An Exchange of Vows: Chapter One
An Exchange of Vows
Chapter One
Author: Violet
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Guy/Marian (Robin/Marian)
Canon: Up to 2.10, "Walkabout"
Summary: Marian brokers a deal for Nottingham and England.
Note: The Bishop of Derby is a fictional character with no historical counterpart. The prologue to this story is available here.
***
CHAPTER ONE
AUGUST 1193
When she finally felt collected enough to return to the castle, Marian realized that it had gotten unforgivably late. The glen was now a shadowy otherworld, with the first fireflies beginning to spark and swoop among the tree-lined boundaries of the open space. The light was turning green-yellow, and if she didn’t hurry back to the castle as fast as she could, she wasn’t sure she would make it out of the wood before complete darkness settled in and swallowed her up whole.
She hurried to her feet and gathered up the long skirts of her tunic, turning quickly about to remember which way she needed to run to get to Nottingham. Momentarily disoriented, she shook her head and sucked in a deep breath before plunging into the wood.
If she had thought the glen was like another world, the wood itself was like a terrifying dream in the twilight. Shadows played tricks on the mind, conjuring up obstacles that were not really there and hiding some that were. She cried out when she took a misstep and rolled her ankle, sinking to the ground in reaction to the sudden, sharp pain.
Grimacing, she used a nearby tree as leverage to help herself back to a standing position. Robin, she thought desperately. How could he have left me here? How could he have done any of this?
She shifted a little weight to her injured leg, testing it to see if she could stand. The action sent a dull ache running up the side of her leg, but she did not buckle. Surely the bone was not broken. With a heavy gasp, she lurched forward, determined to make it out of the forest before the last little sparks of light that peeked through the heavy ceiling of trees died out completely. She would not be lost. She would not let herself be.
With a soft cry, she picked up the pace, more careful with her footfalls this time. She grunted as she limped ahead, trying not to startle at the faint sounds of the forest animals moving about, gearing up for nightfall. The soft hoot of an owl, the gentle scurrying sounds of mice and squirrels, the flutter and flap of birds’ wings - she could not let those things frighten her. There would be far more frightening sounds to endure back at the castle if she did not hurry - and perhaps even if she did.
She felt an immediate sense of relief wash over her body as she emerged from the depths of the forest into the clearing that would lead her to Nottingham. She should have known that she would be able to find her way - her sense memories of the forest were so powerful that she might even have been able to make it through in the darkest hours of the night. Wincing, she made her way down the earthen path toward the castle as quickly as her hobbled ankle would allow.
The entire place was abuzz with activity. In the anguish of the afternoon’s events, she had almost forgotten about the feasting that evening. As she tiptoed past the heavy doors to the hall, she could hear the sounds of wooden chairs being rearranged within. The smell of newly-lit fires permeated the air and mixed with the aromas coming from the kitchen: smoked venison, sweet figs - her favorite, something she rarely tasted except on occasions like this - rising bread, and bitter ale. Her stomach rumbled as she turned and mounted the staircase, her fingers searching for purchase in the crevices and cracks of the stone walls as she carefully made her way toward her chamber.
It was warm in the room; the evening fire had already been lit, and the flames crackled and spit as they ignited the wood. The light from the fire made the scenes dance on the heavy tapestries that draped the walls. One of her serving girls was nervously rearranging an ornate gown on the bed, and she whirled around in surprise when she heard the door creaking.
“My lady!” the girl exclaimed. “Ma’am, we’ve been searching all over the castle for you!”
Marian frowned. “Who has been searching for me, Agnes?”
“Everyone,” she replied vaguely. “Sir Guy wanted to speak with you when he returned this afternoon, and he set everyone who was free around looking for you.”
“I took a walk,” Marian answered numbly. “When do they expect us at the table?”
“Very soon,” Agnes said.
“Well, let’s hurry this up, then,” Marian sighed, collapsing on the edge of her bed and gesturing to Edith to brush the tangles from her hair.
“Your cheeks are all pink, ma’am,” Agnes observed.
Marian bristled. “I think we should not talk to finish this more quickly,” she suggested, closing her eyes. Her cheeks did feel tight, and she wondered briefly if it was from staying out in the sunlight too long or crying shamefully like a child.
She focused on the fire as Agnes arranged her hair, trying to imagine how she would even broach the subject of marriage to Guy. She could have killed Robin for putting her in such an impossible position - just a simple command to get Gisborne to marry her and no plan of action at all.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed when Agnes moved to a table in the corner and brought forth a basin of water. Only when the girl raised the hem of her skirts just enough to reach her mistress’s feet did Marian register what was happening.
“Don’t!” she cried out just as Agnes exclaimed, “My lady!”
“Your ankle!” Agnes observed. “I should send for the surgeon.”
“Don’t you dare, Agnes,” Marian said, striking the bedcovers with her open palm. “I’m absolutely fine. I only twisted it while I was out walking.”
“It’s so swollen-“
There was a heavy knock at the door. Agnes dropped the hem of Marian’s tunic and rose quickly. “Marian, are you there?” a familiar, low voice called out - it could be no one but Sir Guy.
“I am here,” she confirmed. “But I am still dressing for dinner. I will be downstairs shortly.”
“May I come in?” he persisted.
“No,” she replied firmly, ignoring Agnes’s overly-familiar raised eyebrow. “I will meet you in the hall.”
“The sheriff is impatient; the bishop will not want to wait,” Guy reminded her. “Please hurry.”
“All right,” she called back, standing carefully. In a softer voice, she asked, “Agnes, do you think you could bandage my ankle just enough to stop the swelling? Then it would feel just fine.”
Agnes looked skeptical, even as she fetched a roll of linen bandages from one of the room’s heavy wooden wardrobe closets. “I still think we should get you a surgeon,” she muttered, rolling the bandage around the injured area and securing it quickly.
