Epic Short Fic: The Devil You Know (Part 1)
Title: "The Devil You Know
Author: ladyarcherfan3
Word Count: 11,335 total, 2,938 this part
Rating: PG-13 to be safe
Characters/Pairings: Robin, the gang, Gisborne, the Sheriff, Robin/Marian, OC
Spoilers/Warnings: Drug induced hallucinations; set between S1 and S2;
Summary: A confrontation with a revengeful element of his past sends Robin into a world where nightmares and memories blend into something far more terrifying than either.
Disclaimer: Robin Hood and related characters are not mine, I'm making no money from this.
Thanks to my beta, auroracat65
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5
Part 1 - Shadows
The setting sun dyed Sherwood Forest the dull red of drying blood as a solitary wagon rattled down the Great North Road. It was a rather unnerving sight, made the more so black and red patches of shadowed light that spilled across it. It appeared to be a gypsy caravan, but the rounded roof and sturdy sides had nothing of the joviality normally associated with such a vehicle. The wooden walls were finished with a dark lacquer that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Across the door on the rear of the wagon was a white cross that blazed out against the darkness around it. The coloring and shape suggested Hospitaller, but there was something wrong about it, a slight twist to the angles in the arms, the faintest hint of dull red around the edges.
On the driver’s seat, silently guiding the dark horses was a non-descript man of middle height and girth. His brown hair and trimmed beard were shot with grey and his eyes never left the road in front of him. The black robes he wore also suggested the healer knights but did not confirm it. The entire scene sent a feeling of unease though those that saw it, though they couldn’t place it. It was the lack of any real proof that there was something wrong and the promise of something familiar that prevented people from shying away completely.
Robin shifted nervously in his hiding place: a well situated tree blind near the road. He had been on his way to Knighton that evening when he heard the sound of the wagon along the road. Alone, he had no hope of ambushing it, but he at least could have a look and decide if it would be worth stopping on its return trip. He quickly clamored up the tree with the help of a rope that had been placed there for such a purpose and settled on a wide branch, peering out of the foliage around him. The wagon came into view and Robin froze. It was not out of fear of being seen, as the blind and fading light hid him almost perfectly, but rather out of his irrational pull of curiosity. It certainly wasn’t a noble’s wagon which might require further investigation and probably confiscation, nor a peasant’s cart that would have been ignored or even helped. He could not see much of the driver from his high angle in the poor light, making out only a vague outline. The white cross caught his eye as the wagon moved away, and he blinked at the sudden memory of having seen it before; the memory slipped away before he could touch it, leaving him with almost nothing to go on. He could only identify images like a fever dream, blood and sand. A gut feeling told Robin that he should keep an eye on this wagon’s progress and its business through the shire.
As the wagon disappeared down the road, the white cross fading into the twilight, Robin’s curiosity faded, leaving him with a blend of confusion and frustration. Firstly, he did want to follow the wagon and unravel the mystery that had made him think that the wagon and driver were familiar. Yet, he was equally desperate to visit Marian. While her wound had long since healed, he had simply continued his frequent visits to check up on her. Marian had not objected, so it worked out well. It had been over a week since his last visit, and if the wagon did produce any interesting business, it might be longer. That decided him. He swung back down to the forest floor, and with one last look down the road after the wagon, Robin turned towards Knighton and faded into the twilight.
***
Marian looked up with an exasperated sigh as she heard the pebbles rattle through her open window and across the floor. Robin could very well see that the open shutters and a candle sitting on the sill, all signs that she was in her room and still awake. As she bent to pick up the rocks, another arced gently through the air to land with a soft smack in the candle, effectively extinguishing it and splattering wax in every direction. Though she was expecting it, Marian was surprised to hear the juvenile and triumphant hiss of “Yes!” as clearly as she did.
She looked out the window, severely raising an eyebrow; she could just see him in the dark, but she imagined from the angle of his head and set of his shoulder that he was pleased with his game but trying to look unaffected. Robin took her appearance as an invitation, and he quickly scaled the short distance to her window. Marian was slightly concerned when he didn’t show off while swinging over the bar from the stable wall; normally he was all too eager to do so.
