!This is based on the new BBC series!
Warnings: NC-17, sex, violence, attempted rape and Guy/Marian, if any of these offend you, please don't read
Author's Notes: This is an AU story. I started writing after episode 1.03 so the story runs parallel with the episodes aired after that. I'm ignoring certain events (most notably Guy's baby) and using some others. Also I assumed that Robin's band of outlaws is far larger than portrayed in the show.
Precious Things
I bleed but I'm choosing you again
I'm done but I'm ready to begin
-Elisa, the Wave
Running after the rain
These precious things
Let them bleed
Let them wash away
These precious things let them break
Their hold over me
-Tori Amos, Precious Things
i.
The breath of the horse ghosted in the air, mingling with the thick mist. Marian's hands pulled on the reins, forcing the beast's head to the side. In her heart she knew she was lost, but her head still refused to face the truth. She searched for familiar sights between the trees and tried to listen. But the forest was still and the leaves shivered against one another. The horse was beginning to feel her panic and its hooves clattered against the hard ground.
She needed Robin now, needed someone to tell her that her father would be better. His return from war had let a faint hope into her heart. He had given them the backing of a real title and real royal blood. But now Robin had disappeared into the forest like a thief in the night and left her and her father to fend for themselves. She understood his reasons, even respected them, but right now she could do nothing but hate Robin of Locksley. Why could he not be here when her father was dying? The rattle of his breath still rang in her ears and made her fury so much greater. Harshly she pulled on the reins commanding the horse to move down valley.
The trees were huge, thick trunks obstructing the final thin rays of the sun. Suddenly the leaves shook violently and men rose from the undergrowth. Her stomach rolled with relief and she urged her horse towards them.
Since childhood Marian had been taught to expect the unknown, expect the impossible. Her safe and secure life had been pulled away from her so many times she thought herself impervious to surprises. But as the large man she did not know grasped a hold of her horse's reins, and pulled her off with a sudden jerk, the unexpected happened again; once again leaving Marian unawares.
Their rough laughter rung in her ears, and the grubby hands travelling over her body soiled her dress. The edges of the hair pin pressed into her hand, creating little flower impressions on the inside of her palm. As a hand forced its way on her breast she struck out. The thin blade hit the face of man on her left, it sunk into his eye. Thick blood spilled over her fist and someone punched her in the face making her fall to the ground. The earth was loose and she could not breathe. A foot pressed down on her back and she could hear them calling her a bitch amidst the screams. The earth shook as the man she had stabbed fell down. She could see him convulsing on the ground, not too far away from her. The side of his face was covered in blood and puss. Then she felt a hand in her hair, pulling her backwards.
"Now, you little whore!"
She could feel the man's spit on the back of her neck, and Marian fought like never before. Forgotten were the starving poor and the dead of last year's winter as the muddy ground clogged in her throat like ash she screamed into the endless forest. She could see the row of their feet and badly crafted boots round her and portly hands squeezed her ankles until they were numb. She knew their faces in a distant sort of way. They were the brothers and sons of her countrymen, but none of them looked her in the face. The man pulled on her braided hair and forced her legs apart. She screamed and thought about the end. An arrow whizzed through the air, and the pull on her hair disappeared. Marian prayed upon the familiar sounds as she lay on the ground; on the drawing of a sword and clatter of hooves. She clawed on the ground, the earth loose and thick between her fingers. Then the men ran and screamed. She felt the horse gallop past her and heard the blade sinking into flesh, but she could not look.
And then she was alone with sound of her breathing, a harsh painful sound in the cold air. She looked up with his name on her lips, but the face of her rescuer was not familiar or dear. His horse threw its head about, clamouring for more battle. She could see the fine sheen of blood on the blade of his sword dripping in the sodden leaves on the ground. Slowly Guy of Gisborne dismounted. He let his sword drop on the ground and approached with halting steps. She could read the horror on his face, but her body was frozen, unable to cover her bleeding knees or bared shoulders. He kneeled by her, his hands reaching out, but never quite touching. He said nothing and she found the silence strangely comforting. Her hands stung fiercely and she stretched open her cramped fist. The knuckles were torn and bruised and she started to cry, thick wailing sobs filling the clearing.
His hands felt heavy and huge on her shoulders, and she flinched away as he placed his heavy coat over her. The leather felt awkward and she could not stop sobbing. Hastily he pulled his hands away, lifting his palms up in surrender.
ii.
She stumbled on the uneven ground in her haste to get to the body. It had rolled down the slope during the fight. The side of his face where her pin had struck him was bloated and blood covered. The healthy eye stared at her with the still gaze of the dead, but Marian could not feel any pity for this man. She knelt down and rummaged in the front of the man's shirt. Gisborne stood behind her, hand on the hilt of his sword as if the dead man would rise and attempt to hurt her anew. Marian felt no such fear from the dead, now she only wanted certainty of the men who had disappeared into the forest. The tiny piece of wood was flimsy and light against her palm. She pulled the pendant from around the man's neck and dangled it against the dying sunlight. It twirled in her hand like a little trinket.
"What is it?"
His voice was tense and Marian fought the tears that threatened to return.
"This mark is worn by all of Robin's men; that is how they know one another. They knew me. They knew who I was."
She squeezed the wood against her sore palm. Gisborne knelt next to her and tilted the man's face towards him with a gloved hand and her voice was barely above a whisper right beside his face:
"I wonder if they watched me, if they thought and planned this. Or was it just chance that I came their way? Did they watch me and think to themselves: I shall take her. Is that not what you men think?"
He would not look at her, but she knew he had heard her question. He let go of the man's face suddenly, as if it had burned his fingers through the leather.
"Some do My Lady."
She nodded and threw the wooden plate into the woods.
"We need to leave. The sun will set soon and it will get very cold."
He offered his hand to help her up, but still he would not touch her directly, not after she had flinched away from him.
"Go where? We cannot ride to Nottingham before the nightfall. There is nothing here."
"There is a secluded hunting lodge not too far away from here. I was hunting deer, when I heard you."
She reached out for his hand, gripping his fingers with her own.
"Thank you."
He said nothing, but grasped her hand harder and helped her up.
The movement of the horse was fluid beneath them and every step jolted her sore legs. She had never been this close to Guy of Gisborne. Her body in his coat and face pressed against his shoulder. The trees passed her by, leaves and branches catching hold of the sleeves. The woods were darkening fast around them, and soon Marian could no longer see the trees surrounding her.
The cabin was well hidden underneath two huge oaks. The log walls were still rough under her hands as she ran her fingers over the wood, not yet worn by the winter rains. Gisborne took his horse into a small make-shift pen in the back and tied it up for the night. She watched his motions, his steady hands as he groomed the beast and she found she could breathe a little easier. Marian had never been the sort of maiden to be rescued, she had never admired the skills of the Knights or Lords in the tournament; she had never needed to. Now she could still hear Gisborne's sword in her ears, forever burned in her mind.