They moved quickly; soon enough Marian’s hair was carefully drawn back from her face and plaited, her very best scarlet tunic pulled over her head and laced, and her ankle manageably shoved into least-scuffed leather slippers. Agnes was helping her back down the staircase to the great hall when Guy suddenly appeared at the foot of the stairs, his face contorting in sudden confusion.
“Marian, good Lord,” he said, hurrying toward her. “What’s happened?”
“It’s all right, I’m fine,” she assured him. “Thank you, Agnes, Sir Guy will help me the rest of the way.”
“My lady,” Agnes said obediently, scurrying back up the stairs - she had always been afraid of Lord Gisborne. He did cut an imperious figure. Even though Marian had worn her best finery for such an occasion, Guy was still encased in his usual leather, though he had fastened a green cloak about his shoulders for the evening.
He frowned as Marian leaned on his arm. “You’re not fine,” he surmised. “Is that why you were missing for so long today?”
She rolled her eyes, absolutely exasperated. Robin wanted her to live this life indefinitely, did he? Wanted her every decision questioned and her every move tracked like a boar being hunted for sport? “I was not missing,” she answered peevishly. “I went for a walk, and I twisted my ankle. I know it’s not broken. I’m fine.”
“You should have taken a guard to help you,” Guy muttered, drawing her arm more comfortably into the crook of his own as they wound their way through a stone-clad corridor toward the noise and clamor of the hall.
“I am not a prisoner,” she bristled. “I don’t need guards.”
He opened his mouth as if to respond, but closed it quickly again as if thinking better of it. They had arrived outside the tall, heavy doors to the hall, and a servant quickly drew one open, admitting the pair to the large, crowded room.
The entirety of Nottingham’s remaining elite seemed to have been invited to this special feast for the visiting Bishop of Derby; Marian and Guy had to wend their way through groups of richly-clad nobles, colorful musicians, and bustling servants to get to their places near the head of the long table. “If anyone asks you where you were, lie,” Guy advised her, his lips close to her ear as he eased her into her chair. “The Sheriff is not having a good day.”
The Pact, she assumed. Vasey had to know that it was missing by now. She merely nodded at Guy’s suggestion and reached for the shared glass of ale between her place and her neighbor’s. The bitter, thin liquid slipped easily down her throat as she sat back and regarded the spectacle.
The sheriff had spared no expense for this visitor; the new Bishop of Derby was the son of one of his old cronies, and the young cleric was a promising ally in Vasey’s attempts to confiscate more and more property from the English people. The new bishop, she had heard, was not so pious as some. His reported favorite pastimes were consuming both expensive spirits and expensive women. It was little wonder, she mused, that Vasey had ordered the table laden with bottles and the chairs laden with the prettiest lasses in the village.
She watched as Guy carefully avoided a juggling fool and approached the sheriff. Vasey’s face was already scarlet - with drink, she assumed, because ire most often made him smug and calm, not red in the face - and she saw Guy reel back a bit when the older man spoke near his face. Her brow furrowed as she observed Guy’s behavior when under Vasey’s thumb. The man who she had seen compromising and cooperating and working with the townspeople of Nottingham in the sheriff’s absence seemed transformed back into the cold, distant, maddening lackey that she’d known for so long now.
He looked up suddenly and caught her eye; she averted her gaze quickly, embarrassed to have been found staring. She focused her attention instead on the guests who were beginning to arrive at their designated seats. She recognized many of the people assembled - some were old employees of her father, some were powerful men from neighboring shires and villages. The women were all dressed in their best clothes, which, to Marian’s private shame, were much more ornate and beautiful than her own. She glanced down at the shabby edging of her best gown and frowned.
Soon a young blond woman was pushing her way into the chair beside Marian’s and chattering loudly to the woman on her other side. If there was one thing that Marian hated most about dinners like these, it was the forced female companionship created by the table order. The women who attended these banquets seemed only to want to gossip about whose bed each guest had inhabited the night before and where the best shops in the little village were located. She had nothing in common with them, and it was always with surprise that she realized she’d much rather be talking to Guy.
She endured the meal, even while bumping elbows with the obnoxious woman beside her. She was just swallowing the last bit of sweet custard when Vasey stood and unsteadily lifted his glass to toast the young bishop. “May you have the pleasure of any wanton wench in the room,” Vasey gargled triumphantly, smirking. Marian wore her own smirk when she saw Guy roll his eyes briefly at his master’s behavior.
“In fact,” Vasey continued, slurring his words, “there is one woman that I think you should have this very evening. She has been waiting in the castle for some man to overpower her for months now. Lady - Lady Marian, haven’t you?” He smiled smugly. “You have the face of a woman who needs to be mastered, and if Gisborne couldn’t do it, surely our dear bishop will do with God’s help.”
Marian was certain that her entire body flushed redder than rubies as the sheriff singled her out. She had no idea what to say. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the sheriff searching the banquet table for her. Guy’s gaze was on her immediately, and his eyes mirrored her shock. “I am...” she began, but pressed her lips together when Guy stood and motioned for her to be quiet.
“I think we should retire, Sir, to hear the minstrels again,” Guy pressed, towering over the sheriff.
“I think you should shut up!” Vasey roared in response. He slammed his goblet of wine down with such force that the entire table trembled and some of the purple liquid sloshed over the rim. “Just because you couldn’t handle her doesn’t mean that someone else can’t, Gisborne.” The sheriff swayed a little on his feet as he pointed accusingly at Guy. “You really can’t be trusted with anything, can you? You try to marry yourself off to that spitfire, and you fail. I ask you to find that bastard Hood, and you fail again and again and again!”
