Hello readers. So here is the next chapter. This week i have been working on a sort of crude outline of the fic so that I won't leave any loose threads in the end. I expect it will be something like twenty chapters, probably 22 or 23.

Enjoy,

/Trix

Chapter 11: Discipline

"It was a planned attack." Guy of Gisbourne ended his short recapture last Wednesday's events.

"Well, at least LeChas didn't get far," Vaysey replied with a sardonic pout, "It is a comfort. No harm, hm?"

"With all due respect, LeChas' death is surely the most troubling element," Guy scowled. "Hood cannot have been both the shooter and the rescuer. However we look upon this we have two players and neither is wearing the Nottingham seal." He looked at the sheriff who was stroking a quill and smirking. "You do not seem troubled by this," he established, "You know something."

"Tut-tut, Gisbourne," Vaysey responded. "Do you feel left out, hm? Didn't the big kids let you play with them?"

"No at all, I assure you," Guy snarled, "It is just that my guards are unsettled. They do not whish to be struck down by an unknown foe."

"Well, what is a guard's life, hm? Such a trifling, dispensable thing. Do remind them of that, will you?"

"Yes, sir," Guy murmured. Truth to be told he was unsure why the guards seemed so troubled by LeChas' death. Ordinary murders took place in Nottingham every now and then after all. They were getting weak. "May I be excused, sir?" he said instead. "I have matters to attend to."

"Yes, yes. If you see Marian, give her my thanks, will you?"

"Why?"

Vaysey lifted a crudely embroidered pillow from bench by his side, cuddling it like a child clinging to its favourite toy. "Look at the handicraft, hm? A true testament of all the virtues of womanhood." He put it down unceremoniously on the desk and his stance turned mildly threatening. "Oh, and if she did find something interesting while doing her own private investigation into the LeChas case, please tell her to report it. Kind of her to help."

"What?" Guy frowned, his eyes darkening.

"Didn't she tell you? She was sniffing around the scene like a little dog."

"Did she," Guy growled and drew a deep breath through his nose.

"Indeed she did," Vaysey replied. "Don't be blinded, Gizzy. The Lady Leper's tongue is still as forked as ever," he leaned back in his chair and waved his hand dismissively at Guy. "You are excused. Shoo."

Guy was furious when he entered Locksley Hall that evening. The room, he noticed grudgingly, was cold and dark; a miserable forlorn place. Marian had neglected to have it heated. Sometimes he felt like the house had been more alive when he lived there alone with his guards. He had used to think that Locksley needed a woman, but it seemed that was not enough to make it home. It still felt like an occupied space, someone else's residence under siege.

He paced back and forth in the spacious room. She had made investigations? Into his case - the LeChas case? He banged his palm into the wall. What kind of wife was she? She had married him under duress, he thought with a pang, not out of appreciation. It had been a woman's seedy little plot to save Robin Hood. And he had agreed. Why? He had told himself that the deal had been a wise one; a golden opportunity. He could always kill Robin later, but when would he have another chance to subdue Marian?

Yet he was not so sure now, with the distance of time between himself and the choice, that it had been a decision of the mind alone. Had not his heart foolishly leaped in joy over the prospect? Had it not betrayed him in that moment when he needed his wits the most? Time and again he had hoped against hope that she would learn to love him if he only had more time. As a dream it was a vain one, as all dreams were vain. If he had learned anything from life it was that dreams meant nothing. Actions alone paved the path to progress and victory.

What infuriated him most was that she still acted like she was a victim. As if it was he who had forced himself on her. She! If anyone was a victim was it not he? He had done her a favour, and instead of gratitude she was constantly displeased and gloomy. All he had done, the gifts; the love he showed her; the constant consideration. All was in vain; the futile act of petting a wolf in hope of turning it into a dog. In truth he had known she would never return his love. It had been obvious ever since the punch in the church. The insight was a chilling one, cold as death to the touch and laden with despair. He had learned to fear it, unwilling to acknowledge the truth because it finalized it in a way he could not accept.

Dejected he plopped down into the high chair which had once belonged to Robin's father. Guy's parents had spent their final days dwindling away in a town house, crammed in between a butcher and a wool merchant. All the furniture which should have been in Gisbourne Hall had been stapled against the walls, gathering dust and loosing their polish. Once a day the wife of a pig farmer had come by to do the dirtiest chores; such was the only help they had afforded.

The Gisbournes had begun their decent well before Guy was born. They lost the good will of the king and the church both and gambled away what little was left. In the end they sold off Guy's heritage, piece by piece. His mother's wedding chest; the tapestries; the silver and the silks. When his father finally died Guy had put his mother in a nunnery and sold the rest to pay off the debts and the gift to the nuns. As far as he knew she was still withering away with her prayers.

