An Exchange of Vows: Chapter Eight
An Exchange of Vows
Chapter Eight
Author: Violet
Chapter Rating: R
Pairing: Guy/Marian (Robin/Marian)
Canon: Up to 2.10, "Walkabout"
Summary: Marian brokers a deal for Nottingham and England
Note: If anyone is still reading this, I have to apologize for the incredible delay in posting. My new job has become more and more time consuming, and finding time to write has been impossible since the summer. I still do plan on finishing this story, but I can’t promise to update nearly so quickly nor often as I did during the summer. If you are reading, thank you for sticking with me!
Additionally, this chapter is rated R for violent imagery, language, and sexual references.
You can read all previous chapters at my journal.
***
CHAPTER EIGHT
December 1193
Time in Nottingham rolled on - slowly.
On Vasey’s orders, Marian was confined to the castle in the days immediately after the assassination attempt, and even Guy’s reasoning with the evil man didn’t sway him.
She was moody, crying one moment and stolidly silent the next. It was difficult not to assign some blame to herself for what had happened to Will. Her nightmares came even more frequently; it seemed that every other night, she was waking in a cold sweat, throat rough and sore from shouting, to a husband whose worry seemed now permanently etched in his forehead.
The two of them had reached a sort of détente since the days of the assassination attempt, though they still circled round each other a little warily. They talked little, made love often. She felt close to him when they moved together in her bed - she didn’t have anyone else in her life to share any part of herself with. He made her feel less alone.
Even so, he was not a perfect confidant. He couldn’t understand the way she felt about some things, and even though she knew he was trying to be patient with her, she needed something more. She wanted to go to the forest, to share in her grief and sadness with Robin’s men if not Robin himself, but Guy refused to let her risk it.
“He’ll kill you, you know,” he remarked early one morning after she’d petitioned him for what seemed like the thousandth time. He gave her a pointed look before pulling a shirt on over his head. “He wouldn’t even hesitate, Marian.”
She twisted her nightgown in her fists as she shrugged in reluctant agreement. “I would be quick,” she pleaded. “I can make it out of here without anyone seeing me, you know that.”
“I told you I’d keep you safe.” His voice was quiet and tense. “I promised you that I would protect you. I cannot do that if you run away from the castle like a child angry with her parents.”
“I’m not-“
He held up a hand and gave her a serious look. “Please. Things are bad enough as they are.” His face betrayed his exhaustion and frustration - Vasey had been especially cruel to him lately, even though it had become increasingly clear that the sheriff was convinced that only Lady Gisborne, not her husband, had been somehow involved in the plot on his life. “Please, just don’t make things worse.”
She hadn’t been able to think of anything more to argue. “I won’t,” she had finally murmured, leaning back against the pillows and thinking fleetingly of the child she was beginning to believe might be growing inside her.
If the rumors she’d heard whispered from servants in dark corners were true, she wasn’t the only one who suspected that the Gisborne heir was on his way.
***
Marian’s father once told her, long ago, when she was still a girl, that she really should have been a boy.
It wasn’t because he preferred sons to daughters - no, her father loved her, more than she could know, more than she sometimes felt she deserved. No, it was because she might as well have been male - she could run, she could jump, she could shoot and reason and think like a man. He thought that if only she actually was one, her life might have been more fulfilling and productive.
She laughed off the suggestion at the time, telling her father something about liking to twine flowers in her hair, and wouldn’t that look silly if she were Matthew instead of Marian. She couldn’t remember exactly - time was dulling those conversations. In moments of reflection, she realized that time was dulling her father, slowly eroding his face and his voice and his warm embrace from her memory.
Back then, though, when he had been right in front of her, her father had laughed softly for a moment before looking at her seriously, a little sadly. Marian did not know that he’d been musing on her fate, fearing for her sanity and her safety in the face of a world where men used women as chattel, weapons, or worse.
Sometimes Marian did wish that she had been born a boy. She would never have had to worry about things like being locked in castles or bargained away for the good of England had she been a man. She could have mounted a strong steed, strapped her bow across her back, and ridden furiously away from Nottingham. She could have been the one risking her life to take the silver to Germany right now instead of Robin. She was just as smart as he was, just as able - and she didn’t have that noble, stupid streak that he liked to indulge.
And if she had been male, she never would have had to be married, never would have had to worry about the changes in her body as her husband’s child burgeoned inside of her. Marian had realized that she was probably pregnant about a week after the attempt on the sheriff’s life. But she didn’t speak the words out loud - “with child” just made it sound so final - until Agnes pressed the issue early one morning in late December.
“My lady,” the maidservant began tentatively as she plaited Marian’s hair, “do you think the Sheriff will let you out today?”
Of course not, she thought.
“My lady?” Agnes pressed, bringing Marian back to the present.
Her hand went unconsciously to her abdomen. “What?” she asked absently.
Agnes frowned at her in the smoky reflection of the looking glass. “I wondered if the Sheriff would let you go out.” She raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t today the service for the new earl?”
Marian nodded slowly - Aubingy had become Arundel only a few days before, when his father finally died on Christmas Eve. “I don’t think he’ll let me go.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t want to go outside anyway,” Agnes reasoned. “It’s so cold today, and it might not be good for the-“
It was Marian’s turn to raise an eyebrow. She turned, her hair falling from Agnes’s fingers, and regarded the maid. “For the what?” she pressed, swallowing hard.
“Forgive me, my lady,” Agnes said, clasping her hands together. “It’s just … you’ve been so ill. And you haven’t wanted to eat, and your - your-“
“My what?” Marian pressed, frowning.
“Your courses,” Agnes hissed. “They haven’t come for months. You haven’t asked for extra linen, and I’ve noticed that you … oh, I’m going to be quiet now.” She sighed heavily and took Marian’s hair up in her hands again, braiding quickly.
Marian’s heart beat faster and faster, and she reached out to toy with a gilded hair ornament that lay on the table in front of her. Her mind had been racing with fears that she was pregnant for weeks, and she’d had no one to talk to. She didn’t want to tell Guy. Even though hushed suspicions about her condition were circulating quietly throughout the castle, she was confident that he did not know. And she couldn’t say it aloud to him. She couldn’t.
