[Robin Hood] The Alchemy of Love: Chapter Four (5/14)
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: 5774 (/~40,000)
Author's Note: Beta'd by the wonderful ladykate63
CHAPTER FOUR
GUY
Guy shouldered the door of the shed open, blocking the entrance with his body so the guard behind him couldn't see inside. Marian was a darker smudge against the darkness; she stirred as he tossed a loaf of bread onto the ground.
“Guy,” she said, blinking blearily and pushing herself up onto one arm.
“Do not speak to me.” He set the bucket of water in his other hand down carelessly, some of the water splashing out onto his boot. He turned to leave; he felt no better equipped to deal with her than he had the night before. “We will talk when I get back tonight.”
He almost nodded off several times during the ride to Nottingham. It had been a long, restless night, and between the turmoil of his thoughts and vivid dreams, he couldn't tell how much he'd actually slept. When they reached the castle, Guy handed off his horse to one of the stable boys and told a servant to announce him to the Sheriff. “I have news,” he said grimly.
Guy pulled off his riding gloves as he headed toward the keep. After a moment he noticed footsteps trailing his. “Sir Guy!” a man called behind him. “Sir Guy, I must speak to you!”
“Now is not a good time,” he replied, continuing on his way.
“It's about your illness last winter, Sir Guy,” the man said more firmly. Guy stopped then and turned. It was Pitts, the physician who had been paid very generously to provide cover for his trip to the Holy Land. If he had come for more money, he had come at the wrong time.
“May we speak somewhere private?”
“Follow me.” Guy led him around the keep, to a corner of the courtyard that was used mostly for storage as it was out-of-the-way, but close to the river gate, where heavy things could be easily transported. It was littered with boxes and barrels, spare pieces of wood and bits of broken ceramic, evidently from men who had come to drink ale and shirk off their duties. It was chilly, shaded by one of the castle towers, but the tower also served to hide them from the rest of the courtyard.
“Well?” Guy asked, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the barrels.
“It's Robin Hood.”
Goddammit. Guy raised an eyebrow.
“He knows. I didn't tell him. Well, much. He suspected most of it already-”
“And you told him the rest?”
Pitts nodded. “He threatened me, he and his men. I thought you said he did not like violence.”
Guy ignored this. “Did he say his intentions?”
“He made me promise to testify about your absence.” He paused. “And . . . he said you tried to kill the King.”
Guy straightened, meeting the physician's uncertain gaze evenly. “And you have come here for protection, or more money to persuade you not to testify against me.”
Pitts's eyes slid away as Guy walked toward him. He continued softly, “So, you and I and the Sheriff are the only ones who know what happened. And now Hood. But if there are no witnesses, no one will believe him.” Guy grabbed Pitts's arm with one hand and shoved his curved dagger up into the man's torso with the other. “Robin Hood doesn't kill, you fool,” he hissed as Pitts sank to the ground, mouth open in a soundless cry. “But I do.” There was no reason for him to change his ways now. He had lost Marian, and all hope of redemption from the things he had done to get where he was.
Guy straightened. Blood was already soaking through the physician's clothing; he didn't want a tell-tale stain left behind. He unlocked the river gate and pulled it open with a squeal of rusting hinges. By the time he returned to Pitts, the man was pale, his breathing labored. There was no way he could tell his secrets in this state. Guy dragged him down the short incline to the water's edge and shoved him in with his foot, watching until the current pushed him out of sight.
*
“You said you had news for me?”
Guy turned away from the Sheriff to shut the door behind him. Now that the moment was upon him to tell the events of the night before, he found himself hesitating. The Sheriff would crow, he knew, would laugh in his face at how he had known, but Guy hadn't listened. Lepers, he would say, not knowing how much that wounded Guy.
And he would order her hanged.
Guy felt his resolve give way. He wanted to punish her, for the hurt and humiliation she'd caused him, but even he balked at the execution of a noble woman. Of Marian. No, better to deal with it himself, quietly.
“Go on then, Gisborne,” the Sheriff said, impatience clear in his voice.
“My sister is in town.”
Vaizey looked up from an examination of his cuticles. “I'd forgotten you had a sister. Here for the betrothal, eh?” He snickered, then his grin quickly became sour. “Why are you wasting my time with this?” he snapped. “We still have preparations to make for tomorrow.”
Guy dropped his chin, relieved. “I'm sorry, my lord.”
ISABELLA
Guy was gone by the time Isabella came downstairs. Her linens had been washed in the evening and dried by the fire overnight, and she'd tidied her gown as much as possible. It would need a thorough washing as soon as she could get another dress. She had a little bread and beer in the main room of the manor house, examining with curiosity the home her brother had gotten for himself. Its size and luxury suggested wealth and power, just as she'd hoped, as did the crest of their Evening father sitting atop the mantel.
When she asked, the butler informed her that Guy had gone to Nottingham, as he did most days, and would not return until close to sunset.
“And the Nightwatchman?”
“Sir Guy has instructed that no one should speak to him or enter the dairy shed.”
So he was still here. “Thank you, Thornton,” she said, and he retreated with the remains of her breakfast.
Isabella immediately went to find the shed. It wasn't difficult; it was the only outbuilding with a guard on it. The farmyard was relatively quiet at this time of the morning, with most of the daily chores having already been completed and the farmhands out in the fields working at the harvest. The serving girl was hanging up laundry with her back to Isabella, and the small group that was decorating the churchyard with garlands paid her no heed.
Isabella set her expression and strode across the yard towards the guard at the door of the shed.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said as she approached.
“I would like to see the prisoner.”
“I'm sorry my lady, but Sir Guy said no one could.”
“Even his own sister?”
The guard shuffled nervously. “I don't-”
“What's your name?” Isabella interrupted.
“Ben, m'lady.”
Isabella laid a hand on his arm. “Ben, I was captured by the Nightwatchman yesterday. He dragged me through the forest and took everything I had. If you and the others hadn't captured him, I don't know what I would have done. I want to go in there and tell him that he messed with the wrong family. I want to laugh in his face.” Isabella softened her haughty expression to an encouraging smile. “I'm sure you can understand.”
“Well, er,” the guard stammered, looking down at her hand.
“Just a few moments. I'll be quick, and I won't say a word to anyone about you doing me this little favor.”
The guard looked around. Finally, he said, “If you can be quick.”
“I promise,” Isabella said, smiling more broadly as he stepped out of the way.
She slid the bolt to the side and pushed the door in. She opened it only a fraction before slipping inside.
The dairy shed was small and dark, lit only by lines of light that shone between the wall planks and under the door. It also smelled strongly of goat. A dark shape nestled in a pile of straw shifted and sat up as the door creaked closed.