“Sheriff-“
“Silence!” he bellowed, reaching down and tossing the morsels of remaining food from his trencher. Marian watched in horror as Vasey raised the wooden slab and struck Guy across the side of his face. Blood sprang red from his nose almost immediately, and Marian had to grip the edges of the table to keep herself from jumping to her feet. She was shocked that the impulse to run to his aid was so visceral and strong.
The sheriff reeled back, laughing, as Guy stood stoically before him. “You are worthless to me,” he seethed, his maniacal smile pulling his lips back to reveal beady, pointed teeth. “Get out of my sight.” He jumped up and down. “Get out of my sight!”
Calmly, Guy stepped back from the table and strode slowly from the room, earning gasps and surprised chatter from the women as he passed. He did not look at her when he walked past her chair, but when the sheriff roared to life again at the head of the table, she took the opportunity to slip out of the hall as stealthily as she could with one good foot.
***
She found him alone in his chamber save for one manservant who was soaking strips of linen in a wooden basin of water. The door was cracked open just an inch, and she took the opportunity to step inside without asking permission. She hesitated just for a moment before walking in - she knew what she had to do, and it wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant.
Guy did not raise his head to look at her, even when the servant startled and stammered, “My lady!”
“Go away, Marian,” Guy muttered, his eyes fixed tightly on some flickering spot in the fire.
“I’ll take care of this,” she said to the servant, who raised an eyebrow and looked nervously over at his master.
“Marian,” Guy growled, but she persisted, adding, “Thank you, that will be all,” as the servant scurried from the room.
“You should go,” Guy pressed as she moved to the table in front of him, dipped her hands in the water, and wrung out one of the bandages.
“Be quiet,” she ordered softly. “Look at me.” When he hesitated, she reached out a hand and gently touched his hair. “Please, Guy.”
Slowly, he turned his face toward her and leveled her with a challenging gaze. She bit back a gasp. It was terrible. His cheek was already turning an especially vivid shade of purple, and the blow had opened deep gashes in his eyebrow and on his cheekbone. She wondered if his nose was broken. “Oh,” she breathed out.
He smirked, and then grimaced as he glanced in the smoky glass before him. “Doesn’t look too good, does it?”
She sucked in a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. She steadily met his gaze in the mirror. “I’ve seen worse.”
He snorted. “Of course, you have, Lady Marian.”
She bit her lip and surveyed the damage again, trying to decide what to work on first. “Turn around,” she suggested. “I can’t reach.”
“Perhaps you should go call the man back,” he suggested as he turned toward her.
She shook her head. “I want to do it,” she murmured, lifting one of the linen strips to his face and applying it carefully to his cheek. He hissed in pain, and she hushed him quietly. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and she noticed for the first time that he had discarded his cloak and his leather coat, and sat before her only in a black woven shirt.
She worked as quickly as she could, soaking and wiping away blood and cleansing the cuts. She frowned when she came to his nose. “Do you think it’s broken?” she asked, breaking their silence.
“I don’t think so,” he rasped. “I’ve broken it before, and it felt different.”
“Did Vasey do it that time, too?” she asked mildly, trying but failing to conceal the spite in her voice.
“Don’t start this, Marian,” he warned. “We’ve discussed this enough-“
“How can you be loyal to a man who strikes you that way?” she asked. “How can you watch him rape and pillage the countryside and stand by silent?”
“I owe him,” Guy replied. “You know that.”
“There is no debt that must be repaid for so long and in such a way,” she said petulantly. “He is cruel to you. How can you stay in his service?”
“He is all I have, you know that,” Guy protested. She could almost feel the anger rising in him. “I have no one else in my life.”
She hesitated, and took a breath, looking over his head to regard her own face in the mirror. Steady, Marian, she thought. She felt like she was going to be ill, but she swallowed the heat that rose in her throat and began softly, “You could have others in your life, if you wanted to.”
That got Gisborne’s attention. “Is that so?” he asked, regarding her steadily.
She shifted a little on her feet. “You asked me during the siege to marry you,” she managed. Don’t cry, don’t choke, just do this, she told herself.
“I did,” he said softly, as if speaking too loudly would ruin the moment. “You didn’t answer me.”
“May I answer you now?” she whispered.
“Marian-“
“I will marry you,” she said, her voice cracking just a little on the last word - her mind could not help but return to the moment when she last uttered that sentiment, to another man, in another place. “You told me once that you wanted to build a home. You can build one with me.”
The expression on Guy’s face was an absolute enigma. He looked stunned - he looked happy - he looked torn and confused. “What’s brought this on?” he asked in a low voice.
“Nothing,” she lied. “I thought about things. I made a decision.”
His voice was guarded. “I don’t believe you.”
This reaction was one that she had not expected. “You don’t believe me?”
He watched her so carefully that it made her uncomfortable. “Would you? You have fought me for months. You condemn Vasey’s actions tonight, but you are the one who struck me during our last attempt at a wedding. You have constantly tried to undermine and evade me.” She bowed her head - every accusation was true. “Why are you doing this, Marian?”
She floundered. She had thought that he would be elated … she never imagined that he’d question her motives. “Because you asked me, and I decided to agree.”
“Someone’s putting you up to this,” he decided, sitting back. He was a frightful sight, with his stern expression and his mottled face. “Who is it?”
“No one!” she exclaimed in frustration. “I know my own mind, Guy!”
“I do not doubt that,” he said, rising and pacing slowly across the floor. “But I know that you have ulterior motives for everything concerning me.”
She couldn’t deny it. “Guy…”
“Is it Hood?” he asked suddenly, as if he’d just made the connection in his head. “He saw that I cared for you when we brought him to Locksley, and he thought he could use you to get to me?”
“I decided to marry you of my own volition,” she defended weakly, sinking into his vacated chair. “I saw during the siege that you could be a good man - as long as you aren’t under Vasey’s thumb. I saw the best of you, the kind of man who could be a good husband-“
“It seems the both of us are under the influence of others,” Guy growled. “What does Hood want from me? Why is he dangling you in front of me like this?”
