My Dear Isabella,
I hope you find this only after I have died, or am incapable of ever seeing you again, as I am too cowardly to ever say this to your face; I always have been. I know I have hurt you in ways that I should be, and am, profoundly ashamed of, and I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I owe you an explanation for my actions.
Do you remember our childhood in Locksley, Isabella? Or have I made you so bitter that you have forgotten?
But I remember Isabella and I always will. I remember how we used to play in meadow in the summer, we pretended that we were knights jousting each other on foot and sometimes I would pretend to be your horse and let you ride me. I wish we could go back to those days, where we weren't fighting or threatening each other. We were so happy, but then Father caught leprosy and then Mother died in that fire, I remember searching the village frantically just to see if you were safe.
The next few years were amongst the worst, for you were only eight years old and I fourteen, still I promised myself that I would look after you, look after us both. I remember that I was always trying to be strong, even though I was very sad and scared at our parent's death, and I am sorry for scolding you for crying, as you were only a child and had every right to cry and have me comfort you.
Our family in Calais was not much use, they just put us to work in the mills, and we often had to fend for and feed ourselves in the poorly kept houses. Do you remember when we used to pretend that our lodgings were a grand castle?
One day, I thought. One day.
It broke my heart to know that I could barely even feed you, and could not afford to clothe you in a decent robe. I remember that one time when after getting my wages, I bought a loaf of nice warm fruit bread, its aroma excited me to think of your face light up when you would see that loaf! But, alas, Gaviore, who was supposed to be our friend, told Zabine that I was buying this bread, and the thug had me ambushed and robbed of my hard earned reward and most of my remaining wages. I quickly realised that there was no such thing as a true friend, and that people will always betray you.
I was so ashamed, not because I had been mugged of my dignity or what I had rightfully earned, but because I knew how disappointed you would be when you saw me come empty handed. I now know that you were only curious as to whether I was all right and how I got those bruises, but I shouted at you to stop being so spoilt and ungrateful, and that you would have to know that I could not always feed you. I remember your ten year old self starting to cry, and I immediately felt so guilty that I started crying.
Isabella, pray remember that I was only a child too; I may have been sixteen but I never was prepared for the untimely death of our parents and the real proper custody of my sister. Nor had you asked for this, and as you slept that night like a babe, I promised myself that I would do whatever in my power to make sure we never lived like this again.
Finally, an opportunity came. Thornton offered us an opportunity to live comfortably, giving me a noble title for your hand in marriage. I felt very uneasy about giving you away like this. But then I remembered all those nights when you had slept hungry, when you used to watch the wealthier children enviously at their clothes and carriages, and I remembered that you played games about living in a castle. Now you could get that and we could all return to England! Who was I to deny you that?
Yet on the eve of your wedding, in the house that Thornton had provided us in England, I gave strict orders that I was not to be disturbed by anyone. I still felt burdened by this and I did something that I would never admit to. I cried. I cried and cried, because I knew what I could be doing, I was giving my wonderful and bonny baby sister away to another man. But I felt selfish, selfish because you were getting the palace you had always wanted and I was worried about not having me.
I remember you being nervous at your wedding, but you also felt happy because your 'prince' had come to save you; I remember you telling me that and thanking me. I hoped that there would be someone that I could say that about, and perhaps there could have if I had been the old Guy, rather than the hard hearted beast that I had become.
But your 'prince' was far from the noble that he professed to be; he was vile to you, cruel, cold, callous and brutal. The truth is that while he was hurting you, bruising you with his unworthy hands, I was turning into the very same thing.
I gave witness to an era of friends and blood betraying friends and blood, where all that we were taught mattered little. Gold and wealth were what gave you power and safety, so I shut myself off to my voice of conscience and emotion, and I learned to be cold and callous. I did meet someone special whom I grew to love, but she rejected me, and I do not blame her, considering the wretch I had become. But that was nothing compared to the wretched thing I did: I ran this woman through. She did care for me and I destroyed her, but also that little shred of goodness my soul kept. I could not feel after that, it was too difficult and I would have broken down like the weakling that I was. The only way to not feel was to act cold. Pretend that I had no heart. I did not fear the dark pit of Hell, because I was already there.
When I saw you again, at first I felt a small spark of joy, I had forgotten how long it had been. But when you told me what Thornton had put you through, treating you with no compassion or love, leaving the marks of his hands upon your skin like wounds, I could not believe it. I wanted to believe that somehow you were exaggerating, even though your eyes told me that you were telling the truth. Why did I not simply protect you, treat you kindly like I used to or even smite Thornton's neck? Why did I refuse to accept my mistake, even though you offered to willingly forgive me for that?
Because it would mean accepting that I made the wrong choice, that I was the only one who benefited, that I failed you; I was ashamed at the man I had become and I hoped that if I was rotten enough to you you would leave and not get to see that side of me. But you did not leave, you stayed, I grew more and more desperate. Desperate in trying to stop myself from feeling again, for softening my heart because I was afraid that it would make me look weak, especially in front of you, Isabella.
I know that this seems stupid and wrong to you, but I was scared of becoming the man who cared, because all the terrible things that I had done, seen or felt would overwhelm me and I would fail to cope. My stone heart had been with me for so long; I loathed it and myself, yet I could not be anyone else; I had forgotten and dared not attempt to remember.
I know that this is no excuse for how I have treated you, especially as, even now, I am too gutless to give you what I owe to your face. I have no right to ask for or expect your forgiveness, and should you choose never to give it then that is your right. But know that I have never stopped loving you, dear Isabella, even if I have been terrible at showing you and that I am truly sorry. I only ask that you never become like me, that your heart never turns to poison, that it becomes softer and you find joy, merriness and peace, like I have wanted but have never been worthy for.
Your brother for always
Guy