“Thank you for ruining my candle,” she said in way of greeting as she settled on the sill and he leaned though the window.
Robin allowed a half smile. “Well, I’m sure it isn’t completely ruined. And it was a complete accident!”
“Oh, was it?”
He nodded his head, all innocence save his eyes which sparkled with mischief. “Completely,” he murmured, leaning in slowly, clearly aiming his lips for hers.
“What news from the greenwood, oh Robin Hood?” she teased as she put a finger against his lips just before he managed to kiss her. Their relationship had become increasingly warm after her desertion of Gisborne at the altar, but neither of them could resist teasing the other.
Expecting something trivial about Much’s cooking or news on the progress of the permanent camp Will was currently building, Marian was surprised to see a shadow pass over Robin’s face, dulling his eyes. “What is it?” she asked gently.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“None of that. We agreed to speak more freely about our feelings to each other.”
The humor flashed back into his expression. “Well, I was attempting to demonstrate my feelings for you, but you were the one who insisted on talking . . .”
Marian simply rolled her eyes before fixing her gaze back on him. “Well?”
Robin sighed and refused to make eye contact for a few moments before speaking again. “It might be nothing. It might be something. I saw a wagon on the Great North Road on my way here and . . . I swear I’ve seen it before, or at least the symbol that was painted on the door.”
“What was it?”
“A white cross on a dark field. Like a Hospitaller, but not. There was something odd about it.”
“Maybe you are thinking back to your time in the Holy Land,” Marian said. Robin had not told her a great deal about his time there, but little bits and pieces had fallen into conversations while her wound had been healing. This included mention of Hospitallers, who had had a small part in Robin’s recovery from the stab wound.
He shook his head. “No, I considered that. It was like looking at a Hospitaller’s cross like I might have seen something while I was fevered - skewed, colors that were wrong, just something not right. But I know I’ve seen it. Either when I was ill or something . . .” There was a sudden finality to his voice, making it known that he didn’t want to discuss it any more.
Marian knew better than to press the subject. “So, tell me what else has been happening in Sherwood.”
Robin’s face eased as he began to describe Will’s latest challenges in putting together the camp - they had decided on a location, and there were issues with putting up the type of supports for what Will had in mind. The young carpenter had a minor outburst of temper, claiming the rest of the gang to be unskilled louts when several days careful planning had come undone in a few minutes, but it passed over quickly. Talk then turned to the villages, and they discussed the lack of wheat in Clun, a minor outbreak of flu in Treeton, and Nettleston’s quick repair of the mill after a recent storm. Robin had come to realize that Marian wasn’t going to give up her role as the Nightwatchman, and had decided to attempt to work with her in order to best provide for the people while protecting her. Nearly an hour passed as the couple discussed and debated their plans and routes.
A cough from the main floor of the manor drew Marian’s attention and she blinkedat seeing the full darkness of night past Robin’s shoulder. “You should go; it’s late.”
Robin chuckled. “But you said you weren’t going on your Nightwatchman rounds tonight.”
“But I am tomorrow, so I would like to sleep now.”
“Yes, in your lovely bed in your snug house while I don’t even have a decent roof over my head,” Robin teased.
“Will is taking care of that,” Marian said blandly.
“Still . . . perhaps you could give me something to help keep the night chill away for a while.”
Marian rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile with difficulty. “I gave my spare blankets to a family in Treeton that needed them more than I did.”
Robin paused for a moment as if searching for a response, but settled for leaning towards Marian until their foreheads rested against one another. “Well, then . . .” he murmured and was thoroughly relieved when Marian smiled before, during and after the kiss.
“You really should go now,” Marian whispered a few moments later, her forehead still resting gently against Robin’s.
“I should. Doesn’t mean I want to.”
“Go!” But the command was said with no real sharpness.
Robin stole one last kiss before turning away.
Marian spoke just before he got to the eves.