The cabin was very small, with a small hearth and a berth against the back wall, with a thin mattress and a mountain of furs. He shoved a few new logs into the embers and slowly the fire lit up the small room. He stood stiff by the flames and the glow threw strange shadows over his face.
iii.
She let the water run down her legs. The little droplets caught in the scratches and cuts and then fell onto the wooden floor. After a while she could not distinguish between her tears and the water. The bowl rested on the floor by her feet and the water was already tinted red, but she did not see any of this.
"Marian."
His voice was joined by the creak of the door. His body was strained towards her, as he could not hold himself away.
"Are you all right?"
She squeezed the rag once more and pressed the hard cloth against a cut by her knee.
"No. I am not."
He walked closer with halting steps and kneeled yet again by her side. He took the rag from her lifeless fingers and ran it over the cut with gentleness she could never have imagined him capable of. But she felt hateful.
"What are you thinking, Sir Guy? Do you find this enticing?"
His jaw tightened and the softness of his eyes disappeared again behind his mask of indifference.
"Unlike some of my countrymen I do not find the sight of a woman in distress arousing."
She squeezed her eyes shut, her lashes sticking together from the tears. She felt like her heart would burst out of her chest and leave her empty and vacant. Maybe it would be better. Anything would be better than this hopeless fear and loathing. He made a move to rise and desperately she grasped to his wrist.
"Don't go. I need you to stay."
He was frozen in place and Marian thought she would die. Her fingernails left deep grooves on his skin where she squeezed his wrist and slowly he settled back down on the floor. He would not look at her anymore, even when his hands slid over the cuts and bruises and Marian felt shaken. She had pushed blame where none was deserved. Guy of Gisborne was not an honourable man; he was not even a gentleman. But he was a gentle man, at least for now. For her. She was starting to understand the distinction. Much later she was finally ready to say the words to him.
"I am sorry for what I said. Before."
He nodded; eyes still fixed to some far away point in the pitch black horizon. He had given her the one shirt he had carried with him on his hunting trip and it hung almost to her knees. Marian had managed to salvage most of her dress. With the rope from her belt she had tied the torn shoulders, but the hem was ruined. It hung in limp soiled strips around her feet.
"I know why you said what you said. And I do deserve it. We all do. All of us men."
"You do not."
She looked past him, into the darkness and tried to find with her eyes what he was seeing.
"How do you know?"
He nearly choked on the words and they hung between them for a long time. Marian thought she could feel the darkness beginning to creep into the little hut. She moved past him and pulled the door into its latch.
"Because I am not afraid of you."
ix.
She woke up screaming to the feel of earth slowly filling her throat. The flames of the fire had died and the dark glow of the embers filler the small room again. He was already on his feet from the chair sword in hand. In the darkness his eyes seemed almost soft. Marian fought herself out from underneath the furs pushing her way outside. The early morning was still dark and the air biting cold. Soft petals of frost were visible in the shaft of light from the doorway. His form eclipsed their glow as he followed her outside.
"Marian, what do you fear so?"
She found the sound of her name from his lips soothing.
"I fear the earth. I feel it in my mouth; stopping my breath. I fear that the ground will shallow me whole and I will be forever lost. I dream that I will be buried alive."
He stood right behind her, the warmth of his skin radiating through their clothing. He palmed her arm softly and she wanted to fall back against him and never rise.
"Come back inside. It's so cold out here."
"I like the cold. It numbs the pain."
And then she allowed herself to fall. His chest was warm from sleep and his palm froze on her arm. For a moment she though he would pull away; leave her alone in the cold and her heart contracted at the thought. But then he pressed against her back, arms wrapping themselves around her middle. His nose was cold against the bare skin of her shoulder, but his lips were warm. He breathed her in as if he could not help himself and some of the rage in Marian died.
"I am no better than them. I cannot help myself but want to hold you."
She felt his words travel over her skin, wrapping themselves in her flesh, becoming part of her as they stood together in the cold night.
"You are nothing like them."
Her fingers found their way around his wrist, soothing over the raised nail marks of her own causing.
"There is nothing in me that you would take without my consent."
She felt the words in her mouth, the familiar shape of them. She had said them to herself so many times, over and over in the silence of her own room. Now they came tumbling out in the night, with his breath in her ears.
"Even if you would never need consent. It is the only thing of value I own, my maidenhead, but it is also the one thing that holds me prisoner. Men will fight for me because of it. I can be sold and bough because of it. Without it I am worth nothing, but I would be free."
He went rigid at her words, his hands freezing on her waist, but Marian would not let go of his wrists, holding him prisoner in their embrace.
"And I want to give it to you."
His chin scratched her and in her mind Marian could imagine his closed yes and drawn face.
"I cannot, Lady Marian. You do not want me and I will not take anything from you which you do not want to give."
He shook his head, adamant in his words, but she captured his face in her hand and forced him to be still.
"Listen to me, Guy of Gisborne. I am asking you. No one has ever taught me how to want this. I do not know what I am supposed to feel. But I know I do not want what happened to me in that forest. So I am asking you to show me."
Her hands travelled on his face, fingertips ghosting over the sharp stubble and soft and vulnerable skin around his eyes.
"Deny me in my request if you do not want me. Deny me if you feel that I will compromise your honour, but do not deny me because you fear for mine."
x.
She sat on the edge of the thin mattress, hand smoothing the fabric of her torn dress over her knees. The furs and their suffocating warmth did not invite her, but she would go if he wanted her to. He latched the door and the light of the moon was locked out and the warm glow of the ashes was their only light. But he would not come to her, seating himself in the armchair beside the fire. His voice was barely above a whisper again and she had never heard it quite like that before.
"Come to the warmth, Marian."
His fingers laced between her own and helped her climb over him, both of her knees sinking into the malleable leather. She slid down his legs until there was not even an inch between them. She felt him hard and insistent against her; pressing in places she would never even let her own hands travel. She fought the little breaths and the sighs her toes curling against the leather. His hands travelled on her back; long strokes and the rough linen made her skin feel on fire. He would not kiss her, his lips just barely out of reach. He chanted her name like it was the Lords prayer; reverently and silently. Marian Marian Marian.
Finally she let her knees clamp against his sides and pushed herself against his hardness. The linen was rough and hard against her and she closed her eyes, willing the pain and pleasure to pass. She could not help her movements and Marian feared she would rub herself raw. But slowly his hands slid over her thighs and around her hips; thumbs gently stroking the bone, fingers slowly sliding between her and the fabric. And oh God how she wanted this; it was as if someone had poured oil into her and it was now spilling over. Gently he pushed against her, fingers sliding in and she could not breathe.
