous. Lord Bamber's brother was Evening, like her, which meant that there would never be anything between them. Not that that made any difference to her husband. Isabella hurried to catch up with him. “Edward, forgive me. I forgot myself,” she said, apologies so familiar they meant little to her anymore. “But our conversation was only that, it meant nothing.”
He turned on her, and quicker than she could react he was pushing her back against the wall, his hands digging into her shoulders. Isabella almost lost her footing. “Don't lie to me,” he said, his voice low and taut.
“I'm not. I love you, you know that.”
He laughed in her face, a dry, humorless laugh. “You would leave me the second you had the chance.”
Isabella glared back at him, unable to help herself. It was true, especially now with such unfair accusations thrown at her. But she knew better than to do anything to anger Edward further-particularly tell him the truth. With some effort she lowered her eyes demurely and said, “Edward, please don't be angry. I won't speak with him again.”
“You're damned right you won't.” Then he took her by the wrist and dragged her the rest of the way to their room. Mahaut and Geoffrey shared it with them, but no doubt they wouldn't return for some time. Geoffrey was far too ready to indulge Edward when he got into one of his moods.
The door had scarcely closed behind her before the first blow fell. Isabella lost count of how many times she had apologized before Edward was finally convinced of her repentance and satisfied himself by laying claim to her. Normally, sick and weary by this point, Isabella would mean her words of reform. But tonight they were just words, slipping off her tongue and hiding what was really in her heart. For a few hours, she had tasted life as it could be, and a seed had been planted in her mind. Nottingham was not so far from Shrewsbury, and she knew that Guy now had power and connexions. If she could find her way to Nottingham, perhaps she could convince Guy to use his position as leverage, as a threat to Edward. Perhaps, even, though she barely dared hope it, he would allow her full protection. And she would never have to see any of her spouses again.
GUY
The last night of their visit to Tickhill was clear and cool, but pleasant, so the party stayed out late into the night, sharing wine and conversation. Marian was one of the first to excuse herself, which caused Guy a pang of sadness, but when he thought back on the quiet moment they'd shared in the berry patch, he was somewhat heartened. She was opening up to him, he just had to continue to be patient. Everyone began to trickle away after that, and when the last had gone, Sir William approached him. “There's a bit of that fine burgundy left that we opened last night. Care to help me finish it?”
“Of course,” Guy said. William nodded to one of the servants, who disappeared into the shadows. Guy followed William up the stairs and to his room, where a small fire had been laid. A few chairs were grouped by the fire, and soon the two men were settled and sipping a delightful full-bodied red wine. Guy surveyed the room, enjoying the moment. The wealth and power this room represented, with its solid, ancient furnishings and fine appointments, were virtually promised to him, and him alone-all of his desires within reach, and a handsome husband, too.
Guy let himself indulge in that idea as they settled into the quiet, flicking his gaze discreetly at de Busli. The man was several years younger than he was, good-looking, and popular. Guy was not so naïve to think that William had responded to his initial efforts at friendship because of anything other than his position as the Sheriff's lieutenant and steward of the considerable Huntingdon lands, but he flattered himself to think that since then, he and William had begun to develop something of a more . . . personal rapport. Neither had acted on it, as of yet, but Guy wondered if that would change tonight, seeing as how everything had gone so well-not to mention the fact that they were already in William's bedroom.
“What does Sir Edward think?” William asked, after they had taken a few moments to appreciate the wine. “He's been rather quiet.”
“Sir Edward indulges Marian. I think he will let her make her own choice.”
William sat his cup down. “That's always the problem with heiresses. Too used to getting their own way.”
“She cares for him a great deal, so he may be able to influence her. I'm sure he sees what an advantage this would be for her.”
“Certainly the best she could get, anyway,” William said. Guy glanced over at him, trying to discern his meaning. Catching his look, William shrugged.
“That line has been declining for years. The two of them alone are not enough to keep up the prominence of the family, especially now that Sir Edward is no longer Sheriff. But we can set things right again,” he said with a smile, taking up his wine again. He took a sip, then added, “Provided she agree. Do you think she can be persuaded? She seems a little cold.”
