An Eye for an Eye, ch 8/?
Title: An Eye for an Eye, Chapter Eight
Author: Whytewytch4
Word Count: 1850
Rating: MA++ for graphic slash sex
Characters: Guy, Vasey, Robin, Allan, Much. Guy/Robin
Disclaimer: Characters belong to BBC and Tiger Aspect. No money being made, I write them for the pure enjoyment (and the occasional nice comment or two--hint, hint...)
A/N: What if Guy's family had stayed in Locksley, and he had been given his position through right of inheritance rather than being appointed by Vasey? What if his vassel lord, Robert of Huntingdon, was a real pain in the...well, anyway.
Summary: Vasey threatens Guy. Robin hatches a plan to help his lover.
Beta help: Many thanks to jagnikjen* for her beta help. Any persistent mistakes are purely mine.
**To view the whole story, click on the link on the left of the page, as per robinfanatic* 's suggestion. I had the heck of a time trying to link the chapters, so this was the best I could do.
“My Lord Sheriff, if you will but give me-“
“Give you? Give you?” The sheriff jumped up from behind the table and began walking around Guy, his head thrust forward like a striking snake. “I’ll tell you what I ought to give you. I ought to give you a good whipping. I ought to give you a room in my dungeons. I ought to give you…”
The sheriff stared contemptuously at the coins Guy placed before him on the table, sneering as he ran his stubby fingers through the pile.
“Are we paying in installments now, Locksley?”
“My Lord Sheriff, if you will but give me-“
“Give you? Give you?” The sheriff jumped up from behind the table and began walking around Guy, his head thrust forward like a striking snake. “I’ll tell you what I ought to give you. I ought to give you a good whipping. I ought to give you a room in my dungeons. I ought to give you…” The sheriff slapped his hand onto Guy’s leather-clad buttock and rubbed, dipping down between the cheeks to push the clothing against Guy’s asshole. “…what you deserve. Fuck me on your taxes and maybe I’ll just fuck you. On your taxes.” Vasey snickered at his own joke as he pushed up against Guy’s back, forcing Guy to bend over the desk until his face was nearly in the pile of coins. Vasey pushed his hips against Guy’s buttocks, and Guy’s fear from his nightmare returned as the sheriff’s erection pushed against him. “How would Little Lady Locksley like that, eh? We could invite her to watch while I make a woman of her man.”
Guy swallowed, trying desperately not to shudder, not to react in any noticeable way. “I am sorry, My Lord Sheriff. I will have it all next time.”
Vasey reached around to stroke the front of Guy’s trousers, and-to Guy’s horror and shame-his body betrayed him by hardening. The sheriff chuckled evilly, thrusting his hips at Guy a couple of times before straightening and walking around to the back of the desk once more. Guy straightened, his cheeks a deep red, and fixed his gaze on the window behind the sheriff.
“Come to me again without the rest of your taxes-all of the money-and I’ll know exactly what you want…my lady.” Vasey sat down and waved his hand toward the door, dismissing Guy.
Outside, Guy closed the doors and leaned back against them, trying to get control of his body once more. He ducked his head and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, and then launched himself away from Vasey’s office, bellowing for a guard to bring him his horse. Once in the courtyard, he mounted, putting the spurs to his stallion and galloping away from Nottingham as though pursued by the very Devil himself.
Robin danced out of the way as Allan lunged and missed again. Allan’s arms wheeled and he lost his balance, falling to the soft dirt of the paddock at Bonchurch. He rolled over to glower up at his teacher.
“Look, mate, ‘ow’m I supposed to practice if you won’t stand still?”
“Do you think your enemies will stand still and let you just skewer them?”
“Well, no, but still…look this ain’t like a knife fight.”
“You’re right. But you’re still moving like it is. Watch.”
Robin flourished the sword, running through some moves while Allan’s eyes followed every one. Swords used their size to bring an enemy down, the strokes longer and seemingly more controlled. Knives were better for close-in fighting.
“Why don’t we just use bows? I can shoot an arrow.”
“Well, we won’t use bows because…well, because…” Robin was rescued by the appearance of Much coming from the direction of the mill. “Much! Come show my friend Allan how to use a sword.”
Much climbed up on the bottom railing of the fence and looked at Allan, who sat in the shade with his back against the barn.
“Who is he?”
“I told you, Much, he’s a friend.”
“Well, I don’t know him.”
“I met him in town.”
“Where?”
“We was both tryin’ to buy the affections of the same ‘ore. She knew Bonchurch ‘ere was a lord, but she’d also been on the receivin’ end o’ one o’ my lengthy…”
Much held up a hand. “Enough. I’ll do it. Just don’t talk anymore.”
Allan shrugged and handed the sword he had been using up to Much, who then turned and began sparring with Robin. The two men were almost equally matched, and despite his cynicism, Allan admired the way they made it look so easy. Soon, Robin was calling to Allan to come and join them; Robin handed his own sword to Allan as Allan drew even with Much.
Robin was patient as he showed Allan how to block, how to strike without exposing himself to attack, and how to disarm his opponent. Later, over a supper of warm rabbit stew, hot fresh bread, and ale, Robin and Much spoke tactics with Allan. Allan’s eyes soon began to close as his belly filled and the warmth of the fire lulled him.