His hands guided her then, up up, until her stomach was resting against his chest. Her knees ached from the pressure, but the pain was a mere sliver in her mind. The soft and unyielding rhythm of his fingers was consuming her mind and she could feel her legs starting to shake. And then they were gone and she wanted to cry in their absence.
His fingers travelled up her leg, slowly, and then spread her open like she had never felt before, stretched and vulnerable. His other hand guided her down, and she would not close her eyes. She wanted to see this, see his face. He was huge and like silk against her and Marian was so hungry for this. With fury, unknown to her before, she pushed down and was suddenly being torn open, cloven in two. Marian though there would never be anything more wonderful than this moment. She pushed her knees against the leather and whispered his name, and finally understood the revered tone she had heard in his voice.
His hands lost their gentleness against her back and moved her with a rage matching her own. She cried and shouted and bit his shoulder, and the pleasure in her would not stop. And then his fierce fingers were back between them and her entire body exploded, as if someone had sent the oil on fire. He pushed, short and sharp into her and shuddered. Whispering her name like Amen.
His fingers loosened their hold on her shoulder blade and travelled into her hair, brushing it away from her face. His mouth was soft and open beneath her own as he kissed her, and Marian felt like she had just entered into a holy agreement, consummated something sacred. Let no man put asunder.
She woke up next to him among the furs. He had carried her to bed after and she remembered pulling of her dress and throwing it to the floor. He was still beside her, his arms warm and tight around her. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to wake up like this every morning; would she be content or would his arms become stifling over time? She pushed the thoughts to the back of her head. Something like this could never happen again. It had been her one indulgence and her one trespass. Her morbid thoughts seemed awake him and the stubble of his jaw slid over her shoulder and made her shiver.
"Are you cold?"
His voice was rough and almost a whisper and she shook her head. She once more found his hands circling her waist with her fingers. It was the comfort of his touch, that made her rise, and detangle herself from his embrace. She could not afford to lose her heart to this; she could not live with the sorrow. He seemed to understand her need for distance and did not follow her. She dressed mechanically, ignoring the gaze she could feel burning into her back.
The air was still cold outside, but the morning sun was already warming the forest. Her horse stood docile by the pen, picking the short blades of grass with its lips. She could fee Guy behind her, his chest nearly touching her back.
"Horses are very smart. They can follow their master for miles and miles and they will know when you have stopped even if they cannot see you."
She grasped his hand, squeezing the fingers tightly in her own. How she wanted to stay here, in this isolation and peace. Here where he did not feel like her enemy; where they did not have to speak as society demanded of them.
"I have to leave, I have to return to my father and see to his wellbeing."
"I know. I will take you to the edge of the village. There is no need for the questions or gossip my presence would bring upon you."
Then she prayed, silently in her mind, like she had not done since she was a little girl. Please, O Lord, let me not remember the parting. Let me only remember the time here, and how happy I have been for such a short time.
xi.
But Lord did not grant Marian her wish. At first the images of him had been so vivid in her mind that she would awaken in the middle of the night with his imagined fingers running over skin and she would cry in their absence. Then, slowly, it became more like a dream; something that had only transpired in her head. Her life moved on and no one saw the difference in her. Her father improved and was able to rise from his bed again, but a nagging worry was now imprinted in her heart and she worried about the coming winter. He wanted her not to worry and willed himself to stand strong in the council and in her eyes. But she could no longer pretend that he was well, and in her heart she knew he was dying. Sometimes at night she would stand outside his door and listen to the rattling of his breath and cry silently against the grains in the wood.
She had not been able to help herself when it came to Robin. She had consciously distanced herself from him and his men. Even though the Night Watchman went out almost every night and helped those in need, she could not help Robin anymore. She could see the faces of those men in Robin and John and Will, even if they had not been there. The face of the dead man still haunted her waking hours, his lifeless eyes following her around the house. She knew that no matter what had happened to her, Robin would never accept her as a killer. He had sought her out a few times, but had, after her harsh brush off, respected her need for solitude. And to her surprise he had not questioned her why.
Then the pestilence came. She had to speak out, even with Sir Guy shooting a warning glance at her across the room, even with her father's shoulders tensing beneath her hands, she had to. A part of her expected the sheriff's retribution, wanted it. She wanted something to happen, something to jolt the people around her. Robin was a fool. He flaunted himself before the sheriff and played games. He had not yet realized what was truly at stake here. He did not see the coming winter as a bitter enemy. So she placed herself on the line.
The sound of the shears was now etched in her mind, and Marian hoped that it would fade with time. Her father had retired early, complaining tiredness. She had given him herb tea to help him sleep through the coughs. Herself, she could not sleep; silently she listened to the night and was jolted by the quiet knock on the door.
Gently she slid the door open and in the flickering light of the torch stood Guy of Gisborne. She had searched for him with her eyes in the courtyard today, but he had refused to meet her gaze. Now he finally looked at her with the kind of soft gaze she had learned to know a little those few weeks past. She slid the door wider so he could pass into the silent and dark house. He paced in the front room and Marian sat by the table, watching his movements. He wanted to speak, she could see it in his eyes every time he turned towards her, but each time seemed to lose the nerve.
He held it on the palm of his had like it was some precious thing. The hair had been braided and bound with two thin leather straps. Her fingers skimmed over the soft surface, not quite believing that it had been cut from her mere hours ago.
"You went back for it?"
She could hear the disbelief in her own voice, and felt ashamed for it. Had he not always tried in his crooked way do what was best for her?
"I thought you might want it back…"
There was a kind of hesitation in his voice that she had never heard before and he began to pull his hand away. Harshly she grasped his wrist and was instantly transported to another place and time, which she had for a while though to be but a dream. Softly she picked up the braid and felt again the tears she had refused to let fall in the yard.
"Thank you."
Marian had never though how big a part of herself her hair was, until she the braid was in her hands. It was such a little thing and would grow back within the year, but it had such great implications against the moral of her character. She had been flippant earlier to Robin, she had not wanted him to see her fear and her shame, but now she felt no such decorum. She let the tears fall, silently. It was more of a release than an act of sorrow. But Guy did not know that and he kneeled by her chair his hands softly cradling her own, saying nothing. Marian wondered why their every single meeting could not be like this. He was not an eloquent man, but when he let his body do the speaking she could understand him so well.
She smiled, wiping the tears away and offered him the seat opposite her own. The braid remained in her hands and she twined her fingers through it.
"He truly made his point. I am a woman of no honour now."
Against her will she felt a small grin tug the corner of her mouth and gave him a look from beneath her brows.
"But then again; you already knew that."
"What happened between us had nothing to do with your honour. To me you are as respectable as always."