Guy swirled the wine in his cup, slightly uncomfortable to be discussing Marian in such a fashion, though he had thought the same. “She's just shy, I think. I courted her almost two years before she agreed to marry just me.”
William's eyes widened, first in alarm, then amusement. Guy brushed off the unspoken implication.
“I'm sure the three of us can persuade her much sooner than that,” Guy said, deciding not to say anything about Marian's desire to wait until the king returned. He would honor that request as best as he was able, but surely if such a good match as this one were in danger she could be prevailed upon. She seemed reasonable as women went, if led too often by her heart. Though that might actually work to their advantage now. “She and Ismena seem to be getting along well,” he said significantly.
It was common knowledge that an alyaunce was made by the Day marriage-by the relationship between the women. William thought about Guy's words a moment, then nodded. Guy relaxed a fraction.
“You're probably right. And we all know how women are before they've known a man. She probably hasn't even been with a woman, has she?”
Guy shifted uncomfortably. “I don't think so.”
“I should have told Ismena to set that straight,” William said with a chuckle. “She's got wonderful hands.” He hid his smile in his wine cup, and after he drank his expression was rather more thoughtful. “I suppose,” he said carefully, “that it will be awhile before we see each other again.” He lifted his gaze, now dark and intense, and Guy felt the sudden warmth of arousal spread through him.
He cast about for an encouraging response; it was one thing to seduce servant girls, quite another to respond to the advances of a nobleman who, as probable-but-not-yet betrothed, hovered somewhere between his social better and his equal. “My duties will keep me in Nottingham for quite some time,” Guy agreed.
“It will be difficult for me to get away from the manor this time of year,” William replied, setting his cup down and leaning forward. “So I think we should enjoy the time we have together.”
Guy felt a swoop of expectation in his stomach. He placed his wine carefully on the table. Saints, William was gorgeous, and when he looked at Guy like that it was almost enough to make him forget that the man was wealthier, more respected, more experienced- “I think that is an excellent idea,” he replied.
A slow smile spread over William's face as he reached forward to slide a hand up Guy's thigh. “I've been told that I also have good hands,” he said lowly, just before he pressed his lips to Guy's.
Chapter Three
Rating: R. This chapter includes some unpleasant content between Isabella and Thornton, but it isn't graphic or prolonged.
Pairings: Guy/Marian/Isabella/Robin (Guy/Marian, Marian/Isabella, Isabella/Robin, Guy/Robin); a teeny bit of Allan/Will/Djaq
Word Count: 5467 (/~40,000)
Summary: During her last Nightwatchman gig before her marriage, Marian is caught while helping a woman in need through the forest. Grateful for her aid, Isabella convinces her brother to spare Marian and a friendship is born. Though each have their own goals, Guy, Robin, Isabella and Marian are forced to work together to heal old wounds, learn to trust, and ultimately save Nottingham.
Author's Note: Ursula K. LeGuin uses the word sedoretu to refer to a union between four people; within the sedoretu there are four marriages, two heterosexual and two homosexual. In the interest of being period- and linguistically appropriate, I've chosen to use the Old French word alyaunce (alliance, betrothal, union) instead. It's pronounced pretty much how it looks. Many many thanks to ladykate63 for her wonderful beta work : )
CHAPTER TWO
MARIAN
Marian had always enjoyed riding, and now, as summer had cooled into fall, she found herself escaping the house more and more to go on long rides. It was too quiet in the village after the bustle of Nottingham; even after several years the house felt too large and empty with only two people for the servants to fuss over. She and her father had done their best to keep their spirits up when they had moved permanently from the city to their family's lands, and after a few months they had learned to fill their days with routines of meals and work and visits and simple pleasures. But in the pauses in their conversations there was always the memory of what should be there but was not.