“Robin. I will keep an eye and ear open for news of the wagon you saw and what it might be doing. And don’t forget, your gang is there to help you too. If this business turns out to be anything, we’ll help.”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe we should just let it be. But thank you.”
“Take care of yourself, Robin,” Marian said warmly before stepping back and shuttering her windows against the night.
Robin slipped down to the ground once again, and lingered a few moments, gazing at Marian’s window. He was not terribly pleased that she wanted to be involved in looking for the strange wagon, but knew that she would do so with or without any agreement on his part. Though he could not place the connection yet, the sight of the strange white cross had driven his thoughts back to the Holy Land. Those years of his life were possibly some of the most regrettable thus far tangled with dim memories of blood and sand, and he had no wish to mix Marian into whatever grief may lay ahead. With a sigh, Robin turned and slipped back into the forest.
***
Night lay heavily over the city of Nottingham as the dark wagon creaked to a halt in front of the gates. A few words were exchanged, a token shown, and the gate was thrown open, the guard knowing better than to question. Another guard sprinted ahead, striving to reach the castle well before the wagon in order to deliver the news to the Sheriff.
“At this time of night?!” the Sheriff roared at the guard who had delivered the message. The man had barely been awake a minute, but had full control of his normal temper, which was only made sharper by his annoyance. “Wake Gisborne, I know he’s here somewhere. If he wants to be part of these plans, then he will be part of them! Send them to the Great Hall!”
The Sheriff had barely settled into his throne like chair in the Great Hall, sulkily wrapped in a black silk robe, when Gisborne marched into the room. Gisborne looked slightly haggard, as if he hadn’t been sleeping that night, but he did attempt to mask his sour expression as he made his way to stand at his place just behind Vaisey.
“Well, I see interrupting your beauty sleep brings about the same results as letting you have a full night’s sleep,” Vaisey said, deciding tormenting Gisborne, as natural of a sport as it was, would help pass the time until their visitor arrived.
“I was not sleeping, my lord, I was going over the plans you gave me to oversee,” Gisborne replied, just barely masking his own annoyance. “I believe there are enough peasants to spare in Locksley that we could have the final construction of the war room done within the month. And the missives you wanted sent out to Rotheram and . . .”
“Yes, yes, do not bore me with repeating the tasks I gave to you!” he roared.
The doors in front of them swung open and Vaisey bounced to his feet. “Ah! Lucian! Here at last! Though I rather wish you could have picked a better time of day to arrive in Nottingham, eh?”
Lucian, the driver of the wagon, strode into the room carrying with him a considerable amount of presence. His height and build were not impressive but his carriage and sharp eyes suggested someone who could easily mete out life or death as he saw fit. It took a moment for an observer to move past these impressions to realize he walked with a severe limp.
“I would have thought a man such as you would have preferred the night - a prime time to work evil deeds and have them hidden from sight.” Lucian’s voice was low and rough, reverberating around the hall.
“Yes, well,” Vasiey hazarded. “I like to see my minions squirm with fear of me, and I sleep well at night knowing they have nightmares about me.”
Gisborne barely restrained an utter look of disgust at the possibly poetic explanation. The Sheriff had a flair for the dramatic, no doubt, but occasionally he was too much for Gisborne to stomach.
The Sheriff continued, “So, your mission went well?”
“Indeed.” Lucian agreed, pulling up a chair and sitting without invitation. He absently rubbed his right leg, which apparently had been giving him trouble. “Sir James has agreed to join the cause, and is looking for more confederates. I wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to find allies from Saladin’s army. I spoke to several of your allies on my journey here. All is going to plan.”
“Good, good!” Vaisey rubbed his hands together. “So your days in the Holy Lands are over? Where are you planning to go now? I can think of a few places where you could stay and be . . . very comfortable and . . . strategically useful. And of course, there is the matter of payment for your services.”
The mercenary knight frowned then. “I have heard that you’ve been having some trouble in the shire,” he said without preamble. “An outlaw and his band.”
“Hood,” Gisborne said succinctly, bitter.
