[Robin Hood] The Alchemy of Love: Chapter Three (4/14)
Title: The Alchemy of Love
Rating: R
Pairings: Guy/Marian/Isabella/Robin (Guy/Marian, Marian/Isabella, Isabella/Robin, Guy/Robin); a teeny bit of Allan/Will/Djaq
Word Count: 5101 (/~40,000)
Author's Note: So, I totally miscounted the number of chapters when I put up my first posts. I've fixed that, hence the different numbers this time around. My apologies for the long delay; RL was kicking me in the head for awhile. Chapter Four should be up much more quickly. Many thanks to my beta, ladykate63, for her thoughtful comments on this chapter!
Nitty gritty details: My geography for this chapter is based on the shire map used by for_nottingham. Also, I'm playing with the canonical timeline in this and the next chapter a little bit, but only to make the days not quite so ridiculously full : )
CHAPTER THREE
ISABELLA
After they returned from the Bamber estate, life for Isabella quickly settled back into its normal routine: tiptoeing around Geoffrey, humouring Mahaut, embroidery, teaching the children, keeping house and . . . whatever it was with Edward. Once he had satisfied himself that Isabella was properly chastened, Edward became solicitous towards her once again. She hid her resentment with long practice, holding her tongue, doing as she was asked, and responding to his desires. Her new knowledge was a talisman she held closely. She did not know exactly what she would do with it, or when, but for now, the fact that she had it was enough.
The invitation to a tournament to celebrate Lord Talbott's birthday was a welcome diversion from it all. The weather was unseasonably warm, summer's last burst of effort before giving way to autumn. It would have been delightful, save for the refusal of the wind to muster so much as a breeze and the resulting heavy scent of sweat and horses that hung over the tournament ground. Isabella and Mahaut sat in the covered stands with the other women, who in the interim between bouts made only half-hearted conversation as they fanned themselves, most of them clearly waiting for the day to cool and the wine to flow. The men were on the whole much more animated; those who were not riding discussed horses and armor and likely outcomes of the bouts that were yet to come.
There was a burst of activity on the list field and then the combatants of the next bout were announced. Mahaut straightened as Geoffrey's name was called, surveying the field with a hand above her eyes to shade herself from the sun. Isabella looked in the direction that she pointed, to the sidelines where Edward and the squires were doing a last check of Geoffrey's armour and tack. Geoffrey's skill was moderate; he had won a few tournaments-most of them ten or more years ago-but still usually ended up among the final four or eight. Isabella wanted him to do well today, if only so that he would not be in a foul temper later. Mahaut began to chatter about Geoffrey's opponent but Isabella listened with only half an ear, lifting her veil in an attempt to get some air around her neck and using it as an excuse to avoid meeting her wife's eyes. She doubted that Mahaut would notice.
After a few moments for final adjustments and ceremony, the men took their positions at either end of the list. With the prospect of actual action, the crowd seemed to perk up a bit as the men set their spurs to their horses, their helms shining over-bright in the afternoon sunlight. Geoffrey held his lance steady and true as he galloped forward, looking altogether more impressive than his opponent, whose own lance dipped low. Yet at the last minute the man jerked it up, knocking Geoffrey's lance out of the way as it screeched up over his chest plate to catch the edge of his neck-guard, where it snapped with a loud crack.
Geoffrey tumbled back off his horse as his opponent rode past, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Mahaut sought Isabella's hand blindly, holding it with an iron grip. Isabella endured it unconcerned; men were frequently knocked off their horses during a joust. But Geoffrey made no move to get up. With the horses clear, men began to dash onto the field, crowding around Geoffrey and obscuring him from view. Mahaut stood, trying to see what was happening and pulling Isabella along with her. The crowd parted to let Edward in, and Isabella caught a glimpse of her Evening husband, his helm removed, his face and neck dark with blood.
Mahaut screamed. She clasped her hands over her mouth as if to stop herself, then dashed unsteadily down the stands and onto the field.
Isabella did not feel anything but shock. She did not feel fear, she did not feel joy or sorrow, or pity for Mahaut and Edward, who genuinely cared for Geoffrey. It didn't feel like she was there at all, save as a disembodied observer. She knew she should probably follow Mahaut, but all she could do was watch as the crowd swallowed her, too.
She was alone, Isabella noted with detachment, no one watching over her or seeking her attention. She could leave now and no one would notice. That thought jolted her back to herself. What kind of person was she, to think of leaving her spouses in such a state?
A person who has had enough.
She owed them nothing. The stands and the tournament grounds were chaotic and confused; all attention was on Geoffrey. They had travelled halfway to Nottingham to attend the tournament. What better opportunity would there be?
Before she could change her mind or feel ashamed at her lack of feeling, Isabella took a few halting steps down the stands. The next were more confident, and though her knees still trembled, her resolve held. Isabella slipped through the crowd, quietly found her horse, and rode off into the unknown.
ROBIN
Robin did not want to think about how close he'd been to losing Marian, not when he had just found a way to save her. He thanked God silently as they ran through the darkening forest that he'd realized she'd gone to Locksley as the Nightwatchman, and that they had gotten there in time. He'd had a moment of terror when a fight nearly broke out between Marian and Guy-he couldn't blame her for lashing out at Guy after he'd crowed about taking her to the marriage bed, but his heart had been in his throat as Gisborne had caught himself, barely, by the stair rail and viciously struck out at her. Marian had countered with a dagger Robin didn't know she'd had, slashing through Guy's leathers and buying them enough time to slip out the door. But she was safe and, what's more, she wouldn't have to go through with the betrothal that had been set once the news of Richard's arrival was announced.
Her face, when he told her, lit up beautifully. He could not help but smile back.
“Come on, then,” he said affectionately. “Let's get to the cave before the rain starts.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, giving urgency to his words, and he took off towards the cave. After a moment he stopped, realizing that he did not hear Marian behind him. He looked back, finding her in the same spot where he had left her. Robin doubled back to her, asking, “Is something wrong?”