She liked better to be outdoors, where the past did not seem so heavy, nor the future so close; right now there was only sun and clear blue sky, the feel of her horse cantering beneath her and the first hint of the brilliant autumn colors that were to come. Marian found it easier to think on the move, and lately there was much for her to mull over. She was still upset about Lambert's death and had purposely avoided Nottingham in the days since so she would not have to speak to Guy. She had little confidence that the marriage would actually happen, but if it did . . . how, a small voice asked, could she reconcile her conscience with marrying a man who would kill his friend for political advancement?
Easier to think of Robin and his arms around her and how it had felt comforting and familiar, almost like old days. But it wasn't, she reminded herself. He had changed in ways that she couldn't understand. Then again, he must feel the same about her.
Marian arrived on no grand conclusions on her ride, but she returned home feeling refreshed, as if things weren't quite as complicated as they'd seemed before. In the house, she was greeted with the now-familiar sight of her father at his books, at the small table below the south-facing window, where the warmth of afternoon lingered.
“Hello,” she called breezily, running her hands through her hair and heading towards the stairs to change.
“A letter came while you were gone,” her father said, closing his book.
“A letter?” Marian frowned and turned her course towards the table, where a folded bit of parchment lay. It was addressed to both her and her father and had been opened. It was an invitation, she read, to a hawking party at the de Buslis' seat at Tickhill Castle.
Marian folded the letter and dropped it on the table. Invitations from the de Buslis had been rare since Vaizey had become Sheriff; the purpose of this one was clear. She had hoped, after the engagement party, that Sir William would no longer consider an alyaunce with Guy, but she was not so lucky.
“The weather has been poor for hawking,” Marian said. “I do not think it would be amusing.”
“I have already said we would go.”
Marian looked at her father in distress. “Father, you know what this is about.”
“I do. And regardless of my feelings on the matter, I think it would be ill-advised to refuse.” He started toward her. “Marian,” he said, more gently, “I am not asking you to marry Sir William. I am asking you to go to a party. The de Buslis would be good friends to have.”
Her father was right. So far north, they would not have felt the presence of the Sheriff as Marian and her father did. A de Busli presence that could be felt in the south-that was friendly to them-could take some of the pressure off of them. Marian did not like it; she already felt as if she had yielded too much. But her father had been so good to her about the Nightwatchman, and so she acquiesced.
“Very well.”
Her father smiled a little. “It doesn't have to be anything more than a friendly visit if that's what you want.”
Marian tried to return her father's smile, but she knew that other people would have different ideas.
ROBIN
He watched her awhile before he let her know he was there. From his vantage point on the roof he could see her pull dresses and jewels from her chests, laying them out on her bed and debating the merits of each with her maid. Marian seemed preoccupied, not happy or excited. It gave him a grim sort of pleasure. For it made him melancholy to watch her so, literally peering in on a life that should include him but didn't. He couldn't help but wonder if all hope for them to be partners in an alyaunce was lost-for he was the one she'd come to when she'd heard of the death of Gisborne's friend, and he could still feel her in his arms. But it was foolish to think about that as long as he was an outlaw. She deserved better.
Finally Marian's maid left the room. Robin grabbed hold of the beam above the window and swung himself inside.
“You look like you're packing.”
He grinned as Marian started and turned to face him. She frowned at him playfully and then went back to what she was doing. “My father and I are going on a visit.”
“Where?”
“Tickhill,” Marian replied, her eyes on her work. “There is to be a hunting party.”
At Marian's answer, his melancholy sharpened. Robin sauntered over to the bed, surveying the dresses she had laid out. “William de Busli was at your engagement party, wasn't he?”
“He was.”
Robin drew a finger along the embroidered trim of a gown. “William de Busli is also Morning.”
Marian snatched up the gown. “So are a lot of people.”
“Is Gisborne trying to bring him into the betrothal?” He words came out with an edge, even though he didn't mean them to, for he knew he had no right to her any longer. It didn't mean he felt any different, or that he suspected that she'd retained some of her feelings for him as well.