Vaisey waved his hand carelessly. “He’s hardly likely to complicate our plans overmuch. He’s a radical former noble who, while loyal to Richard, has little pull over anyone but some of the peasant class.”
“A former noble? What was his name then?”
“Locksley. But as I said, he’s won’t be a problem. We’ll be able to . . . remove him if he does become more than minor menace.”
Lucian smirked while the hand that had been rubbing his leg clenched. “Robin of Locksley, was it? I believe I want to negotiate the payment for my work now, Vaisey.”
The Sheriff lifted an interested eyebrow, intrigued but mildly worried at this sudden request. “And that would be . . ?”
“Allow me free movement through the shire, and I will get rid of this Robin Hood for you.”
Gisborne drilled the other man with a severe glare. “Why and how would you do that?” he demanded.
Lucian leaned back in his chair, arrogantly returning the smirk back to the black clad lieutenant. “I have an old score to settle with him.” He gestured to his right leg. “He ruined me, so I want to ruin him. Or kill him. That would be equally as pleasant.”
“What did Hood do to you?” Gisborne asked.
“It is a long story, but let us say that I tried to help him, he took it badly and attacked me.”
“What?” gasped Vaisey in mock disbelief. “Our noble Hood? That cannot be!” He fell into gleeful chuckling. “No, my friend, do as you will! But when you kill or destroy him, I just ask for his body to display from the battlements.”
“That will be fine. If you require me, I will not be hiding.” With those words, Lucian hauled himself out of the chair and limped out of the room.
Gisborne bristled at the man’s cavalier attitude. “My lord, I do not know if he should be given free rein . . .”
“Oh, shut it, Gisborne. The man is ridding us of Hood, and is loyal to the cause. If you are so jealous, just remember you were the one who failed to catch Hood on any number of occasions!” When Gisborne did not reply or move, the Sheriff snarled, “Get out of here!”
With a stiff nod of his head, Gisborne left Vaisey to sit and contemplate if the joy of having someone capable of taking care of Hood and now on the outlaw's trail was enough to make up for his interrupted sleep
Next
Author: ladyarcherfan3
Word Count: 11,335 total, 2,938 this part
Rating: PG-13 to be safe
Characters/Pairings: Robin, the gang, Gisborne, the Sheriff, Robin/Marian, OC
Spoilers/Warnings: Drug induced hallucinations; set between S1 and S2;
Summary: A confrontation with a revengeful element of his past sends Robin into a world where nightmares and memories blend into something far more terrifying than either.
Disclaimer: Robin Hood and related characters are not mine, I'm making no money from this.
Thanks to my beta, auroracat65
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5
Part 1 - Shadows
The setting sun dyed Sherwood Forest the dull red of drying blood as a solitary wagon rattled down the Great North Road. It was a rather unnerving sight, made the more so black and red patches of shadowed light that spilled across it. It appeared to be a gypsy caravan, but the rounded roof and sturdy sides had nothing of the joviality normally associated with such a vehicle. The wooden walls were finished with a dark lacquer that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Across the door on the rear of the wagon was a white cross that blazed out against the darkness around it. The coloring and shape suggested Hospitaller, but there was something wrong about it, a slight twist to the angles in the arms, the faintest hint of dull red around the edges.
On the driver’s seat, silently guiding the dark horses was a non-descript man of middle height and girth. His brown hair and trimmed beard were shot with grey and his eyes never left the road in front of him. The black robes he wore also suggested the healer knights but did not confirm it. The entire scene sent a feeling of unease though those that saw it, though they couldn’t place it. It was the lack of any real proof that there was something wrong and the promise of something familiar that prevented people from shying away completely.