“Nightwatchman?” Isabella whispered, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the low light. “I wanted to thank you for helping me yesterday. I don't know why you put yourself in danger to help someone you didn't know, but . . . thank you. If there's anything I can do to repay you, please let me know.”
After a moment of silence, the Nightwatchman responded in a very unexpected voice. “I don't suppose you could help me escape, could you?”
“You're a woman!” Isabella cried, nearly forgetting to whisper. She crossed the shed in a few short steps and crouched so as to try and make out the woman's features. She was tired and dirty, but even in the low light Isabella could tell that she was beautiful-and that she had the fair skin of a noblewoman. “Is that why he was so upset?”
“I imagine he was upset because we are-were, I suppose-betrothed.”
Another revelation. One that put Guy's reaction to her arrival into perspective. Before Isabella could respond, the other woman spoke again. “He did not say who I was?”
Isabella shook her head, then realised her gesture might not be visible in the semi-darkness. “No. I don't think he's told anyone.”
“Did he say what he was going to do?” the woman asked after a moment, in a quieter voice.
“He told me very little, I'm afraid.” Their conversation the night before had been more about her than him, and now Isabella could see why. “What is your name?”
“Marian. Marian of Knighton. Isabella, I was not trying to harm Sir Guy. I was only taking wealth that would have been mine to give to the poor. But I fear that he will not listen to me.”
Isabella sat back on her heels. “If you are asking me to help you escape, I cannot do that. I am sorry. My safety depends on Guy's good will. I will speak on your behalf, though. I promise.” She genuinely regretted that she could not do more.
There was a rap at the door.
Isabella stood. “I must go.”
“Isabella-”
She stopped, hoping that Marian would not ask her again. She couldn't.
“How do you know Guy?”
“He's my brother,” she said, not able to keep the bitterness from her voice.
GUY
The house felt different when he returned, tired, with a headache. There were flowers on the mantelpiece and sweet herbs among the rushes. A flagon of wine and a cup stood on the table. It was nice, but he felt a stab of bitterness that it was at his sister's hand, not that of a wife who loved and honored him as she should. Guy poured himself a generous cup of wine and sat, giving into his fatigue.
Isabella entered from the kitchen bearing a basket of sliced bread and a pot of butter. The maid and the cook followed her, each with table settings and dishes of food.
“I thought I heard you come in,” Isabella said. “We're having pork and apples.”
Guy grunted and took a swig of his wine. Isabella was another problem he had to figure out how to deal with. She belonged with her alyaunce, according to the laws of both God and man, and he could be held legally accountable for sheltering a runaway woman. Her presence here resurrected in him a niggling guilt at leaving her behind after her marriage, so long ago, when she was still so young and her spouses little more than strangers. He resented it, especially on top of everything else.
“You look tired.”
He ventured a glance at Isabella but her expression showed nothing but polite unconcern. She sat.
“How is your arm?”
Guy unbuttoned his cuff and held out his arm. Isabella began to unwrap the bandage with deft hands. The cut wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was warm and pink around the edges, which wasn't a good sign. As she examined the wound, he took a moment to look at her, up close and in the better light of day. There were hints of the girl he remembered in the color of her eyes, the curl of her hair, but her girlish softness had fallen away. He could see their father in the shape of her jaw; their mother in her brow, though Ghislaine's brown eyes had been much warmer than Isabella's cool blue. But otherwise she was more different that he had imagined she would be, both in mannerism and expression. After a moment, he asked, “Are you good at healing?”
“Not as good as Maman was. I'm still learning.”
Isabella pressed a curious finger on the wound and Guy hissed.
“It ought to be stitched. Will you let me?”
Guy nodded. He didn't think it was really necessary, but if she wanted to be helpful, it only seemed fair. He was in a mood to be fussed over.
Guy sipped his wine while Isabella gathered honey, salve, clean bandages, and other things she would need, and the servants continued setting out the food. Tension was slowly falling away from him as his needs were looked after. He still had to decide what to do about Marian, but he was starting to feel better than he had all day.
“I was surprised that you didn't take the Nightwatchman to Nottingham,” Isabella said, once she had settled down to work on his arm. Guy winced at the sting of the wine she used to clean the wound.
“I had more important matters to attend to.”
“Of course. I heard about the King.” Guy grimaced; he was still stung that Vaizey hadn't seen fit to tell him that the King was not actually the King until today.
After a moment, Isabella asked, “Will he hang?”
“His crimes warrant it,” Guy said, not looking at her.
“Ah,” was all she said in reply.
Guy ventured a glance at her; her brow was furrowed, though whether in concentration or unhappiness he could not tell. “Does that displease you?”
Isabella's eyes darted to his, indicating he had hit upon the truth. “Despite his crimes, he did save me from those ruffians.”
“He kept you from the men who would take you to your lawful spouses,” Guy snapped, annoyed that their conversation was quickly undoing the peacefulness her ministrations had begun to impart.
“Those men were brutes. Who knows what they would have been capable of?” She shuddered.
Silently, Guy agreed with her. “Why didn't Edward and Geoffrey come get you themselves?”
There was a long pause while Isabella knotted the silk thread and made her first stitch. Guy hissed, but was not so distracted that the pause didn't seem suspiciously long. “Because they do not care what happens to me. I am little more than a possession to them.” She raised her eyes to his, offering that same challenging gaze he'd seen the night before.
Guy doubted her dramatic words. She'd always been imaginative and emotional as a child, and it seemed as if that hadn't changed. But Isabella being here was not the biggest of his worries at the moment, and so he let it slide. He could deal with her once he'd decided what to do about Marian and the betrothal, and after they'd seen Vaizey's plan to root out traitors to completion. Plus, she had a needle in his flesh right now.
“What will the Nightwatchman's punishment be, if he is not to hang?”
Guy was glad for the change of subject, less so that Isabella seemed to understand things he had not said. Another thing he had forgotten about her; she was too astute by far. But perhaps he could put her intelligence to good use.
“What punishment do you think fitting, if you think he does not deserve to die?”
“Surely a public flogging would set an example and deter future behavior?”
Guy snorted. It was like a woman to think flogging a sufficient punishment for housebreaking and the theft of several pounds of silver. And anyway, it was out of the question.
“In the forest, then.”
Guy looked up at his sister.
“With no one around to watch, he will suspect the worst, and fear you more. And he will be more grateful if you choose to show mercy.”
He considered this as Isabella tied off the thread. Some men beat their wives, and there was a small, vicious part of him that was angry enough to consider it. But largely he found the idea repugnant. No, better to strike at her father, not her. To let him walk into Vaizey's plan and reveal himself to be the traitor that Guy was certain that he was, and to take the punishment he deserved. The forest could instead serve as a cover for letting Marian go without his men knowing.