Marian pursed her lips and set to folding the dress. “How is that any of your business?” she asked coolly, though the fact that she still did not look at him spoke volumes.
“I thought you did not want to marry Gisborne,” Robin replied, leaning against the post at the foot of the bed.
“I don't.”
“Well, bringing someone else in will make it a lot more difficult to get out.”
“I know that,” Marian snapped, setting the now-folded gown onto the bed and fussing with the trim.
“So why keep up the charade? You'll have Gisborne sniffing around for as long as you do.”
Marian straightened and turned towards him. “What other choice do I have, Robin? My father's position is precarious and mine even more so. The Sheriff thinks-he knows-that I have helped you. As much as I don't like what it entails, Sir Guy can provide protection for both me and my father.”
Robin crossed his arms, feeling the anger that had simmered ever since he had discovered Gisborne's treason flare up again. “But how do you know that? Only through him. He could be-”
“Lying to get me to marry him?” Her mouth was pursed, her eyebrows arched.
It had been the wrong thing to say, though he wouldn't put it past Gisborne. Stubbornly, he stuck his course and nodded.
Marian rolled her eyes. “He wasn't lying. Now, if you have nothing further to say, I have things to do.” She turned away and began setting things into a leather travelling satchel.
Robin dropped his arms in frustration. How did she not see how foolish she was being? How did she not see that she should be keeping her distance, not getting in closer? That Gisborne did not really love her, that he only thought of her as a possession. That the Morning man in her alyaunce should not be William de Busli.
It should be him.
But he couldn't dredge up words that had been hidden deep inside for years, not when she was being like this, all cool and formal and distant. “Alright then,” he said, instead of all the things he really wanted to.
“Alright,” Marian replied. There was an awkward pause as they stood, looking at each other, and for a moment Robin felt keenly the loss of those times when the two of them had known each other so well they didn't even have to speak, because they were Morning and they were to be married and they were as close as any two people could be in this world.
And then he shrugged it all off, or told himself that he had, and swung back out of the window.
MARIAN
As she had expected, Guy had insisted on travelling with them to Tickhill. Her father, though not without a moment of hesitation and a glance in her direction, accepted Guy's offer of a guarded escort through the forest.
Thankfully, though, their ride through the forest was uneventful. Once they had left Sherwood behind and the road began to follow the rolling hills of farmland, the mood in the small party began to change dramatically. Marian's shoulders eased, she could hear Guy's men joking amongst themselves, and Guy's wary watchfulness eased to something that could almost be called cheer. He asked about the farms they passed, which were less and less familiar to him the farther they got from the city. He told her of his plans for Locksley, which she listened to with only half an ear because she knew he was trying to impress her.
They stopped for lunch and to let her rest; Marian didn't need it but she was grateful for her father's sake. After lunch she was able to persuade Guy that she wanted to ride with her father for a bit, so for the first time that day he left her side. Conversation with her father was infrequent, and eventually Marian found her thoughts drifting to her exasperating encounter with Robin a few days ago. Perversely, his accusations made her want to give Guy greater credit-for all his awkwardness, he had made every effort to see to her comfort on the journey, and had even had a set of ivory-inlaid hairpins sent over the day before.
Yet despite her irritation with Robin had said, she regretted the way that they had parted, that they always seemed to part-moving in different directions, never quite seeing eye-to-eye as they once had. Marian wished she had not been so callous in speaking about the betrothal to Robin. She was pleased-or not pleased, precisely, she couldn't quite put a word to the feeling-that Robin was bothered so much at the thought of her entering into an alyaunce of which he would not be a part. But never so bothered as to tell her she had a reason not to take someone else as her Morning husband. Yet even if he did speak, it would not be enough to change her course. For he should have stayed to be with her and build a life and look after the shire. But he and Henry had wanted to go on Crusade and now Helena was married in Suffolk and Henry was buried somewhere in the desert and Robin was outlawed and Marian was alone. No, it was not enough to know he was not happy with her decision.
Then her father called out to her, and Marian was no longer left to her thoughts.