“I am not a pawn in a game!” she shouted, immediately ashamed of the outburst. “I would not marry you if I had not chosen to myself.”
He shook his head. “The Pact is gone - surely this is the moment when the sheriff is most vulnerable. If they could tear me away from him, too…”
She stood and crossed the room, standing as close to him as she dared. “I will not deny that I want to see you away from that man - he is insane, Guy, and he is dangerous. I want - want to marry you free of the sheriff.” She reached up and gently caressed his unmarked cheek.
He took her hand and gently replaced it at her side. “I know when you are lying to me, Marian. Why did he ask you? And why did you agree?”
This wasn’t working. She turned away from him and rubbed her upper arms briskly. Maybe honesty was the best policy in this case - in any event, it was something she had not tried before with him. “The king is coming back to England,” she said in a low voice. “The ransom money is almost raised. Vassals are going to Germany to accompany him back. He wants to hold a council at Nottingham, and the barons want to secure the shire.”
She felt Guy approach her, could feel his warmth at her back. “So you’re the bargaining tool.”
“They get a Nottingham free of the sheriff and with no threat from the Black Knight who wants Richard dead,” she said, almost unable to believe that she was telling him so much. “And you get the marriage you’ve wanted.” She sucked in a breath and prepared a lie. “And Richard has intimated that he’d be willing to consider the restoration of your lands and your title.”
There was a long silence, an intake of breath. “That’s … that’s impossible.”
“No,” she said. “Nothing’s impossible. Your help in ridding Nottingham of Richard’s enemies would be more than worth the cost of that land.”
“It’s hunting ground now for the kings,” Guy replied angrily. “Our home is used as a lodge. Our lands are stripped of their resources, all for the pleasure of the monarch.”
“But it could all be yours again,” she pressed. “Including me.”
His hand was on her shoulder, turning her toward him slowly. “And you were willing to agree to this?”
“I want peace in Nottingham,” she whispered. “And in England.”
“You’re willing to sacrifice yourself to me for that?” His eyes were dark.
“Yes,” she said, barely any sound coming from her lips. She stared at the floor until he lifted her chin with a single finger.
“You realize that you’ve put yourself, your friends, and their cause in danger by even telling me this,” he said, his fingers moving to her throat, caressing her skin gently. She stiffened as he curled his hand around her neck. “You realize that I could go to the sheriff, tell him that you know where the Pact is. He would have you tortured, maybe killed. I could do it.”
She swallowed hard, trying not to meet his gaze. “I trust you,” she rasped, “not to betray me.” Suddenly braver, she looks straight into his eyes. “I trust that you would not hurt me. And hurting them would hurt me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” His eyes burned into hers.
“Be - because you love me,” she whispered fiercely.
Something in his face changed. He moved forward and pushed her hair off her face, cupping her face in his hands. He stooped and brushed his lips against her forehead, her cheeks - so reminiscent of his actions the afternoon that her father had been murdered. His hands moved to tangle in her hair as his lips brushed against hers, first soft as a whisper, then more firmly.
She let out a quick breath and reached forward tentatively, landing one hand square on his hip. She closed her eyes, trembling, and gently began to respond to the kiss, pressing back against him just slightly, parting her mouth in rhythm with his own. She didn’t know what to do with her other hand, so she reached up and rested it on the soft fabric of his shirt, gripping slightly. When his mouth opened against hers, she met the tentative touch of his tongue with her own and felt rather than heard the soft sound he made in response.
Kissing him was so different from kissing Robin. She wasn’t sure what it was about Sir Guy that made the pit of her stomach drop out when his tongue gently caressed hers or when his fingers teased the nape of her neck. He tasted warm and salty, and the muscles of his stomach contracted quickly as she moved her fingers across them. As their lips met and parted, over and over again, faster and then slower, gentle and then more insistently, she felt her entire body tighten and swell.
He pulled back from her then, searching her face. He shook his head. “You love another man.”
She was silent. He pressed on, “You do not love me.”
“I will be your wife,” she replied simply.
“You will be,” he confirmed.
“And you will help to secure Nottingham?” she pressed. “You will declare loyalty to Richard? You will break with Vasey?”
“I will declare loyalty to no one but you,” he offered. “But I will do no more to hinder the king’s return.”
“And Vasey?”
“He would have us both killed if he knew we were even speaking this way,” Guy replied. “But I will not protect him.” He paused. “That is, if you are willing to accept my own conditions.”
She took a deep breath. “What concessions?”
“You will be a faithful wife. You will not betray me,” he began. He took in a sharp breath. “You will share my bed. You will give me children.”
She blanched. “I - I will,” she choked out, her head swimming with Robin’s promise to come home and free her. Suddenly that promise seemed so much more like a dream.
He shook his head. “You must love him very much.”
“Who?” she asked, her brow wrinkling.
“The man who asked you to do this,” he clarified, tracing her collarbone with one finger.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “There is no man.” She looked at him defiantly.
He raised an eyebrow and snorted. “And no more lies from you, my lady.” He stepped back from her. “You should go to your room before someone finds you here.”
“But your face,” she began weakly, gesturing toward the remaining cuts that had yet to be cleaned.
“The servant will do it,” he said. “Go, Marian. I will discuss arrangements for the marriage with the priest at St. Mary’s tomorrow.”
“Good,” she replied, backing toward the door. “Thank you.”
He gave her a strange look. “I can protect you, Marian, if you’ll let me.”
What she saw in his eyes unnerved her - love, hope, and more than a good dose of lust. He wanted her maybe more than anything else in the world, and that frightened her.
“I know you will,” she whispered as she opened the door and fled, limping a little, back toward her own chamber. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she perched on the edge of her bed, trying to imagine what was to come next.