“Robin,” she began slowly. “What will happen?”
“When the king arrives?” he asked, suddenly wary.
She nodded.
“I will make my statement to the king. Then there will be a trial. Gisborne will probably be hanged.” Or worse, which was likely, as the crime was treason. He did not think there was need to mention that, though.
Marian looked away, unhappiness clear on her face even in the low light.
“Marian, why does this upset you?” Robin asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice. He did not want to retread their argument from earlier, not when everything had been going so well.
Her gaze snapped back to him; he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Usually, he felt he understood her well, but every now and then she would become completely inscrutable. It had happened much more frequently since he'd returned from the Holy Land.
“You know how I feel about hanging,” she said quietly.
Robin sighed. “He tried to kill the king! He tried to kill you.”
“That makes no difference.”
“That makes every difference!” Robin took a step away, trying to calm his mounting anger. It was bad enough that Gisborne had tried to kill Richard, worse still that his own men did not believe him and Marian persisted in defending him.
Marian crossed her arms. “There must be another way.”
“There is no other way.” That was the law of the land. Trying to kill the king was trying to kill England. And Gisborne had done it according to no principle save his own ambition. No one could stoop lower.
“I do not believe that,” she said.
Robin shook his head in frustration. Of all the things that had to come between them, why did it have to be Gisborne? “You do have feelings for him,” he said, suspicion hardening into conviction.
Marian looked at him, startled. “He said so himself,” Robin continued. “That you were stirred by him.”
Marian's brows lowered in annoyance. “Grow up,” she snapped. “I'm going home. If I'm not there when my father gets back, he'll be worried.”
“Marian-”
“Good night, Robin. Thank you for your help.”
Robin gritted his teeth, let out a breath. He thought about calling after her. But that would make no difference. Neither would change their mind tonight. And so he let her go, off into the gathering darkness alone.
MARIAN
Marian struck off in no particular direction. She knew that the River Leen and the wide road to Mansfield, which split the forest between Locksley and Knighton, lay close by, so she did not fear getting lost, despite the darkness.
She moved as quickly as she could, pushing herself hard to take the edge off of her anger. Why did she and Robin always manage to find something to argue about? And why was it so often Sir Guy?
Despite her desire for herself and Robin to return to their former closeness, she would not alter her convictions, even if, as Robin claimed, Guy had committed treason. Was not human life more important than an abstract and changeable notion? For despite Robin's dislike of the man, Sir Guy was a human being; she'd seen glimpses in him of something more than a violent sheriff's lackey, something that, with encouragement, could develop into a principled and upright man.
Not that she wanted to be the one to do the encouraging, despite what Robin thought. She was glad to be free from her promise and grateful for Robin's help. She just wished that her means of escape wasn't something that would demand the taking of a human life.
As Marian's irritation slowly ebbed, the clouds and spitting rain moved away, clearing the sky so the moon could shine, low in the sky and near full. She ought to be getting back to Knighton. She turned east, into the path of the moon, and found her way to the road.
She paused at the edge of the forest, peering down the road. It was curiously silent, she realized; she could no longer hear the calls of night birds that had sounded just moments before. There was a quiet rumble in the distance, one she quickly recognized as the sound of hooves.
Marian slipped back into the shadows, waiting as a riderless horse cantered down the road. A moment later a man on horseback followed, gaining ground. Marian waited while they disappeared in the distance. Yet before she moved, she heard a quiet rustling not far behind her. She turned, looking for its source, and could just make out a small figure making its way through the brush-a woman most likely, hampered by long skirts. Marian watched, growing concerned as she noticed the second figure that followed.
The woman stopped at the edge of a clearing, looking around, and in that moment the other person pushed through the foliage and hurtled toward her. The woman tried to run, but her clothing caught on a fallen log and she lost precious time trying to tear herself free. “Please,” she begged, pulling at her skirt. “Let me go. You know what he will do to me.”
The man was upon her, and her efforts became half-hearted. She was clearly resigning herself.
“I have my orders, my lady. It will be easier for everyone if you come along without a fuss.”
Her shoulders drooped, and after a moment she held out her hands. Marian pushed her mask back into place. The woman was clearly going against her will, and no woman without a very good reason would be running alone through a forest at night. She had to help.
Marian slipped through the shadows as the man began to loop rope around the woman's wrists. The woman stood docilely for a few moments, then suddenly twisted and dropped an elbow into the man's stomach. As he doubled over, she pulled his sword from his scabbard and backed away, trying to keep the heavy weapon pointed at him as she shook the rope off.
“I will not go back to them,” she snarled.
Marian's attention was torn by the sound of yet another person moving through the forest towards them. She struck off into the underbrush, moving as quietly as she could through the dry twigs and dead leaves of the forest floor until she found him. He wore a dark surcoat with a sigil that looked very much like the one the other man wore.
A cry came from the clearing. The man drew his sword and broke into a run, Marian following close behind. She reached him when he was only steps away from the woman and her pursuer and, before either man realized what was happening, Marian heaved off and struck him in the temple with the side of her fist. He fell to the ground in a heap and Marian launched herself over his prone form. The other man had a tight grip on the woman's arm, both of them scrabbling for the sword, which was now on the forest floor.
“Who the hell are you?” the other man cried, looking up. Marian drew her dagger, its blade glinting in the moonlight, and pointed it towards him menacingly. In the split second he was distracted, the woman launched herself toward the sword and grabbed its hilt. The man reached forward to get a hold on her again but Marian shoved him to the ground with a boot and kept him there. The woman scrambled to her feet, the sword extended.
“Who are you?” she asked.
Marian only gestured to the man beneath her foot. What do you want done with him?
The woman regarded her a moment. “He will follow me as soon as you let him go.”
It seemed likely. Marian didn't like engaging in violence when it wasn't for self-defense, but it was clear that he posed a risk to the woman. She bent down, hauled him up by his cloak, and knocked him out with a punch.