“That is a good idea,” he said. Isabella's expression eased. Women were so soft-hearted.
*
Their dinner was interrupted by the sudden arrival of William de Busli. He burst through the door without a glance at Thornton, hair wild from his ride and eyes blazing. “Gisborne, what is this?” he asked, brandishing the message that Guy had scrawled and sent off that morning. He caught sight of Isabella. “Who is that?”
Guy stood, his anger at being treated so in his own house overcoming his nervousness at what was to come. “This is my sister, Lady Isabella Thornton of the Evening. Isabella, meet Sir William de Busli of the Morning,” he said sharply. To her credit, Isabella stood and curtsied with practiced elegance. “A pleasure to meet you, Sir William,” she said in a low, demure voice, though her gaze was bright and curious.
William's expression softened somewhat. “My apologies, Lady Isabella. I have just received some distressing news from your brother and am rather out of sorts.” He glared at Guy.
“Leave us,” Guy said. Isabella bowed her head politely, then went upstairs.
“What the hell is this about, Gisborne?” William snapped once her footsteps had died away, though the edge had left his voice. He tossed the letter onto the table.
Guy crossed his arms. “Marian and I have had a disagreement.”
William raised an eyebrow. “A disagreement? You have cancelled our betrothal over a disagreement?”
Guy looked away. “It is irreconcilable.”
“Has she slept with another man?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Then what is so serious that you will embarrass myself and my family over?” His voice was taut with anger. Guy began to regret his hasty actions this morning, but not enough to not be offended.
“That is between Marian and myself.”
William tossed his head in frustration. “No, Gisborne, it's not. There are four of us in this, not just the two of you. That's the whole point of an alyaunce.” Their gazes met evenly for a moment. William sighed and approached Guy. “Can you forgive me for being unwilling to give you up?” he said quietly, reaching up to run his hand along Guy's jaw.
Guy's eyes fluttered involuntarily as he remembered the visit to Tickhill; de Busli had been right about having good hands. “I'm not happy about it either,” he said huskily.
“Then resolve whatever this is with Marian. Or let me send Ismena down to her,” William replied, leaning close enough that Guy could feel the man's breath on his neck. This really wasn't helping his resolve.
“William-”
de Busli straightened suddenly. “I'll tell my fathers to halt preparations for the betrothal and wedding,” he said coolly, “but I will expect a better explanation if you remain set on your decision.” He reached past Guy to take the letter. “Though I strongly suggest that you change your mind.” William was several inches shorter than Guy, but as he stood there, angry, radiating power and privilege, he suddenly seemed much more imposing.
“I will see you at the next Council meeting,” he said, and walked out the door.
Guy grabbed his wine goblet from dinner and took a long drink. Then, anger blossoming, he threw it against the wall.
MARIAN
Marian awoke with a start as the door to the shed was kicked in. She blinked in confusion; she had lost all track of time in the shed. She caught a glimpse of sky-a swathe of pink cloud, the bright evening star-and then the doorway was filled with Guy's silhouette. She scrambled upright, swaying as her head pounded. Indeed, it hadn't stopped pounding since she'd awoken to find herself locked in a small, dark, space that smelled nauseatingly of goat.
The shed was suddenly flooded with light as Guy entered, a torch in hand which he set into a ring on the wall. Strangely, he held her mask in the other. “We are not to be disturbed,” Guy said to someone outside, and then the door closed behind him.
“Guy,” Marian began, her dizziness having calmed enough for her to speak.
He did not look at her. He tossed her mask on the ground and sat on a milking stool. Marian sat back down on the pile of dirty straw she'd been sleeping on, heart sinking.
“Why?” he said, his gaze finding her for the first time. His eyes were cold.
“What?”
“Why did you do it?”
“I-it was only to help those who needed it. The poor, the sick-”
“Helping Robin Hood and stealing from me-attacking me-was only to help the poor.” Guy thrust his hand forward; Marian could see the edge of a bandage under his cuff.
“I am sorry that I hurt you. But I was not helping Robin Hood. We share the goal of helping the poor but I do not agree with his methods.”
“Like thievery?”
“That was different.” Marian bit her lip. This was going sorely wrong, but it was hard to think clearly with a splitting headache and hunger gnawing in her belly.
Guy crossed his arms. “Do go on.”
“I wanted-I wanted to do one last thing before I married. It was all going to go to the poor.”
“And you thought you could not ask me, or that Sir William or I would not allow you to give alms once we were married?”
She dropped her gaze. It wasn't about that at all, but she could hardly tell him that. “Guy,” she began slowly, as an idea formed, “You are always saying that we should get to know each other better before we marry. Well,” she said, raising her eyes to his, “this is who I am. What I believe in.”
His expression seemed to soften for just a moment, or maybe it was a trick of the flickering light, for he responded with, “If you believe stealing from people to give away to others who can't take care of themselves is some sort of justice, then you are sorely misguided.” He stood, scooping up her mask before straightening.
“What will happen to me?”
“Put this on,” he snapped, thrusting the mask towards her.
“What?” she asked, turning the mask over in her hands.
“Shall I do it for you?”
“No,” she said, and did as he had told her. “Guy, please, tell me what's going on.”
“We are going to the forest.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm going to let you go.”
Marian blinked at him in astonishment, and as she did, Guy grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. When Marian realized what was happening, she tried to jerk away. Guy's grip was too tight. “This will be easier if you cooperate. Give me your other hand,” he commanded.
She weighed her options. She could fight back, and have a fair chance of getting past Guy, but she didn't know what awaited her outside the shed. And then what? Nowhere was safe anymore, now that her identity was known. He told her he was going to let her go; she would have to take her chances. She did not truly believe that he would harm her. Slowly, she extended her other arm. Guy grabbed it and pulled a length of twine from his belt, which he looped and tied tightly around her wrists. When he was finished, she tested the knots. They would hold.
“Pull up your kerchief,” he said, reaching to pull her hood over her head. Marian looked up at him, but even as close as they were, she could not read his intentions. Again, she obeyed him, and then he took her by the arm and pulled her out into the night.
“My lord,” said the two guards outside, standing to attention.
“You may go,” Guy said. “I'm going to deal with the Nightwatchman myself.”
“Don't we get to see the show?” one of the them asked.
“I'm afraid this one is personal,” he replied, with a frightening, wolfish grin. He gestured towards his bandaged arm and the men nodded in understanding.
Once they had reached the cover of the forest, Guy turned and wordlessly cut her bonds.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, pulling down her kerchief. “I thought you were a great believer in justice.”