“Sorry, mate, I’m a bit knackered,” he mumbled as his head dipped dangerously forward over the trencher of stew.
“It’s all right, Allan. You’ve had a long day. Fitz will show you to your room.” Robin nodded to the tall, spare man who stepped forward. “The guest quarters, if you please, Fitz.”
Allan stood, nodding gratefully to Robin before stumbling off after the servant.
“The guest quarters? But, Master, those are my quarters. Surely…”
“Yes. Master, Much. I am still that, am I not?”
“Well, of course, but I thought…I mean, after the Holy Land…”
“Much, I genuinely appreciate your friendship. This liaison with A' Dale is only temporary. I need his skills, and his body.”
Much’s eyes flew wide. “Master, may I ask what you are up to?”
“You may not.” Robin sighed at the look of hurt that crossed Much’s face. “All right, but I need your help, not your judgment.”
Much nodded assent.
“We cannot pay our taxes.”
“I thought we already had.”
“No. We paid some of our taxes, but the new sheriff demands more. Guy has bought us more time…”
“Guy? Guy? When did you two get back on a first-name basis?”
“He is helping me, Much-helping Bonchurch’s villagers. He does not know what I am planning to do, but I have to get that money-quickly.”
“Master, you know I will follow you, no matter what. Tell me, please.”
Robin looked to be sure the servants were gone, then leaned in close to Much. “We are going to become highwaymen.”
“What? No. I forbid it. You will be killed. You will be caught and hanged and I could not stand that, Master.”
“Relax, Much. It’s only for a little while-just until we have the tax money. And we’re not going to rob from those that can’t afford it.”
“You cannot…we cannot. It is impossible.”
“Much. Old friend. You do not need to come with us, but we could use your help.”
Much sighed. He shot his friend and master a look of pique. “When do we start?”
Guy showed up at Bonchurch the next day.
“Come with me,” he demanded before he had even dismounted. He strode over to the tree line and turned to wait for Robin.
“What’s wrong, Guy? Wasn’t the sheriff appeased with the payment?”
“No. He was not. If I do not pay in full before month’s end, he will…I will pay dearly.”
“Guy, don’t worry. We’ll get it. All of it.” Robin wanted to reach out and hold Guy at the look of desperate fear on his lover’s face.
“How? It isn’t possible.”
“Do you trust me, Guy?” Robin leaned in closer. “You know I care for you, very deeply. I will not allow the sheriff to harm you.”
A smile flitted across Guy’s lips, tempting Robin. “Meet me tonight?”
Guy nodded before returning to his mount and riding off.
Robin cried out, holding Guy’s head as the aftershocks shook his body. They made love desperately that night, their hands roaming each other’s bodies as they gave and took their pleasure. Guy had taken Robin in a violent game of submission which had left them both sweaty and exhausted, and then Robin had forced Guy to his knees to repay the deed.
They dropped to the furs and lay staring at the rocks above their head, hands splayed across their bellies. After a moment, Guy stirred and reached for his clothing.
“Where are you going?” Robin asked.
Guy pulled on his clothing as he spoke. “I have an early morning. There is a council of nobles meeting at week’s end, and the sheriff expects me to help him entertain, as the highest ranking lord in the area.”
“Nobles? Who will be there?”
”Wilford will be there-he comes tomorrow along the Great North Road, and Stoke will be here in three days. Camston is expected in five days. I have much to do. It may be that I cannot see you for a fortnight.” Guy bent down and took Robin’s chin in his hand, bending to place a gentle kiss on Robin’s mouth. “I shall miss you,” he whispered as he pulled away. Robin watched Guy go, eyes troubled as they followed the black-clad form.
In the end, they had decided to use bows after all-bows were used by every yeoman around, where swords were only used by nobles. They also took the precaution of hiding their faces with kerchiefs and hoods. It would not do to have Wilford recognize them. As Lord Wilford’s retinue came into sight, Robin jumped out of the forest, bow drawn.
“Hand us your money and you’ll leave with your life.”
“How dare you?” Wilford demanded.
“My men and I have enough arrows to make you look like a lady’s pincushion.” The trees along the road rustled, and then two more men stepped out.
“This is your gang?”
“These are my sergeants. Shall I call the others? They have less control than we do and hate nobles with a passion. They may not give you the option of keeping your life.”
Wilford looked at the trees in fear. He was known to be a bit hard on his serfs, and some of them had run for Sherwood to avoid punishments for their various crimes. He was terrified of meeting them again when the peasants had the upper hand.
“Fine.” He reached into his tunic and removed the pouch there, tossing it disdainfully to the ground near Robin’s feet.
“That’s a good start. Now, the purses in your shoes, if you don’t mind.”
Wilford glowered, but dismounted and removed his shoes, one at a time, tossing the smaller pouches over to join the larger one.
“Keep going. In your shirt.
Wilford’s mouth moved like a fish gasping its last breath as he reached in and drew out the other purse, ripping the stitches to do so.
“The saddle.”
By now, Wilford was shaking with rage, but he complied, reaching under the cantle of the saddle. “That’s all there is,” he growled as he threw the final purse at Robin’s feet.
“Thank you, my lord.” Robin bowed low, retrieving the purses before disappearing into the forest. Allan and Much followed, keeping their bows trained on Wilfred’s retinue until the last possible moment before melting into the trees, silent as ghosts.