“Thank you,” the woman said, when Marian had straightened and turned toward her. It was the first time Marian had gotten a good look at the woman. She was clearly noble, as the elegance of her gown attested, and she had also clearly been through a lot. Her hair was loose and tangled, her dress torn and the hem dirty. She was good-looking as well, with a fiercely determined expression which belied the delicacy of her features. Marian did not doubt that she knew how to use the sword she held. Instead of speaking, and revealing her gender, Marian took a page out of Robin's book, and bowed.
The woman lowered her sword slowly, her eyes never leaving Marian. “I don't suppose you know which direction Locksley village is?”
Marian frowned behind her mask, curious. The woman was almost certainly looking for Robin or Guy. Marian pointed the direction that the woman would need to take. She had misgivings, though-it would be quite a long walk, and Robin's band weren't the only outlaws in the forest. Though the woman was armed, it didn't feel right to send her on her way alone. It would be dangerous for Marian to go near Locksley again tonight, dressed as she was, though it was likely Guy's guards had stopped looking for her once it had hit full dark. She could be careful.
She started for the road, gesturing for the woman to follow.
The woman hurried after her, falling into step when they reached the road. “Why are you helping me?”
Marian only smiled. She could feel the woman's discerning gaze on her, and bore it silently. Her mask and hood were in place; her leather doublet should be enough to disguise her gender.
After a moment, the woman spoke again. “Do you not speak? Forgive me.”
Marian shook her head. It is nothing.
“You saved my life. Thank you. I was not expecting such kindness from a stranger.” The woman's expression slowly warmed into a tentative smile. “I am Isabella.”
Marian found herself smiling back.
*
Marian led Isabella until Locksley was visible through the trees. All of its windows still blazed with light, and no doubt there was a man in the watchtower Guy had had built. She stopped and gestured toward the manor house. Isabella looked at it a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she turned to Marian. “Thank you for your help. I wish I could give you something more than words to show my gratitude.”
Marian shook her head.
Isabella flashed a grateful smile, then then started toward the village. A twig snapped underfoot, startlingly loud in the quiet of the night. Marian realized with horror that the sound had not come from Isabella. It was behind her. She and Isabella turned at the same moment, only to see figures sliding out of the darkness, flashes of yellow at the arms revealing their identity.
Marian drew her dagger and Isabella, she noted with appreciation, hefted her stolen sword.
Marian edged away, preparing to dart off into the forest. A dog barked behind her, quickly joined by others, and she could hear shouts coming from the village. She shot a quick glance at Isabella. They had to go now. Marian launched herself to the right, intending to follow the edge of the forest until she had lost the men and could retreat deeper into the forest. She hoped Isabella was close behind.
A great weight smashed into her, throwing her to the ground and knocking her dagger from her hand. It was a hunting hound, nearly as large as she was, and it stood with its front paws on her chest. Marian couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to, for the fall had knocked the wind from her lungs. She gasped, trying to fight off panic, knowing that her inability to breathe was only temporary. She felt around for her dagger, fingers finding nothing amongst the dead leaves. She had to get away, to defend herself, but her limbs didn't want to cooperate.
And then a face appeared in her field of vision, half covered with a helmet topped with a plume of black and yellow feathers.
GUY
Guy sat by the fire, nursing his wounds and a pitcher of wine while he waited for any word from his men. He'd told them not to return until they had something useful to tell him. He wanted that news to be that they had caught the Nightwatchman, but he wasn't really expecting it. Robbing his house was the final outrage, and it turned what had been a minor annoyance-at least in comparison to his hatred of Hood-into a desire to punish, shame, destroy. The men who'd been on watch had already received the first wave of his temper..
He was not happy about such a setback, not when the official betrothal ceremony was set for Saturday. The Nightwatchman had taken by no means all of his money, but a substantial sum nonetheless. At least none of his injuries would show.
The door burst open, startling him from his brooding, and Guy opened his mouth to scold the new captain of his guard. The man did not seem to notice, crying excitedly, “Sir Guy, the Nightwatchman! We've caught him!”
Guy's body thrummed suddenly with excitement, but he remained still. “Are you sure?”
The man hesitated, then nodded. “Three men have him pinned to the ground, just at the edge of the forest. There's a woman with him.”
Guy stood, ignoring the protests of his aching muscles. A hand motion brought his squire forward with his belt and sword. It troubled him that the Nightwatchman was so close. Any intelligent person would put as much distance as possible between themselves and the person they'd just robbed. Guy refused to entertain the idea that one of his own serfs was the culprit. He didn't trust his peasants a whit, but neither did he give them enough credit to do what the Nightwatchman had done. Perhaps the man had been hurt more than Guy had realized and hadn't been able to get any further. That would be a pleasing solution, provided the Nightwatchman wasn't hurt too badly. Guy wanted him to last a long time.
He strode out into the night. He wondered if the woman were pretty, and if she would be suitably grateful for her rescue. On the far side of the village, Guy could see a group of guards and dogs clustered together just outside the forest where the brush grew thick and tangled, the scene lit by torches. Several of them struggled with a figure on the ground, while two more restrained a woman between them. The shine of her dress in the firelight suggested her to be a lady.
He forced himself to walk, not run, through every moment he feared the Nightwatchman somehow, impossibly, managing to get away as he always did. As he approached the group, the captive's struggles suddenly intensified. Guy watched with horror as the man managed to roll over and kick out, breaking the hold of two men. He drew his sword and broke into a run, no longer worried about his pride.
“Guy, please!” a voice called, in French. “Wait!”
His head whipped toward the woman, who had spoken to him with his sister's voice.
In his moment of hesitation, the Nightwatchman had shaken the hold of the third man. “Get him!” Guy yelled, furious that he had been distracted. The closest guard kicked out, getting the Nightwatchman in the back of the knee. His legs buckled. Another man dashed up from behind and knocked him squarely on his temple. The Nightwatchman swayed a moment before pitching forward onto the ground.