*
“I see you are not much for embroidery,” Ismena said, holding up the fine gown that Marian had brought for evenings.
Marian felt her cheeks flush. “I find it tedious.” She had expected things to be somewhat uncomfortable when Ismena had offered to help her unpack, but she hadn't expected to be judged straight off.
“No matter,” Ismena said, running a hand over the gown to smooth out the wrinkles, “I'm good enough at it for the both of us.”
Marian looked again at the other woman. “I did not think you were inclined to the match after Robin Hood stole your necklace.”
“I am still not inclined to the match,” Ismena replied. “But no one has asked my opinion of it. It is nothing against you,” she said, looking suddenly self-conscious. “But I do not know Sir Guy and I do not like the idea of a husband constantly feuding with the man whose house he now owns.”
Marian sat on the bed that would be hers. She was a little more comfortable now to know that Ismena felt the same way she did-that she wasn't trying to push for things Marian was unsure she wanted to give. “I do not like that either,” Marian confessed.
Ismena smiled tentatively. “William thinks it would be advantageous to ally himself with Sir Guy. My father agrees.”
Marian looked down at the forgotten pair of stockings in her hands. “Sir Guy means well,” she said, and she believed it to be the truth, at least with respect to her. She knew that defending Guy to Ismena was the last thing she ought to do, but part of her felt she ought to try to assuage Ismena's fears if she had no say in the matter. At least, Marian thought, her father listened to her wishes and would support whatever decision she made. Finally, she said, “I think he will try his best to make his spouses happy.”
Ismena looked at her thoughtfully, but did not respond.
*
It was a busy few days. There was the requisite admiring of the barons' new peregrines and hunting, as well as less-than-subtle attempts to throw her into conversation with Lord de Busli and Sir Godfrey of Blyth, not to mention Ismena and William. Marian had not known Ismena at all before the engagement party, and William only slightly, mostly through his reputation for being something of a rake. And she could see why, for when he turned his attention to her he somehow made her feel like she was the only thing in the room. Yet as his attentions were unwanted, Marian found it unnerving rather than flattering. Ismena was clearly smitten with him, if reserved, and in return William was conscientious towards her-maybe even, at times, tender.
Marian noted, as she watched from the corner of her eye, that the awkwardness Guy always displayed around her seemed to fall away in Ismena's presence. The natural kinship they possessed in being of the same moiety was perhaps why Guy seemed so much more relaxed with Ismena, though Marian didn't know quite what to make of the fact that he had somehow managed to make her laugh once or twice and, from across the room, appeared . . . suave, almost. He was also more self-possessed around Sir William than Marian would have expected, but there was also tension between them, a wariness in Guy's posture and manner that he tried to cover with false confidence.
Despite its diversions, the party felt like several days of gauging who said what to whom, how one person got on with another, how well someone had impressed someone's parents, and the constant feeling of dozens of pairs of eyes on one at all times.
Sometimes, it all just made Marian want to scream.
On the last day of the visit, the women went to pick the last of the blackberries from the hedge at the back of the garden while the men amused themselves at the lists. Marian took the opportunity to stray a little from the group, following the hedge back until it began to grow unruly and lose itself among the weeds beyond the edge of the garden. The solitude was welcome after so many days in constant company.
The parents all seemed to be in favor of the match, beginning to use “will” instead of “would,” and Marian could feel the walls beginning to close around her. Guy could be delayed, but could the powerful Lord de Busli and his husband? So lost in her thoughts, Marian reached for a berry high above her head. As she plucked it from the bramble, her hand jerked back onto a thorn. She dropped the berry and put her hand to her mouth as a drop of bright red blood welled up on the back of her hand.
Guy appeared next to her suddenly and stooped to pick up her errant blackberry. “You dropped this,” he said, holding it out to her.
Marian lowered her hand. “Oh-thank you.”
“Let me take that,” he said, and she reluctantly let him lift the basket from her arm so she could draw out her handkerchief and press it to the back of her hand.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Marian shook her head. “It's just a scratch. It will stop bleeding in a moment.”
