"To Be Worthy" (Guy/Marian- Historical Romance- R): Chapter VII
SUMMARY: Betrayed by his latest master and mocked by the cruel hand of destiny, Sir Guy of Gisborne returns to Nottingham twenty years after his banishment determined to reclaim the life which should have been his.
AUTHOR: Lexie aka lillianschild
RATING: Mild R for this chapter
FANDOM: Robin Hood
PAIRING: Guy/Marian
GENRE: Romance
Disclaimer: Tiger Aspect Productions and the BBC are free to claim whatever they own of this piece, except Guy's thoughts and my words which are ours to keep. lol.
A/N: Set in an alternate Series 1 where Guy has never met Vasey before his arrival in Nottingham, this fic will explore what impact an earlier acquaintance with Marian might have had on Guy's life and ultimate fate.
READ THE BEGINNING HERE
READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE
CHAPTER VII
Guy woke up with a splitting headache and a searing pain in his shoulder. He was drained from all energy and found no strength left in him to either cry or moan. And even if he had had an ounce of energy left in him, his tongue and throat were too dry to articulate a sound.
Surveying his surroundings, he tried to remember how he'd ended up occupying one of the castle's rooms when he'd spent the previous nights in a tent, lying in a modest cot. Clearly someone had carried him here while he was unconscious.
Dawn was breaking, judging by the light coming through the small window. He had slept at least twelve hours.
Closing his eyes, he went over the events of the previous day, the lance shattering and the excruciating pain following the collision. Carefully, he raised his uninjured arm and touched the bandages and the sling. Lady Marian. She'd tended to him. Even now he was able to feel her hands undressing him, robbing him of breath.
He remembered the agony that followed and which numbed every sensation until she administered the draft the friar had prepared. After that, his memories became disjointed.
Her hands so gentle and graceful. The delightful wrinkle which appeared when she knotted her brow in concentration. Her tantalizing lips, red as ripe cherries waiting to be plucked. All this he was able to feel, see and even taste in the most vivid of dreams.
He heard his own voice confess how much he admired her soft skin and felt his lips tingle with the memory of his mouth brushing against hers as he gently tasted her sweetness with the most delicate of kisses.
His heart had fluttered with joy and hope when her arms had slid around his neck before she stepped closer into the circle of his arms.The tender warmth of that first kiss then turned into unbridled passion. For a brief moment Guy considered putting an end to the intoxicating liplock, knowing himself unworthy of her, but the passionate response of her maidenly mouth under his made him reluctant to give up savouring a piece of heaven willingly bestowed.
Suddenly, the kaleidoscope of images swirled and he was holding her close with no barriers between them. He trembled as her pebbled peaks came in contact with his naked chest and her strong thighs, strengthened by her hours in the saddle, opened to cradle the proof of his desire. Her hair smelled like wild thyme and apples, reminding him of his early childhood, the only time he'd ever known happiness. Pressing a trail of heated kisses along the delicate column of her neck, he felt the quickening of her pulse when his hand brushed one luscious breast.
No words were uttered; they somehow seemed irrelevant when so much was being communicated with a simple brush of their lips, a look or a caress. His fingers threaded through hers and gently, as if she were made of the brittlest china, he touched her.
“Do you trust me, my lady?” he whispered, looking into her expressive blue eyes and noticing the virginal worry which lingered despite her willingness. “I will never harm you.”
“I know,” she smiled, brushing away a lock of unruly hair that fell across his forehead and drawing him closer, until their lips met again and her mouth parted to allow his tantalising teasing.
“I want to love you,” he said huskily. “May I love you, Marian?” he pleaded, afraid that she'd open her eyes and reject him in the same way the world had persistently cast him out, deeming him unworthy.
However, when her eyes finally met his, there was no revulsion in their depths but passion, need and understanding. Joy overwhelmed him when he read in them that she accepted him despite his reduced circumstances and the sins that tainted his soul.
“Please,” she sighed against his lips, granting him permission to breach the final wall that separated her from womanhood.
Enticed by the soft sounds that escaped her sweet mouth when his pleasured her pebbled peaks, he learnt her curves and with gentle hands he explored the secret, uncharted territory that lied between her thighs, intent on making her first time as pleasurably tender as she deserved.
“Marian,” he moaned a few minutes later, locking her gaze with his as she finally surrounded him and made him whole again.
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A dream, he sighed. The same recurrent dream sent to torment him and remind him of what would never be his. Unless...Some of it felt so real. No, it was just Tuck's draft playing tricks on my mind. The room spun around him for a short while when he sat up on his bed. He was no ninny; he should be able to put up with a fleeting bout of dizziness if he was to continue his journey.
Finding love and having one's feelings requited was a beautiful dream, and experience had taught him that dreams seldom came true. He should know better than to entertain such thoughts; humanity and attachments had always ended up with him getting hurt. And he'd promised himself he'd never be that vulnerable again. Although his desire for revenge hadn't dwindled, he knew his wounds and current state of mind put him at a disadvantage. He'd let his arm heal elsewhere and return to Nottingham a richer man to finally show those who had made outcasts of Isabella and him that he was no longer the defenceless and naïve boy they'd once known.
Making measured movements to keep his dizziness under control, he started getting dressed.
