Over the next fortnight Catherine made it her mission to see Gisborne at every glimpse possible. At each affair the castle held she was certain to snake over to his side at some point, their flirty banter drawing curious stares and whispers. Marian found herself shuffling in discomfort each time Catherine would gaze up at him with a sense of wonder; she too had been on Gisborne's arm and, while she admired certain qualities of his, she had never found herself in awe of him. She did not strike Marian as a dumb girl, in fact the few snippets of conversation they had proved otherwise, but she could not wrap her head around this infatuation. She found herself in the curious position of worry on Guy's behalf; she had discarded him in a very public and shameful way but could not bear to see it happen to him again. Whether driven by guilt or kindness Marian kept a watchful eye on whatever was developing between the couple's knowing glances.
If anyone in the castle was cautious, however, it was Nash. As his grip on his daughter seemed to lose strength he was scrambling to assert his authority. Catherine had always been a clever and charming girl, but never so divergent and neglectful of his wishes. Nottingham seemed to be rotting her. The tensions around the castle were a thick smog whenever he and Gisborne were forced to be in each other's presence, which had begun to pique even Vaisey's negative attention. The silliness had to stop. George had successfully intercepted roughly a third of the gifts Gisborne showered her with, but this was clearly not enough. They had only been trapped in this county for two and a half months and yet Catherine naively went about this craze as if her destiny had arrived; she had stitched together her own silly tokens and hummed ballads of courtly love as she did her duties in the home. George was sick of it.
He was particularly disgruntled at seeing his daughter enter the castle piazza on this morning, her woolen hat and cloak gobbling her up in the snow crusted terrain. Nash excused himself from his team of builders and darted down a set of stairs before intercepting his child in a dark stone hallway.
"You have no business here with Gisborne," he called to her as she approached, wind whipped mustard cloak flecked with snow.
"You're right, I don't," she answered shortly before producing a bag from beneath her protective gear, "I've come for you. You left some of your tools at home, a compass, whatever these other things are."
"You're a kind girl with a good heart," he smiled before kissing her forehead, "and I'm sorry if you think I have been making your life difficult of late. In three months, we will be in London, my dear, and you can have everything your heart desires."
"What if I don't like it there, Daddy? I don't want to keep moving around with no home or family of my own."
"This is our last stop. Just be patient. Everything you want will be in London."
"Everything you want, perhaps," Catherine muttered into her cloak as she readjusted the neck of it. Her father's cold stare was predictable.
"I will be going there at the end of this year to make some preparations. I will be sure to find exactly what you like, darling. Right on the water, near plenty of markets, and a successful merchant for you to start your family with."
Catherine painted on a cellophane smile and accepted that her words would not be heard. Perhaps, even worse: they were heard but vetoed for her father's version of events. She felt her organs torn with indecision and split allegiances. She loved George so dearly and desired to be a daughter he could have pride in, but he could make it so damn difficult. On the other hand, she had Guy, her first romance and a man with more than she could have ever dreamed: Lord of Locksley, Earl of Huntington, in favor with Prince John. If that wasn't a future then what was? How could her father so blindly be missing this opportunity that was put before them? Catherine did not want a stiff old merchant in London who could give her a home on the Thames. She craved the man who made her laugh over a bottle of Burgundy, the man who held a hard order in his county but a soft touch for her, the man who made her feel like she was a special prize worth fighting for. Catherine just had to figure out how to get her father to come around.
She retraced her steps back to cobbled streets that crunched with veiled frost, her mind on the mountain of laundry that awaited at home. If the weather was so determined to stay cold, how was she meant to dry anything without it stiffening into an icy mockery of her efforts? She had just crossed under the portcullis, arms tightly crossed to keep out the chill, when a trio of Nottingham's soldiers approached on horseback at a quick clip. They were led by Gisborne who waved Catherine down before slipping across the threshold to the safety of the castle. A paddy wagon slowly lurched along behind them and rolled through the gate as Catherine expectantly peeked back around the portcullis opening. Guy had disembarked his muscular horse, one that she distinctly recalled was by all accounts an ass, and said little to the stable boy before barking instructions for the prison coach that approached. As the wagon of ill-fated criminals rolled past her she tried to best the curiosity that demanded she peek inside. Before Catherine could fall to temptation Gisborne met her at her side, tugging his gloves tighter and sniffing at the wind.
"May I say that it's a welcome surprise to see you here?"
"I don't know, Sir Guy, because then I would have to tell you that I'm glad to have seen you, too," Catherine grinned at him before glancing back to the unloading of prisoners behind him, "Busy morning?"
"Just a few criminals who tried to skip town – didn't get too far. A sweet girl like you shouldn't worry about the likes of them."
"Perhaps, but if I am to feel safe in my own town then I must admit seeing full paddy wagons does not seem encouraging."
"Those men will never see this town again, they will never see you, nor harm you," Guy said with reassurance before nervously rolling his words around in his mouth, "You know, Catherine, no matter how many carts I can fill with outlaws the world is not safe, particularly for an unmarried woman walking alone."
"I was just returning home after seeing my father."
"I intended to visit at your home today; I had wanted to gift you something," he said before handing over a small velvet bag. Catherine shook her head with a bashful smile, curls flouncing from the motion, before retrieving the gorgeous black brooch from its wrapping.
"I have told you before that this is unnecessary. You don't need to sneak around twice a week to bring tokens – you already have my attention," she told him while proudly pinning the brooch to her shawl as he folded his arms in the breeze. The scent of smoke and fresh bread wafted along the castle walls.
"I would like to think that in time, perhaps, I could have more than just your attention," he said with a low voice. If she didn't know better, Catherine would swear his tone sounded a bit shy.