“Do you want to go back?”
“It's nothing, Sir Guy,” Marian replied with an awkward laugh. “Just a hazard of blackberry picking.”
Guy nodded and then, after a moment, began to pick the berries at the top of the hedge, the ones that had been out of her reach. “Have you had an enjoyable visit?” he asked.
“The de Buslis have been very generous hosts,” she replied.
Guy looked at her, seeming to sense that there were things hidden beneath her words. “Lord Walter is formidable, is he not?” he asked, referring to William's father, the Lord de Busli by birth and blood. “He reminds me of my Morning father.”
Marian's interest was piqued. Guy often talked about family, but almost never about his own. “What was he like?” she ventured.
He was quiet a moment, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. “I don't remember him as much as I would like to. My fathers left for the Holy Land when I was a boy. He died there. But I remember that he always pushed me to be the best that I could be. He was not affectionate, but . . .” he paused again, his eyes slipping to hers. “But I could always tell that he loved me,” Guy finished quietly.
Marian did not know what to say. She knew so little of Guy, mostly by choice; she did not ask personal questions of him because she did not want to invite intimacy. Now she felt a moment of connection with him because she had lost her Evening mother at a similar age, and immediately resented the feeling. Marian wanted to say something snappish, to reinstate the distance between them, but to do so would be unkind, and so she covered her confusion by starting to pick blackberries again. They worked for a few minutes in silence and slowly Marian began to relax. If she was really to marry Guy-which was looking increasingly likely-they would have to find some genuine connection if they wanted their life to be better than cold and miserable.
Marian ventured a glance at Guy; he was unselfconsciously hunting through the foliage for ripe berries, his black leather uniform looking incongruous amongst the tangle of plants-with the berry basket on his arm, even amusing. He saw her looking, and smiled, and Marian could suddenly feel her heart speed up in her chest. That surprised her more than anything. It was just nervousness, she told herself, and the strangeness of being so alone and so close to him. Marian could tell the moment when Guy grew self-conscious, for his smile abruptly grew strained and his gaze darkened. Marian looked away under pretense of hunting for more berries, her relief that the moment had passed marred by a stab of disappointment.
ISABELLA
“Marzipan, Bella?”
Isabella took a bit of almond paste that had been shaped and colored like a peach, then passed the tray on to the woman sitting on her other side. Mahaut had already turned her attention back to the story that Lady Bamber was relating animatedly.
“I think it's not long before we hear of a betrothal,” she said, amusement thick in her voice. Lady Bamber's eldest daughter sighed, while a few other women murmured their approval.
“I heard your nephew is practically betrothed as well,” one of the ladies said.
“You are all terrible gossips,” Lady Bamber replied, but it was clear she was pleased to have something to tell. “It's about time, anyways, William is nearly thirty. For an heir, he's been utterly remiss.”
“Who are they?” another lady urged, the wistfulness in her voice suggesting that she was remembering her own betrothal days.
“His wife will be Ismena of Blyth, of course-it's been agreed on since they were children-and the Morning marriage will be Marian of Knighton-you know, the one who was to marry the Earl of Huntingdon and poor Henry Mortimer? And I don't know much about the Evening man, but he's Lieutenant to the Sheriff in Nottingham. His name is Sir Guy, Guy of Gisborne.”
Isabella stiffened. News of her brother was the last thing she had expected to hear at Lady Bamber's garden party-in fact, it was the first news she had had of him in years. They hadn't so much fallen out as fallen apart, but Guy's increasing busyness, coupled with her steadily growing resentment, meant that their correspondence had all but dried up years ago. Isabella hadn't even known he was living in Nottingham.
“Oh!” Mahaut said suddenly, startling Isabella from her thoughts. “That's your brother, isn't it? I can't believe he didn't tell us!”
All eyes in the room were suddenly on Isabella. “He's a terrible correspondent,” she said, forcing her expression into feigned dismay.
