"Kiss me," Meg whispered as she lay in Guy's warm arms. Guy of Gisborne looked away, torn. How easy would it be to give in? An hour or two ago, he would not even have thought about it. An hour ago, he reminded himself silently, you weren't the sort of man who'd be in this position. The Guy of Gisborne of an hour ago would have run from the executioner without a second glance – he wouldn't have stopped to rescue any peasant girl. He had undoubtedly changed. Guy had kissed women before – Marian, peasant girls he'd taken to his bed for a few nights.... that was not the problem. The problem was that now, a sense of responsibility was telling him no. Meg was sweet and pure, and he, Guy of Gisborne, did not have the right to taint that purity with his inherent evil. He shook his head gently in refusal.
"Please." Meg's voice came again – fainter this time, but still like music. Guy closed his eyes, wanting to protest. But his neck bent almost involuntarily, and he pressed his lips carefully and gently to Meg's, as much for him as for her. Her wound was still bleeding fairly heavily – he could feel it. It was a feeling akin to that of watching sand run out of an hourglass and knowing that when it was done, that was the end. Meg was dying. Is this my punishment? he wondered. To see anything I care for, anything I desire, be destroyed? Have my crimes been so great? He stopped there – of course they had. Selling Isabella, trying to force Marian into marriage, Marian's death.... all had been of his doing.
"I always quite liked you," Meg murmured with a slight smile as he drew away. Gisborne let out a sigh of bitter laughter. That was impossible. No one as pure as Meg could ever feel anything good about him – a murderer, a monster, an abomination. Meg breathed, turned her head away, and died. Guy felt her slip away. He lifted her up to cradle her against his shoulder, and press his lips against her soft auburn hair. She smelled of rose petals and forest earth. He brushed her eyes shut with his strong right hand – a hand that had caused so much pain to so many. The tears came then, falling hot and fast, soaking his cheeks. Guy did not know how long he sat there on the forest floor, holding his beloved, but at last he roused himself, removing his shirt and using it to pillow her head as he laid her on the soft ground.
He had no shovel, nothing to dig with. Perhaps that was best. Falling to his knees, wracked with grief, Guy of Gisborne began to dig. For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of his hands clawing at the soft earth and the gasp of his tortured breathing. The sun was low in the sky when he finished, when he finally turned to look again at Meg. He moved to lift her into the grave and then stopped. His hands were covered in filth and dirt. "They're as black as your heart, Gisborne," he muttered to himself. Touching Meg like this was impossible – she had not deserved to die in the forest, alone, with a murderer's kiss still throbbing on her lips. And she did not deserve further tainting, further defilement.
Turning, he staggered to the stream, sinking his hands under the cold water, watching the dirt float away as he washed. If only souls were so easily cleansed he thought. The water flowed deep here, close to the bank. If he sank his head under, death would come quickly. Death. A relief from all of the pain, the grief, the despair.
No. Disgusted with himself, Guy rose to his feet and returned to Meg. She had saved his life, and given her own, much worthier one in return. If he died now, Meg had given her life for nothing. That could not be. He gently lifted her into his arms, and laid her gently into the grave. It was the work of a moment to cover her with more earth, and to fashion a cross with some fallen branches. He stood before the grave then, helpless and empty. Guy closed his eyes, but that was no use. He saw her then, dead in his arms, her eyes closed by him. If he ignored the bloodstain in her side, she looked like she was sleeping. That thought made him smile slightly. "Sweet dreams, my Meg," he whispered. Turning, Guy of Gisborne limped away.