***
TO BE CONTINUED
Chapter One
Author: Violet
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Guy/Marian (Robin/Marian)
Canon: Up to 2.10, "Walkabout"
Summary: Marian brokers a deal for Nottingham and England.
Note: The Bishop of Derby is a fictional character with no historical counterpart. The prologue to this story is available here.
***
CHAPTER ONE
AUGUST 1193
When she finally felt collected enough to return to the castle, Marian realized that it had gotten unforgivably late. The glen was now a shadowy otherworld, with the first fireflies beginning to spark and swoop among the tree-lined boundaries of the open space. The light was turning green-yellow, and if she didn’t hurry back to the castle as fast as she could, she wasn’t sure she would make it out of the wood before complete darkness settled in and swallowed her up whole.
She hurried to her feet and gathered up the long skirts of her tunic, turning quickly about to remember which way she needed to run to get to Nottingham. Momentarily disoriented, she shook her head and sucked in a deep breath before plunging into the wood.
If she had thought the glen was like another world, the wood itself was like a terrifying dream in the twilight. Shadows played tricks on the mind, conjuring up obstacles that were not really there and hiding some that were. She cried out when she took a misstep and rolled her ankle, sinking to the ground in reaction to the sudden, sharp pain.
Grimacing, she used a nearby tree as leverage to help herself back to a standing position. Robin, she thought desperately. How could he have left me here? How could he have done any of this?
She shifted a little weight to her injured leg, testing it to see if she could stand. The action sent a dull ache running up the side of her leg, but she did not buckle. Surely the bone was not broken. With a heavy gasp, she lurched forward, determined to make it out of the forest before the last little sparks of light that peeked through the heavy ceiling of trees died out completely. She would not be lost. She would not let herself be.
With a soft cry, she picked up the pace, more careful with her footfalls this time. She grunted as she limped ahead, trying not to startle at the faint sounds of the forest animals moving about, gearing up for nightfall. The soft hoot of an owl, the gentle scurrying sounds of mice and squirrels, the flutter and flap of birds’ wings - she could not let those things frighten her. There would be far more frightening sounds to endure back at the castle if she did not hurry - and perhaps even if she did.
She felt an immediate sense of relief wash over her body as she emerged from the depths of the forest into the clearing that would lead her to Nottingham. She should have known that she would be able to find her way - her sense memories of the forest were so powerful that she might even have been able to make it through in the darkest hours of the night. Wincing, she made her way down the earthen path toward the castle as quickly as her hobbled ankle would allow.
The entire place was abuzz with activity. In the anguish of the afternoon’s events, she had almost forgotten about the feasting that evening. As she tiptoed past the heavy doors to the hall, she could hear the sounds of wooden chairs being rearranged within. The smell of newly-lit fires permeated the air and mixed with the aromas coming from the kitchen: smoked venison, sweet figs - her favorite, something she rarely tasted except on occasions like this - rising bread, and bitter ale. Her stomach rumbled as she turned and mounted the staircase, her fingers searching for purchase in the crevices and cracks of the stone walls as she carefully made her way toward her chamber.
It was warm in the room; the evening fire had already been lit, and the flames crackled and spit as they ignited the wood. The light from the fire made the scenes dance on the heavy tapestries that draped the walls. One of her serving girls was nervously rearranging an ornate gown on the bed, and she whirled around in surprise when she heard the door creaking.
“My lady!” the girl exclaimed. “Ma’am, we’ve been searching all over the castle for you!”
Marian frowned. “Who has been searching for me, Agnes?”
“Everyone,” she replied vaguely. “Sir Guy wanted to speak with you when he returned this afternoon, and he set everyone who was free around looking for you.”
“I took a walk,” Marian answered numbly. “When do they expect us at the table?”
“Very soon,” Agnes said.
“Well, let’s hurry this up, then,” Marian sighed, collapsing on the edge of her bed and gesturing to Edith to brush the tangles from her hair.
“Your cheeks are all pink, ma’am,” Agnes observed.
Marian bristled. “I think we should not talk to finish this more quickly,” she suggested, closing her eyes. Her cheeks did feel tight, and she wondered briefly if it was from staying out in the sunlight too long or crying shamefully like a child.
She focused on the fire as Agnes arranged her hair, trying to imagine how she would even broach the subject of marriage to Guy. She could have killed Robin for putting her in such an impossible position - just a simple command to get Gisborne to marry her and no plan of action at all.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed when Agnes moved to a table in the corner and brought forth a basin of water. Only when the girl raised the hem of her skirts just enough to reach her mistress’s feet did Marian register what was happening.
“Don’t!” she cried out just as Agnes exclaimed, “My lady!”
“Your ankle!” Agnes observed. “I should send for the surgeon.”
“Don’t you dare, Agnes,” Marian said, striking the bedcovers with her open palm. “I’m absolutely fine. I only twisted it while I was out walking.”
“It’s so swollen-“
There was a heavy knock at the door. Agnes dropped the hem of Marian’s tunic and rose quickly. “Marian, are you there?” a familiar, low voice called out - it could be no one but Sir Guy.
“I am here,” she confirmed. “But I am still dressing for dinner. I will be downstairs shortly.”
“May I come in?” he persisted.
“No,” she replied firmly, ignoring Agnes’s overly-familiar raised eyebrow. “I will meet you in the hall.”
“The sheriff is impatient; the bishop will not want to wait,” Guy reminded her. “Please hurry.”
“All right,” she called back, standing carefully. In a softer voice, she asked, “Agnes, do you think you could bandage my ankle just enough to stop the swelling? Then it would feel just fine.”
Agnes looked skeptical, even as she fetched a roll of linen bandages from one of the room’s heavy wooden wardrobe closets. “I still think we should get you a surgeon,” she muttered, rolling the bandage around the injured area and securing it quickly.
