Chapter Nine
Lords and Lady

Robin watched patiently while Lady Gisborne spoke with the goodwife and cradled the babe. He did not notice her smile wane as she kissed the child's soft head, or looked into the eyes of the mother; he was too distracted with schemes to get near her, to speak with her without being seen. It was safe to say that she did not know who he was and she had looked him directly in the eye the day before, the day he tried to kill her husband, and she did not say a word. His instincts told him that he could trust her, but his brain (which began to sound like more like Tuck with each day) urged him to be cautious.

Finally, he watched the lady return the child to his mother and begin the trek back to the manor. He would have to move quickly.

Robin pulled his hood over his head and followed after, staying near the houses as he went. She walked quickly and he was fairly running to make pace with her after the head she gained. At last, he was within earshot of her.

"Lady Gisborne!" he hissed.

The lady turned to see him standing beneath the eaves of the nearest house, bowing low.

"I have no money for alms," she said, her voice distracted but not unkind. "If you come to the manor, I will see that you are fed."

Robin did not lift his face, but kept his eyes fixed upon his boots knowing that if she saw him, she would recognise him. Nonetheless, his breath caught to hear Gisborne's wife offer comfort to one she believed to be unfortunate. She made him think of Marian, but he was beginning to realise that is what always drew him to her.

At last, he looked up.

Rosalie paled at the sight of him. His face had haunted her since the previous morning when she thought he would be her husband's murderer. Somehow, she had known that would not be the last she saw of him, but she did not expect him to approach her so brazenly.

"What do you want with me?" she demanded, her voice even despite her pallor.

"If you please, I would speak with you," he replied with all the grace and courtesy of a gentleman.

"You tried to kill my husband," she retorted. "How dare you show your face?"

"Please, my lady," he hissed, looking to be sure that no one saw them. "Hear me."

Rosalie stood for a moment looking into his entreating eyes. They were not the eyes of a killer; they were honest and sincere, now lacking the hatred they held the day before, but still riddled with sorrow that seemed to follow him, always at his heels. She knew that she should turn him in, but something inside her insisted that if she did she would be committing a greater crime.

Robin saw in her eyes that she had assented and lead her around to the back of the house, where they could evade prying eyes and eaves droppers. Treating with Gisborne's wife was very dangerous.

"You are Robin Hood," Rosalie stated more than asked. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had always known that and now the realization rang clearly.

"At your service, my lady," he replied with a grin and a bow.

"I ought to give you over right now," she hissed.

Robin arched his brow in amusement: the rose had thorns after all.

"If you really wanted that, you would have done it yesterday," he said, cocking his head with a smug smile.

"You brought me here to speak," she snapped, eager to change the conversation. "Say what you will and be done with it."

"First tell me your name," Robin insisted flatly.

"I am the Lady of Locksley and of Gisborne," she answered, her eyes ablaze with contempt.

"Well then, that means you are my wife," Robin laughed, "for I am the Lord of Locksley. Congratulations, my lady, you have managed to acquire two husbands."

Before she knew what she was about, Rosalie felt the palm of her hand sting as it made contact with his cheek. She had never struck anyone in her entire life and while she felt a small satisfaction in defending herself against insults, she also felt her stomach twist in guilt at causing another pain. Worse yet, she was alone with a strange man and she had no idea what this outlaw might be capable of.

If she had struck Guy, she assumed he would have struck her back with enough force to assure her that she was no match for his strength. Even if he did not return in kind, his anger would have been enough to send her cowering into a corner. Hood, however, did not glower, he did not look angry. Instead he looked her straight in the eye.

"I apologise, my lady," he said, "I was only in jest."

Robin took a step forward, his eyes having lost their laughter and become sincere.

"What is your Christian name, Lady Gisborne?" he asked.

"Rosalie Anjou," she replied, her temper cooled and her cheeks flushed in shame and exhilaration for her actions.

"So you are La Petite Belle," Robin remarked, appraising her in admiration and curiosity.

Rosalie tensed. Only Richard called her by that name: it was the only pet name she had ever been given. Whenever he returned to London, or visited her father, he would ride into the courtyard, jump off of his horse and call her by that name, and she would come running into his great bear hug. She had cherished those memories in the dark cell of the convent, when the sun seemed to have stayed in the east with him.

"How did you know?" she demanded.

"King Richard often spoke of you," he replied. "But he described a little girl, not a woman."