Finally, Guy thought with savage pleasure. “You'd better not have killed him,” he growled, not particularly perturbed. After being satisfied that the Nightwatchman wasn't going to suddenly spring up, he turned to the woman. It was Isabella. Even in the darkness, with all the years that had passed, he could tell. “Release her,” he said to the guards who held her. One of them was developing a rather nasty black eye. He leaned in. “You have some explaining to do.” Isabella met his gaze unflinchingly.
“Good work,” Guy said, raising his voice so all of his men could hear. “I'll send a cask of wine to the barracks.” This was met with grins and a few cheers. If they'd recovered his money, he might even have doubled their wages for the week. He turned his gaze to the prone form of the Nightwatchman. “Put him in the dairy shed,” Guy said. He turned toward the house, and gestured for Isabella to come along.
“Thank God I've found you,” she said, continuing in the French they had spoken together as children.
“Why are you here, Isabella? Where are your husbands?”
“I came to seek your help.”
Guy eyed her sidelong. That sounded like a matter best discussed in the privacy of the house, even if most of the guards wouldn't understand them. “What were you doing with the Nightwatchman?”
“The Nightwatchman?”
“It's what he calls himself.” A niggle of guilt prompted him to ask, “Did he hurt you, or steal from you?”
Isabella shook her head. “He saved me.”
Guy held a hand up to halt her. It already looked ill enough that she had been caught with him. He didn't want to deal with it in front of his men, and resented that his capture of the Nightwatchman had been sullied. “We'll discuss it at the house. I'll deal with him. You go ahead. Tell Thornton who you are, he'll see to anything you need.”
She started at his words, and it took him a moment to remember that her Evening husband's name was Thornton as well. “The butler. He hasn't retired yet.”
Isabella nodded, then started in the direction of the house, though not without a glance back at the limp form of the Nightwatchman, being carried between a few of his guards.
Guy followed his men to the dairy shed. Once they deposited the Nightwatchman on the dirty straw Guy took a torch and waved them off. He was dying to finally find out who the rogue was. The man's mask was still on, if slightly askew, but his kerchief had been pushed down around his neck. This was the first time he'd gotten a good look at the man, and as he did so, his breath stopped. Those full lips, the top sweetly bowed, were startlingly familiar. It had to be a coincidence. Yet Guy's hand trembled as he reached out to remove the mask. The hood had been pinned in place over it, and he fumbled with the pins before he could push the mask back over the man's-woman's-face.
Her lip was split and swollen and there was a nasty welt at her temple, but it was, absolutely and without a doubt, Marian. Guy's hand fell.
The first woman he had loved, he was going to have to kill.
But right now it was too much. He rose unsteadily to his feet and backed out of the shed, drawing the bolt closed. “No one is to go in there without my permission,” he said to the captain of his guard, who had taken up a post in front of the shed. “This door is to be guarded at all times.” Without waiting for a reply, Guy turned on his heel and stalked back to the manor house, mind whirring.
He was momentarily startled to see a woman sitting by the fire. She turned at his entrance, the sight of her familiar-but-not face reminding him that Isabella was here. Dealing with her was the last thing he wanted right now. He poured himself a cup of the wine that had been set out on the table and drained it, savoring the bitter tannins that spread across his tongue. Then he poured another.
“Who is the Nightwatchman?” Isabella asked.
Guy pinched the bridge of his nose, where a headache was beginning to settle. “A thief and a rogue who disturbs the peace,” he replied in clipped tones. Marian. How could they be one and the same?
“I was attacked in the forest. The Nightwatchman saved me.”
Guy dropped into the chair opposite Isabella and looked at her evenly. “Tonight, he robbed my house and did this.” He turned up his cuff to reveal the bandage on his arm. Blood was beginning to soak through. He was speaking to himself as much as to Isabella, trying to comprehend the fact that the woman who had agreed to marry him was someone he didn't know at all-not only was she a criminal, she had attacked him.
He drew his mind back to his sister with effort. “What were you even doing there?”
Isabella set her cup down carefully. He could not read her expression. “I came to ask for your protection.”
Guy surveyed her a moment before responding. Her dress was torn and her hair a mess. There were circles under her eyes and coiled tension in her posture; she sat delicately on her seat like a bird wary of predators. “That is what your husbands are for.”
“Please, Guy,” she said. “Do not make me go back to them. You do not know what they are like.”
“Isabella, you made a vow,” he replied sharply. He was in little mood to countenance betrayal right now.
“I was barely more than a child when you gave me to them,” she said, words thick with resentment.
“And it is a decision I do not regret,” Guy snapped.
“Do you not even feel some sort of duty to me, your own sister?” Her voice was hard but her eyes full of feeling; she seemed brittle somehow, both hard and fragile. He was far too tired to investigate further, to deal with these seeming contradictions.
“Your duty is to your spouses.”
Isabella's jaw was set. It appeared she still possessed the stubbornness that had plagued him so when she was young. Changing his tack, Guy said more gently, “You hurt three people with your actions. Do you not at least think of your wife?” he asked, trying to appeal to the tender-hearted sentiment that bound a woman to her wife.
“She is hardly different from Edward or Geoffrey.”
Guy sighed. This was going to take a great deal of energy, energy he didn't have. Easier to let it go for now. Isabella was his only family, after all, and perhaps he should be glad that she had come to him and not to a lover, and shame them even more. “You may stay,” he said finally. “For now.”
“Thank you,” Isabella said quietly.
There was a long, awkward pause. Despite his weariness, Guy's thoughts flitted from topic to topic. He wanted to go to Marian, to ask her why? but there was no telling how long it would be before she woke. He wrestled briefly with the thought of keeping an injured woman locked up alone outdoors, but the indignation at her betrayal quickly quashed those feelings. No, she could stay there. He deserved some fucking rest, and she could wait on his pleasure.
Hannah entered then and curtsied, telling Isabella that her bath was ready. Guy stayed downstairs after she left, finishing his wine as he watched the fire slowly die, the inertia of fatigue keeping him in the hall until he grew cold.
