Chapter Seven: Walking Torture

"Once more!" Laura applauded from her spot by the tree.

"Only if Mariella sings," Mark haggled with a smirk as he lowered his violin.

"No," the Italian sweetly smiled from the spot on the grass where she lay, "I want to hear you play more."

"And I want to hear you sing more," Mark retorted, "So it's either I play behind you or not at all."

"C'mon, Mariella," Laura urged, "Just one song?"

Softly Mariella sighed and closed her eyes, opened her mouth and began:

The sea will never run dry my dear

Nor the rocks never melt with the sun

And I never will prove false to the bonny lad I love

Til all these things be done my dear,

Til all these things be done

It was amazing how song got rid of Mariella's speaking accent so much so that one would be surprised she had one at all when she stopped. She loved music. She especially loved to sing. It would put her in a state so far away from the rest of the world that she hardly noticed when Mark stopped playing.

Oh, yonder doth sit that little turtle dove

He doth sit on yonder high tree

A-making a moan for the loss of his love

As I will do for thee, my dear

As I will do for thee…

That was when the clapping commenced, however it wasn't just Laura applauding this time. There was an extra pair of hands clapping and somehow Mariella knew that Mark wasn't so talented that he could clap with his violin in his hands. Her eyes popped open and she bolted up into a sitting position to see Vasey slowly clapping his hands together. Not far away from him, arms folded and waiting was the man in black. 'Dear Lord' Mariella thought as she felt her heart stop upon seeing the figure standing there. 'They heard me singing! He heard me singing!'

"Bravo," Vasey called as he slowed his clapping, "Bravo."

Mariella instantly stood up to greet them. "Uncle Vasey!" Mariella greeted in Italian.

"Ah, ah, ah," he scolded, "English. I don't want your singing to be the only thing you practice."

"Yes, Uncle-"

"And please!" Vasey stopped her, "I think you should start addressing me more formally."

"Yes… my lord," she accommodated trying to keep her smile, her fake Italian accent obvious even in those few words. So now she wasn't even allowed to call him 'Uncle Vasey'? This was not the man she remembered…

"Good," he smiled, clapping his hands together, "Now that that's taken care of, I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you that I think your English lessons have been paying off. It's high time that you reaped your benefits."

"Benefits?" She pronounced the word slowly, her voice portraying her supposed struggle to understand it.

"Yes, my dear. Rewards. Benefits."

"Rewards?" she asked, now more amazed than puzzled, "You mean…?"

"Yes," Vasey smiled, "I would like you to move to a new room and I would also like for you to have dinner with me and a friend of mine tonight. It will be… a test, if you will, to gauge your readiness to enter the noble life and be presented to the world."

"Oh…" Mariella said, her anxiety of excelling in this test overcoming her excitement of being promoted to a status in which she could take it, "I see…"

"But not to worry," Vasey reassured, sensing her discomfort, "I'm sure that you'll do fine… So! Gisborne, take Mariella's things…" At this he held up her traveling bag that most likely held all of her possessions. "… and take her to her room."

Gisborne's eyes hardened and he begrudgingly swiped the sack out of Vasey's hand.

"Good boy," he smiled, "Now you two have fun while I go attend to a few things."

"Uncle Vasey!" Mariella called, catching the Sheriff by the sleeve to stop him. He raised a brow as if what she had just done was the most preposterous thing anyone had ever dared. Seeing this she instantly let go and shrunk away before she tried to redeem herself, "I mean… my lord…" It didn't seem that she could quite grasp the words she wanted to say until she found the few that fit perfectly, "Thank you." With that she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

After gently urging her off of him, Vasey then did something that nearly assured her that the uncle of her childhood who she knew and loved was no more: he raised his brow once again and said, "There's hope for you yet, my dear." He even went as far as snickering, "There's definitely hope for you yet." Then he turned and left without another word.

Once he was gone, Mariella's eyes turned to the man in black, or Gisborne as she had learned his name was. He only glanced over at Mariella and stated simply, "Follow me."

Mariella obeyed. Then quickly chasing after him, she made a grab for her bag and told him, "I can take it."