She had no mother, no woman around even to act as a mother figure. As much as she felt uncomfortable in the world of women’s conversations, this was one issue that she needed to discuss with another person who understood. Agnes had given her this opportunity to confide in someone, and she realized that this might be one of her only chances. They were of a similar age, and Agnes was so sympathetic most of the time. And her company was quite limited by the sheriff’s restrictions, after all.
But mostly, she had no idea how she was supposed to feel. All of the women she saw in Nottingham who were great with child seemed radiant, jubilant even. They stroked their burgeoning bellies and smiled softly, as if they were finally satisfied with their lives. But she didn’t feel that way. She felt strange, and scared, and if she could have done anything to make it not true - to make herself not pregnant - she thought she probably would have.
She took a deep breath. “I’m going to have a baby, I think,” she said softly.
Agnes’s eyes met hers in the glass, and there was a mixture of expectation and happiness on the maidservant’s face. “My lady, that’s wonderful news,” she murmured with an excited smile.
“No, no, Agnes,” Marian warned, holding up a hand. “Lower your voice. No one can know about this.”
Agnes’s brow furrowed. “Why not? Because of the sheriff?”
Partly. “Yes, that’s exactly it,” Marian parried, frowning. “I just - I don’t know for sure.”
“Well,” Agnes said, hesitating. “My sister had a baby before I left home. She was sick every morning, too. And she didn’t want to eat, just like you. And my lady, your face is … changing.”
Marian stood, taking Agnes’s hand and drawing her over to the little cushioned seat by the window. “I mean it, Agnes. You can’t tell anyone about this.”
Agnes nodded furiously. “I promise, Lady Gisborne. But…” Here she winced. “I’m afraid I’ve already heard some of the servants...”
So she hadn’t imagined it. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Agnes agreed. “But it’s just been gossip in the kitchen and the laundry. It probably won’t get all the way to the sheriff. He doesn’t pay attention to domestic things anyway, unless his food is cold.”
It was Marian’s turn to nod. She twisted the fabric of her tunic in her fingers. “He can’t find out. He’ll - things will be bad.” She pursed her lips. “He probably already knows.”
Agnes was quiet for a long moment. “Do you know when your bands will end? Maybe all of this turmoil will be over by then.”
“No, I don’t know,” Marian admitted. “I don’t know anything about this. I didn’t even realize that I might be for the longest time.” She laughed softly, and only then did she realize that she was crying.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Agnes reassured her, reaching out and clasping her hand. “I’ll bet that Sir Guy was thrilled about this.”
Marian winced. “I haven’t exactly told him yet,” she replied, sniffling a little.
Agnes’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why not?”
Because I only married him after the man I really loved asked me to, and even though I’m attracted to him, I don’t love him. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I will. Soon.”
“Most men don’t care about things like this,” Agnes soothed, “but I think Sir Guy is different. I can see how much he loves you, and I’m sure he’s going to be happy.”
Marian’s chest tightened. If only Agnes knew. And it dawned on her that the other woman must not have been working at the castle yet when one of her fellow servants had given birth to Guy’s son. Thoughts of Seth flickered through her mind - Guy leaving him in the forest to die, Annie clutching her son as they left Nottingham. That baby was her unborn child’s brother, she realized.
It was all too much. Marian stood and wiped furiously at her cheeks. “It is too dangerous,” she muttered, pressing one palm to her still-flat abdomen. “Bringing a child into a world like this one…” She shook her head, trying to stem the tide of her tears, but they just flowed faster and faster. If Vasey found out, she didn’t know what he’d do. She kept seeing Will’s cold, lifeless face … she couldn’t, she just couldn’t…
“My lady,” Agnes murmured, hurrying to Marian’s side. “I’ll go fetch your husband.”
“No!” Marian exclaimed, surprising even herself with the force of her words. “No, no, I just want to sleep. Please.” She took a deep breath.
“Yes, ma’am,” Agnes replied, biting her lip warily as she scurried toward the door. She paused and turned as her hand lit on the latch. “Lady Gisborne?”
Marian looked up. “Yes?”
“Congratulations.” Agnes gave her a small smile before heading out the door.
***
She was not sure how long she slept. All she seemed to do lately was sleep … the littlest things would tire her out completely. But when she woke, the early winter darkness was already descending, and there was a sharp chill in the air that was only slightly tempered by the crackle of the fire in the hearth.
She blinked her eyes slowly, and only then was she sensible of the rough fingers at her temple. Her husband’s concerned face slowly came into focus. “They said you were ill again,” he murmured. “Are you well?”
Swallowing hard, she propped herself up on her elbows and regarded him. “I’m well,” she replied.
He pushed her hair off her forehead. “Marian…” he broached hesitantly.
She lay back against the pillows again and waited for him to continue. “I’ve been worried about your health,” he confessed. “You’ve been ill for so many weeks, and you don’t seem to be getting any better.”
It was something she’d worried about, too, at first. Illnesses came on so suddenly and felled many so quickly, and she’d wondered with fright for some days whether she might be dying from some fever before she’d realized what was actually causing her such discomfort. “Don’t worry,” she replied, circling her fingers about his wrist and feeling for his pulse point.
“I want to send for a physician,” he said.
“No,” she replied immediately. “No, he’ll bleed me, I don’t want that…” She sucked in a deep breath. “I promise you, Guy. I am well.”
“You are not,” he disagreed, looking up at her from under hooded, vulnerable eyes. “I’ve heard you getting sick in the middle of the night. You barely eat, you’ve gotten thin…” He pressed his lips together tightly. “You are the only thing that makes this place bearable for me, even when you’re maddening,” he rasped, a wry smile twisting up one corner of his mouth as he echoed words from what seemed like so long ago. “I cannot lose you.”
“You will not,” she said, and a strange feeling of conviction coursed through her as she said the words - whoever would have imagined mere months before that she would have said those words and meant it? “Guy, I’m not ill.” His brow furrowed as she sent up a silent prayer and linked her fingers with his. “I should have told you before-“
Three quick knocks sounded from the door, and Guy cursed softly under his breath. “That’ll be the sheriff’s man,” he grumbled. “He can’t even let a man talk with his own wife in privacy in her own chamber for a few minutes.”
“We can talk later,” she said, her heart still beating fast at the prospect of revealing her untimely news.
He shook his head. “I’d rather talk now.”
Three more raps at the door sounded. Guy growled in frustration before bellowing, “Enter!”