Chapter Four
Rating: R
Pairings: Guy/Marian/Isabella/Robin (Guy/Marian, Marian/Isabella, Isabella/Robin, Guy/Robin); a teeny bit of Allan/Will/Djaq
Word Count: 5101 (/~40,000)
Author's Note: So, I totally miscounted the number of chapters when I put up my first posts. I've fixed that, hence the different numbers this time around. My apologies for the long delay; RL was kicking me in the head for awhile. Chapter Four should be up much more quickly. Many thanks to my beta, ladykate63, for her thoughtful comments on this chapter!
Nitty gritty details: My geography for this chapter is based on the shire map used by for_nottingham. Also, I'm playing with the canonical timeline in this and the next chapter a little bit, but only to make the days not quite so ridiculously full : )
CHAPTER THREE
ISABELLA
After they returned from the Bamber estate, life for Isabella quickly settled back into its normal routine: tiptoeing around Geoffrey, humouring Mahaut, embroidery, teaching the children, keeping house and . . . whatever it was with Edward. Once he had satisfied himself that Isabella was properly chastened, Edward became solicitous towards her once again. She hid her resentment with long practice, holding her tongue, doing as she was asked, and responding to his desires. Her new knowledge was a talisman she held closely. She did not know exactly what she would do with it, or when, but for now, the fact that she had it was enough.
The invitation to a tournament to celebrate Lord Talbott's birthday was a welcome diversion from it all. The weather was unseasonably warm, summer's last burst of effort before giving way to autumn. It would have been delightful, save for the refusal of the wind to muster so much as a breeze and the resulting heavy scent of sweat and horses that hung over the tournament ground. Isabella and Mahaut sat in the covered stands with the other women, who in the interim between bouts made only half-hearted conversation as they fanned themselves, most of them clearly waiting for the day to cool and the wine to flow. The men were on the whole much more animated; those who were not riding discussed horses and armor and likely outcomes of the bouts that were yet to come.
There was a burst of activity on the list field and then the combatants of the next bout were announced. Mahaut straightened as Geoffrey's name was called, surveying the field with a hand above her eyes to shade herself from the sun. Isabella looked in the direction that she pointed, to the sidelines where Edward and the squires were doing a last check of Geoffrey's armour and tack. Geoffrey's skill was moderate; he had won a few tournaments-most of them ten or more years ago-but still usually ended up among the final four or eight. Isabella wanted him to do well today, if only so that he would not be in a foul temper later. Mahaut began to chatter about Geoffrey's opponent but Isabella listened with only half an ear, lifting her veil in an attempt to get some air around her neck and using it as an excuse to avoid meeting her wife's eyes. She doubted that Mahaut would notice.
After a few moments for final adjustments and ceremony, the men took their positions at either end of the list. With the prospect of actual action, the crowd seemed to perk up a bit as the men set their spurs to their horses, their helms shining over-bright in the afternoon sunlight. Geoffrey held his lance steady and true as he galloped forward, looking altogether more impressive than his opponent, whose own lance dipped low. Yet at the last minute the man jerked it up, knocking Geoffrey's lance out of the way as it screeched up over his chest plate to catch the edge of his neck-guard, where it snapped with a loud crack.
Geoffrey tumbled back off his horse as his opponent rode past, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Mahaut sought Isabella's hand blindly, holding it with an iron grip. Isabella endured it unconcerned; men were frequently knocked off their horses during a joust. But Geoffrey made no move to get up. With the horses clear, men began to dash onto the field, crowding around Geoffrey and obscuring him from view. Mahaut stood, trying to see what was happening and pulling Isabella along with her. The crowd parted to let Edward in, and Isabella caught a glimpse of her Evening husband, his helm removed, his face and neck dark with blood.
Mahaut screamed. She clasped her hands over her mouth as if to stop herself, then dashed unsteadily down the stands and onto the field.
Isabella did not feel anything but shock. She did not feel fear, she did not feel joy or sorrow, or pity for Mahaut and Edward, who genuinely cared for Geoffrey. It didn't feel like she was there at all, save as a disembodied observer. She knew she should probably follow Mahaut, but all she could do was watch as the crowd swallowed her, too.
She was alone, Isabella noted with detachment, no one watching over her or seeking her attention. She could leave now and no one would notice. That thought jolted her back to herself. What kind of person was she, to think of leaving her spouses in such a state?
A person who has had enough.
She owed them nothing. The stands and the tournament grounds were chaotic and confused; all attention was on Geoffrey. They had travelled halfway to Nottingham to attend the tournament. What better opportunity would there be?
Before she could change her mind or feel ashamed at her lack of feeling, Isabella took a few halting steps down the stands. The next were more confident, and though her knees still trembled, her resolve held. Isabella slipped through the crowd, quietly found her horse, and rode off into the unknown.
ROBIN
Robin did not want to think about how close he'd been to losing Marian, not when he had just found a way to save her. He thanked God silently as they ran through the darkening forest that he'd realized she'd gone to Locksley as the Nightwatchman, and that they had gotten there in time. He'd had a moment of terror when a fight nearly broke out between Marian and Guy-he couldn't blame her for lashing out at Guy after he'd crowed about taking her to the marriage bed, but his heart had been in his throat as Gisborne had caught himself, barely, by the stair rail and viciously struck out at her. Marian had countered with a dagger Robin didn't know she'd had, slashing through Guy's leathers and buying them enough time to slip out the door. But she was safe and, what's more, she wouldn't have to go through with the betrothal that had been set once the news of Richard's arrival was announced.
Her face, when he told her, lit up beautifully. He could not help but smile back.
“Come on, then,” he said affectionately. “Let's get to the cave before the rain starts.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, giving urgency to his words, and he took off towards the cave. After a moment he stopped, realizing that he did not hear Marian behind him. He looked back, finding her in the same spot where he had left her. Robin doubled back to her, asking, “Is something wrong?”
“Robin,” she began slowly. “What will happen?”