They moved quickly; soon enough Marian’s hair was carefully drawn back from her face and plaited, her very best scarlet tunic pulled over her head and laced, and her ankle manageably shoved into least-scuffed leather slippers. Agnes was helping her back down the staircase to the great hall when Guy suddenly appeared at the foot of the stairs, his face contorting in sudden confusion.
“Marian, good Lord,” he said, hurrying toward her. “What’s happened?”
“It’s all right, I’m fine,” she assured him. “Thank you, Agnes, Sir Guy will help me the rest of the way.”
“My lady,” Agnes said obediently, scurrying back up the stairs - she had always been afraid of Lord Gisborne. He did cut an imperious figure. Even though Marian had worn her best finery for such an occasion, Guy was still encased in his usual leather, though he had fastened a green cloak about his shoulders for the evening.
He frowned as Marian leaned on his arm. “You’re not fine,” he surmised. “Is that why you were missing for so long today?”
She rolled her eyes, absolutely exasperated. Robin wanted her to live this life indefinitely, did he? Wanted her every decision questioned and her every move tracked like a boar being hunted for sport? “I was not missing,” she answered peevishly. “I went for a walk, and I twisted my ankle. I know it’s not broken. I’m fine.”
“You should have taken a guard to help you,” Guy muttered, drawing her arm more comfortably into the crook of his own as they wound their way through a stone-clad corridor toward the noise and clamor of the hall.
“I am not a prisoner,” she bristled. “I don’t need guards.”
He opened his mouth as if to respond, but closed it quickly again as if thinking better of it. They had arrived outside the tall, heavy doors to the hall, and a servant quickly drew one open, admitting the pair to the large, crowded room.
The entirety of Nottingham’s remaining elite seemed to have been invited to this special feast for the visiting Bishop of Derby; Marian and Guy had to wend their way through groups of richly-clad nobles, colorful musicians, and bustling servants to get to their places near the head of the long table. “If anyone asks you where you were, lie,” Guy advised her, his lips close to her ear as he eased her into her chair. “The Sheriff is not having a good day.”
The Pact, she assumed. Vasey had to know that it was missing by now. She merely nodded at Guy’s suggestion and reached for the shared glass of ale between her place and her neighbor’s. The bitter, thin liquid slipped easily down her throat as she sat back and regarded the spectacle.
The sheriff had spared no expense for this visitor; the new Bishop of Derby was the son of one of his old cronies, and the young cleric was a promising ally in Vasey’s attempts to confiscate more and more property from the English people. The new bishop, she had heard, was not so pious as some. His reported favorite pastimes were consuming both expensive spirits and expensive women. It was little wonder, she mused, that Vasey had ordered the table laden with bottles and the chairs laden with the prettiest lasses in the village.
She watched as Guy carefully avoided a juggling fool and approached the sheriff. Vasey’s face was already scarlet - with drink, she assumed, because ire most often made him smug and calm, not red in the face - and she saw Guy reel back a bit when the older man spoke near his face. Her brow furrowed as she observed Guy’s behavior when under Vasey’s thumb. The man who she had seen compromising and cooperating and working with the townspeople of Nottingham in the sheriff’s absence seemed transformed back into the cold, distant, maddening lackey that she’d known for so long now.
He looked up suddenly and caught her eye; she averted her gaze quickly, embarrassed to have been found staring. She focused her attention instead on the guests who were beginning to arrive at their designated seats. She recognized many of the people assembled - some were old employees of her father, some were powerful men from neighboring shires and villages. The women were all dressed in their best clothes, which, to Marian’s private shame, were much more ornate and beautiful than her own. She glanced down at the shabby edging of her best gown and frowned.
Soon a young blond woman was pushing her way into the chair beside Marian’s and chattering loudly to the woman on her other side. If there was one thing that Marian hated most about dinners like these, it was the forced female companionship created by the table order. The women who attended these banquets seemed only to want to gossip about whose bed each guest had inhabited the night before and where the best shops in the little village were located. She had nothing in common with them, and it was always with surprise that she realized she’d much rather be talking to Guy.
She endured the meal, even while bumping elbows with the obnoxious woman beside her. She was just swallowing the last bit of sweet custard when Vasey stood and unsteadily lifted his glass to toast the young bishop. “May you have the pleasure of any wanton wench in the room,” Vasey gargled triumphantly, smirking. Marian wore her own smirk when she saw Guy roll his eyes briefly at his master’s behavior.
“In fact,” Vasey continued, slurring his words, “there is one woman that I think you should have this very evening. She has been waiting in the castle for some man to overpower her for months now. Lady - Lady Marian, haven’t you?” He smiled smugly. “You have the face of a woman who needs to be mastered, and if Gisborne couldn’t do it, surely our dear bishop will do with God’s help.”
Marian was certain that her entire body flushed redder than rubies as the sheriff singled her out. She had no idea what to say. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the sheriff searching the banquet table for her. Guy’s gaze was on her immediately, and his eyes mirrored her shock. “I am...” she began, but pressed her lips together when Guy stood and motioned for her to be quiet.
“I think we should retire, Sir, to hear the minstrels again,” Guy pressed, towering over the sheriff.
“I think you should shut up!” Vasey roared in response. He slammed his goblet of wine down with such force that the entire table trembled and some of the purple liquid sloshed over the rim. “Just because you couldn’t handle her doesn’t mean that someone else can’t, Gisborne.” The sheriff swayed a little on his feet as he pointed accusingly at Guy. “You really can’t be trusted with anything, can you? You try to marry yourself off to that spitfire, and you fail. I ask you to find that bastard Hood, and you fail again and again and again!”