“My lord,” the servant said as he entered the room hesitantly. “The Sheriff and the Earl of Arundel request your presence immediately in the hall.”
“I’ll be there,” Guy promised curtly, waving the man off with a dismissive hand. As he closed the door, Guy turned back and pressed, “Marian…”
“Not now,” she said, shaking her head. “Later, when we can speak more privately.”
Her husband sighed, leaning in and kissing her cheek before hauling himself off the bed. “I will try not to be long.”
“I understand,” she replied, lying back against the pillows. “I’m sure Aubigny is as insufferable as ever.”
“Worse,” Guy muttered as he gathered up his things. “He thinks he’s next to God now he’s Arundel.” He snorted. “If John has his way, he certainly will come close.”
She groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want to think of it.”
“Don’t, then,” he urged as he headed toward the door. “Rest. We’ll talk when I get back.”
Years later, Marian would reflect back on the events of the next few hours as combining to form one of the truly great turning points of her life. Had things been different - had Guy gotten back to her faster, or had she been able to better conceal her secrets - her entire life might have been changed. All of their lives might have been different. Even as an old woman, thinking about that afternoon would make Marian feel a little ill. But that’s what truly significant moments in a woman’s life do - they make her think twice, even three and four times, about her judgments and her decisions, and she never forgets them, never.
She drifted in and out of sleep for what seemed like forever. The dim light of an England December noon slid softly into the unexpected, quiet darkness of the sunset. Days were shorter now, and nights seemed sometimes interminable. Long after the sun had finally ducked under the horizon, and hearths all over Nottingham burst forth with flames, Marian woke, suddenly sensible of a key turning slowly in the heavy iron lock on the door.
She sat up straight, eyes growing wide and round as the hinges of the door protested softly. Her heart began to pound. “Who-“ she began, but no sound came from her throat. She swallowed hard. This time, she was able to speak. “Who’s there?”
There was no reply, save the soft, measured breath of the shadowed figure who slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. Marian swallowed again and gathered the bedclothes to her chest, trying to shield herself as best she could.
She did not know how late it was, but it must have been well past midnight. None of the servants had come to the room to stoke the fire as she slept, so the coals burned low in the hearth, casting a strange glow over the entire room. As the figure approached the bed, a spark cracked in the fire and lit up the room for the briefest of seconds - but it was long enough for Marian to make out the smirking, uneven face of the Sheriff.
“I have heard a little rumor,” he began lightly, wrapping a palm about the bedpost, “and I thought I’d come up here and have you tell me whether it is truth or fiction.”
His eyes glittered, and she watched in disgust as he smiled slowly and stepped closer and closer to her.
“Go away,” she said hoarsely, disgusted by the weakness she heard in her own voice.
“Why, Lady Gisborne,” Vasey replied, “why the cool reception? I thought we could have a little conversation … between old friends.”
“What do you want?” she asked, firmer this time.
His smile grew wider. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” he hissed, drawing close enough that he could reach out and touch her. Without warning, he pressed a hand against her abdomen. She recoiled at the sensation of his cold skin through her linen shift, backing away and stumbling off the bed and onto the floor.
“Get out of here,” she cried, scrambling to her feet.
“So it’s true,” Vasey crowed, eyes triumphant. He tipped his head back, bearing his awful teeth, and guffawed. “That inept fool did manage to get a child on you, didn’t he?”
She bristled. “You have no right to be in here.”
“No,” he answered firmly. “No, I think I have every right to be here. This is sort of my castle after all, isn’t it?” His eyes narrowed. “And now we’ll have a lovely little black-haired, snot-nosed cretin running about its halls.” He paused. “Unless it’s not Gisborne’s, of course. Have you been whoring about in the forest with the outlaws again, Lady Marian? Did you have a spare moment to spread your legs for Hood while the two of you were planning my demise?”
“Get out!” she shouted, snatching up a heavy taper from the bedside and lobbing it in his general direction. He ducked, eyes wide for a moment, and then advanced on her, cracking his knuckles.
“You are a problem,” he growled, “that could quickly be fixed…”
As she backed toward one tapestry-laden wall, her heart began to pound so fast and so furiously that she thought it might burst forth from her chest. From the depths of his garment, the sheriff brandished a dagger, rough-edged and shining. Just as he began to advance on her, however, both of them were startled by the creaking of the hinges at the door. She swallowed hard as her husband’s confused and angry face came into view.
“What’s all this?” he asked gruffly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
She realized she was trembling, and she hated herself for it. “Guy,” she murmured as Vasey turned back, his arms crossed over his chest, dagger dangling from his fingers.
“Gisborne,” the sheriff said silkily. He smiled as he turned toward Guy. “Your wife and I were just having a little chat.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Guy said, staring at the blade. “Marian?”
She shook her head, even while cautiously murmuring, “All is well.”
Guy’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he focused a stony face back on Vasey. “This is why you asked me to show Arundel the storehouse? So you could come and threaten my wife?”
“Threaten your wife?” the sheriff laughed. “Gisborne, your ignorance continues to astound me. She’s got you fooled, has she? Should have known - you always did reason more with cock than brain when it came to this one.”
Marian could feel the blood rising in her cheeks at his words, but her husband retained his composure. “Why are you here?” he pursued. “What were you doing to her?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” the sheriff replied with a small smile. “Trust me, Gisborne, it was nothing she didn’t welcome.”
The low-burning fire snapped audibly as Guy stood, staring at the sheriff. After a long moment, he shook his head and laughed mirthlessly. “Have you not done enough?” he asked. “You order her locked away in this room like a common criminal, and now you torment her, too?”
“It’s for her own good and everyone else’s,” Vasey snapped. Marian raised her eyebrows - it was so unlike the sheriff to try to justify any of his actions.
“How is it for her own good?” Guy challenged. “She is not a danger to you or to anyone else. She is my wife now.” He hesitated, drawing his eyes away from her before snarling, “She knows her place.”
Vasey rolled his eyes. “For the love of God, she really does have you fooled, doesn’t she?” He laughed. “Now that she lets you use her like a common whore, you can’t even see that she’s the same lying bitch who betrayed us, over and over again!”
Guy’s eyes flashed with anger. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it as the two men hurled insults at each other. She searched the room for options - bed against one wall, hearth on another, heavy desk and chair close to the window. There was a trunk - but that could not help her. She needed a weapon. She needed something…
“Do not presume,” Guy began, his voice drawing her attention as it raised and his tone tightened, “to know what is best for my wife.”