“We'll all be family!” Mahaut cried, laying her hand on Lady Bamber's arm.
Isabella struggled to answer the flood of questions that came about her brother. There was much she didn't know, for they were practically strangers now, and it took some effort to keep her answers light. She no longer thought of him very often, save when she was feeling nostalgic for her childhood, or particularly despairing of her marriage. But her new-found connexions meant that Isabella was very much in demand for the rest of the party. She found that it became easier to talk about him, at least, and soon Isabella was warming to all the attention despite its source.
And that was perhaps why she was freer with her smiles than normal at dinner that evening, and quicker with her laughs. Her dinner partner, Lord Bamber's much younger (and handsomer) brother, was also quite witty, and she did not hold herself in check as much as she normally did when Edward and Geoffrey were present.
“Lady Isabella,” the younger Lord Bamber said, as the party left the tables, “this dinner has been delightful. Whyever did I leave this charming country for that cursed Saracen waste?”
“Because you did not know me then, my lord,” she said, and he laughed heartily at that. Isabella's own smile died when she saw Edward approaching them, his face set in a mask of tight civility.
“My lady, it grows late. Attend me.”
Isabella murmured hasty excuses, and then followed Edward out of the room, her good cheer quickly evaporating.
“My god, you were practically all over him,” Edward hissed, once they had left the room.
“I was only being polite,” Isabella protested. Edward was at his worst when he was jealous, and she was anxious to defuse the situation quickly. Because it could get much, much worse.
“You were acting like a whore,” he said, rounding on her. “You shame me.” He took off again in the direction of their room, his angry strides covering ground faster than she could easily keep up with.
His words fell like a slap. Besides being cruel, they were ridiculous. Lord Bamber's brother was Evening, like her, which meant that there would never be anything between them. Not that that made any difference to her husband. Isabella hurried to catch up with him. “Edward, forgive me. I forgot myself,” she said, apologies so familiar they meant little to her anymore. “But our conversation was only that, it meant nothing.”
He turned on her, and quicker than she could react he was pushing her back against the wall, his hands digging into her shoulders. Isabella almost lost her footing. “Don't lie to me,” he said, his voice low and taut.
“I'm not. I love you, you know that.”
He laughed in her face, a dry, humorless laugh. “You would leave me the second you had the chance.”
Isabella glared back at him, unable to help herself. It was true, especially now with such unfair accusations thrown at her. But she knew better than to do anything to anger Edward further-particularly tell him the truth. With some effort she lowered her eyes demurely and said, “Edward, please don't be angry. I won't speak with him again.”
“You're damned right you won't.” Then he took her by the wrist and dragged her the rest of the way to their room. Mahaut and Geoffrey shared it with them, but no doubt they wouldn't return for some time. Geoffrey was far too ready to indulge Edward when he got into one of his moods.
The door had scarcely closed behind her before the first blow fell. Isabella lost count of how many times she had apologized before Edward was finally convinced of her repentance and satisfied himself by laying claim to her. Normally, sick and weary by this point, Isabella would mean her words of reform. But tonight they were just words, slipping off her tongue and hiding what was really in her heart. For a few hours, she had tasted life as it could be, and a seed had been planted in her mind. Nottingham was not so far from Shrewsbury, and she knew that Guy now had power and connexions. If she could find her way to Nottingham, perhaps she could convince Guy to use his position as leverage, as a threat to Edward. Perhaps, even, though she barely dared hope it, he would allow her full protection. And she would never have to see any of her spouses again.
GUY
The last night of their visit to Tickhill was clear and cool, but pleasant, so the party stayed out late into the night, sharing wine and conversation. Marian was one of the first to excuse herself, which caused Guy a pang of sadness, but when he thought back on the quiet moment they'd shared in the berry patch, he was somewhat heartened. She was opening up to him, he just had to continue to be patient. Everyone began to trickle away after that, and when the last had gone, Sir William approached him. “There's a bit of that fine burgundy left that we opened last night. Care to help me finish it?”