Rosalie felt herself softening: this man knew Richard, he had spoken with him! She had not heard one word from him since he left for the Holy Land, but Robin had. He must have, for Richard would never share family secrets with a stranger. But then again, she reasoned, Richard could not help it if a friend turned traitor.

"How dare you speak of him now?" Rosalie challenged, "You have turned your back on him and England."

Robin seized her elbow and moved forward so that his face was inches from hers. His eyes seemed to burn through her skin and the timbre of his voice strengthened in anger at the accusation from a stranger who knew nothing of all he had done, all he had given, and all he had lost in the name of England and King Richard.

"I have never turned my back on my king or my country," he swore. "Everything I have done has been in their name and for their good."

"You would murder my husband in service to your people?" she hissed, meeting his gaze fearlessly.

"You do not know what your husband has done to these people," Robin answered, his face darkening at the mention of Gisborne. "He has turned people out of their homes and burned them to the ground; he has taken their children to work in the mines and seized what few possessions they had. He is a murderer."

Rosalie's face turned pale as a sheet. She could believe what Robin said about the peasants; in fact a part of her was already aware of that part of her husband's past. He was not the first man, nor would he be the last to commit such evils. She had waited for the ghosts that plagued Guy to come haunt her, but she was unprepared for them.

"And what did he do to you that you should hate him so singularly?" she asked, endeavouring to keep her voice steady.

Sorrow washed over Robin's ashen features.

"He murdered my wife," he said. "He killed Marian."

Rosalie stood staring into Robin's face, but all the while seeing nothing. It was as though a cloud had come into her vision. She willed herself not to believe it, but the grief and the sincerity in his eyes was unmistakable. Marian… The name Guy had called in the dark of the night when he thought no one could hear. Was it this outlaw's wife that tormented her husband?

She opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by the sound of horses drawing near. She turned to see an entourage of some half dozen soldiers being lead by a very angry looking bald man. When she turned back to Hood, he was gone. Rosalie was not surprised that he would run at the sight of soldiers, after all, there was a large reward for his head.

As the patrol drew near, Rosalie began to wish he had been a little braver and stayed. She knew well enough that her husband had no real allies in Nottingham and she was willing to wager he had earned his share of enemies. Guy had left a few men to guard the manor and protect his wife, but she was unsure how they would measure up if these soldiers did not come to pay their respects to the new Lady Gisborne.

Curse cowardice, she thought, I am an Angevin, I can face anything. And, with that thought in mind, Rosalie gathered her skirts in her hands and ran to the manor house to await the arrival of their visitors.

The sheriff gave a sniff of contempt as he road up to Locksley Manor. His sharp eyes carefully observed the state of the grounds and the few men there with feigned boredom, looking for any indication of how well Gisborne really fared under Prince John. It unnerved him to see the estate, so recently in disrepair, already being put to right with Gisborne's undoubtedly substantial purse.

The door to the manor opened and out walked a young woman in a dark blue gown with a white veil and jewelled headdress. She did not give him curtsey, but stood with white hands folded before her. Her pretty face was calm a collected, but her youth was apparent though her veil gave her the appearance of an abbess over her domain. Vasey grinned wickedly as he imagined the sinful things Gisborne must have done with this innocent.

"Lady Gisborne," the sheriff greeted, "I am Vasey, Sheriff of Nottingham. Is your husband at home?"

Now aware of whom her visitor was, Rosalie gave a respectful, but shallow curtsey and answered, "He left before dawn, Lord Sheriff. I am sure he will be sorry to have not been present to greet you himself."

"What a shame," Vasey remarked with a smile. This day was getting better by the minute. "I have just come from Kirklees Abbey and I thought I would stop and pay my respects to the new Lady Gisborne. May I impose upon your hospitality for a drink?"

Rosalie's sharp eyes flew to his face while the mind behind her cool face worked to size up his character, which took very little time. There was a reason Guy hated this man, but she would not put her family on the wrong side of him; that was her husband's office. The sheriff was the most powerful man in Nottingham and until Guy returned with his own small army, she had a feeling it would be best to err on the side of caution.

"Please, come in, sir," she replied with a graceful, but hallow smile.

Vasey dismounted with ease and tossed his reins to a nearby soldier before heading inside, removing his gloves peevishly as he went.