“Sheriff-“
“Silence!” he bellowed, reaching down and tossing the morsels of remaining food from his trencher. Marian watched in horror as Vasey raised the wooden slab and struck Guy across the side of his face. Blood sprang red from his nose almost immediately, and Marian had to grip the edges of the table to keep herself from jumping to her feet. She was shocked that the impulse to run to his aid was so visceral and strong.
The sheriff reeled back, laughing, as Guy stood stoically before him. “You are worthless to me,” he seethed, his maniacal smile pulling his lips back to reveal beady, pointed teeth. “Get out of my sight.” He jumped up and down. “Get out of my sight!”
Calmly, Guy stepped back from the table and strode slowly from the room, earning gasps and surprised chatter from the women as he passed. He did not look at her when he walked past her chair, but when the sheriff roared to life again at the head of the table, she took the opportunity to slip out of the hall as stealthily as she could with one good foot.
***
She found him alone in his chamber save for one manservant who was soaking strips of linen in a wooden basin of water. The door was cracked open just an inch, and she took the opportunity to step inside without asking permission. She hesitated just for a moment before walking in - she knew what she had to do, and it wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant.
Guy did not raise his head to look at her, even when the servant startled and stammered, “My lady!”
“Go away, Marian,” Guy muttered, his eyes fixed tightly on some flickering spot in the fire.
“I’ll take care of this,” she said to the servant, who raised an eyebrow and looked nervously over at his master.
“Marian,” Guy growled, but she persisted, adding, “Thank you, that will be all,” as the servant scurried from the room.
“You should go,” Guy pressed as she moved to the table in front of him, dipped her hands in the water, and wrung out one of the bandages.
“Be quiet,” she ordered softly. “Look at me.” When he hesitated, she reached out a hand and gently touched his hair. “Please, Guy.”
Slowly, he turned his face toward her and leveled her with a challenging gaze. She bit back a gasp. It was terrible. His cheek was already turning an especially vivid shade of purple, and the blow had opened deep gashes in his eyebrow and on his cheekbone. She wondered if his nose was broken. “Oh,” she breathed out.
He smirked, and then grimaced as he glanced in the smoky glass before him. “Doesn’t look too good, does it?”
She sucked in a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. She steadily met his gaze in the mirror. “I’ve seen worse.”
He snorted. “Of course, you have, Lady Marian.”
She bit her lip and surveyed the damage again, trying to decide what to work on first. “Turn around,” she suggested. “I can’t reach.”
“Perhaps you should go call the man back,” he suggested as he turned toward her.
She shook her head. “I want to do it,” she murmured, lifting one of the linen strips to his face and applying it carefully to his cheek. He hissed in pain, and she hushed him quietly. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and she noticed for the first time that he had discarded his cloak and his leather coat, and sat before her only in a black woven shirt.
She worked as quickly as she could, soaking and wiping away blood and cleansing the cuts. She frowned when she came to his nose. “Do you think it’s broken?” she asked, breaking their silence.
“I don’t think so,” he rasped. “I’ve broken it before, and it felt different.”
“Did Vasey do it that time, too?” she asked mildly, trying but failing to conceal the spite in her voice.
“Don’t start this, Marian,” he warned. “We’ve discussed this enough-“
“How can you be loyal to a man who strikes you that way?” she asked. “How can you watch him rape and pillage the countryside and stand by silent?”
“I owe him,” Guy replied. “You know that.”
“There is no debt that must be repaid for so long and in such a way,” she said petulantly. “He is cruel to you. How can you stay in his service?”
“He is all I have, you know that,” Guy protested. She could almost feel the anger rising in him. “I have no one else in my life.”
She hesitated, and took a breath, looking over his head to regard her own face in the mirror. Steady, Marian, she thought. She felt like she was going to be ill, but she swallowed the heat that rose in her throat and began softly, “You could have others in your life, if you wanted to.”
That got Gisborne’s attention. “Is that so?” he asked, regarding her steadily.
She shifted a little on her feet. “You asked me during the siege to marry you,” she managed. Don’t cry, don’t choke, just do this, she told herself.
“I did,” he said softly, as if speaking too loudly would ruin the moment. “You didn’t answer me.”
“May I answer you now?” she whispered.
“Marian-“
“I will marry you,” she said, her voice cracking just a little on the last word - her mind could not help but return to the moment when she last uttered that sentiment, to another man, in another place. “You told me once that you wanted to build a home. You can build one with me.”
The expression on Guy’s face was an absolute enigma. He looked stunned - he looked happy - he looked torn and confused. “What’s brought this on?” he asked in a low voice.
“Nothing,” she lied. “I thought about things. I made a decision.”
His voice was guarded. “I don’t believe you.”
This reaction was one that she had not expected. “You don’t believe me?”
He watched her so carefully that it made her uncomfortable. “Would you? You have fought me for months. You condemn Vasey’s actions tonight, but you are the one who struck me during our last attempt at a wedding. You have constantly tried to undermine and evade me.” She bowed her head - every accusation was true. “Why are you doing this, Marian?”
She floundered. She had thought that he would be elated … she never imagined that he’d question her motives. “Because you asked me, and I decided to agree.”
“Someone’s putting you up to this,” he decided, sitting back. He was a frightful sight, with his stern expression and his mottled face. “Who is it?”
“No one!” she exclaimed in frustration. “I know my own mind, Guy!”
“I do not doubt that,” he said, rising and pacing slowly across the floor. “But I know that you have ulterior motives for everything concerning me.”
She couldn’t deny it. “Guy…”
“Is it Hood?” he asked suddenly, as if he’d just made the connection in his head. “He saw that I cared for you when we brought him to Locksley, and he thought he could use you to get to me?”
“I decided to marry you of my own volition,” she defended weakly, sinking into his vacated chair. “I saw during the siege that you could be a good man - as long as you aren’t under Vasey’s thumb. I saw the best of you, the kind of man who could be a good husband-“
“It seems the both of us are under the influence of others,” Guy growled. “What does Hood want from me? Why is he dangling you in front of me like this?”