“Of course,” Guy said. William nodded to one of the servants, who disappeared into the shadows. Guy followed William up the stairs and to his room, where a small fire had been laid. A few chairs were grouped by the fire, and soon the two men were settled and sipping a delightful full-bodied red wine. Guy surveyed the room, enjoying the moment. The wealth and power this room represented, with its solid, ancient furnishings and fine appointments, were virtually promised to him, and him alone-all of his desires within reach, and a handsome husband, too.
Guy let himself indulge in that idea as they settled into the quiet, flicking his gaze discreetly at de Busli. The man was several years younger than he was, good-looking, and popular. Guy was not so naïve to think that William had responded to his initial efforts at friendship because of anything other than his position as the Sheriff's lieutenant and steward of the considerable Huntingdon lands, but he flattered himself to think that since then, he and William had begun to develop something of a more . . . personal rapport. Neither had acted on it, as of yet, but Guy wondered if that would change tonight, seeing as how everything had gone so well-not to mention the fact that they were already in William's bedroom.
“What does Sir Edward think?” William asked, after they had taken a few moments to appreciate the wine. “He's been rather quiet.”
“Sir Edward indulges Marian. I think he will let her make her own choice.”
William sat his cup down. “That's always the problem with heiresses. Too used to getting their own way.”
“She cares for him a great deal, so he may be able to influence her. I'm sure he sees what an advantage this would be for her.”
“Certainly the best she could get, anyway,” William said. Guy glanced over at him, trying to discern his meaning. Catching his look, William shrugged.
“That line has been declining for years. The two of them alone are not enough to keep up the prominence of the family, especially now that Sir Edward is no longer Sheriff. But we can set things right again,” he said with a smile, taking up his wine again. He took a sip, then added, “Provided she agree. Do you think she can be persuaded? She seems a little cold.”
Guy swirled the wine in his cup, slightly uncomfortable to be discussing Marian in such a fashion, though he had thought the same. “She's just shy, I think. I courted her almost two years before she agreed to marry just me.”
William's eyes widened, first in alarm, then amusement. Guy brushed off the unspoken implication.
“I'm sure the three of us can persuade her much sooner than that,” Guy said, deciding not to say anything about Marian's desire to wait until the king returned. He would honor that request as best as he was able, but surely if such a good match as this one were in danger she could be prevailed upon. She seemed reasonable as women went, if led too often by her heart. Though that might actually work to their advantage now. “She and Ismena seem to be getting along well,” he said significantly.
It was common knowledge that an alyaunce was made by the Day marriage-by the relationship between the women. William thought about Guy's words a moment, then nodded. Guy relaxed a fraction.
“You're probably right. And we all know how women are before they've known a man. She probably hasn't even been with a woman, has she?”
Guy shifted uncomfortably. “I don't think so.”
“I should have told Ismena to set that straight,” William said with a chuckle. “She's got wonderful hands.” He hid his smile in his wine cup, and after he drank his expression was rather more thoughtful. “I suppose,” he said carefully, “that it will be awhile before we see each other again.” He lifted his gaze, now dark and intense, and Guy felt the sudden warmth of arousal spread through him.
He cast about for an encouraging response; it was one thing to seduce servant girls, quite another to respond to the advances of a nobleman who, as probable-but-not-yet betrothed, hovered somewhere between his social better and his equal. “My duties will keep me in Nottingham for quite some time,” Guy agreed.
“It will be difficult for me to get away from the manor this time of year,” William replied, setting his cup down and leaning forward. “So I think we should enjoy the time we have together.”
Guy felt a swoop of expectation in his stomach. He placed his wine carefully on the table. Saints, William was gorgeous, and when he looked at Guy like that it was almost enough to make him forget that the man was wealthier, more respected, more experienced- “I think that is an excellent idea,” he replied.
A slow smile spread over William's face as he reached forward to slide a hand up Guy's thigh. “I've been told that I also have good hands,” he said lowly, just before he pressed his lips to Guy's.
Chapter Three