“I am,” Guy said. “Give me your mask.”
A terrible thought struck her as Marian worked at the knot on her mask. “You are planning something. Something to punish me.”
Guy jerked the mask from her hand. “Not everything is about you, Marian. Now go home, and stay there.”
“Guy-”
“Marian,” he warned.
“What about the betrothal ceremony tomorrow?” Her question was a test; she knew that the physician's evidence meant she no longer had to depend on Guy for safety, but she needed some idea of his intentions. And whether the king's return the next day would be soon enough.
His face darkened. “It's cancelled. I do not brook disloyalty. Especially not from my family.”
Marian looked at him a long moment, feeling both relieved and worried. He was in no mood to be reasoned with right now. She feared waiting until another opportunity presented itself, but she did not know what else she could do. He was letting her go with only the injuries she'd received at the hands of his men; she supposed she should not push her luck.
She nodded, then turned.
“And Marian-if the Nightwatchman is ever seen again, I will not show mercy.”
ROBIN
“Robin,” Little John said, and from the tone of his voice, Robin immediately knew that it was Marian. He dashed from his spot by the fireplace out the door, Sir Edward close on his heels. A figure moved toward them from the forest, walking slowly but steadily. “Marian!” he cried, and ran to meet her. He enveloped her in a hug and, weary, she sank into his arms.
“Are you alright?” Sir Edward asked as he approached. She straightened, nodded, and embraced him as well.
“Come,” Robin said, surveying her injuries with worried eyes. “You can tell us everything inside.”
Robin stood back as Edward and the servants of Knighton fussed over Marian, bringing her food, ale, a lap rug. He could see that she did not particularly like it, but she submitted without complaint. His men sat quietly, concerned but mindful of their place and the danger that their very presence made.
“Djaq,” Robin said quietly, “Will you work your magic?” She nodded and began to pick though the small pack she carried for medical supplies.
“What happened, Marian?” Edward asked, once she was settled and the servants had been sent away. “Where have you been?”
Marian bit her lip, reluctance written over her face. Robin came to squat by her chair. “We were worried for you.”
Her shoulders drooped. “It was Gisborne,” she said quietly.
Edward sat heavily in the chair opposite Marian. “Does he know?”
She nodded. In the long pause that followed, Djaq took the opportunity to kneel on Marian's other side to examine the weal at her temple.
“How did it happen?” Robin asked, trying to remain calm. The fact that her wounds were at Gisborne's doing-either by his own hand or that of one of his men-was almost enough to make him start out to Locksley immediately. But now was not the time, now was Marian's time.
Marian sighed. “There was a woman. In the forest. She was being attacked by some men and I fought them off. I didn't think it was right to leave her alone in the forest at night.”
“How did Gisborne's men find you?”
Marian looked up at him, both guilt and defiance in her gaze. “She was going to Locksley. She was Gisborne's sister.”
Robin frowned. “Since when does Gisborne have a sister? Did you know about this?” he asked, looking to Sir Edward and Will, both of whom shook their heads. He looked back at Marian. “And you just took her there?”
“You would have done.”
“And I have five men to back me up!” Behind him, he could hear Much mutter something and Will hiss in response.
“I only took her close enough to see the village,” Marian said, rolling her eyes. “I'm not stupid.”
“You got caught!”
“Robin!” Edward snapped, and Robin dropped his head, chastened but still angry. She had been foolish, and she ought to know it-she had nearly been caught robbing the house as well. But he would respect Sir Edward's authority in his own house. Robin took a deep breath. “So he still had men out, and they found you.”
“He locked me in his milking shed all day and then he let me go.”
Robin glanced at Edward, frowning. “He just let you go?”
“Isabella-his sister-came to see me during the day. She said she would speak for me.”
“And you trust her?” It all seemed far too convenient.
“I'm here, aren't I?” Sir Edward reached out and took Marian's hand. She smiled at him gratefully. “I think he's planning something, though.”
This time Edward looked to Robin. He had told the outlaws of his suspicions earlier, when they had first come to Knighton to check on Marian. But then, realizing that no one knew Marian's whereabouts, they had been too busy searching for her to discuss the matter further.
“Like what?” Marian asked.
Her father hesitated before responding. “I think the Sheriff is going to try and kill the King.”
Marian straightened. “What?”
“The Sheriff knows that Robin will testify to his crimes, and that he is a favorite of Richard's. I think he will take drastic measures before surrendering his power.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Now that we know you are safe, I am going to meet with the other lords I can trust. We must not let this happen.”
Marian nodded slowly. “Will the de Buslis be there?”
Robin regarded her intently.
“What did Sir Guy say, Marian?” Edward asked, an edge to his voice.
“He said the alyaunce was off.”
Robin felt a surge of joy.
“That's a good thing,” Allan commented. Robin shot him a look.
“Why?” Marian asked, frowning.
Robin sighed and looked back at her. “When we were out looking for you, we found the body of the physician who was going to testify against Gisborne. He was floating in the river, but he had been stabbed.” He had been afraid that, without Pitts to give testimony, Marian would once again resolve to marry Gisborne. Now she was in great danger, but at least she would not have to bind herself to him for life.
Marian's eyes widened.
“But Gisborne called the wedding off, so it's alright,” Much said.
“Not quite,” Will replied.
“We no longer have evidence of Gisborne's treason,” Robin said grimly, “but he has committed crimes enough in Nottingham that many will attest to tomorrow.”
Edward leaned forward and laid a careful hand on Marian's cheek. “I hate to leave you now. But it is our duty to protect the king.”
Marian nodded. “I understand.”
Edward drew her into a hug before standing. “I will be back by morning.”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Djaq asked.
Marian shook her head. “Just bumps and bruises. Nothing that a long bath won't ease.” She smiled in thanks as Djaq stood.
“Be sure to get plenty of rest for the next few days. You will be fine, but do not push yourself.”
One by one they filed out the door with the rustle of cloaks and the clack of gathered weapons. Robin hung back until it was only him and Marian. She looked up at him, and suddenly fatigue seemed etched much more deeply on her face.
“Are you truly alright, Marian?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “A bath and rest are all I need.”
He looked at her a long moment, but she seemed to be telling the truth.
“I am glad.” He meant to stop there, but the next words pushed themselves up, tumbling over his tongue before he could stop them. “I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you.”
After a moment Marian broke into a small smile. A smile Robin felt mirrored on his own face. “See you after we save the King.”
Marian's smile deepened, and Robin tucked the image into his heart as he ran out into the darkness.