"Guy-"
"I find myself thinking that… if I may speak plainly?" he looked to her with a gravity that twisted anxiety through her stomach.
She nodded and followed the man in black as he paced along the path, searching in hope for a quiet place to have a discussion that did not include the gaze a dozen armor clad guards. Gisborne snaked her along the castle's curtain wall until they were nestled behind an unmanned cloth shop. Sheets of rich plum, pumpkin, and periwinkle linen flapped around in the cool morning air while he gathered in a breath of composure.
"Your father is, through all of his faults, an efficient worker. We have only had one delay and he is certain that he can resolve his need here by the end of February."
"Yes," Catherine looked quizzically side to side without the courage to ask why that had to be said in private.
"He seems to have secured work on a defensive moat at the Tower of London for King Richard in two months' time. What do you plan –"
"I don't want to talk about London," she adamantly stated before crossing her arms and looking back down the lane.
"Catherine… you also have my attention. But what value does that have if you plan to leave? If you are going to the other side of the country then I cannot allow myself to be so… distracted."
"It's not like I want to go," she vented with frustration, her foot stomping in distress, "do you think I enjoy starting my life over twice a year? Having to find a new home, a new county, new friends, a new Sherriff to dance around before figuring out his laws and dislikes? I am appalled to be twenty-five years old and still a maiden; no children, no home of my own. And it's not for my lack of desire, it is for the sake of my father's ridiculous plans; he manages me like a schematic, not like a person. I do not want to talk about London because I want to pretend for just a little longer that I have a life in Nottingham."
Catherine turned away from him and feigned interest in some purple cloth while in reality bottling tears behind her eyelids. The weight of fifty men dissolved from her shoulders as those words finally saw daylight, and yet dread poured into her lungs and reminded her that it hadn't changed a thing. She was still trapped to the whim of meticulous George. Guy drank in her words and allowed a lull before softly stepping behind her, his heavy black boots crunching the frost beneath them.
"You need a husband. Could you consider, in time, that perhaps I…?"
"You're in my top three options," she meekly joked before turning to him. Gisborne's brow furrowed a bit as her red stained eyes succumbed to the crying spell that clawed up her throat.
She could not keep up the charade of calm any longer, she could not hide behind jests, and she could not smile her way out of London's looming approach. Without much thought Catherine crashed against him, her forehead buried against his chest as the tears overwhelmed her. Guy felt himself freeze, his muscles tensed in shock as hormones pounded against his veins. The attack dog of Nottingham gingerly removed his gloves and held Catherine through her emotional surge.
They had touched on multiple occasions before: light taps on the forearm, intertwined elbows at a party entrance, playful swats following up a joke – but never like this. Gisborne's mind did not register the bite of winter as his bare skin caressed her. His left hand embraced the narrow curve of her waist and pulled her in tightly as the timid fingers of his right hand stroked through her mound of blonde curls. Catherine gripped to the leather of his jacket, her brain rejecting any notion of social propriety – she couldn't give a damn. Guy was the first person in this towering gray city to befriend her, and the only man so far to give her any attention that didn't involve haggling over groceries or insinuating a bedroom. With a degree of shakiness, she stabilized her breathing and regained the reigns of her behavior. The architect's daughter unglued herself from him and wiped away the final tears with embarrassment.
"I'm sorry – I shouldn't have –"
"Shh," Gisborne quietly shushed her before drawing her chest back to his own, "You have nothing to apologize for. I don't like to see you hurting, Catherine; I never intended to upset you."
"You haven't upset me at all, I just get so overwhelmed with change sometimes…"
"I want to take care of you," Guy softly told her, his thumb wiping off a rogue tear as linen billowed around them. The thoroughfare of the town and all of its residents seemed miles away from their secluded conversation, although in truth they were only steps from the crushing reality of their obligations.
"Guy, I don't know if whatever we have is meant to last forever," she said while looking into his ice blue eyes, "but I do know that I can't just pretend my feelings for you don't exist. If I am to go to London, then I will spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been in Nottingham."
Gisborne felt the oxygen clump in his Adam's apple, nerves fizzling under his flesh. He still held the blonde by the waist and felt so giddy at her touch. Catherine was looking up to his visage with pink cheeks and a quivering lip that made his knees weak. Blue hued cloth swirled behind Guy as all of his rationality evaporated, the desire to be closer to tender Catherine far too irresistible.
The gravity of this moment felt so different than any that he had shared with Marian. Bubbling anticipation, the warm sense of safety, hunger for intimacy – the sensation had never been quite like this before. Sweet little Catherine was so open and trusting with her emotion; there were no head games or turns of phrase to navigate. She stood before Gisborne as a damsel in distress and he yearned for the fulfillment of rescuing her.
He drew Catherine in by the waist again, this time with a hand beneath her chin and brought his lips to hers. She responded immediately by parting her lips to let him in and rolled up on to the balls of her feet to better equate their height. She tenderly set her hands on either side of his face, fingertips tickling at the whiskers of Gisborne's stubble. Their kiss was passionate and yet careful, each of them knowing this would only make it harder to say goodbye.
Marian turned away and attempted to catch her breath, leaning her weight against the solid stone wall of Nottingham castle. Surely her eyes had been mistaken. Marian bravely looked out the window over the town once more to subdue such radical imaginings and was shocked to confirm that it was not a trick of the mind – several stories below her and sitting under the smoke of a bakery was Guy of Gisborne with his arms around Catherine Nash, their lips tied together in ardor. She instinctually pushed to the other side of the hall and tried to rationalize the swirled concoctions of emotion that washed over her body. Marian clutched her auburn braid and recovered from the shellshock before skipping down an adjacent spiral staircase. She could not keep a secret like this to herself and instantly knew just who she had to go find.