Rosalie called for a jug of wine and bread and cheese to refresh the sheriff and directed him to a seat at the table. While she busied herself with the duties of a hostess, he took the opportunity to assess the house. He could not remember visiting Locksley and not catching a faint, stale odour commonly associated with barracks, but now the air smelled like lavender and rosewater: feminine, yes, but also very healthful. Could it be that Gisborne was becoming domesticated?

White hands poured him a tankard of wine and sliced the cheese into small chunks for her guest to eat, all under the scrutinising, black eyes of the sheriff. It was apparent that the lady did not like to be without her husband, not with armed soldiers outside, but no woman would. She was refreshingly unlike Guy's previous leper who would have shown cold hostility and unwavering bravery in the face of the powerful man before her. This one was as quiet as a lamb, but Vasey could tell by the flicker of her dark eyes she was by no means stupid. She was innocent which was a virtue in itself, but too often coupled with the great weakness of ignorance.

"It must be hard for you," Vasey said softly as he received his chalice from his hostess. "I know Guy well: he has a temper, he can be… brutal."

"He is a good soldier and he has provided well for me," Rosalie answered, carefully evading eye-contact. She knew well enough when she was being baited and she would not fall into his traps.

Vasey would not be easily thwarted.

"Still," he continued with an unaffected air, "I'm sure he is not the most sensitive person to your circumstances. You must be terrified for the king."

"I am," she replied calmly, this time meeting Vasey head on. "But I rest assured that His Majesty, my cousin will return home and my husband will be an instrument to that end."

"You do not know your husband well, do you?" The sheriff could not disguise his sneer.

He set his tankard upon the table and strode toward Rosalie. She struggled not to flinch at his approach, though everything about this man's presence made her skin crawl. She was right, Guy had very good reason to hate and fear this man.

"Do you know why there are no Gisborne lands, my lady?" Vasey inquired.

Rosalie's silence was enough answer. Guy never spoke of Gisborne. After his brusque response to her inquiries about Locksley, she learned it was better not to speak of the past with him when at all possible.

"They were seized," the sheriff explained, "by the crown. Guy's father sided with Queen Eleanor in against your Uncle Henry in favour of Richard for the throne. Henry locked the queen up at Salisbury and seized your late father-in-law's lands. Richard never realised this, obviously. I'm sure you know your dear aunt well enough."

Rosalie sucked in a breath. She knew Eleanor of Aquitaine and she knew the woman would stop at nothing, but while most strategists would be more careful of burning bridges, Eleanor charged over them with such a force that they collapsed almost before she had crossed them. She used her every resource to its limit, seldom returning to the same well once she had drunk it dry. It was because of Eleanor that she had not been chosen for Richard's bride and the young heart could suffer little forgiveness for such an injury.

"In any case," Vasey continued, smiling as he realised he had her mind going in the direction he intended, "when Richard failed to return the Gisborne lands, Guy took it very much to heart. He has hated the king from that moment on."

Rosalie turned and glared straight into Vasey's black eyes. His lips parted, baring his teeth.

"If I were you, my lady," he said, "I would not be so certain of Guy's… devotion. There have been rumours."

"What rumours?" Rosalie's voice sounded cold and tight to her own ears.

"I have my suspicions that Guy has been to the Holy Land," the sheriff told her. "I do not have the evidence to prove it: his doctor insists that he was ill for several months, but it just so happened during that period that an attempt was made on the king's life."

Rosalie let out a heavy breath through her nostrils as her dark eyes stared back into the face before her. Unlike Guy and Robin, Vasey did not flinch under her soul-piercing gaze, but he could not hide from it anymore than they could.

"You are a liar," she said coldly, slowly.

"Yes, I am," Vasey answered with a grin as he turned and walked back to the table where he had left his gloves. He picked them up and turned back to her. "But, unfortunately for you," he said, gesturing toward her with the limp fingers of the glove in his hand, "just this once, I am actually telling the truth. I will see myself out. Good day, madam."

And with a cold, fiendish chuckle, Vasey turned and walked out leaving Rosalie alone to recover her wits, to think on all she had learned that day. She wanted nothing more than to sit in her room and dwell upon what Hood and Vasey had told her, to sort through everything, but she could not. There was still work to be done and nothing could be solved sitting about. She would not believe Robin, not until he had more than his word to present her with. Guy was her husband and she was bound to him. Even if it were true, nothing could be changed by it.