Rating: R
Pairings: Guy/Marian/Isabella/Robin (Guy/Marian, Marian/Isabella, Isabella/Robin, Guy/Robin); a teeny bit of Allan/Will/Djaq
Word Count: 5774 (/~40,000)
Author's Note: Beta'd by the wonderful ladykate63
CHAPTER FOUR
GUY
Guy shouldered the door of the shed open, blocking the entrance with his body so the guard behind him couldn't see inside. Marian was a darker smudge against the darkness; she stirred as he tossed a loaf of bread onto the ground.
“Guy,” she said, blinking blearily and pushing herself up onto one arm.
“Do not speak to me.” He set the bucket of water in his other hand down carelessly, some of the water splashing out onto his boot. He turned to leave; he felt no better equipped to deal with her than he had the night before. “We will talk when I get back tonight.”
He almost nodded off several times during the ride to Nottingham. It had been a long, restless night, and between the turmoil of his thoughts and vivid dreams, he couldn't tell how much he'd actually slept. When they reached the castle, Guy handed off his horse to one of the stable boys and told a servant to announce him to the Sheriff. “I have news,” he said grimly.
Guy pulled off his riding gloves as he headed toward the keep. After a moment he noticed footsteps trailing his. “Sir Guy!” a man called behind him. “Sir Guy, I must speak to you!”
“Now is not a good time,” he replied, continuing on his way.
“It's about your illness last winter, Sir Guy,” the man said more firmly. Guy stopped then and turned. It was Pitts, the physician who had been paid very generously to provide cover for his trip to the Holy Land. If he had come for more money, he had come at the wrong time.
“May we speak somewhere private?”
“Follow me.” Guy led him around the keep, to a corner of the courtyard that was used mostly for storage as it was out-of-the-way, but close to the river gate, where heavy things could be easily transported. It was littered with boxes and barrels, spare pieces of wood and bits of broken ceramic, evidently from men who had come to drink ale and shirk off their duties. It was chilly, shaded by one of the castle towers, but the tower also served to hide them from the rest of the courtyard.
“Well?” Guy asked, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the barrels.
“It's Robin Hood.”
Goddammit. Guy raised an eyebrow.
“He knows. I didn't tell him. Well, much. He suspected most of it already-”
“And you told him the rest?”
Pitts nodded. “He threatened me, he and his men. I thought you said he did not like violence.”
Guy ignored this. “Did he say his intentions?”
“He made me promise to testify about your absence.” He paused. “And . . . he said you tried to kill the King.”
Guy straightened, meeting the physician's uncertain gaze evenly. “And you have come here for protection, or more money to persuade you not to testify against me.”
Pitts's eyes slid away as Guy walked toward him. He continued softly, “So, you and I and the Sheriff are the only ones who know what happened. And now Hood. But if there are no witnesses, no one will believe him.” Guy grabbed Pitts's arm with one hand and shoved his curved dagger up into the man's torso with the other. “Robin Hood doesn't kill, you fool,” he hissed as Pitts sank to the ground, mouth open in a soundless cry. “But I do.” There was no reason for him to change his ways now. He had lost Marian, and all hope of redemption from the things he had done to get where he was.
Guy straightened. Blood was already soaking through the physician's clothing; he didn't want a tell-tale stain left behind. He unlocked the river gate and pulled it open with a squeal of rusting hinges. By the time he returned to Pitts, the man was pale, his breathing labored. There was no way he could tell his secrets in this state. Guy dragged him down the short incline to the water's edge and shoved him in with his foot, watching until the current pushed him out of sight.
*
“You said you had news for me?”
Guy turned away from the Sheriff to shut the door behind him. Now that the moment was upon him to tell the events of the night before, he found himself hesitating. The Sheriff would crow, he knew, would laugh in his face at how he had known, but Guy hadn't listened. Lepers, he would say, not knowing how much that wounded Guy.
And he would order her hanged.
Guy felt his resolve give way. He wanted to punish her, for the hurt and humiliation she'd caused him, but even he balked at the execution of a noble woman. Of Marian. No, better to deal with it himself, quietly.
“Go on then, Gisborne,” the Sheriff said, impatience clear in his voice.
“My sister is in town.”
Vaizey looked up from an examination of his cuticles. “I'd forgotten you had a sister. Here for the betrothal, eh?” He snickered, then his grin quickly became sour. “Why are you wasting my time with this?” he snapped. “We still have preparations to make for tomorrow.”
Guy dropped his chin, relieved. “I'm sorry, my lord.”
ISABELLA
Guy was gone by the time Isabella came downstairs. Her linens had been washed in the evening and dried by the fire overnight, and she'd tidied her gown as much as possible. It would need a thorough washing as soon as she could get another dress. She had a little bread and beer in the main room of the manor house, examining with curiosity the home her brother had gotten for himself. Its size and luxury suggested wealth and power, just as she'd hoped, as did the crest of their Evening father sitting atop the mantel.
When she asked, the butler informed her that Guy had gone to Nottingham, as he did most days, and would not return until close to sunset.
“And the Nightwatchman?”
“Sir Guy has instructed that no one should speak to him or enter the dairy shed.”
So he was still here. “Thank you, Thornton,” she said, and he retreated with the remains of her breakfast.
Isabella immediately went to find the shed. It wasn't difficult; it was the only outbuilding with a guard on it. The farmyard was relatively quiet at this time of the morning, with most of the daily chores having already been completed and the farmhands out in the fields working at the harvest. The serving girl was hanging up laundry with her back to Isabella, and the small group that was decorating the churchyard with garlands paid her no heed.
Isabella set her expression and strode across the yard towards the guard at the door of the shed.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said as she approached.
“I would like to see the prisoner.”
“I'm sorry my lady, but Sir Guy said no one could.”
“Even his own sister?”
The guard shuffled nervously. “I don't-”
“What's your name?” Isabella interrupted.
“Ben, m'lady.”
Isabella laid a hand on his arm. “Ben, I was captured by the Nightwatchman yesterday. He dragged me through the forest and took everything I had. If you and the others hadn't captured him, I don't know what I would have done. I want to go in there and tell him that he messed with the wrong family. I want to laugh in his face.” Isabella softened her haughty expression to an encouraging smile. “I'm sure you can understand.”
“Well, er,” the guard stammered, looking down at her hand.
“Just a few moments. I'll be quick, and I won't say a word to anyone about you doing me this little favor.”
The guard looked around. Finally, he said, “If you can be quick.”
“I promise,” Isabella said, smiling more broadly as he stepped out of the way.
She slid the bolt to the side and pushed the door in. She opened it only a fraction before slipping inside.