“When the king arrives?” he asked, suddenly wary.
She nodded.
“I will make my statement to the king. Then there will be a trial. Gisborne will probably be hanged.” Or worse, which was likely, as the crime was treason. He did not think there was need to mention that, though.
Marian looked away, unhappiness clear on her face even in the low light.
“Marian, why does this upset you?” Robin asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice. He did not want to retread their argument from earlier, not when everything had been going so well.
Her gaze snapped back to him; he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Usually, he felt he understood her well, but every now and then she would become completely inscrutable. It had happened much more frequently since he'd returned from the Holy Land.
“You know how I feel about hanging,” she said quietly.
Robin sighed. “He tried to kill the king! He tried to kill you.”
“That makes no difference.”
“That makes every difference!” Robin took a step away, trying to calm his mounting anger. It was bad enough that Gisborne had tried to kill Richard, worse still that his own men did not believe him and Marian persisted in defending him.
Marian crossed her arms. “There must be another way.”
“There is no other way.” That was the law of the land. Trying to kill the king was trying to kill England. And Gisborne had done it according to no principle save his own ambition. No one could stoop lower.
“I do not believe that,” she said.
Robin shook his head in frustration. Of all the things that had to come between them, why did it have to be Gisborne? “You do have feelings for him,” he said, suspicion hardening into conviction.
Marian looked at him, startled. “He said so himself,” Robin continued. “That you were stirred by him.”
Marian's brows lowered in annoyance. “Grow up,” she snapped. “I'm going home. If I'm not there when my father gets back, he'll be worried.”
“Marian-”
“Good night, Robin. Thank you for your help.”
Robin gritted his teeth, let out a breath. He thought about calling after her. But that would make no difference. Neither would change their mind tonight. And so he let her go, off into the gathering darkness alone.
MARIAN
Marian struck off in no particular direction. She knew that the River Leen and the wide road to Mansfield, which split the forest between Locksley and Knighton, lay close by, so she did not fear getting lost, despite the darkness.
She moved as quickly as she could, pushing herself hard to take the edge off of her anger. Why did she and Robin always manage to find something to argue about? And why was it so often Sir Guy?
Despite her desire for herself and Robin to return to their former closeness, she would not alter her convictions, even if, as Robin claimed, Guy had committed treason. Was not human life more important than an abstract and changeable notion? For despite Robin's dislike of the man, Sir Guy was a human being; she'd seen glimpses in him of something more than a violent sheriff's lackey, something that, with encouragement, could develop into a principled and upright man.
Not that she wanted to be the one to do the encouraging, despite what Robin thought. She was glad to be free from her promise and grateful for Robin's help. She just wished that her means of escape wasn't something that would demand the taking of a human life.
As Marian's irritation slowly ebbed, the clouds and spitting rain moved away, clearing the sky so the moon could shine, low in the sky and near full. She ought to be getting back to Knighton. She turned east, into the path of the moon, and found her way to the road.
She paused at the edge of the forest, peering down the road. It was curiously silent, she realized; she could no longer hear the calls of night birds that had sounded just moments before. There was a quiet rumble in the distance, one she quickly recognized as the sound of hooves.
Marian slipped back into the shadows, waiting as a riderless horse cantered down the road. A moment later a man on horseback followed, gaining ground. Marian waited while they disappeared in the distance. Yet before she moved, she heard a quiet rustling not far behind her. She turned, looking for its source, and could just make out a small figure making its way through the brush-a woman most likely, hampered by long skirts. Marian watched, growing concerned as she noticed the second figure that followed.
The woman stopped at the edge of a clearing, looking around, and in that moment the other person pushed through the foliage and hurtled toward her. The woman tried to run, but her clothing caught on a fallen log and she lost precious time trying to tear herself free. “Please,” she begged, pulling at her skirt. “Let me go. You know what he will do to me.”
The man was upon her, and her efforts became half-hearted. She was clearly resigning herself.
“I have my orders, my lady. It will be easier for everyone if you come along without a fuss.”
Her shoulders drooped, and after a moment she held out her hands. Marian pushed her mask back into place. The woman was clearly going against her will, and no woman without a very good reason would be running alone through a forest at night. She had to help.
Marian slipped through the shadows as the man began to loop rope around the woman's wrists. The woman stood docilely for a few moments, then suddenly twisted and dropped an elbow into the man's stomach. As he doubled over, she pulled his sword from his scabbard and backed away, trying to keep the heavy weapon pointed at him as she shook the rope off.
“I will not go back to them,” she snarled.
Marian's attention was torn by the sound of yet another person moving through the forest towards them. She struck off into the underbrush, moving as quietly as she could through the dry twigs and dead leaves of the forest floor until she found him. He wore a dark surcoat with a sigil that looked very much like the one the other man wore.
A cry came from the clearing. The man drew his sword and broke into a run, Marian following close behind. She reached him when he was only steps away from the woman and her pursuer and, before either man realized what was happening, Marian heaved off and struck him in the temple with the side of her fist. He fell to the ground in a heap and Marian launched herself over his prone form. The other man had a tight grip on the woman's arm, both of them scrabbling for the sword, which was now on the forest floor.
“Who the hell are you?” the other man cried, looking up. Marian drew her dagger, its blade glinting in the moonlight, and pointed it towards him menacingly. In the split second he was distracted, the woman launched herself toward the sword and grabbed its hilt. The man reached forward to get a hold on her again but Marian shoved him to the ground with a boot and kept him there. The woman scrambled to her feet, the sword extended.
“Who are you?” she asked.
Marian only gestured to the man beneath her foot. What do you want done with him?
The woman regarded her a moment. “He will follow me as soon as you let him go.”
It seemed likely. Marian didn't like engaging in violence when it wasn't for self-defense, but it was clear that he posed a risk to the woman. She bent down, hauled him up by his cloak, and knocked him out with a punch.