There was a pair of scissors near the bed, she suddenly remembered. Agnes had brought them in to alter the seam of a gown the next day. If only she could remember where…
“Because you have her on such a tight lead, Gisborne?” Vasey replied airily. “Please. I’d wager that babe in her belly was got with some ruffian in the forest, not with you in that bed.”
Marian’s heart stopped for a moment. Her husband’s face changed in that instant, eyes jumping back to her. Frantically, she shook her head, noticing the light from the fire glinting off a piece of metal by the bedpost. Guy’s face grew tighter, angrier.
“So you didn’t realize, did you?” Vasey surmised, laughing heartily. “Christ, you would be the only man in the castle who didn’t realize that your wife was with child. That’s so precious, Sir Guy. That’s so pathetic!”
Suddenly Guy was on him, gripping the shorter man by the throat fiercely. “You keep your mouth shut, you bastard,” he spat, lips curling around his teeth.
“Guy, don’t,” she urged, bending down and grasping the scissors, swallowing hard. “Please-“
“So, who do you think the little bastard will look like?” Vasey seethed, his lips twisting into a frightening, strange smile. “How desperate was your woman for a man? Allan? That little gnome of a man who roams the forest with Hood?” He took a gasping breath. “Perhaps you’ll have to feed and clothe Robin Hood’s own bastard…”
He was strangling the sheriff, she realized. Vasey began to make choking noises, and she panicked. She could not let Guy have this on his hands - he would never-
She screamed her husband’s name as she saw Vasey’s trembling hand raise the dagger and thrust it toward her husband’s body. The blade snagged on the leather of his trousers, and Guy let out a surprised groan as it tore into the skin of his thigh. As he released Vasey, he stumbled backward, and the sheriff advanced again, slicing the dagger across Guy’s cheek.
Marian shouted incoherently and surged forward, the protective instinct she’d marveled at on the night she’d accepted Guy’s marriage proposal rearing its head and roaring inside of her. As Guy stumbled back again, tripping on a rug and landing on the hard stone with a groan, Vasey raised the knife again, aiming-
“Vasey!” she shouted, and for some reason, the sheriff reacted, turning toward her, and she raised the sharp blades of the scissors and sank them straight down. As the points tore through cloth and soft flesh, sliding between ribs, Marian screamed, Guy’s own shout echoing somewhere far outside of her, and it was done.
***
They spoke minimally as they moved methodically to conceal the carnage she had wrought. At first, Guy let her help, directing her to bring him blankets from the cupboard and to begin to pack things in two large leather satchels. She looked away as he jerked the scissors from the sheriff’s lifeless body and locked them in a desk drawer. He replaced Vasey’s dagger in its sheath. Together, they lifted Vasey’s corpse onto a pile of blankets and rolled it up securely. Guy shoved the body under the bed, up against the stone wall, and let the curtains fall to the floor to conceal it.
The Nightwatchman had done it, she thought madly.
She had to pause as they bustled about when her vision swam and blurred. As she pressed her hand to her forehead, she felt Guy’s warmth behind her. Murmuring softly, he steered her toward the chair and pressed her to sit as he methodically and quickly gathered up what he could grab.
“Give me a moment. I’ll be back,” he muttered. “Don’t let anyone in.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes, letting her head drop into her folded arms on the desk’s top.
Though Guy was, in reality, only gone for a short while, Marian could have sworn he’d been out of the room for hours. She sat, motionless, draped across the desk’s surface, eyes fixed on her bed. She did not blink. And then she saw … There! - she saw it move. Again - just a fraction. And again. It shifted - just enough - no one else surely would have noticed, but she had been looking, she had been watching. But she could not move - the adrenaline had slowed in her veins, and if he were to rise, if he were to suck in another breath and come at her, it would not be undeserved. She had done it - no one else had. She had done it.
“Marian.” Guy’s voice was gentle, careful. He lifted her limp body into his arms, helping her to loop her arms about his neck. They dipped toward the ground - he picked up her satchel. And then he conveyed her out of the room, securely locking the door behind them. There was no one in the corridor - no one anywhere.
A single horse waited for them a darkened corner of the courtyard. She swayed a little on her feet when he set her down to strap the satchels to the horse. The gravel was cold and rough under her bare soles. “Steady now,” he warned, touching her lightly on the small of her back.
He dropped a cloak around her shoulders before he set her on the horse and mounted up to sit in front of her. “Hold on … we have to make haste,” he instructed, and she complied mutely, reaching around his middle and clasping her hands together tightly. Guy’s broad back blocked the rushing winter wind from her face as they rode. She closed her eyes - she swore she felt her belly burning. It was the oddest sensation.
They rode and rode until the horse could not manage any longer. She had no idea where they were - she wondered if Guy knew. He stopped them not at a common house or a tavern but at a farmhouse. She was lifted from the horse and placed in a soft bed of hay, told not to move. She nodded dumbly and waited for him to put the fear of God into some poor farmer, using the uniform of a black knight to secure a horse and anything else he might need.
“Marian, love,” Guy said, kneeling down before her on the stable floor. “Come now. We must go.”
She frowned, reaching up to touch the gash on his face. The blood had dried dark red; where she touched it, it cracked and fresh bright liquid burst forth. “You’re injured.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll be away soon. I promise.”
She swallowed and let her eyes fall shut. “But it is done now. Even if they come for us. Even if they come for me.”
“You did nothing that a hundred others would not gladly have done,” he corrected harshly. “I did it. Give me the blame. Let me take it.”
“Why?” she said. “I betrayed you the first time. I lied to you. I have told you lies you don’t even know about.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Because I love you,” he rasped. He paused again. “Is it true, Marian?”
“Is what true?”
“Are you carrying my - are you with child?”
She opened her eyes and leveled her gaze to his. Grasping his hand, she peeled away the leather glove and slipped it under the cloak, pressing it to her abdomen against the thin linen of her shift. “There,” she murmured. “Just there.”
He exhaled slowly, and his body seemed to sag, as if sinking under the weight of something heavier than he. “Come,” he whispered, gathering her up again. “Not much longer now.”
They rode on until dawn, farther and father from Nottingham and Robin and everything she knew.