“I am not a pawn in a game!” she shouted, immediately ashamed of the outburst. “I would not marry you if I had not chosen to myself.”
He shook his head. “The Pact is gone - surely this is the moment when the sheriff is most vulnerable. If they could tear me away from him, too…”
She stood and crossed the room, standing as close to him as she dared. “I will not deny that I want to see you away from that man - he is insane, Guy, and he is dangerous. I want - want to marry you free of the sheriff.” She reached up and gently caressed his unmarked cheek.
He took her hand and gently replaced it at her side. “I know when you are lying to me, Marian. Why did he ask you? And why did you agree?”
This wasn’t working. She turned away from him and rubbed her upper arms briskly. Maybe honesty was the best policy in this case - in any event, it was something she had not tried before with him. “The king is coming back to England,” she said in a low voice. “The ransom money is almost raised. Vassals are going to Germany to accompany him back. He wants to hold a council at Nottingham, and the barons want to secure the shire.”
She felt Guy approach her, could feel his warmth at her back. “So you’re the bargaining tool.”
“They get a Nottingham free of the sheriff and with no threat from the Black Knight who wants Richard dead,” she said, almost unable to believe that she was telling him so much. “And you get the marriage you’ve wanted.” She sucked in a breath and prepared a lie. “And Richard has intimated that he’d be willing to consider the restoration of your lands and your title.”
There was a long silence, an intake of breath. “That’s … that’s impossible.”
“No,” she said. “Nothing’s impossible. Your help in ridding Nottingham of Richard’s enemies would be more than worth the cost of that land.”
“It’s hunting ground now for the kings,” Guy replied angrily. “Our home is used as a lodge. Our lands are stripped of their resources, all for the pleasure of the monarch.”
“But it could all be yours again,” she pressed. “Including me.”
His hand was on her shoulder, turning her toward him slowly. “And you were willing to agree to this?”
“I want peace in Nottingham,” she whispered. “And in England.”
“You’re willing to sacrifice yourself to me for that?” His eyes were dark.
“Yes,” she said, barely any sound coming from her lips. She stared at the floor until he lifted her chin with a single finger.
“You realize that you’ve put yourself, your friends, and their cause in danger by even telling me this,” he said, his fingers moving to her throat, caressing her skin gently. She stiffened as he curled his hand around her neck. “You realize that I could go to the sheriff, tell him that you know where the Pact is. He would have you tortured, maybe killed. I could do it.”
She swallowed hard, trying not to meet his gaze. “I trust you,” she rasped, “not to betray me.” Suddenly braver, she looks straight into his eyes. “I trust that you would not hurt me. And hurting them would hurt me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” His eyes burned into hers.
“Be - because you love me,” she whispered fiercely.
Something in his face changed. He moved forward and pushed her hair off her face, cupping her face in his hands. He stooped and brushed his lips against her forehead, her cheeks - so reminiscent of his actions the afternoon that her father had been murdered. His hands moved to tangle in her hair as his lips brushed against hers, first soft as a whisper, then more firmly.
She let out a quick breath and reached forward tentatively, landing one hand square on his hip. She closed her eyes, trembling, and gently began to respond to the kiss, pressing back against him just slightly, parting her mouth in rhythm with his own. She didn’t know what to do with her other hand, so she reached up and rested it on the soft fabric of his shirt, gripping slightly. When his mouth opened against hers, she met the tentative touch of his tongue with her own and felt rather than heard the soft sound he made in response.
Kissing him was so different from kissing Robin. She wasn’t sure what it was about Sir Guy that made the pit of her stomach drop out when his tongue gently caressed hers or when his fingers teased the nape of her neck. He tasted warm and salty, and the muscles of his stomach contracted quickly as she moved her fingers across them. As their lips met and parted, over and over again, faster and then slower, gentle and then more insistently, she felt her entire body tighten and swell.
He pulled back from her then, searching her face. He shook his head. “You love another man.”
She was silent. He pressed on, “You do not love me.”
“I will be your wife,” she replied simply.
“You will be,” he confirmed.
“And you will help to secure Nottingham?” she pressed. “You will declare loyalty to Richard? You will break with Vasey?”
“I will declare loyalty to no one but you,” he offered. “But I will do no more to hinder the king’s return.”
“And Vasey?”
“He would have us both killed if he knew we were even speaking this way,” Guy replied. “But I will not protect him.” He paused. “That is, if you are willing to accept my own conditions.”
She took a deep breath. “What concessions?”
“You will be a faithful wife. You will not betray me,” he began. He took in a sharp breath. “You will share my bed. You will give me children.”
She blanched. “I - I will,” she choked out, her head swimming with Robin’s promise to come home and free her. Suddenly that promise seemed so much more like a dream.
He shook his head. “You must love him very much.”
“Who?” she asked, her brow wrinkling.
“The man who asked you to do this,” he clarified, tracing her collarbone with one finger.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “There is no man.” She looked at him defiantly.
He raised an eyebrow and snorted. “And no more lies from you, my lady.” He stepped back from her. “You should go to your room before someone finds you here.”
“But your face,” she began weakly, gesturing toward the remaining cuts that had yet to be cleaned.
“The servant will do it,” he said. “Go, Marian. I will discuss arrangements for the marriage with the priest at St. Mary’s tomorrow.”
“Good,” she replied, backing toward the door. “Thank you.”
He gave her a strange look. “I can protect you, Marian, if you’ll let me.”
What she saw in his eyes unnerved her - love, hope, and more than a good dose of lust. He wanted her maybe more than anything else in the world, and that frightened her.
“I know you will,” she whispered as she opened the door and fled, limping a little, back toward her own chamber. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she perched on the edge of her bed, trying to imagine what was to come next.
***
TO BE CONTINUED