The dairy shed was small and dark, lit only by lines of light that shone between the wall planks and under the door. It also smelled strongly of goat. A dark shape nestled in a pile of straw shifted and sat up as the door creaked closed.
“Nightwatchman?” Isabella whispered, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the low light. “I wanted to thank you for helping me yesterday. I don't know why you put yourself in danger to help someone you didn't know, but . . . thank you. If there's anything I can do to repay you, please let me know.”
After a moment of silence, the Nightwatchman responded in a very unexpected voice. “I don't suppose you could help me escape, could you?”
“You're a woman!” Isabella cried, nearly forgetting to whisper. She crossed the shed in a few short steps and crouched so as to try and make out the woman's features. She was tired and dirty, but even in the low light Isabella could tell that she was beautiful-and that she had the fair skin of a noblewoman. “Is that why he was so upset?”
“I imagine he was upset because we are-were, I suppose-betrothed.”
Another revelation. One that put Guy's reaction to her arrival into perspective. Before Isabella could respond, the other woman spoke again. “He did not say who I was?”
Isabella shook her head, then realised her gesture might not be visible in the semi-darkness. “No. I don't think he's told anyone.”
“Did he say what he was going to do?” the woman asked after a moment, in a quieter voice.
“He told me very little, I'm afraid.” Their conversation the night before had been more about her than him, and now Isabella could see why. “What is your name?”
“Marian. Marian of Knighton. Isabella, I was not trying to harm Sir Guy. I was only taking wealth that would have been mine to give to the poor. But I fear that he will not listen to me.”
Isabella sat back on her heels. “If you are asking me to help you escape, I cannot do that. I am sorry. My safety depends on Guy's good will. I will speak on your behalf, though. I promise.” She genuinely regretted that she could not do more.
There was a rap at the door.
Isabella stood. “I must go.”
“Isabella-”
She stopped, hoping that Marian would not ask her again. She couldn't.
“How do you know Guy?”
“He's my brother,” she said, not able to keep the bitterness from her voice.
GUY
The house felt different when he returned, tired, with a headache. There were flowers on the mantelpiece and sweet herbs among the rushes. A flagon of wine and a cup stood on the table. It was nice, but he felt a stab of bitterness that it was at his sister's hand, not that of a wife who loved and honored him as she should. Guy poured himself a generous cup of wine and sat, giving into his fatigue.
Isabella entered from the kitchen bearing a basket of sliced bread and a pot of butter. The maid and the cook followed her, each with table settings and dishes of food.
“I thought I heard you come in,” Isabella said. “We're having pork and apples.”
Guy grunted and took a swig of his wine. Isabella was another problem he had to figure out how to deal with. She belonged with her alyaunce, according to the laws of both God and man, and he could be held legally accountable for sheltering a runaway woman. Her presence here resurrected in him a niggling guilt at leaving her behind after her marriage, so long ago, when she was still so young and her spouses little more than strangers. He resented it, especially on top of everything else.
“You look tired.”
He ventured a glance at Isabella but her expression showed nothing but polite unconcern. She sat.
“How is your arm?”
Guy unbuttoned his cuff and held out his arm. Isabella began to unwrap the bandage with deft hands. The cut wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was warm and pink around the edges, which wasn't a good sign. As she examined the wound, he took a moment to look at her, up close and in the better light of day. There were hints of the girl he remembered in the color of her eyes, the curl of her hair, but her girlish softness had fallen away. He could see their father in the shape of her jaw; their mother in her brow, though Ghislaine's brown eyes had been much warmer than Isabella's cool blue. But otherwise she was more different that he had imagined she would be, both in mannerism and expression. After a moment, he asked, “Are you good at healing?”
“Not as good as Maman was. I'm still learning.”
Isabella pressed a curious finger on the wound and Guy hissed.
“It ought to be stitched. Will you let me?”
Guy nodded. He didn't think it was really necessary, but if she wanted to be helpful, it only seemed fair. He was in a mood to be fussed over.
Guy sipped his wine while Isabella gathered honey, salve, clean bandages, and other things she would need, and the servants continued setting out the food. Tension was slowly falling away from him as his needs were looked after. He still had to decide what to do about Marian, but he was starting to feel better than he had all day.
“I was surprised that you didn't take the Nightwatchman to Nottingham,” Isabella said, once she had settled down to work on his arm. Guy winced at the sting of the wine she used to clean the wound.
“I had more important matters to attend to.”
“Of course. I heard about the King.” Guy grimaced; he was still stung that Vaizey hadn't seen fit to tell him that the King was not actually the King until today.
After a moment, Isabella asked, “Will he hang?”
“His crimes warrant it,” Guy said, not looking at her.
“Ah,” was all she said in reply.
Guy ventured a glance at her; her brow was furrowed, though whether in concentration or unhappiness he could not tell. “Does that displease you?”
Isabella's eyes darted to his, indicating he had hit upon the truth. “Despite his crimes, he did save me from those ruffians.”
“He kept you from the men who would take you to your lawful spouses,” Guy snapped, annoyed that their conversation was quickly undoing the peacefulness her ministrations had begun to impart.
“Those men were brutes. Who knows what they would have been capable of?” She shuddered.
Silently, Guy agreed with her. “Why didn't Edward and Geoffrey come get you themselves?”
There was a long pause while Isabella knotted the silk thread and made her first stitch. Guy hissed, but was not so distracted that the pause didn't seem suspiciously long. “Because they do not care what happens to me. I am little more than a possession to them.” She raised her eyes to his, offering that same challenging gaze he'd seen the night before.
Guy doubted her dramatic words. She'd always been imaginative and emotional as a child, and it seemed as if that hadn't changed. But Isabella being here was not the biggest of his worries at the moment, and so he let it slide. He could deal with her once he'd decided what to do about Marian and the betrothal, and after they'd seen Vaizey's plan to root out traitors to completion. Plus, she had a needle in his flesh right now.
“What will the Nightwatchman's punishment be, if he is not to hang?”
Guy was glad for the change of subject, less so that Isabella seemed to understand things he had not said. Another thing he had forgotten about her; she was too astute by far. But perhaps he could put her intelligence to good use.
“What punishment do you think fitting, if you think he does not deserve to die?”
“Surely a public flogging would set an example and deter future behavior?”
Guy snorted. It was like a woman to think flogging a sufficient punishment for housebreaking and the theft of several pounds of silver. And anyway, it was out of the question.
“In the forest, then.”
Guy looked up at his sister.
“With no one around to watch, he will suspect the worst, and fear you more. And he will be more grateful if you choose to show mercy.”