***
TO BE CONTINUED
Chapter Eight
Author: Violet
Chapter Rating: R
Pairing: Guy/Marian (Robin/Marian)
Canon: Up to 2.10, "Walkabout"
Summary: Marian brokers a deal for Nottingham and England
Note: If anyone is still reading this, I have to apologize for the incredible delay in posting. My new job has become more and more time consuming, and finding time to write has been impossible since the summer. I still do plan on finishing this story, but I can’t promise to update nearly so quickly nor often as I did during the summer. If you are reading, thank you for sticking with me!
Additionally, this chapter is rated R for violent imagery, language, and sexual references.
You can read all previous chapters at my journal.
***
CHAPTER EIGHT
December 1193
Time in Nottingham rolled on - slowly.
On Vasey’s orders, Marian was confined to the castle in the days immediately after the assassination attempt, and even Guy’s reasoning with the evil man didn’t sway him.
She was moody, crying one moment and stolidly silent the next. It was difficult not to assign some blame to herself for what had happened to Will. Her nightmares came even more frequently; it seemed that every other night, she was waking in a cold sweat, throat rough and sore from shouting, to a husband whose worry seemed now permanently etched in his forehead.
The two of them had reached a sort of détente since the days of the assassination attempt, though they still circled round each other a little warily. They talked little, made love often. She felt close to him when they moved together in her bed - she didn’t have anyone else in her life to share any part of herself with. He made her feel less alone.
Even so, he was not a perfect confidant. He couldn’t understand the way she felt about some things, and even though she knew he was trying to be patient with her, she needed something more. She wanted to go to the forest, to share in her grief and sadness with Robin’s men if not Robin himself, but Guy refused to let her risk it.
“He’ll kill you, you know,” he remarked early one morning after she’d petitioned him for what seemed like the thousandth time. He gave her a pointed look before pulling a shirt on over his head. “He wouldn’t even hesitate, Marian.”
She twisted her nightgown in her fists as she shrugged in reluctant agreement. “I would be quick,” she pleaded. “I can make it out of here without anyone seeing me, you know that.”
“I told you I’d keep you safe.” His voice was quiet and tense. “I promised you that I would protect you. I cannot do that if you run away from the castle like a child angry with her parents.”
“I’m not-“
He held up a hand and gave her a serious look. “Please. Things are bad enough as they are.” His face betrayed his exhaustion and frustration - Vasey had been especially cruel to him lately, even though it had become increasingly clear that the sheriff was convinced that only Lady Gisborne, not her husband, had been somehow involved in the plot on his life. “Please, just don’t make things worse.”
She hadn’t been able to think of anything more to argue. “I won’t,” she had finally murmured, leaning back against the pillows and thinking fleetingly of the child she was beginning to believe might be growing inside her.
If the rumors she’d heard whispered from servants in dark corners were true, she wasn’t the only one who suspected that the Gisborne heir was on his way.
***
Marian’s father once told her, long ago, when she was still a girl, that she really should have been a boy.
It wasn’t because he preferred sons to daughters - no, her father loved her, more than she could know, more than she sometimes felt she deserved. No, it was because she might as well have been male - she could run, she could jump, she could shoot and reason and think like a man. He thought that if only she actually was one, her life might have been more fulfilling and productive.
She laughed off the suggestion at the time, telling her father something about liking to twine flowers in her hair, and wouldn’t that look silly if she were Matthew instead of Marian. She couldn’t remember exactly - time was dulling those conversations. In moments of reflection, she realized that time was dulling her father, slowly eroding his face and his voice and his warm embrace from her memory.
Back then, though, when he had been right in front of her, her father had laughed softly for a moment before looking at her seriously, a little sadly. Marian did not know that he’d been musing on her fate, fearing for her sanity and her safety in the face of a world where men used women as chattel, weapons, or worse.
Sometimes Marian did wish that she had been born a boy. She would never have had to worry about things like being locked in castles or bargained away for the good of England had she been a man. She could have mounted a strong steed, strapped her bow across her back, and ridden furiously away from Nottingham. She could have been the one risking her life to take the silver to Germany right now instead of Robin. She was just as smart as he was, just as able - and she didn’t have that noble, stupid streak that he liked to indulge.
And if she had been male, she never would have had to be married, never would have had to worry about the changes in her body as her husband’s child burgeoned inside of her. Marian had realized that she was probably pregnant about a week after the attempt on the sheriff’s life. But she didn’t speak the words out loud - “with child” just made it sound so final - until Agnes pressed the issue early one morning in late December.
“My lady,” the maidservant began tentatively as she plaited Marian’s hair, “do you think the Sheriff will let you out today?”
Of course not, she thought.
“My lady?” Agnes pressed, bringing Marian back to the present.
Her hand went unconsciously to her abdomen. “What?” she asked absently.
Agnes frowned at her in the smoky reflection of the looking glass. “I wondered if the Sheriff would let you go out.” She raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t today the service for the new earl?”
Marian nodded slowly - Aubingy had become Arundel only a few days before, when his father finally died on Christmas Eve. “I don’t think he’ll let me go.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t want to go outside anyway,” Agnes reasoned. “It’s so cold today, and it might not be good for the-“
It was Marian’s turn to raise an eyebrow. She turned, her hair falling from Agnes’s fingers, and regarded the maid. “For the what?” she pressed, swallowing hard.
“Forgive me, my lady,” Agnes said, clasping her hands together. “It’s just … you’ve been so ill. And you haven’t wanted to eat, and your - your-“
“My what?” Marian pressed, frowning.
“Your courses,” Agnes hissed. “They haven’t come for months. You haven’t asked for extra linen, and I’ve noticed that you … oh, I’m going to be quiet now.” She sighed heavily and took Marian’s hair up in her hands again, braiding quickly.
Marian’s heart beat faster and faster, and she reached out to toy with a gilded hair ornament that lay on the table in front of her. Her mind had been racing with fears that she was pregnant for weeks, and she’d had no one to talk to. She didn’t want to tell Guy. Even though hushed suspicions about her condition were circulating quietly throughout the castle, she was confident that he did not know. And she couldn’t say it aloud to him. She couldn’t.