She could not help the gentle smile spreading on her face and Marian wondered how he could make her smile so many times on such a day.
"Thank you, but I do fear that you will be the only one willing to express that sentiment. He has ruined my chances of getting a husband now more surely than ever."
He was silent for a long time, and she could see the question in his eyes before he even asked it. In a way she had invited him to.
"Why did you never marry?"
And she did want to tell him her story, wanted him to know the reasons that drove her.
"I was meant to. When I was eleven an accord was made with the third son of the Earl of Wessex. We were to be married on my eighteenth birthday. I had no dowry, so it was agreed that upon the death of my father the lands would pass to the family of my husband. Under those circumstances it seemed fair to my father. You see I have rank, but no fortune. It was very hard for my parents to find me a suitable husband."
"When I was seventeen, my intended died in a tournament and the grief stricken Wessex's refused to accept me for any of their other sons. Then my mother died."
Her voice caught and his fingers slid between her own, and she carried on. Her voice remained strangely even in the otherwise silent room.
"You have to understand that my father was never one to push for my marriage, my mother was. In a way she understood my needs in society so much better than my father. After she died my father became even more reclusive. He denied any suitors that came and one day they just stopped coming."
"You see time was much against me. Now that my father finally understands that I will be left with nothing if he dies it is too late. I am too old."
He nodded, but he wanted more, needed to know more.
"What about Locksley? Were your families not closely connected?"
"It would have been possible, but he is the Earl of Huntington. His father wanted him to marry well; they were vying for a wife with royal blood, giving him a strong bid for the throne. We were friends as children and I was betrothed early on, so the thought never entered my father's mind. Robin left to war right after my intended was killed. During that time finding a wife was the last thing on his mind."
"Do you now see why I did what I did? For once I wanted to be the one making choices over my body. For you see, it does not truly belong to me. It belongs to the land. We are both landless, both fighting to retain what we believe to be ours."
"I fear that the earth will shallow me whole. This is what you meant by that, is it not?"
She could not believe that he had remembered her words so closely.
"That is why I told you that it would not matter if you changed a name of a thing. And for me it does not. For women names are fallible and ever changing. You have to find something in the land that is your own, something that will stay with you no matter if they take it away or change its name. "
Suddenly she looked at him, as if jolted awake from her thoughts.
"I apologise, I am rambling."
"No you are not. We do not ever think what you must go without, us men. How small things can bring you down, make you unworthy."
She shook her head. He was the first man to ever even express regret like that to her, and now that he did it was suddenly meaningless.
"I know. But I cannot be angry with any of you. We are all bound by rules of our station. But they can be thwarted."
She raised her eyes to meet his, smiling without humour.
"And in that way the sheriff has helped me. He has shamed me in front of all of Nottingham. If I choose to, I can now repel any suitor I wish. That is the greatest freedom a woman in my position could ever wish for."
She slid her fingers between his, finding the gesture so incredibly intimate. I have done this before. They were familiar fingers, and again his question did not surprise her.
"Why did you choose me? Why not Locksley?"
"Because Robin could never truly understand the ties that bind me, the rules I have to follow. And he would never see it as my choice, merely an extension of his own charms. But I thought that you would. And by bringing this…"
Marian pulled her fingers away from his and ran her fingers over the severed braid.
"…you have proven me right."
At that he looked away, as if uncomfortable with the idea that she had read him so well. That was alright. He had given her more tonight than she had ever expected to receive from any man in a lifetime. His terse voice did not come to her as a shock.
"I need to leave."
She got up after him, walking after him to the door. He stood the immobile, looking once more like he wanted to say something, make their parting memorable. Marian did not give him the chance.
She pulled him to her, until their bodies were touching. His lips were still as soft as she remembered and Marian was comforted in the thought that she had not imagined everything. His hands found their way around her waist, but before she could once more get used to the feel of his hands, he pulled away.
"Marian, we cannot do this."
His forehead rested against her own, and she wanted nothing more than to invite him back into her house and take him to her bed, but she knew the truth of his words. They could not and she let him go. She watched him as long as she could; until the sounds of the hooves disappeared into the night and he was once more gone from her life.
xii.
She watched the closed door and listened to the murmured words of the physician through the door. The sheriff had finally relented and his personal physician had become an almost permanent fixture in her house. Marian did not know if she should be thankful. Had Guy pressed the matter in the castle or was this another of the sheriff's ploys to gain an upper hand over her father? But none of it mattered right now. Her father was dying; his lungs were slowly beginning to give up.
A sharp rap on the door made her turn around, but the visitor did not wait to be called in. The sheriff pushed into the hall, motioning for his guards to wait outside. Marian forced a smile on her lips at the sight of the man, but her voice remained cold.
"Forgive me, sheriff, but my father is not well enough right now to receive any visitors."
He gave her a mocking bow, eyes searching the locked door behind her.
"Yes, so I have been informed, my dear."
His voice was jolly as always. And today the sinister gleam of his eyes seemed even more pronounced to her. He moved around the room, as if already owning it, fingering the furniture and the looms hanging on the walls.
"It is a shame really; you unmarried and unable to inherit. The estate will pass onto the crown, of course."
His voice was even, and Marian could not afford to show her rage.
"But I am sure there are men interested in the Knighton hall. After you father has passed there should be a competition for the land and for you, hmm?"
Then his face contorted into a nasty smile.
"But no, who would possibly take a shamed woman as a wife? It would have to be someone willing to live with your soiled past. I must say there are not many of those around."
His eyes moved over her, and Marian suppressed a shiver. She would not give him the satisfaction, not when her father was dying a mere door away.
"Personally I would think the land is worth the shame of a spoiled wife."
He moved closer to her then and Marian fought not to strike him as his breath ghosted over her lips.
"I think it is time you left Sheriff, my father is very tired."
He grimaced at her, teeth visible between his cracked lips, but he pulled back. He wrenched the door nearly off from its hinges, but instead of rushing out he turned to her.
"I have all the time in the word, and you father have very little of it left. I will wait."
The door was left slightly ajar in his wake, and the cold air pushed some of the dead leaves in from the porch. She stood still for a long while, listening to the silent tones of the physician and her father's laboured coughing.
xiii.
Guy came to her house, face shuttered and as angry as ever. Maybe her father could read his intentions, better than she could; maybe he knew the expression of Guy's face from when he had been in the same position. He commanded her out of the room, and for once Marian did not argue. Her father needed to do this. He needed to feel in control of at least one part of his house.
She laid on the floor by the stairs, her head leaning against the banister. Their voices floated in the air around her like silent whispers and she could make out most of them.
"You know that the Sheriff has his eyes set on her, his eyes set on your land. He will act as the grand saviour, the understanding Sheriff who will take in the shamed daughter of the old Sheriff. Without you she will have no protection against him."