He considered this as Isabella tied off the thread. Some men beat their wives, and there was a small, vicious part of him that was angry enough to consider it. But largely he found the idea repugnant. No, better to strike at her father, not her. To let him walk into Vaizey's plan and reveal himself to be the traitor that Guy was certain that he was, and to take the punishment he deserved. The forest could instead serve as a cover for letting Marian go without his men knowing.
“That is a good idea,” he said. Isabella's expression eased. Women were so soft-hearted.
*
Their dinner was interrupted by the sudden arrival of William de Busli. He burst through the door without a glance at Thornton, hair wild from his ride and eyes blazing. “Gisborne, what is this?” he asked, brandishing the message that Guy had scrawled and sent off that morning. He caught sight of Isabella. “Who is that?”
Guy stood, his anger at being treated so in his own house overcoming his nervousness at what was to come. “This is my sister, Lady Isabella Thornton of the Evening. Isabella, meet Sir William de Busli of the Morning,” he said sharply. To her credit, Isabella stood and curtsied with practiced elegance. “A pleasure to meet you, Sir William,” she said in a low, demure voice, though her gaze was bright and curious.
William's expression softened somewhat. “My apologies, Lady Isabella. I have just received some distressing news from your brother and am rather out of sorts.” He glared at Guy.
“Leave us,” Guy said. Isabella bowed her head politely, then went upstairs.
“What the hell is this about, Gisborne?” William snapped once her footsteps had died away, though the edge had left his voice. He tossed the letter onto the table.
Guy crossed his arms. “Marian and I have had a disagreement.”
William raised an eyebrow. “A disagreement? You have cancelled our betrothal over a disagreement?”
Guy looked away. “It is irreconcilable.”
“Has she slept with another man?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Then what is so serious that you will embarrass myself and my family over?” His voice was taut with anger. Guy began to regret his hasty actions this morning, but not enough to not be offended.
“That is between Marian and myself.”
William tossed his head in frustration. “No, Gisborne, it's not. There are four of us in this, not just the two of you. That's the whole point of an alyaunce.” Their gazes met evenly for a moment. William sighed and approached Guy. “Can you forgive me for being unwilling to give you up?” he said quietly, reaching up to run his hand along Guy's jaw.
Guy's eyes fluttered involuntarily as he remembered the visit to Tickhill; de Busli had been right about having good hands. “I'm not happy about it either,” he said huskily.
“Then resolve whatever this is with Marian. Or let me send Ismena down to her,” William replied, leaning close enough that Guy could feel the man's breath on his neck. This really wasn't helping his resolve.
“William-”
de Busli straightened suddenly. “I'll tell my fathers to halt preparations for the betrothal and wedding,” he said coolly, “but I will expect a better explanation if you remain set on your decision.” He reached past Guy to take the letter. “Though I strongly suggest that you change your mind.” William was several inches shorter than Guy, but as he stood there, angry, radiating power and privilege, he suddenly seemed much more imposing.
“I will see you at the next Council meeting,” he said, and walked out the door.
Guy grabbed his wine goblet from dinner and took a long drink. Then, anger blossoming, he threw it against the wall.
MARIAN
Marian awoke with a start as the door to the shed was kicked in. She blinked in confusion; she had lost all track of time in the shed. She caught a glimpse of sky-a swathe of pink cloud, the bright evening star-and then the doorway was filled with Guy's silhouette. She scrambled upright, swaying as her head pounded. Indeed, it hadn't stopped pounding since she'd awoken to find herself locked in a small, dark, space that smelled nauseatingly of goat.
The shed was suddenly flooded with light as Guy entered, a torch in hand which he set into a ring on the wall. Strangely, he held her mask in the other. “We are not to be disturbed,” Guy said to someone outside, and then the door closed behind him.
“Guy,” Marian began, her dizziness having calmed enough for her to speak.
He did not look at her. He tossed her mask on the ground and sat on a milking stool. Marian sat back down on the pile of dirty straw she'd been sleeping on, heart sinking.
“Why?” he said, his gaze finding her for the first time. His eyes were cold.
“What?”
“Why did you do it?”
“I-it was only to help those who needed it. The poor, the sick-”
“Helping Robin Hood and stealing from me-attacking me-was only to help the poor.” Guy thrust his hand forward; Marian could see the edge of a bandage under his cuff.
“I am sorry that I hurt you. But I was not helping Robin Hood. We share the goal of helping the poor but I do not agree with his methods.”
“Like thievery?”
“That was different.” Marian bit her lip. This was going sorely wrong, but it was hard to think clearly with a splitting headache and hunger gnawing in her belly.
Guy crossed his arms. “Do go on.”
“I wanted-I wanted to do one last thing before I married. It was all going to go to the poor.”
“And you thought you could not ask me, or that Sir William or I would not allow you to give alms once we were married?”
She dropped her gaze. It wasn't about that at all, but she could hardly tell him that. “Guy,” she began slowly, as an idea formed, “You are always saying that we should get to know each other better before we marry. Well,” she said, raising her eyes to his, “this is who I am. What I believe in.”
His expression seemed to soften for just a moment, or maybe it was a trick of the flickering light, for he responded with, “If you believe stealing from people to give away to others who can't take care of themselves is some sort of justice, then you are sorely misguided.” He stood, scooping up her mask before straightening.
“What will happen to me?”
“Put this on,” he snapped, thrusting the mask towards her.
“What?” she asked, turning the mask over in her hands.
“Shall I do it for you?”
“No,” she said, and did as he had told her. “Guy, please, tell me what's going on.”
“We are going to the forest.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm going to let you go.”
Marian blinked at him in astonishment, and as she did, Guy grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. When Marian realized what was happening, she tried to jerk away. Guy's grip was too tight. “This will be easier if you cooperate. Give me your other hand,” he commanded.
She weighed her options. She could fight back, and have a fair chance of getting past Guy, but she didn't know what awaited her outside the shed. And then what? Nowhere was safe anymore, now that her identity was known. He told her he was going to let her go; she would have to take her chances. She did not truly believe that he would harm her. Slowly, she extended her other arm. Guy grabbed it and pulled a length of twine from his belt, which he looped and tied tightly around her wrists. When he was finished, she tested the knots. They would hold.
“Pull up your kerchief,” he said, reaching to pull her hood over her head. Marian looked up at him, but even as close as they were, she could not read his intentions. Again, she obeyed him, and then he took her by the arm and pulled her out into the night.
“My lord,” said the two guards outside, standing to attention.
“You may go,” Guy said. “I'm going to deal with the Nightwatchman myself.”
“Don't we get to see the show?” one of the them asked.
“I'm afraid this one is personal,” he replied, with a frightening, wolfish grin. He gestured towards his bandaged arm and the men nodded in understanding.