She had no mother, no woman around even to act as a mother figure. As much as she felt uncomfortable in the world of women’s conversations, this was one issue that she needed to discuss with another person who understood. Agnes had given her this opportunity to confide in someone, and she realized that this might be one of her only chances. They were of a similar age, and Agnes was so sympathetic most of the time. And her company was quite limited by the sheriff’s restrictions, after all.
But mostly, she had no idea how she was supposed to feel. All of the women she saw in Nottingham who were great with child seemed radiant, jubilant even. They stroked their burgeoning bellies and smiled softly, as if they were finally satisfied with their lives. But she didn’t feel that way. She felt strange, and scared, and if she could have done anything to make it not true - to make herself not pregnant - she thought she probably would have.
She took a deep breath. “I’m going to have a baby, I think,” she said softly.
Agnes’s eyes met hers in the glass, and there was a mixture of expectation and happiness on the maidservant’s face. “My lady, that’s wonderful news,” she murmured with an excited smile.
“No, no, Agnes,” Marian warned, holding up a hand. “Lower your voice. No one can know about this.”
Agnes’s brow furrowed. “Why not? Because of the sheriff?”
Partly. “Yes, that’s exactly it,” Marian parried, frowning. “I just - I don’t know for sure.”
“Well,” Agnes said, hesitating. “My sister had a baby before I left home. She was sick every morning, too. And she didn’t want to eat, just like you. And my lady, your face is … changing.”
Marian stood, taking Agnes’s hand and drawing her over to the little cushioned seat by the window. “I mean it, Agnes. You can’t tell anyone about this.”
Agnes nodded furiously. “I promise, Lady Gisborne. But…” Here she winced. “I’m afraid I’ve already heard some of the servants...”
So she hadn’t imagined it. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Agnes agreed. “But it’s just been gossip in the kitchen and the laundry. It probably won’t get all the way to the sheriff. He doesn’t pay attention to domestic things anyway, unless his food is cold.”
It was Marian’s turn to nod. She twisted the fabric of her tunic in her fingers. “He can’t find out. He’ll - things will be bad.” She pursed her lips. “He probably already knows.”
Agnes was quiet for a long moment. “Do you know when your bands will end? Maybe all of this turmoil will be over by then.”
“No, I don’t know,” Marian admitted. “I don’t know anything about this. I didn’t even realize that I might be for the longest time.” She laughed softly, and only then did she realize that she was crying.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Agnes reassured her, reaching out and clasping her hand. “I’ll bet that Sir Guy was thrilled about this.”
Marian winced. “I haven’t exactly told him yet,” she replied, sniffling a little.
Agnes’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why not?”
Because I only married him after the man I really loved asked me to, and even though I’m attracted to him, I don’t love him. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I will. Soon.”
“Most men don’t care about things like this,” Agnes soothed, “but I think Sir Guy is different. I can see how much he loves you, and I’m sure he’s going to be happy.”
Marian’s chest tightened. If only Agnes knew. And it dawned on her that the other woman must not have been working at the castle yet when one of her fellow servants had given birth to Guy’s son. Thoughts of Seth flickered through her mind - Guy leaving him in the forest to die, Annie clutching her son as they left Nottingham. That baby was her unborn child’s brother, she realized.
It was all too much. Marian stood and wiped furiously at her cheeks. “It is too dangerous,” she muttered, pressing one palm to her still-flat abdomen. “Bringing a child into a world like this one…” She shook her head, trying to stem the tide of her tears, but they just flowed faster and faster. If Vasey found out, she didn’t know what he’d do. She kept seeing Will’s cold, lifeless face … she couldn’t, she just couldn’t…
“My lady,” Agnes murmured, hurrying to Marian’s side. “I’ll go fetch your husband.”
“No!” Marian exclaimed, surprising even herself with the force of her words. “No, no, I just want to sleep. Please.” She took a deep breath.
“Yes, ma’am,” Agnes replied, biting her lip warily as she scurried toward the door. She paused and turned as her hand lit on the latch. “Lady Gisborne?”
Marian looked up. “Yes?”
“Congratulations.” Agnes gave her a small smile before heading out the door.
***
She was not sure how long she slept. All she seemed to do lately was sleep … the littlest things would tire her out completely. But when she woke, the early winter darkness was already descending, and there was a sharp chill in the air that was only slightly tempered by the crackle of the fire in the hearth.
She blinked her eyes slowly, and only then was she sensible of the rough fingers at her temple. Her husband’s concerned face slowly came into focus. “They said you were ill again,” he murmured. “Are you well?”
Swallowing hard, she propped herself up on her elbows and regarded him. “I’m well,” she replied.
He pushed her hair off her forehead. “Marian…” he broached hesitantly.
She lay back against the pillows again and waited for him to continue. “I’ve been worried about your health,” he confessed. “You’ve been ill for so many weeks, and you don’t seem to be getting any better.”
It was something she’d worried about, too, at first. Illnesses came on so suddenly and felled many so quickly, and she’d wondered with fright for some days whether she might be dying from some fever before she’d realized what was actually causing her such discomfort. “Don’t worry,” she replied, circling her fingers about his wrist and feeling for his pulse point.
“I want to send for a physician,” he said.
“No,” she replied immediately. “No, he’ll bleed me, I don’t want that…” She sucked in a deep breath. “I promise you, Guy. I am well.”
“You are not,” he disagreed, looking up at her from under hooded, vulnerable eyes. “I’ve heard you getting sick in the middle of the night. You barely eat, you’ve gotten thin…” He pressed his lips together tightly. “You are the only thing that makes this place bearable for me, even when you’re maddening,” he rasped, a wry smile twisting up one corner of his mouth as he echoed words from what seemed like so long ago. “I cannot lose you.”
“You will not,” she said, and a strange feeling of conviction coursed through her as she said the words - whoever would have imagined mere months before that she would have said those words and meant it? “Guy, I’m not ill.” His brow furrowed as she sent up a silent prayer and linked her fingers with his. “I should have told you before-“
Three quick knocks sounded from the door, and Guy cursed softly under his breath. “That’ll be the sheriff’s man,” he grumbled. “He can’t even let a man talk with his own wife in privacy in her own chamber for a few minutes.”
“We can talk later,” she said, her heart still beating fast at the prospect of revealing her untimely news.
He shook his head. “I’d rather talk now.”
Three more raps at the door sounded. Guy growled in frustration before bellowing, “Enter!”