"Gisborne…"
Her father spat the name as if it were a curse.
"… how dare you come to my house and throw these proposals to my face. My daughter has allies and friends who will protect her."
Marian heard the heavy steps and she could imagine the anger of Guy's face.
"Do you, sir, truly know your daughter so little that you imagine that she would forsake her lands for personal happiness? She is proud and she will stand by her family's property against anything!"
Her father's breathing was laboured, but he still managed to inject some force into his voice.
"How dare you suggest that I do not know my own daughter?"
Their voices rose in crescendo then and the words were now clear and Marian let her head fall onto the wooden floor.
"I want to marry her. I have no land of my own and I will let her stay on her own estate. It would be a beneficial arrangement for both of us."
"Beneficial!"
Her father was shouting now and Marian worried again about his lungs, but she dared not to intervene. His father had already lost so much face when it came to her, she did not want to take it from him in front of Guy.
"How dare you demean my daughter's happiness to 'beneficial'."
"Because it is all I can offer to her. I love your daughter, you know this. I have courted her for a long time, but she does not love me, but, Sir, she does not have time for love anymore."
She heard the legs of the chair creaking against the floor and she knew her father had sat down. She could imagine his down cast eyes, and for a while the house was silent. Then Guy moved, and Marian wondered if it was a bad sign that she recognised his footfalls.
"Send for me when you have an answer, Sir Edward."
The door slid shut behind him, but Marian would not move, she breathed in sync with her father. Counting the rattling breaths in her mind. Then her father walked up the stairs. He sat heavily on the highest step and she could see the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Marian felt like she was floating. She had been proposed to for the first time. Her. Not her property, but her as a woman. I love your daughter. Even though her father would not see it that way. The only thing he had eyes for was Gisborne's thirst for land, but Marian had felt his hands on her body and she knew the truth.
"I think you heard what went on in there."
Her father would not look at her, his eyes searching the far wall. There was wariness, and fear, in his voice. She did not bother to reply, they both knew the answer.
"Did he speak the truth? Has the sheriff truly made threats against you?"
"Not in so many words, but his intentions were made clear."
His shoulders slumped, and Marian felt like a criminal in her actions. She should not have burdened her father with this. But the fear in her would not allow her to be silent.
"You did not hear his voice. You did not hear the lust."
Her father buried his face in his weathered hands and Marian feared he was weeping. She could not bear it, could not bear the sorrow of her dying father. She grasped a hold of his arm, trying to convey her need to comfort him. But he stayed strong for her and managed even to add some smile into his voice, even though none could be seen on his face.
"I had always hoped you might marry someone you would truly love. Someone you could be romantic with."
She smiled at that, but his averted eyes could not see that.
"I am not romantic, father."
"I know you are not, but you must forgive an old man's hopes, Marian. I so wished you could have a say in the man I would bind you to."
She pushed herself up from the floor, to sit by her father.
"I do have a say, father."
His eyes seemed so old and Marian wanted to reassure him, wanted him to be happy for her.
"I wish to marry Gisborne; I want to be his wife. I know you do not approve, but this is my choice, father."
He smiled then, just a little, and grasped her hands in his own.
"No, my dear. I do not disapprove, for you could do much worse in our situation."
xiv.
He was in the stables of the castle, or so the servants had told her. The air was dry and the smell of hay caught in the back of her throat. The corridors were dimly light by the small rays of daylight filtering in through the cracks in the wood panelling. There were no other lights in fear of fire. He was standing inside a pen, grooming one of the horses. The huge beast had him almost shoved to the wall, but he did not seem to mind. She stood there for a moment, observing his actions. A month or two ago she would have been shocked by the gentleness of his hands and the quiet, soothing calm of his voice. But now she knew better. Those hands had travelled over her body and the voice had spoken to her silently and made her fall apart, and for the first time she felt joy in the news she was delivering.
She could see the shock on his face as she entered the pen, but he covered it quickly behind his usual mask.
"My father will come to see you today. He will formally accept your proposal and arrangements will be made for our engagement to be officially announced."
She could hear the strokes of the brush stilling, but she still would not meet his eyes.
"Was this your father's choice. Did he force you into this?"
His voice was harsh and it made her look him in the face. There was hatred and rage in his eyes, but Marian refused to recoil from his anger. For a long silent moment they measured one another, and she realized his hate was not directed at her at all. He was angry at himself. She smiled.
"Not by a mile. To tell you the truth I was the one doing the forcing. I think he would have rather sent me to the Holy Land."
He looked away and she could see his jaw tensing in the low light.
"Is that supposed to be a consolation? That your father loathes the very core of me."
She felt her insides boiling. Men and their damned pride; why could he not just accept her and be done with it?
"But I do not. I hope that is a consolation, if you so wish to take it. I wish to marry you Sir Guy."
She walked around the horse and with her hands on his face, forced his eyes to meet hers.
"I will be your Gisborne, if you let me."
He kissed her then. It was so sudden it took her breath away and she was frozen in place, but then she could not help but cling to the sleeves of his coat.
xv.
Her father had insisted upon her consent more times that morning than Marian could count. Even when they were thundering through the forest in Guy's carriage he was imploring if this was truly what she wished. Part of Marian wanted to tell her father the truth. How her body burned every time she merely caught sight of Guy in the castle, how he had brought her hair back and held her hands in his own. But she remained silent on all of those things and once more assured him. i I do father, and I will /i .
Now she sat beside him, a mere foot away, forcing her gaze to admire the archers. His voice was soft in her ears as he leaned towards her:
"They say the peel of an apple could predict who a woman will marry."
She nearly laughed at his words in delight and the motion made her severe the peel. It fell to the floor and both of their gazes followed it. She turned to his serious eyes and gave him an impish smile. They announced the name of his archer and he smiled back.
"You'll like him..."
His voice died away as his fingers trailed on her forearm and came away bloody. She felt her heart stop and pressed the heel of the blade against her palm.
"I cut myself."
She felt like a fraud as his eyes questioned her.
"Your arm..."
"No, my hand, I must have gotten some on my sleeve."
His eyes called her a liar, but he would not say anything and she pleaded him in her mind; please please please. She did not know what she was pleading for; for him to accept the lie or for him to discover her secret. But at the arrival of his own archer his grey eyes turned away from her and Marian's heart felt cold.
When the boy threatened her later on the day, she could not feel anything. Her mind was still numb from earlier and mechanically she spoke him down from his rage, but it was a hollow victory. The fear had been lodged into her stomach like a block of ice and Robin, who belatedly arrived to rescue her, got the blunt of that fear.
After the competition it was her duty to present the silver arrow. Her fear was momentarily pressed back by her satisfaction. She could almost feel the suppressed rage of the Sheriff. The crowd cheered for Rowan and she could not help but smile.