Once they had reached the cover of the forest, Guy turned and wordlessly cut her bonds.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, pulling down her kerchief. “I thought you were a great believer in justice.”
“I am,” Guy said. “Give me your mask.”
A terrible thought struck her as Marian worked at the knot on her mask. “You are planning something. Something to punish me.”
Guy jerked the mask from her hand. “Not everything is about you, Marian. Now go home, and stay there.”
“Guy-”
“Marian,” he warned.
“What about the betrothal ceremony tomorrow?” Her question was a test; she knew that the physician's evidence meant she no longer had to depend on Guy for safety, but she needed some idea of his intentions. And whether the king's return the next day would be soon enough.
His face darkened. “It's cancelled. I do not brook disloyalty. Especially not from my family.”
Marian looked at him a long moment, feeling both relieved and worried. He was in no mood to be reasoned with right now. She feared waiting until another opportunity presented itself, but she did not know what else she could do. He was letting her go with only the injuries she'd received at the hands of his men; she supposed she should not push her luck.
She nodded, then turned.
“And Marian-if the Nightwatchman is ever seen again, I will not show mercy.”
ROBIN
“Robin,” Little John said, and from the tone of his voice, Robin immediately knew that it was Marian. He dashed from his spot by the fireplace out the door, Sir Edward close on his heels. A figure moved toward them from the forest, walking slowly but steadily. “Marian!” he cried, and ran to meet her. He enveloped her in a hug and, weary, she sank into his arms.
“Are you alright?” Sir Edward asked as he approached. She straightened, nodded, and embraced him as well.
“Come,” Robin said, surveying her injuries with worried eyes. “You can tell us everything inside.”
Robin stood back as Edward and the servants of Knighton fussed over Marian, bringing her food, ale, a lap rug. He could see that she did not particularly like it, but she submitted without complaint. His men sat quietly, concerned but mindful of their place and the danger that their very presence made.
“Djaq,” Robin said quietly, “Will you work your magic?” She nodded and began to pick though the small pack she carried for medical supplies.
“What happened, Marian?” Edward asked, once she was settled and the servants had been sent away. “Where have you been?”
Marian bit her lip, reluctance written over her face. Robin came to squat by her chair. “We were worried for you.”
Her shoulders drooped. “It was Gisborne,” she said quietly.
Edward sat heavily in the chair opposite Marian. “Does he know?”
She nodded. In the long pause that followed, Djaq took the opportunity to kneel on Marian's other side to examine the weal at her temple.
“How did it happen?” Robin asked, trying to remain calm. The fact that her wounds were at Gisborne's doing-either by his own hand or that of one of his men-was almost enough to make him start out to Locksley immediately. But now was not the time, now was Marian's time.
Marian sighed. “There was a woman. In the forest. She was being attacked by some men and I fought them off. I didn't think it was right to leave her alone in the forest at night.”
“How did Gisborne's men find you?”
Marian looked up at him, both guilt and defiance in her gaze. “She was going to Locksley. She was Gisborne's sister.”
Robin frowned. “Since when does Gisborne have a sister? Did you know about this?” he asked, looking to Sir Edward and Will, both of whom shook their heads. He looked back at Marian. “And you just took her there?”
“You would have done.”
“And I have five men to back me up!” Behind him, he could hear Much mutter something and Will hiss in response.
“I only took her close enough to see the village,” Marian said, rolling her eyes. “I'm not stupid.”
“You got caught!”
“Robin!” Edward snapped, and Robin dropped his head, chastened but still angry. She had been foolish, and she ought to know it-she had nearly been caught robbing the house as well. But he would respect Sir Edward's authority in his own house. Robin took a deep breath. “So he still had men out, and they found you.”
“He locked me in his milking shed all day and then he let me go.”
Robin glanced at Edward, frowning. “He just let you go?”
“Isabella-his sister-came to see me during the day. She said she would speak for me.”
“And you trust her?” It all seemed far too convenient.
“I'm here, aren't I?” Sir Edward reached out and took Marian's hand. She smiled at him gratefully. “I think he's planning something, though.”
This time Edward looked to Robin. He had told the outlaws of his suspicions earlier, when they had first come to Knighton to check on Marian. But then, realizing that no one knew Marian's whereabouts, they had been too busy searching for her to discuss the matter further.
“Like what?” Marian asked.
Her father hesitated before responding. “I think the Sheriff is going to try and kill the King.”
Marian straightened. “What?”
“The Sheriff knows that Robin will testify to his crimes, and that he is a favorite of Richard's. I think he will take drastic measures before surrendering his power.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Now that we know you are safe, I am going to meet with the other lords I can trust. We must not let this happen.”
Marian nodded slowly. “Will the de Buslis be there?”
Robin regarded her intently.
“What did Sir Guy say, Marian?” Edward asked, an edge to his voice.
“He said the alyaunce was off.”
Robin felt a surge of joy.
“That's a good thing,” Allan commented. Robin shot him a look.
“Why?” Marian asked, frowning.
Robin sighed and looked back at her. “When we were out looking for you, we found the body of the physician who was going to testify against Gisborne. He was floating in the river, but he had been stabbed.” He had been afraid that, without Pitts to give testimony, Marian would once again resolve to marry Gisborne. Now she was in great danger, but at least she would not have to bind herself to him for life.
Marian's eyes widened.
“But Gisborne called the wedding off, so it's alright,” Much said.
“Not quite,” Will replied.
“We no longer have evidence of Gisborne's treason,” Robin said grimly, “but he has committed crimes enough in Nottingham that many will attest to tomorrow.”
Edward leaned forward and laid a careful hand on Marian's cheek. “I hate to leave you now. But it is our duty to protect the king.”
Marian nodded. “I understand.”
Edward drew her into a hug before standing. “I will be back by morning.”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Djaq asked.
Marian shook her head. “Just bumps and bruises. Nothing that a long bath won't ease.” She smiled in thanks as Djaq stood.
“Be sure to get plenty of rest for the next few days. You will be fine, but do not push yourself.”
One by one they filed out the door with the rustle of cloaks and the clack of gathered weapons. Robin hung back until it was only him and Marian. She looked up at him, and suddenly fatigue seemed etched much more deeply on her face.
“Are you truly alright, Marian?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “A bath and rest are all I need.”
He looked at her a long moment, but she seemed to be telling the truth.
“I am glad.” He meant to stop there, but the next words pushed themselves up, tumbling over his tongue before he could stop them. “I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you.”
After a moment Marian broke into a small smile. A smile Robin felt mirrored on his own face. “See you after we save the King.”
Marian's smile deepened, and Robin tucked the image into his heart as he ran out into the darkness.