Guy muttered and shifted a little from side to side. I hoped that he was waking, but after a moment he subsided. I couldn't ignore his shallow breathing and the blood that seeped, more gently now, but wetly shining, from his head. Still I couldn't help but urge, in a whisper, "Wake up. Wake up."

I looked from his dark eyelashes fluttering against his pale face, to the swordpoint leveled at my chest, and the cold even gaze of the man who held the weapon. How did it come to this? I wondered.

…

I was hungry and cold, stiff and sore, jolted by the carriage, sick with anticipation and the local inn's breakfast eels. I was going to meet the man who would be my husband. We had not so much as exchanged a letter, but in less than a mile, I would meet him and take his measure.

The rumors of outlaws in the woods seemed almost a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my mind. But we emerged from the forest unmolested, and rode through the gates of the town of Nottingham. The movement of the carriage shifted and became more jarring on the cobblestones, and my baggage leaped about more alarmingly than before. I gulped. I had grown up in a stately home adjacent to a small village, and passed the last few years in a similar style; Nottingham may as well have been the ancient city of Camelot, so bustling and unfamiliar was it.

Large buildings of cut stone flanked me on either side, towering above the carriage. I let the curtain drop. It was barren and overwhelming. I was hemmed in on all sides, trees and farmland alike hidden from view. Oh please, I thought, let my man be kind. Let this new life be at least a little kinder than the life I left.

The carriage drew to a halt. I heard the shouts of guards and porters. My large trunk was being unbuckled from the back of the carriage, and judging from the jingling of tack, the horses were being unhitched. I had arrived.

I sat bolt upright on the hard seat, wincing from the bruises on my behind, but determined to confront whatever lay without with full composure. Don't show weakness, I had learned. Be a lady. Cold, distant, untouchable. But please let him be kind.

"So the bride has arrived!" a sneering voice announced. "Very good. Let's see the blushing beauty!"

"Yes, sir," a quiet voice murmured, a servant's voice, and I watched the handle of the door, waiting for it to turn.

A face was thrust through the curtains of the carriage window. I started. It was a stocky older man, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a mocking smile which revealed a broken tooth. He had a cloak of some rich material buckled around his shoulders. He looked me up and down and I clutched my stole more tightly. "She looks like a breeder," he said, and increased the sting of his outrageous comment with a further sneer. He withdrew his face and with a raucous laugh said loudly, "The goods have been delivered!"

The carriage door was opened and I steeled myself for the strange man's continued insolence, but instead the person standing there was almost comedically handsome. It was a much younger man, tall and strapping with broad shoulders. He had a finely drawn face with a long nose and a strong jaw, very blue eyes and hair as dark and shining as a crow's wing. The guards and coachman had treated me like a breakable piece of luggage, my host like a prize heifer, but this man's expression, though aloof, by comparison was almost warm. He looked at me like a person.

"Please, sir," I asked, and my voice came out as a croak. I swallowed. "Please – will you tell me if that man is to be my husband?"

I looked at the stranger's back. He was berating a peasant about the head with a roll of parchment, evidently the cargo manifest on which I was listed. He was richly appointed. I had been told I was being sent to marry a knight. I felt sick.

"Him?" The dark stranger at my door followed my gaze. He sounded startled. "No, milady, that is the Sheriff of Nottingham."

"Then who?"

A smile, thin and cool but undeniable, tugged at his lips. "Well – me."

"Oh!" I couldn't hide the relief I felt, or the pleasure, or the embarrassment. I tried to force my smile into a more demure expression but it kept breaking out. He ducked his head, perhaps to discourage my open admiration, but his smile widened in return.

My husband would be handsome. So far, at least, he was not cruel.

He offered me a leather-clad arm. "Shall I escort you to your chamber, milady?"

I placed my hand on his arm and stepped down from the carriage, my exhaustion and the limp-doll feeling I experienced at the sudden end to uncertainty making the support necessary rather than polite. I felt the corded muscles of his strong arm and thanked my lucky stars. "Yes, please, Sir Guy."