After the noise had died down her father took the stage. His voice did not waver and she marvelled at the power of his will. He had barely been able to whisper that morning. Instinctively she grasped a hold of Guy's hand in the folds of her cape, hidden from view.
"Could I please have you attention for a brief while. I know you are all thirsty and the ale will soon be served, but there is something I would like to make known across the county."
She could see the hooded form of Robin in the crowd turning around to listen.
"It is my great pleasure to announce that the houses of Knighton and Gisborne will soon be united. Sir Guy of Gisborne and my only daughter, Lady Marian will be wed a week from Saturday. I wish that all of you will be present there to wish them well. Thank you."
For a moment there was complete silence in the yard, but slowly applause began. Marian thought that it were the sheriff's soldiers who started it, but she still smiled. Guy pulled her forward, to stand by her father. She had felt the tension in him since the apple, but now he seemed calmed by her side. He lifted their clasped fingers to his lips, and just before they met her skin, whispered:
"It is all right."
xvi.
The grooves on the wood of the chest were deep and sharp against Marian's fingers. Her father's voice had been faint and she had had to bend to properly hear.
"I did not want you to see them. I feared what you might find among her things. I feared the memories it would bring. But I think it is time."
He had pulled the brass key from beneath his tunic and Marian had know he had not parted from it since they day of her mother's death. It had been warm and heavy in her hand and she had wondered how badly its weight would have reminded him of her mother every day.
The lock was rusted and it took her a few tries before the old gears gave in and the mechanism snapped open. The dust was mixed with the smell of herbs and she could see the dead flowers crumbled upon the clothing.
One by one she pulled each dress from the truck and laid them over the chests lining the walls of their attic. In the light of the tiny little windows she could admire the bright colours. The last one was folded inside a white sheet. The light blue was as bright as it was on the only day her mother had worn it. The tiny embroidered white flowers seemed to change colour in the shadows and the light. She folded the dress and the thick veil that accompanied it open. The flowery pattern continued in the veil even though the white embroidery was harder to see in the light fabric. Her mother had obviously put much thought into this dress and suddenly Marian missed her more than she had ever before. Her mother should be here today, she should be here to prepare Marian for her wedding. She lifted the dress up against herself, and a thin enveloped fell out from beneath the hem.
Her name was inscribed on the envelope with shaky letters. She broke the clumsy seal of wax and pulled the letter out. The letters were spiky and little ink blots decorated the letter as well, as if her mother's hand has shook terribly as she wrote it.
My lovely daughter, I wonder now what wisdom should I part to you. What will you need from me in the years to come that I will not be able to give you?
Your father is a good man, but he will never truly know you. He will never truly understand you. So I will tell you now, my love, that you must trust yourself above anything. The men who will be part of your life after I am gone will always pretend to know what you need and want. But you must not trust them.
Choose your husband wisely. Do not take a husband for love, for love dies in the harsh English winters and you are then bereft and are left with nothing. Take a husband of strength. One you can respect, for he will control all that is you.
And always collect the final apples of the fall and make jam of them. That will carry you over the coldest month without hunger.
She had to strain to read some of the words, and she knew her mother had been plagued by heavy fever and she had not been lucid during the last days. But something in the letter made her believe the words, believe in the wisdom her mother had not had time to pass on. Gently she kissed the spiky letters and folded the paper inside her own tunic. For a short time she wondered if her mother would have approved of her choice. Would she have been able to see through her husband or would she have been as deceived by Guy as her father was.
She gathered the dress and the veil in her arms and carried it downstairs. She would have to call the tailor to make some adjustments to the dress. She was slightly shorter and thinner than her mother had been.
xvii.
The maid had retrieved her in the middle of breakfast. Her father had not been roused yet and the house had been silent. The maid had insisted that she come to the kitchen. There was a man there demanding to speak to her and the girl was too afraid to tell him to go away. The fear in the girl's voice made Marian grab her father's long sword from the rack by the door before she followed the maid to the back of the house.
In the brightly lit kitchen stood the giant of a man she knew as John. He was hunched over by the door, trying to take as little of space as possible, while all the kitchen girls were giving him apprehensive glances from the corner of their eyes. Upon noticing her, the man gave a clumsy bow.
"Lady Marian. I want to speak to you."
She gripped the sword in her hand, but sensed no threat from the man. She nodded her agreement and buried her apprehension. Marian commanded the kitchen staff out; even if the man meant no harm she could not take him to any other part of the house. Her father might awake any moment.
"If Robin is too much of a coward to come here himself, I have nothing to say to you."
He voice was harsher than she had meant, but the idea of Robin sending his lackeys to her was insulting. But the man shook his head.
"I come on me own, Your Ladyship. There are some things I need to say to you."
Marian nodded for him to continue.
"About a month past, some of the men returned to camp. Two of them very badly wounded by the sword. They told me to have been attacked by Gisborne and his men while out hunting. Simon, a younger lad, had been killed. We took care of the wounded as the best of our abilities and in a few days time I insisted to be taken to collect Simon's body. To give him a proper burial and all."
His voice changed to a more halting tone, and Marian guessed he had noticed her white knuckled fingers squeezing the wood of the table.
"Now, you must, understand, My Lady that I saw nothing untoward in the injuries or the stories of these men. It would not have been the first time for our men to have been injured while hunting. But when I saw Jonas' body I knew something was wrong. Such a small precise wound would only be inflicted by a very small weapon, at a close range, not by a sword. I realised that they had not been hunting. Gisborne would never get off his horse to fight for such a small crime. This appeared to be more personal."
Marian shook her head, eyes cast to the table top, but he carried on without any regard to her reaction.
"I pressed some of the men then. And finally they admitted to me that they had come upon a lady on horseback, and had acted like no man ever should."
Marian fought to keep her voice steady, and met the man's eyes.
"That is an interesting story, John. Why did you wish to tell me this?"
He was silent for a while and she could read the pity and the apology in his eyes. She wanted to throw up, wanted to make him leave and never come back.
"Because I think the Lady was you. I think Gisborne came to your aid and killed Jonas in his rage."
Her voice was cold, and so were her eyes and she could visibly see the man flinch.
"Gisborne did not kill him. I did."
John was silent for a long time and Marian felt her anger peak.
"Does that change things for you? It would have been so easy to blame Gisborne and take me as the wronged damsel."
The man shook his head again, his eyes averted now.
"No, My Lady. I was just after the truth."
Marian nodded. She had nothing left to say. What had happened was monstrous, but she wished to leave it in the past, bury it deep, so she would never have to feel it again. But John was not finished.
"Is that why you are marrying him? Out of gratitude?"
"I fail to see how that is any of you business."