The events of the melée played in his mind once again. He remembered checking his lance the night before the tournament and finding nothing amiss. And yet it'd broken or rather, it'd shattered into pieces, and that fact couldn't be explained any other way but as a result of foul play.
Even though there were a couple of knights at Nottingham Guy had beaten in other tournaments, a sixth sense told him the blame for his current predicament didn't lie with them. Maybe he was being prejudiced; however, he couldn't dispel the feeling that Winchester had played a major role in the incident.
Guy hoped he'd succeeded at masking the growing attraction he'd developed towards the sheriff's daughter. Jealousy could be a destructive power when stirred and God only knew to what extremes the earl might go under its influence, especially if he suspected his feelings were unrequited and saw another man as a rival for the lady's affections.
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The castle was stirring when the tall knight arrived at the stables; his morning ablutions having taken longer than usual on account of his injured arm.
Stormbringer, who had been quietly munching on the hay, lifted his head and whinnied a greeting on hearing his master.
Guy approached the stall, petted his faithful mount and then ran his hand over the horse’s body and legs looking for any wounds he might have sustained during the melée.
The horse's fidgeting and Guy's own keen sense of survival, which had saved his life countless times in the Holy Land, alerted the knight they were no longer alone. Whirling around with his broadsword at the ready, he bit back a French expletive when he came face-to-face with the red-haired girl he recognised as Marian's cousin.
“My Lady,” he sighed, sheathing his sword, “you should know better than to walk on an armed man unannounced.”
“I'm sorry,” replied the maid slightly breathless. “I thought of bringing him an apple before Mass,” she added, getting closer to the Saracen destrier with the fruit in her hand. “It's a beautiful beast,” she smiled when Stormbringer nuzzled her rosy cheek.
“Does anybody know you are at the stables? You shouldn't be here unchaperoned, My Lady.”
“Meg?”
Guy felt his chest tighten, awestruck once again by Lady Marian's lovely demeanour.
“Is it time for Lauds?” Meg asked as her cousin came to a halt in front of them.
Marian focused on Meg and did her best to ignore the tall, handsome man in black leather, who had occupied her thoughts ever since that chance encounter in the garden.“Not yet, but Tuck's getting ready. Why don't you give him a hand with the preparations?”
Meg nodded reluctantly and, saying her goodbyes, left them alone.
Marian told herself she was being foolish; there was no reason to avoid looking at Sir Guy. After all, hadn't she seen him half naked when she nursed his injuries? Besides she was pledged to Winchester and therefore, bound by honour not to betray her promise by succumbing to another man, no matter how strong his power of fascination might be.
“How's your shoulder this morning, Sir Guy?”
“Still sore but not as bad as yesterday.”
“May I?” she asked, adopting as impersonal a stance as she could muster.
Checking his pulse on his left wrist, she struggled hard to control the wayward thoughts that came to her mind on feeling the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. Swallowing the big lump lodged in her throat, she kept her gaze low, embarrassed by the unbidden reaction of her treacherous body as memories of his naked chest and long lithe legs assailed her.
“My lady?” he asked huskily.
Why did his deep velvety voice have to sound so sinfully enticing? She belonged to Winchester now; she shouldn't be fantasising with another man's caresses or whispered endearments.
“I had... some very strange dreams,” he confessed when she let go of his hand.
Marian wondered if he was able to read on her face how much affected she was by the heat of his blue-grey eyes, which studied her intently.
“It must be a side effect of the draft.”
“They felt… so real.”
Only a few moments had elapsed since she set foot in the stables and yet it felt as if she'd lived through every possible emotion- thrilling, sad and bittersweet- by just being in the same room as Sir Guy.
Although she knew that it was wrong of her to feel the way she did whenever he was in her proximity, the knowledge that there was a man who respected and felt true affection for her was balm for her despair. She just had to look into his eyes to see how different his love and passionate longing were from his betrothed's selfish lust and unscrupulous hunger for possession. And it was precisely the vulnerability a proud man such as Sir Guy allowed her to read in their depths that prompted her to be honest with him. He deserved that much from her.
Assuming the mask of calm dignity she'd learnt to master as de facto head of her family, she shared with him the news she had yet to break to Sir Edward and Meg.
She observed Sir Guy’s handsome face closely, looking for any sign of the effect of her words, her proclamation that she would be Winchester's willing bride soon now that she'd pledged herself to the earl. And with an agonising pang she recognised in Guy's poker face the same protective mask she'd assumed to reveal the news of her betrothal.
It took every ounce of her self-esteem not to break down in front of him. There would be time to let her tears flow unchecked in the privacy of her chamber; now she'd finish what she started when she sought him at the stables.
“Yesterday, when your injuries were being treated, you suggested somebody had tampered with your equipment.”
“There can be no other explanation. Oak would never split and shatter that way.”
“Have you got any concrete proof to support your allegations?”
“I'd need to study the pieces that remain from my lance.”
“Do you suspect the earl?”
“He might have motive.”
“There's no reason for him to be jealous,” she replied, looking away from his expressive eyes.
“Marian...”
Hearing her name uttered so sweetly broke her resolve and she glanced at him once again. Their gazes locked in much the same way they had across the hall full of people the first night their paths had intersected. There was no trace of accusation in his, only an intense longing to be the one she allowed to protect her and rescue her from the abyss.
“Sir Guy, promise me that no matter what you find out, you won't accuse Lord Winchester.”
GO TO CHAPTER VIII