Robin shifted nervously in his hiding place: a well situated tree blind near the road. He had been on his way to Knighton that evening when he heard the sound of the wagon along the road. Alone, he had no hope of ambushing it, but he at least could have a look and decide if it would be worth stopping on its return trip. He quickly clamored up the tree with the help of a rope that had been placed there for such a purpose and settled on a wide branch, peering out of the foliage around him. The wagon came into view and Robin froze. It was not out of fear of being seen, as the blind and fading light hid him almost perfectly, but rather out of his irrational pull of curiosity. It certainly wasn’t a noble’s wagon which might require further investigation and probably confiscation, nor a peasant’s cart that would have been ignored or even helped. He could not see much of the driver from his high angle in the poor light, making out only a vague outline. The white cross caught his eye as the wagon moved away, and he blinked at the sudden memory of having seen it before; the memory slipped away before he could touch it, leaving him with almost nothing to go on. He could only identify images like a fever dream, blood and sand. A gut feeling told Robin that he should keep an eye on this wagon’s progress and its business through the shire.
As the wagon disappeared down the road, the white cross fading into the twilight, Robin’s curiosity faded, leaving him with a blend of confusion and frustration. Firstly, he did want to follow the wagon and unravel the mystery that had made him think that the wagon and driver were familiar. Yet, he was equally desperate to visit Marian. While her wound had long since healed, he had simply continued his frequent visits to check up on her. Marian had not objected, so it worked out well. It had been over a week since his last visit, and if the wagon did produce any interesting business, it might be longer. That decided him. He swung back down to the forest floor, and with one last look down the road after the wagon, Robin turned towards Knighton and faded into the twilight.
***
Marian looked up with an exasperated sigh as she heard the pebbles rattle through her open window and across the floor. Robin could very well see that the open shutters and a candle sitting on the sill, all signs that she was in her room and still awake. As she bent to pick up the rocks, another arced gently through the air to land with a soft smack in the candle, effectively extinguishing it and splattering wax in every direction. Though she was expecting it, Marian was surprised to hear the juvenile and triumphant hiss of “Yes!” as clearly as she did.
She looked out the window, severely raising an eyebrow; she could just see him in the dark, but she imagined from the angle of his head and set of his shoulder that he was pleased with his game but trying to look unaffected. Robin took her appearance as an invitation, and he quickly scaled the short distance to her window. Marian was slightly concerned when he didn’t show off while swinging over the bar from the stable wall; normally he was all too eager to do so.
“Thank you for ruining my candle,” she said in way of greeting as she settled on the sill and he leaned though the window.
Robin allowed a half smile. “Well, I’m sure it isn’t completely ruined. And it was a complete accident!”
“Oh, was it?”
He nodded his head, all innocence save his eyes which sparkled with mischief. “Completely,” he murmured, leaning in slowly, clearly aiming his lips for hers.
“What news from the greenwood, oh Robin Hood?” she teased as she put a finger against his lips just before he managed to kiss her. Their relationship had become increasingly warm after her desertion of Gisborne at the altar, but neither of them could resist teasing the other.
Expecting something trivial about Much’s cooking or news on the progress of the permanent camp Will was currently building, Marian was surprised to see a shadow pass over Robin’s face, dulling his eyes. “What is it?” she asked gently.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“None of that. We agreed to speak more freely about our feelings to each other.”
The humor flashed back into his expression. “Well, I was attempting to demonstrate my feelings for you, but you were the one who insisted on talking . . .”
Marian simply rolled her eyes before fixing her gaze back on him. “Well?”
Robin sighed and refused to make eye contact for a few moments before speaking again. “It might be nothing. It might be something. I saw a wagon on the Great North Road on my way here and . . . I swear I’ve seen it before, or at least the symbol that was painted on the door.”
“What was it?”
“A white cross on a dark field. Like a Hospitaller, but not. There was something odd about it.”
“Maybe you are thinking back to your time in the Holy Land,” Marian said. Robin had not told her a great deal about his time there, but little bits and pieces had fallen into conversations while her wound had been healing. This included mention of Hospitallers, who had had a small part in Robin’s recovery from the stab wound.
He shook his head. “No, I considered that. It was like looking at a Hospitaller’s cross like I might have seen something while I was fevered - skewed, colors that were wrong, just something not right. But I know I’ve seen it. Either when I was ill or something . . .” There was a sudden finality to his voice, making it known that he didn’t want to discuss it any more.