“My lord,” the servant said as he entered the room hesitantly. “The Sheriff and the Earl of Arundel request your presence immediately in the hall.”
“I’ll be there,” Guy promised curtly, waving the man off with a dismissive hand. As he closed the door, Guy turned back and pressed, “Marian…”
“Not now,” she said, shaking her head. “Later, when we can speak more privately.”
Her husband sighed, leaning in and kissing her cheek before hauling himself off the bed. “I will try not to be long.”
“I understand,” she replied, lying back against the pillows. “I’m sure Aubigny is as insufferable as ever.”
“Worse,” Guy muttered as he gathered up his things. “He thinks he’s next to God now he’s Arundel.” He snorted. “If John has his way, he certainly will come close.”
She groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want to think of it.”
“Don’t, then,” he urged as he headed toward the door. “Rest. We’ll talk when I get back.”
Years later, Marian would reflect back on the events of the next few hours as combining to form one of the truly great turning points of her life. Had things been different - had Guy gotten back to her faster, or had she been able to better conceal her secrets - her entire life might have been changed. All of their lives might have been different. Even as an old woman, thinking about that afternoon would make Marian feel a little ill. But that’s what truly significant moments in a woman’s life do - they make her think twice, even three and four times, about her judgments and her decisions, and she never forgets them, never.
She drifted in and out of sleep for what seemed like forever. The dim light of an England December noon slid softly into the unexpected, quiet darkness of the sunset. Days were shorter now, and nights seemed sometimes interminable. Long after the sun had finally ducked under the horizon, and hearths all over Nottingham burst forth with flames, Marian woke, suddenly sensible of a key turning slowly in the heavy iron lock on the door.
She sat up straight, eyes growing wide and round as the hinges of the door protested softly. Her heart began to pound. “Who-“ she began, but no sound came from her throat. She swallowed hard. This time, she was able to speak. “Who’s there?”
There was no reply, save the soft, measured breath of the shadowed figure who slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. Marian swallowed again and gathered the bedclothes to her chest, trying to shield herself as best she could.
She did not know how late it was, but it must have been well past midnight. None of the servants had come to the room to stoke the fire as she slept, so the coals burned low in the hearth, casting a strange glow over the entire room. As the figure approached the bed, a spark cracked in the fire and lit up the room for the briefest of seconds - but it was long enough for Marian to make out the smirking, uneven face of the Sheriff.
“I have heard a little rumor,” he began lightly, wrapping a palm about the bedpost, “and I thought I’d come up here and have you tell me whether it is truth or fiction.”
His eyes glittered, and she watched in disgust as he smiled slowly and stepped closer and closer to her.
“Go away,” she said hoarsely, disgusted by the weakness she heard in her own voice.
“Why, Lady Gisborne,” Vasey replied, “why the cool reception? I thought we could have a little conversation … between old friends.”
“What do you want?” she asked, firmer this time.
His smile grew wider. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” he hissed, drawing close enough that he could reach out and touch her. Without warning, he pressed a hand against her abdomen. She recoiled at the sensation of his cold skin through her linen shift, backing away and stumbling off the bed and onto the floor.
“Get out of here,” she cried, scrambling to her feet.
“So it’s true,” Vasey crowed, eyes triumphant. He tipped his head back, bearing his awful teeth, and guffawed. “That inept fool did manage to get a child on you, didn’t he?”
She bristled. “You have no right to be in here.”
“No,” he answered firmly. “No, I think I have every right to be here. This is sort of my castle after all, isn’t it?” His eyes narrowed. “And now we’ll have a lovely little black-haired, snot-nosed cretin running about its halls.” He paused. “Unless it’s not Gisborne’s, of course. Have you been whoring about in the forest with the outlaws again, Lady Marian? Did you have a spare moment to spread your legs for Hood while the two of you were planning my demise?”
“Get out!” she shouted, snatching up a heavy taper from the bedside and lobbing it in his general direction. He ducked, eyes wide for a moment, and then advanced on her, cracking his knuckles.
“You are a problem,” he growled, “that could quickly be fixed…”
As she backed toward one tapestry-laden wall, her heart began to pound so fast and so furiously that she thought it might burst forth from her chest. From the depths of his garment, the sheriff brandished a dagger, rough-edged and shining. Just as he began to advance on her, however, both of them were startled by the creaking of the hinges at the door. She swallowed hard as her husband’s confused and angry face came into view.
“What’s all this?” he asked gruffly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
She realized she was trembling, and she hated herself for it. “Guy,” she murmured as Vasey turned back, his arms crossed over his chest, dagger dangling from his fingers.
“Gisborne,” the sheriff said silkily. He smiled as he turned toward Guy. “Your wife and I were just having a little chat.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Guy said, staring at the blade. “Marian?”
She shook her head, even while cautiously murmuring, “All is well.”
Guy’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he focused a stony face back on Vasey. “This is why you asked me to show Arundel the storehouse? So you could come and threaten my wife?”
“Threaten your wife?” the sheriff laughed. “Gisborne, your ignorance continues to astound me. She’s got you fooled, has she? Should have known - you always did reason more with cock than brain when it came to this one.”
Marian could feel the blood rising in her cheeks at his words, but her husband retained his composure. “Why are you here?” he pursued. “What were you doing to her?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” the sheriff replied with a small smile. “Trust me, Gisborne, it was nothing she didn’t welcome.”
The low-burning fire snapped audibly as Guy stood, staring at the sheriff. After a long moment, he shook his head and laughed mirthlessly. “Have you not done enough?” he asked. “You order her locked away in this room like a common criminal, and now you torment her, too?”
“It’s for her own good and everyone else’s,” Vasey snapped. Marian raised her eyebrows - it was so unlike the sheriff to try to justify any of his actions.
“How is it for her own good?” Guy challenged. “She is not a danger to you or to anyone else. She is my wife now.” He hesitated, drawing his eyes away from her before snarling, “She knows her place.”
Vasey rolled his eyes. “For the love of God, she really does have you fooled, doesn’t she?” He laughed. “Now that she lets you use her like a common whore, you can’t even see that she’s the same lying bitch who betrayed us, over and over again!”
Guy’s eyes flashed with anger. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it as the two men hurled insults at each other. She searched the room for options - bed against one wall, hearth on another, heavy desk and chair close to the window. There was a trunk - but that could not help her. She needed a weapon. She needed something…
“Do not presume,” Guy began, his voice drawing her attention as it raised and his tone tightened, “to know what is best for my wife.”