“Thank you,” the woman said, when Marian had straightened and turned toward her. It was the first time Marian had gotten a good look at the woman. She was clearly noble, as the elegance of her gown attested, and she had also clearly been through a lot. Her hair was loose and tangled, her dress torn and the hem dirty. She was good-looking as well, with a fiercely determined expression which belied the delicacy of her features. Marian did not doubt that she knew how to use the sword she held. Instead of speaking, and revealing her gender, Marian took a page out of Robin's book, and bowed.
The woman lowered her sword slowly, her eyes never leaving Marian. “I don't suppose you know which direction Locksley village is?”
Marian frowned behind her mask, curious. The woman was almost certainly looking for Robin or Guy. Marian pointed the direction that the woman would need to take. She had misgivings, though-it would be quite a long walk, and Robin's band weren't the only outlaws in the forest. Though the woman was armed, it didn't feel right to send her on her way alone. It would be dangerous for Marian to go near Locksley again tonight, dressed as she was, though it was likely Guy's guards had stopped looking for her once it had hit full dark. She could be careful.
She started for the road, gesturing for the woman to follow.
The woman hurried after her, falling into step when they reached the road. “Why are you helping me?”
Marian only smiled. She could feel the woman's discerning gaze on her, and bore it silently. Her mask and hood were in place; her leather doublet should be enough to disguise her gender.
After a moment, the woman spoke again. “Do you not speak? Forgive me.”
Marian shook her head. It is nothing.
“You saved my life. Thank you. I was not expecting such kindness from a stranger.” The woman's expression slowly warmed into a tentative smile. “I am Isabella.”
Marian found herself smiling back.
*
Marian led Isabella until Locksley was visible through the trees. All of its windows still blazed with light, and no doubt there was a man in the watchtower Guy had had built. She stopped and gestured toward the manor house. Isabella looked at it a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she turned to Marian. “Thank you for your help. I wish I could give you something more than words to show my gratitude.”
Marian shook her head.
Isabella flashed a grateful smile, then then started toward the village. A twig snapped underfoot, startlingly loud in the quiet of the night. Marian realized with horror that the sound had not come from Isabella. It was behind her. She and Isabella turned at the same moment, only to see figures sliding out of the darkness, flashes of yellow at the arms revealing their identity.
Marian drew her dagger and Isabella, she noted with appreciation, hefted her stolen sword.
Marian edged away, preparing to dart off into the forest. A dog barked behind her, quickly joined by others, and she could hear shouts coming from the village. She shot a quick glance at Isabella. They had to go now. Marian launched herself to the right, intending to follow the edge of the forest until she had lost the men and could retreat deeper into the forest. She hoped Isabella was close behind.
A great weight smashed into her, throwing her to the ground and knocking her dagger from her hand. It was a hunting hound, nearly as large as she was, and it stood with its front paws on her chest. Marian couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to, for the fall had knocked the wind from her lungs. She gasped, trying to fight off panic, knowing that her inability to breathe was only temporary. She felt around for her dagger, fingers finding nothing amongst the dead leaves. She had to get away, to defend herself, but her limbs didn't want to cooperate.
And then a face appeared in her field of vision, half covered with a helmet topped with a plume of black and yellow feathers.
GUY
Guy sat by the fire, nursing his wounds and a pitcher of wine while he waited for any word from his men. He'd told them not to return until they had something useful to tell him. He wanted that news to be that they had caught the Nightwatchman, but he wasn't really expecting it. Robbing his house was the final outrage, and it turned what had been a minor annoyance-at least in comparison to his hatred of Hood-into a desire to punish, shame, destroy. The men who'd been on watch had already received the first wave of his temper..
He was not happy about such a setback, not when the official betrothal ceremony was set for Saturday. The Nightwatchman had taken by no means all of his money, but a substantial sum nonetheless. At least none of his injuries would show.
The door burst open, startling him from his brooding, and Guy opened his mouth to scold the new captain of his guard. The man did not seem to notice, crying excitedly, “Sir Guy, the Nightwatchman! We've caught him!”
Guy's body thrummed suddenly with excitement, but he remained still. “Are you sure?”
The man hesitated, then nodded. “Three men have him pinned to the ground, just at the edge of the forest. There's a woman with him.”
Guy stood, ignoring the protests of his aching muscles. A hand motion brought his squire forward with his belt and sword. It troubled him that the Nightwatchman was so close. Any intelligent person would put as much distance as possible between themselves and the person they'd just robbed. Guy refused to entertain the idea that one of his own serfs was the culprit. He didn't trust his peasants a whit, but neither did he give them enough credit to do what the Nightwatchman had done. Perhaps the man had been hurt more than Guy had realized and hadn't been able to get any further. That would be a pleasing solution, provided the Nightwatchman wasn't hurt too badly. Guy wanted him to last a long time.
He strode out into the night. He wondered if the woman were pretty, and if she would be suitably grateful for her rescue. On the far side of the village, Guy could see a group of guards and dogs clustered together just outside the forest where the brush grew thick and tangled, the scene lit by torches. Several of them struggled with a figure on the ground, while two more restrained a woman between them. The shine of her dress in the firelight suggested her to be a lady.
He forced himself to walk, not run, through every moment he feared the Nightwatchman somehow, impossibly, managing to get away as he always did. As he approached the group, the captive's struggles suddenly intensified. Guy watched with horror as the man managed to roll over and kick out, breaking the hold of two men. He drew his sword and broke into a run, no longer worried about his pride.
“Guy, please!” a voice called, in French. “Wait!”
His head whipped toward the woman, who had spoken to him with his sister's voice.
In his moment of hesitation, the Nightwatchman had shaken the hold of the third man. “Get him!” Guy yelled, furious that he had been distracted. The closest guard kicked out, getting the Nightwatchman in the back of the knee. His legs buckled. Another man dashed up from behind and knocked him squarely on his temple. The Nightwatchman swayed a moment before pitching forward onto the ground.