Marian knew better than to press the subject. “So, tell me what else has been happening in Sherwood.”
Robin’s face eased as he began to describe Will’s latest challenges in putting together the camp - they had decided on a location, and there were issues with putting up the type of supports for what Will had in mind. The young carpenter had a minor outburst of temper, claiming the rest of the gang to be unskilled louts when several days careful planning had come undone in a few minutes, but it passed over quickly. Talk then turned to the villages, and they discussed the lack of wheat in Clun, a minor outbreak of flu in Treeton, and Nettleston’s quick repair of the mill after a recent storm. Robin had come to realize that Marian wasn’t going to give up her role as the Nightwatchman, and had decided to attempt to work with her in order to best provide for the people while protecting her. Nearly an hour passed as the couple discussed and debated their plans and routes.
A cough from the main floor of the manor drew Marian’s attention and she blinkedat seeing the full darkness of night past Robin’s shoulder. “You should go; it’s late.”
Robin chuckled. “But you said you weren’t going on your Nightwatchman rounds tonight.”
“But I am tomorrow, so I would like to sleep now.”
“Yes, in your lovely bed in your snug house while I don’t even have a decent roof over my head,” Robin teased.
“Will is taking care of that,” Marian said blandly.
“Still . . . perhaps you could give me something to help keep the night chill away for a while.”
Marian rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile with difficulty. “I gave my spare blankets to a family in Treeton that needed them more than I did.”
Robin paused for a moment as if searching for a response, but settled for leaning towards Marian until their foreheads rested against one another. “Well, then . . .” he murmured and was thoroughly relieved when Marian smiled before, during and after the kiss.
“You really should go now,” Marian whispered a few moments later, her forehead still resting gently against Robin’s.
“I should. Doesn’t mean I want to.”
“Go!” But the command was said with no real sharpness.
Robin stole one last kiss before turning away.
Marian spoke just before he got to the eves.
“Robin. I will keep an eye and ear open for news of the wagon you saw and what it might be doing. And don’t forget, your gang is there to help you too. If this business turns out to be anything, we’ll help.”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe we should just let it be. But thank you.”
“Take care of yourself, Robin,” Marian said warmly before stepping back and shuttering her windows against the night.
Robin slipped down to the ground once again, and lingered a few moments, gazing at Marian’s window. He was not terribly pleased that she wanted to be involved in looking for the strange wagon, but knew that she would do so with or without any agreement on his part. Though he could not place the connection yet, the sight of the strange white cross had driven his thoughts back to the Holy Land. Those years of his life were possibly some of the most regrettable thus far tangled with dim memories of blood and sand, and he had no wish to mix Marian into whatever grief may lay ahead. With a sigh, Robin turned and slipped back into the forest.
***
Night lay heavily over the city of Nottingham as the dark wagon creaked to a halt in front of the gates. A few words were exchanged, a token shown, and the gate was thrown open, the guard knowing better than to question. Another guard sprinted ahead, striving to reach the castle well before the wagon in order to deliver the news to the Sheriff.
“At this time of night?!” the Sheriff roared at the guard who had delivered the message. The man had barely been awake a minute, but had full control of his normal temper, which was only made sharper by his annoyance. “Wake Gisborne, I know he’s here somewhere. If he wants to be part of these plans, then he will be part of them! Send them to the Great Hall!”
The Sheriff had barely settled into his throne like chair in the Great Hall, sulkily wrapped in a black silk robe, when Gisborne marched into the room. Gisborne looked slightly haggard, as if he hadn’t been sleeping that night, but he did attempt to mask his sour expression as he made his way to stand at his place just behind Vaisey.
“Well, I see interrupting your beauty sleep brings about the same results as letting you have a full night’s sleep,” Vaisey said, deciding tormenting Gisborne, as natural of a sport as it was, would help pass the time until their visitor arrived.
“I was not sleeping, my lord, I was going over the plans you gave me to oversee,” Gisborne replied, just barely masking his own annoyance. “I believe there are enough peasants to spare in Locksley that we could have the final construction of the war room done within the month. And the missives you wanted sent out to Rotheram and . . .”