He voice was like ice and John looked suitably chastened.
"And now I do believe you have overstayed your welcome. If you speak any of this to Robin..."
But his gruffy voice interrupted her.
"You will what?"
For the first time his voice sounded threatening, but Marian just smiled.
"I will tell your wife."
At that John averted his eyes and moved to leave, his massive hands pressing on the wood of the door.
"But tell Robin this: my reasons for marrying have nothing to do with him, and he would do well to stay out of my way."
She could see that he wanted to argue, but on the last second decided otherwise. He merely nodded and gave another stumbling bow and left. Slowly Marian pried her fingers away from the wood and forced her breath out in even puffs.
xviii.
I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own
-Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars
Marian had not been the kind of girl, or even woman, who imagined and planned her wedding day in her mind long before the event. She had never had any expectations, because she had always assumed to be married in someone else's house, on someone else's land. She looked at herself in the polished mirror and smiled at the reflection. If she would have imagined, this would have been it.
The knock on the door made her wonder about time, but it was nowhere near noon yet. She had not been able to sleep and had risen with the sun to prepare. Her father opened the door, where a young man stood patiently carrying a wooden box. She recognised the yellow and black sash on his arm and gave him a slight smile. He would not step over the doorstep, but gave a formal bow to her and her father.
"Sir Guy sends a gift for his bride."
Her father took the box from the messenger's hands while Marian waited in the background, as was proper. The man bowed once more and then left. Her father ran his hands over the wood.
"What is this, Marian?"
Quickly she took the box from her father and made her way to the stairs.
"Marian?"
His voice was louder, and she could hear the underlying hack of his lungs.
"I do not know, father."
She closed the door behind her and laid the box on her dressing table. The top was smooth and worn with age. There was nothing eloquent about the box, nothing festive. She could imagine him trying to find even remotely clean chest to bring her, and smiled at the thought. Slowly Marian lifted the lid. The hinges sliding open without a sound. The velvet lining was black, and inside rested a pair of daggers with sheaths and a belt. Their handles were intricately carved and perfect size for her hands. Her fingers slid over the small leaves and indented flowers, and the bold and smooth etching of MG. Over the sharp blades rested a simple brown envelope. She had never seen his handwriting before, but the sharp thin letters suited him. With shaking fingers she pried open the seal.
I know it is customary to give the morning gift only after the wedding, but as we did things wrong way around the first place, I though they would be suited for now. It would honour me if you would wear them today.
With these I wish to once more show you my love, which I am not capable to do in words. I will never do justice to your beauty, your honour or your courage. I wish to show you that I will love you in everything that you are and in everything that you wish to do.
Gently she lifted the daggers from their box and beneath them rested a mask of black leather. The tears and the sobs were so sudden Marian could no nothing to combat them. The trepidation and fear of the last week came pouring out in huge, chest shattering sobs and she could not stop. She did not hear the soft steps on the stairs or the subtle knock. Alice's voice floated through the room:
"Lady Marian, I have come to wish you well for your wed..."
Alice's words were caught in her throat at the sight of Marian in tears. She rushed to the Lady's side kneeling by her seat.
"Dear, it is not so bad, do not shed tears on this wonderful day."
Marian shook her head at the other woman's gentle words, and managed to hiccup out through her tears.
"I love him. I have never told this to anyone, but I do."
Alice hugged her then, an unusual show of boldness on her part, and smiled into Marian's veil. She had felt a stone on her hear for all week for the kind Lady Marian, who would have to marry where she did not love. Now she stroked her shaking shoulders and whispered.
"Then tell him that, My Lady. Men are so fragile in their affections. I am certain he will love you back well."
Marian nodded, unable to from words, the hilt of the dagger squeezed in her palm. She could feel the grooves and the edges against her skin, the marking visible. But this time she did not mind.
Marian whipped her eyes and smiled at Alice. She walked around the room prattling on about how beautiful Marian looked, how lovely the day was and how fondly she remembered her own wedding day. At that Marian felt guilt sting in her heart. She should tell Alice the truth, but would the truth hurt more after all these years than the sorrow she has learned to live with. Marian knew the old sorrow to be better so she stayed silent and smiled at the other woman.
"Alice, thank you for coming. It means the world to me. I have no women friends near here to keep me company, so I appreciate yours."
The older woman smiled back brightly and moved behind her to smooth over her veil and adjust the crown of fall flowers holding it in place.
"I know many of the villagers do not approve of your father's choice, but I always thought that a woman should have happiness on this day so I came to wish you well. And I do know something about unsuitable marriages, I do."
Marian raised her eyes from the daggers in her lap and met Alice's gaze in the mirror. She smiled, but Marian could now see the sorrow beginning to peek through the happy facade of Alice's eyes.
"When I chose to marry John, God rest his soul, people would speak behind my back. They would say how could I marry such a violent oaf, how such a slip of a girl could wed him."
Marian had to smile at that. She could truly imagine people's remarks.
"It does not matter what they think. What matters is what you know in your heart. You are the only one who needs to accept him."
Alice let the veil go, finally pleased with her handiwork. Marian rose from her chair still holding on the twin blades.
"Would you mind helping these on me?"
Alice gave her a curious look, but nodded. The belt fit perfectly underneath the belt of her dress. Marian turned around admiring herself in the mirror. She could see Alice smiling behind her and Marian turned and hugged the other woman. Alice remained rigid in her embrace for a moment. Then her joy won over propriety and she hugger her Lady back.
"Thank you Alice, for your kind words and your company. I insist that you come to the wedding and to the banquet after. And bring your family. Today we shall all dine well."
The other woman gave her a slightly clumsy curtsey and disappeared through the door with a grin and Marian could not help but be uplifted by her joy. She heard her father's courteous voice welcoming Alice to the celebrations and then bidding her goodbye. She listened to her father's steps in the living room and finally allowed the happiness to rise in her. It felt bright and bubbly inside her chest and for a moment Marian thought she could not breathe through her grin.
She walked to the end of the hallway, where the heavy doors lead to the master bedroom. No one had lived there since her mother's death. Her father had refused to set foot in it for many months after her death, and even now he did not like being there. Now it would be Marian's new bedroom. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. It had been aired out and new linens put everywhere. Her father had commissioned a new bed for them, as was customary. It had been brought yesterday, nearly late for the wedding. She let her fingers travel over the wood, familiarising herself with it. Part of her wondered would she have been afraid. No one had spoken to her about her wedding night, but she knew women were often afraid. But the daggers, heavy and solid against her hip, reminded her how good it felt not to be afraid anymore.
Her thoughts were interrupted by shouting and raised voices downstairs. In a second she had time to pray. O Lord, please not my father. And then she rushed to the hall and down the stairs.