Finally, Guy thought with savage pleasure. “You'd better not have killed him,” he growled, not particularly perturbed. After being satisfied that the Nightwatchman wasn't going to suddenly spring up, he turned to the woman. It was Isabella. Even in the darkness, with all the years that had passed, he could tell. “Release her,” he said to the guards who held her. One of them was developing a rather nasty black eye. He leaned in. “You have some explaining to do.” Isabella met his gaze unflinchingly.
“Good work,” Guy said, raising his voice so all of his men could hear. “I'll send a cask of wine to the barracks.” This was met with grins and a few cheers. If they'd recovered his money, he might even have doubled their wages for the week. He turned his gaze to the prone form of the Nightwatchman. “Put him in the dairy shed,” Guy said. He turned toward the house, and gestured for Isabella to come along.
“Thank God I've found you,” she said, continuing in the French they had spoken together as children.
“Why are you here, Isabella? Where are your husbands?”
“I came to seek your help.”
Guy eyed her sidelong. That sounded like a matter best discussed in the privacy of the house, even if most of the guards wouldn't understand them. “What were you doing with the Nightwatchman?”
“The Nightwatchman?”
“It's what he calls himself.” A niggle of guilt prompted him to ask, “Did he hurt you, or steal from you?”
Isabella shook her head. “He saved me.”
Guy held a hand up to halt her. It already looked ill enough that she had been caught with him. He didn't want to deal with it in front of his men, and resented that his capture of the Nightwatchman had been sullied. “We'll discuss it at the house. I'll deal with him. You go ahead. Tell Thornton who you are, he'll see to anything you need.”
She started at his words, and it took him a moment to remember that her Evening husband's name was Thornton as well. “The butler. He hasn't retired yet.”
Isabella nodded, then started in the direction of the house, though not without a glance back at the limp form of the Nightwatchman, being carried between a few of his guards.
Guy followed his men to the dairy shed. Once they deposited the Nightwatchman on the dirty straw Guy took a torch and waved them off. He was dying to finally find out who the rogue was. The man's mask was still on, if slightly askew, but his kerchief had been pushed down around his neck. This was the first time he'd gotten a good look at the man, and as he did so, his breath stopped. Those full lips, the top sweetly bowed, were startlingly familiar. It had to be a coincidence. Yet Guy's hand trembled as he reached out to remove the mask. The hood had been pinned in place over it, and he fumbled with the pins before he could push the mask back over the man's-woman's-face.
Her lip was split and swollen and there was a nasty welt at her temple, but it was, absolutely and without a doubt, Marian. Guy's hand fell.
The first woman he had loved, he was going to have to kill.
But right now it was too much. He rose unsteadily to his feet and backed out of the shed, drawing the bolt closed. “No one is to go in there without my permission,” he said to the captain of his guard, who had taken up a post in front of the shed. “This door is to be guarded at all times.” Without waiting for a reply, Guy turned on his heel and stalked back to the manor house, mind whirring.
He was momentarily startled to see a woman sitting by the fire. She turned at his entrance, the sight of her familiar-but-not face reminding him that Isabella was here. Dealing with her was the last thing he wanted right now. He poured himself a cup of the wine that had been set out on the table and drained it, savoring the bitter tannins that spread across his tongue. Then he poured another.
“Who is the Nightwatchman?” Isabella asked.
Guy pinched the bridge of his nose, where a headache was beginning to settle. “A thief and a rogue who disturbs the peace,” he replied in clipped tones. Marian. How could they be one and the same?
“I was attacked in the forest. The Nightwatchman saved me.”
Guy dropped into the chair opposite Isabella and looked at her evenly. “Tonight, he robbed my house and did this.” He turned up his cuff to reveal the bandage on his arm. Blood was beginning to soak through. He was speaking to himself as much as to Isabella, trying to comprehend the fact that the woman who had agreed to marry him was someone he didn't know at all-not only was she a criminal, she had attacked him.
He drew his mind back to his sister with effort. “What were you even doing there?”
Isabella set her cup down carefully. He could not read her expression. “I came to ask for your protection.”
Guy surveyed her a moment before responding. Her dress was torn and her hair a mess. There were circles under her eyes and coiled tension in her posture; she sat delicately on her seat like a bird wary of predators. “That is what your husbands are for.”
“Please, Guy,” she said. “Do not make me go back to them. You do not know what they are like.”
“Isabella, you made a vow,” he replied sharply. He was in little mood to countenance betrayal right now.
“I was barely more than a child when you gave me to them,” she said, words thick with resentment.
“And it is a decision I do not regret,” Guy snapped.
“Do you not even feel some sort of duty to me, your own sister?” Her voice was hard but her eyes full of feeling; she seemed brittle somehow, both hard and fragile. He was far too tired to investigate further, to deal with these seeming contradictions.
“Your duty is to your spouses.”
Isabella's jaw was set. It appeared she still possessed the stubbornness that had plagued him so when she was young. Changing his tack, Guy said more gently, “You hurt three people with your actions. Do you not at least think of your wife?” he asked, trying to appeal to the tender-hearted sentiment that bound a woman to her wife.
“She is hardly different from Edward or Geoffrey.”
Guy sighed. This was going to take a great deal of energy, energy he didn't have. Easier to let it go for now. Isabella was his only family, after all, and perhaps he should be glad that she had come to him and not to a lover, and shame them even more. “You may stay,” he said finally. “For now.”
“Thank you,” Isabella said quietly.
There was a long, awkward pause. Despite his weariness, Guy's thoughts flitted from topic to topic. He wanted to go to Marian, to ask her why? but there was no telling how long it would be before she woke. He wrestled briefly with the thought of keeping an injured woman locked up alone outdoors, but the indignation at her betrayal quickly quashed those feelings. No, she could stay there. He deserved some fucking rest, and she could wait on his pleasure.
Hannah entered then and curtsied, telling Isabella that her bath was ready. Guy stayed downstairs after she left, finishing his wine as he watched the fire slowly die, the inertia of fatigue keeping him in the hall until he grew cold.
Chapter Four