“Yes, yes, do not bore me with repeating the tasks I gave to you!” he roared.
The doors in front of them swung open and Vaisey bounced to his feet. “Ah! Lucian! Here at last! Though I rather wish you could have picked a better time of day to arrive in Nottingham, eh?”
Lucian, the driver of the wagon, strode into the room carrying with him a considerable amount of presence. His height and build were not impressive but his carriage and sharp eyes suggested someone who could easily mete out life or death as he saw fit. It took a moment for an observer to move past these impressions to realize he walked with a severe limp.
“I would have thought a man such as you would have preferred the night - a prime time to work evil deeds and have them hidden from sight.” Lucian’s voice was low and rough, reverberating around the hall.
“Yes, well,” Vasiey hazarded. “I like to see my minions squirm with fear of me, and I sleep well at night knowing they have nightmares about me.”
Gisborne barely restrained an utter look of disgust at the possibly poetic explanation. The Sheriff had a flair for the dramatic, no doubt, but occasionally he was too much for Gisborne to stomach.
The Sheriff continued, “So, your mission went well?”
“Indeed.” Lucian agreed, pulling up a chair and sitting without invitation. He absently rubbed his right leg, which apparently had been giving him trouble. “Sir James has agreed to join the cause, and is looking for more confederates. I wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to find allies from Saladin’s army. I spoke to several of your allies on my journey here. All is going to plan.”
“Good, good!” Vaisey rubbed his hands together. “So your days in the Holy Lands are over? Where are you planning to go now? I can think of a few places where you could stay and be . . . very comfortable and . . . strategically useful. And of course, there is the matter of payment for your services.”
The mercenary knight frowned then. “I have heard that you’ve been having some trouble in the shire,” he said without preamble. “An outlaw and his band.”
“Hood,” Gisborne said succinctly, bitter.
Vaisey waved his hand carelessly. “He’s hardly likely to complicate our plans overmuch. He’s a radical former noble who, while loyal to Richard, has little pull over anyone but some of the peasant class.”
“A former noble? What was his name then?”
“Locksley. But as I said, he’s won’t be a problem. We’ll be able to . . . remove him if he does become more than minor menace.”
Lucian smirked while the hand that had been rubbing his leg clenched. “Robin of Locksley, was it? I believe I want to negotiate the payment for my work now, Vaisey.”
The Sheriff lifted an interested eyebrow, intrigued but mildly worried at this sudden request. “And that would be . . ?”
“Allow me free movement through the shire, and I will get rid of this Robin Hood for you.”
Gisborne drilled the other man with a severe glare. “Why and how would you do that?” he demanded.
Lucian leaned back in his chair, arrogantly returning the smirk back to the black clad lieutenant. “I have an old score to settle with him.” He gestured to his right leg. “He ruined me, so I want to ruin him. Or kill him. That would be equally as pleasant.”
“What did Hood do to you?” Gisborne asked.
“It is a long story, but let us say that I tried to help him, he took it badly and attacked me.”
“What?” gasped Vaisey in mock disbelief. “Our noble Hood? That cannot be!” He fell into gleeful chuckling. “No, my friend, do as you will! But when you kill or destroy him, I just ask for his body to display from the battlements.”
“That will be fine. If you require me, I will not be hiding.” With those words, Lucian hauled himself out of the chair and limped out of the room.
Gisborne bristled at the man’s cavalier attitude. “My lord, I do not know if he should be given free rein . . .”
“Oh, shut it, Gisborne. The man is ridding us of Hood, and is loyal to the cause. If you are so jealous, just remember you were the one who failed to catch Hood on any number of occasions!” When Gisborne did not reply or move, the Sheriff snarled, “Get out of here!”
With a stiff nod of his head, Gisborne left Vaisey to sit and contemplate if the joy of having someone capable of taking care of Hood and now on the outlaw's trail was enough to make up for his interrupted sleep
Next