True Lady
If it hadn't been two against one she'd have managed, but the space is too small and the door too far, and her skirts slow her. She ends up on the floor again. It hurts more without her leathers between skin and stone.
She can't fight her way out of this one, she thinks, though her body still urges otherwise. Gisborne won't give her another chance. There are still words -- still and always -- and she has the knack of persuasion, especially with him, but words are impotent against acts and she knows that it's fatal, ultimately, to trust in them. Deeds are the heart of any matter.
The Nightwatchman goes veiled and mute about his rounds for a reason. The Lady Marian speaks from en haut, a cool distance, and it serves. Mostly, it serves.
But here, bruised and sprawling on the gritty stone floor, her gaolers as tense and desperate as she herself, she's both at once; and that has never happened before. Even her father, even Robin, caught himself between earl and outlaw, didn't -- don't -- see her whole.
Richard Plantagenet has deserted his people: she's never said this.
The holy wars have defiled the men of faith who fought in them: nor this.
Prince John is a fool for bleeding the north-country, when his care might make us the bedrock of his kingship: and never, even in solitude, this.
She's always only been Marian, with her quaint costume, her odd ideas and willful ways, to everyone but herself, until this very moment. She presses her hands against the stone and says something new.
"Did you expect me just to wait for execution?" It's a fighter's voice, she's pleased to hear. The defiance in it is anything but hollow and there's a bit of contempt there, too, for the adversary who's underestimated his opponent. She's heard the same from Gisborne's own throat. She wonders whether he'll recognize it coming from hers.
"I expect you to know when you're beaten!"
Her head is bowed, hiding the smile that bares her teeth. They should know each other intimately: he's long sought her blood with a lust that's unappeasable; she's known the dark joy of using her whole strength against him, with nothing held back on either side. Oh, yes; even the agony under his rage, here, tells the tale.
But she's all one thing now, Marian unmasked, and she doubts there's any force on earth that can separate her from herself. Not even if it's death, this time. Beaten?
Never, says the smile. She lifts her head, lets the twisting arch of her body remind him of what he wants. He's chased her so stubbornly, for so long, in daylight and darkness, by word and deed. He's got her now. And you know it.
[End
December 22, 2007