There was a pair of scissors near the bed, she suddenly remembered. Agnes had brought them in to alter the seam of a gown the next day. If only she could remember where…
“Because you have her on such a tight lead, Gisborne?” Vasey replied airily. “Please. I’d wager that babe in her belly was got with some ruffian in the forest, not with you in that bed.”
Marian’s heart stopped for a moment. Her husband’s face changed in that instant, eyes jumping back to her. Frantically, she shook her head, noticing the light from the fire glinting off a piece of metal by the bedpost. Guy’s face grew tighter, angrier.
“So you didn’t realize, did you?” Vasey surmised, laughing heartily. “Christ, you would be the only man in the castle who didn’t realize that your wife was with child. That’s so precious, Sir Guy. That’s so pathetic!”
Suddenly Guy was on him, gripping the shorter man by the throat fiercely. “You keep your mouth shut, you bastard,” he spat, lips curling around his teeth.
“Guy, don’t,” she urged, bending down and grasping the scissors, swallowing hard. “Please-“
“So, who do you think the little bastard will look like?” Vasey seethed, his lips twisting into a frightening, strange smile. “How desperate was your woman for a man? Allan? That little gnome of a man who roams the forest with Hood?” He took a gasping breath. “Perhaps you’ll have to feed and clothe Robin Hood’s own bastard…”
He was strangling the sheriff, she realized. Vasey began to make choking noises, and she panicked. She could not let Guy have this on his hands - he would never-
She screamed her husband’s name as she saw Vasey’s trembling hand raise the dagger and thrust it toward her husband’s body. The blade snagged on the leather of his trousers, and Guy let out a surprised groan as it tore into the skin of his thigh. As he released Vasey, he stumbled backward, and the sheriff advanced again, slicing the dagger across Guy’s cheek.
Marian shouted incoherently and surged forward, the protective instinct she’d marveled at on the night she’d accepted Guy’s marriage proposal rearing its head and roaring inside of her. As Guy stumbled back again, tripping on a rug and landing on the hard stone with a groan, Vasey raised the knife again, aiming-
“Vasey!” she shouted, and for some reason, the sheriff reacted, turning toward her, and she raised the sharp blades of the scissors and sank them straight down. As the points tore through cloth and soft flesh, sliding between ribs, Marian screamed, Guy’s own shout echoing somewhere far outside of her, and it was done.
***
They spoke minimally as they moved methodically to conceal the carnage she had wrought. At first, Guy let her help, directing her to bring him blankets from the cupboard and to begin to pack things in two large leather satchels. She looked away as he jerked the scissors from the sheriff’s lifeless body and locked them in a desk drawer. He replaced Vasey’s dagger in its sheath. Together, they lifted Vasey’s corpse onto a pile of blankets and rolled it up securely. Guy shoved the body under the bed, up against the stone wall, and let the curtains fall to the floor to conceal it.
The Nightwatchman had done it, she thought madly.
She had to pause as they bustled about when her vision swam and blurred. As she pressed her hand to her forehead, she felt Guy’s warmth behind her. Murmuring softly, he steered her toward the chair and pressed her to sit as he methodically and quickly gathered up what he could grab.
“Give me a moment. I’ll be back,” he muttered. “Don’t let anyone in.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes, letting her head drop into her folded arms on the desk’s top.
Though Guy was, in reality, only gone for a short while, Marian could have sworn he’d been out of the room for hours. She sat, motionless, draped across the desk’s surface, eyes fixed on her bed. She did not blink. And then she saw … There! - she saw it move. Again - just a fraction. And again. It shifted - just enough - no one else surely would have noticed, but she had been looking, she had been watching. But she could not move - the adrenaline had slowed in her veins, and if he were to rise, if he were to suck in another breath and come at her, it would not be undeserved. She had done it - no one else had. She had done it.
“Marian.” Guy’s voice was gentle, careful. He lifted her limp body into his arms, helping her to loop her arms about his neck. They dipped toward the ground - he picked up her satchel. And then he conveyed her out of the room, securely locking the door behind them. There was no one in the corridor - no one anywhere.
A single horse waited for them a darkened corner of the courtyard. She swayed a little on her feet when he set her down to strap the satchels to the horse. The gravel was cold and rough under her bare soles. “Steady now,” he warned, touching her lightly on the small of her back.
He dropped a cloak around her shoulders before he set her on the horse and mounted up to sit in front of her. “Hold on … we have to make haste,” he instructed, and she complied mutely, reaching around his middle and clasping her hands together tightly. Guy’s broad back blocked the rushing winter wind from her face as they rode. She closed her eyes - she swore she felt her belly burning. It was the oddest sensation.
They rode and rode until the horse could not manage any longer. She had no idea where they were - she wondered if Guy knew. He stopped them not at a common house or a tavern but at a farmhouse. She was lifted from the horse and placed in a soft bed of hay, told not to move. She nodded dumbly and waited for him to put the fear of God into some poor farmer, using the uniform of a black knight to secure a horse and anything else he might need.
“Marian, love,” Guy said, kneeling down before her on the stable floor. “Come now. We must go.”
She frowned, reaching up to touch the gash on his face. The blood had dried dark red; where she touched it, it cracked and fresh bright liquid burst forth. “You’re injured.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll be away soon. I promise.”
She swallowed and let her eyes fall shut. “But it is done now. Even if they come for us. Even if they come for me.”
“You did nothing that a hundred others would not gladly have done,” he corrected harshly. “I did it. Give me the blame. Let me take it.”
“Why?” she said. “I betrayed you the first time. I lied to you. I have told you lies you don’t even know about.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Because I love you,” he rasped. He paused again. “Is it true, Marian?”
“Is what true?”
“Are you carrying my - are you with child?”
She opened her eyes and leveled her gaze to his. Grasping his hand, she peeled away the leather glove and slipped it under the cloak, pressing it to her abdomen against the thin linen of her shift. “There,” she murmured. “Just there.”
He exhaled slowly, and his body seemed to sag, as if sinking under the weight of something heavier than he. “Come,” he whispered, gathering her up again. “Not much longer now.”
They rode on until dawn, farther and father from Nottingham and Robin and everything she knew.
***
TO BE CONTINUED