Robin stood on the doorway, his bow and arrow firmly grasped in his fist. She could see a band of his men on the porch behind him, blocking out the light from the doorway. At the sight of her Robin squared his shoulders, as if readying himself for a fight. Slowly she moved into the room, cautiously looking around the side doors for anyone laying in ambush. Part of Marian scolded her; this was just Robin, he would never trap her. But in the back of her head still rested the thought of the thick earth clogging into her lugs and Marian stood on her guard.
"Gentlemen, this truly is not a good time. Whatever business you are here for..."
"Marian."
Robin's voice was hard but Marian would not let him continue.
"...must wait until after the wedding."
Robin shook his head, eyes serious and boring into hers.
"I will not let you do this, Marian."
All the playfulness Marian had been used to hearing in his voice was gone and she finally understood he would not see reason in this.
"When have I ever given you the implication that your will has any power over my decisions?"
He merely shook his head again, as if her decisions were not even to be discussed.
"You cannot marry him. He is everything you stand against, everything we have been fighting for! How can you forsake that?"
She tried to keep her voice steady and low, but Marian could hear the rage starting to seep into her words.
"Robin. You and I have never fought for the same things. You fight for glory and for King and country. I fight for the poor women and children who are left to these abandoned estates to starve. I have been doing so for five years. And that is not about to change, just because my name will."
"Are you honestly so stupid that you think that he will allow you to continue as the Nightwatchman?"
His voice was harsh and it made her want to flinch, but Marian fought the urge and tried not to sink to his level.
"How dare you come here and call me names, and make assumptions about my marriage agreements!"
Easily her fingers wrapped themselves around a dagger by her side, and her father moved, as if to come between them.
"Robin, please."
Her father's voice was soothing. Marian's eyes were again drawn to the men blocking the doorway as her father tried to calm Robin. Their faces were familiar to her, in a distant sort of way.
"I am sorry Sir Edward. I understand your reasons for allowing this to continue, but I cannot let this happen."
Robin's voice was a whisper in her ears, as her eyes collided with one of the men. She knew him, knew his sneering mouth and the foul words he had shouted at her not so long ago. The hilt was solid in her hand and it slid out of its sheath like knife through butter. She could see fear flashing through the man's eyes, and Marian bared her teeth.
She was jolted out of her rage by John's voice and by his staff that shoved the men away from the doorway. Marian felt a shiver of satisfaction as the man was thrown to the floor by the force of John's blows. Robin turned to his friend, his voice raised in anger.
"John, what is this?"
But his demands were drowned out.
"Out! Everybody out now!"
John's voice made even the wooden beams shake and quickly the men, all but Robin scattered outside.
"We have no right to stop the Lady. If we do we will be worse than the Sheriff, Robin."
She could see the protests forming in Robin's mind, but John would not let him voice them.
"She goes there of her own will, and none of us have any say in that. Not even you Robin."
To enforce his words, John placed his staff against Robin's chest and with a small bow motioned Marian and her father towards the door. As softly as she could Marian pushed the dagger back into its place and forced her breath to even out. John's eyes were soft and Marian smiled at him.
"Your horses are waiting outside, My Lady."
"Thank you John."
She could see the betrayal on Robin's face and for a moment Marian regretted not speaking to him about this before. Robin was a man of action, but she did not know him well enough to confide in him. She had had the suspicion for a while that he still considered her to be his, that upon King Richards return she would be here, waiting. She understood his anguish, but could not partake in it.
"Robin, I would have never been yours. I never promised you such things."
His face fell, and Marian felt guiltier in her love, than she had when she'd been lying to her father. She was taking the hand o his enemy and he could not understand why. And that was the reason why she could never marry Robin: he could never see the choices forced upon her. Marian was about to step over the threshold, but stopped at the sight of Johns face. He was smiling a little, and she thought about his wife.
"Alice will be at the wedding. If you wish to see her."
The man's head bowed, as if by some great pain, but his voice was surprisingly clear.
"Thank you, My Lady."
They walked through the band of outlaws, her father's hand on her elbow. He would not look at her, until they had reached the horses.
"Marian, what was that about?"
She, in turn, would not meet his eyes. Her fingers slid over the leather of the ladies saddle that she had never used before. It had been brought from the storage room just for this day.
"Nothing, father. Absolutely nothing."
Easily Marian mounted the horse, and with care arranged the dress around herself, so none of it touched the ground. She could see one of the stable boys helping her father mount his horse, and felt glad that he was still able to ride. She had insisted that they would ride to the wedding. Her father had called her imprudent, but she had just laughed. It had been her way of showing independence and the colours of Knighton. The long, bright sashes were tied to her reins.
Robin had come out of the house and when she looked back Marian could see his grim face. Marian understood why he had tried to stop her; understood his reasons beyond his infatuation and lingering love for her. He thought that she would go to Gisbourne's side now, he though that she would belong to the castle now. But what Robin did not understand that with this marriage she was buying Guy's freedom from the Sheriff and from his own ambitions. Robin would see it as selling her own freedom in exchange for his, but that was something she was willing to trade. She would be his Gisborne and in turn he would let her stay in Knighton.
The barren branches of the trees crated an archway over her head and the frost bitten leaves crunched under the hooves of her horse. She smiled to the empty forest and to her father who rode a few paces behind her. The church came to view behind the bend in the road and Marian was surprised to see so many people on the yard. As she rode through their ranks, she could see the scowls on their faces, she could see the fear and she smiled at them. I will prove you wrong; I will show you the good that is in him. She knew herself to be naive in the hope that he would change, but she could try.
His eyes were hooded as she stopped outside the steps of the church, he would not look at her or smile. The soldiers standing on guard helped her down from her horse. She could feel the heavy gazes of her villages on her back as she walked up the steps. His hand found hers under the heavy fabric of the sleeves. Softly she leaned against him and with her free hand adjusted his collar and whispered.
"Do not be afraid. For I will."
Alice stood among the villagers and smiled. She could see that many of her fellow watchers were eying the edge of the forest. As if waiting for Robin Hood to rescue the fair maiden from such a terrible fate. Alice wondered if she was the only one who could see the small and coy smile on the lips of the bride, and the way her fingers squeezed those of her groom in a deathly grip beneath the folds of her long sleeves. These were things people did not wish to see. They wanted their world to be simple, black and white; where the lines between evil and good were clearly drawn.
Alice, however, knew life to be different, with John she had learned to look beneath the surface of people. Maybe that was why she could be happy for Marian, for she recognised the look so plainly written on Sir Guy's face. The same expression had been looking at her not too many years past on her own wedding day, she recognised the expression of wonder and happiness on the man's face; the amazement that this beautiful and gentle woman was to be his wife. People, including her family, had much misjudged John, and maybe today Marian's family was misjudging her future husband as well.