Gisborne's fingers loosened at the very attempt of her hand trying to take hold of her possessions, not wanting to keep it from her if she truly wanted it. He saw no trouble in being relieved of her possessions. But at this point he stopped and stared at the girl, finding it strange that she would take this initiative to begin with and even more strange her introverted stance afterward. She stood before him, clutching her bag to her chest with her eyes cast down to the floor, trying at all expense to avoid his gaze. She cradled her things in her arms and waited for him to continue leading the way.

Having taken in the frightened girl adequately, Gisborne took the first new step. She walked beside him, not sure what she should say or if the stranger even wanted anything to be said at all, but when she eventually noticed that he had no desire to put forward the effort she didn't bother either. If this could have been the format of the entire trip to her room, the walk might have been endurable. However, something eventually inspired Gisborne to finally attempt a conversation: "Your English seems to be coming along nicely."

"Thank you," she said, keeping her back straight and sure but her eyes cast down in shy avoidance, "Sir Mark is… good teacher."

A few moments of uncomfortable silence worked their way in at this point until Gisborne conjured up something else to say.

"I haven't properly introduced myself," he made clear, "I am Guy of Gisborne, Lord of Locksley."

"Guy of Gisborne, Lord of Locksley?" Mariella repeated, lifting her gaze up from the ground so that it could wander the hallway in front of her as she pondered the introduction, "That is a lot to say. Do you say this always?"

Guy furrowed his brow at the statement, finding it very odd that she would criticize how he presented himself. "Not always," he admitted, "I just thought it appropriate since you know nothing of me that I should introduce myself to the fullest."

"Why is this?" she asked with a smile so soft that Guy couldn't and didn't know how to decipher it.

"I don't know…" he asked, now feeling like he had become the fox that had been chased into a dead end.

Another moment of silence between them.

"I am sorry," Mariella told him, "You are right. I like it you told me. It makes you not a face and a name. Now I know too your title and that you are Lord of Locksley."

The silence that followed this 'conversation' was a slow and painful one, far worse than it could have been if nothing had been said at all. It was the torture of all tortures. She could nearly feel the tension pressing in on her like quicksand. The only difference between the two agonies was that Mariella desperately wished that it would go quicker to put her out of her misery. Unfortunately, it appeared as if quicksand would have killed her faster than this walk. The only bright side she could acknowledge was that she was no longer scared of him. Instead she now only felt awkward and uncomfortable. What a horrible first conversation! It was made even worse as Mariella refused to let herself even so much as look at him for fear of those frightening, paralyzing eyes, in case she would be struck scared yet again.

Suddenly he stopped. "This is your room," Guy told her, opening the door so that she could go in.

Looking around, Mariella had to admit that she was a bit disappointed. The room, since it was decently furnished, seemed too cluttered for her taste… and yet still seemed very bare. It was only the sheets that dressed her four poster bed that gave the room anything close to a feeling of softness and invitation. Even the curtains adorning the bed seemed too adamant for her liking. Then again, it wasn't easy to make a stone room feel like a home. That's why Mariella never liked castles. They were full of stony rooms. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad. This room definitely had its perks; a soft bed, a small nook with a writing table, a vanity, and a wardrobe. Noticing it, curiosity caught hold of Mariella and she opened it. There weren't many gowns inside, but there were enough. The quality of most of them was equal to the quality of the finest dress she had ever worn, which wasn't quite fit enough to see the king in but that was well and good with her. She had no need for such finery since she expected never to meet the king.

"If there is anything you need, guards will be posted at your door every night and servants are always nearby," Gisborne said and, by taking a few steps into the room, reminded Mariella of how small and timid he made her feel, "but if there is nothing else that you need of me I will be going now. Dinner will be served at seven."

"Lord Gisborne?" she called before he could leave, doing her best to not let her voice waver, "I have question."

"Yes?" he waited, "What is it?"

"How do I look?" she asked, indicating the clothing hanging in the closet.

"Excuse me?" he questioned, his face screwing up in confusion.

"How do I look for dinner?" Mariella repeated, "Medium?" She indicated one of the lesser dresses. "Or nice?" She switched over to one of the nicer pieces of attire.

Guy paused a moment as he realized that she was asking how she should dress for later that night, then considered an answer to the question. He gave a brief and awkward gesture. "Regular will do."

"Thank you," she told him.

"Is that all?" was his response.

"Yes," she affirmed, "Thank you."

This time he only nodded, then left and went on his way.