He had risen from that at least. Sour by the memory of his parents he looked over to the kitchen door and found Edith greeting him with a curtsey.

"You," he jeered. "I will have wine and a plate of something to eat. Be brisk about it! And get my wife." He looked around the room. "Stop!" Edith halted and turned back to him with the expression of a rodent facing a hawk. "Light the fire and the candles first. This place is a like a grave."

He watched as the maid walked around the room and turned it into an image of domestic bliss; cosy and warm with a sparkling fire and an appetizing supper. He cut a piece of an apple with his knife and fed it to one of his hounds. The old dog ate everything with the same fervour and gave his master a look so full of gratitude Guy felt embarrassed on his behalf.

"Idiot," he snarled at the animal before cutting it a piece of cheese as well. "At least you know the value of loyalty."

When Marian finally joined him it was nearly nightfall. She was flushed and her hair had come undone, her blue eyes lively and crisp. Guy felt a jolt of desire which annoyed him as much as it excited him. It made him weak, this want. He did not whish to be weak.

"Where have you been?" he said darkly, voice low and dangerous.

"I took the white out for a turn. We went to Knighton and back, it is a good ride." She was out of breath as if she had been running from the stables.

"You visited your father?"

"It was a quick visit," Marian's smile was edgy. "Surely you have no objection to me seeing my father?"

"None," Guy agreed. "Except that he is an enemy of our benefactor. I do not whish my wife to have divided loyalties."

Marian snorted.

"What?"

"My father is an old man. He wishes nothing but to live out his life in peace."

"As do I." Guy's tone was cold and unkind and he made the words sound like a veiled threat. He could see Marian becoming increasingly restless.

"I something the matter?" she asked.

"I am not sure you were in Knighton. I have no proof thereof."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Marian," Guy put down his cup and inhaled deeply, "I met the sheriff today. He told me you have made investigations into LeChas murder."

"Investigations?" Marian looked sceptical. "I have looked around. It is curiosity nothing more. It is nothing."

"The problem is that you seem to spend most of your time with this kind of drivel, rather than caring for your house and your husband. You are not a girl anymore," Guy scolded. "As a woman you have duties. If your father neglected to teach you as much then I think I do have objections to you seeing him."

A defiant spark lit up Marian's eyes. "My father taught me well," she snapped. "He taught me how to handle an estate and I will tell you Locksley is in a mess. I have looked over the accounts and spoken to the villagers. The farmers are forced to exhaust the fields under your direct orders. They need to be rotated, surely you know that? Some fields lay barren now…"

"Fields," Guy bellowed. "You talk about fields? You cannot even keep the house properly heated!"

"I released the men to help with the repairs of the mill. It seemed the decent thing to do since we were not at home to enjoy the fire anyway!"

"Marian, I am warning you..."

"Yes, so it seems."

"Even now the sheriff has his doubts about your loyalty, wife," Guy hissed and hugged the half-empty cup of wine. "He has you watched. I can only protect you so far and only if I wish to do so. You are biting the hand that feeds you." He inhaled deeply. "The fields are being exploited according to the sheriff's orders. These are the conditions for which Locksley was submitted to me."

"The sheriff," Marian spat, "Why do you put up with him? He is vermin!"

"Watch your mouth! We all have our duties, Marian. A farmer may not like toiling in the fields, yet he does toil. I would think my loyalty to my lord should appeal to you. It is the base of my wealth, our wealth. You should be grateful that my position in Nottingham is a favourable one."

"The sheriff's fields lay barren," Marian's jaw was set tightly, her eyes fixed in cold contempt, "and if my prayers are heard, then so am I. As God is my witness, I harbour no wish to bring more Gisbournes into this world."

White with fury Guy hurled the cup into the wall. Marian didn't flinch. Instead she stared stubbornly at her husband, chest heaving in shallow breaths and hands knotted into tight fists.

"You are my wife!"

"Not by choice."

"Choice!" Guy sneered. "You had your choice, even if you wasted it to save the life of a scamp. The day you agreed to marry me by the Church door you surrendered your will to me. It is your duty as my wife to stand behind your husband, and in return I will care for your wellbeing. God does not applaud insubordination within his holy sacrament!"

"Nor does he applaud cruelty."

"Have I been cruel to you? Have I not sheltered you? Have I not kept my part of the bargain? Is it not crueller to repay me, as you have, by praying to the angels that my bloodline breaks with you!"

"We both know that you will disown me before that happens."

"And that gladdens you? You would rather live out your days in a nunnery than be true to a man who offers you the world?"

"The world is not yours to offer, Guy, nor is your world one I desire."

Guy pressed his lips together, his face pale and taut with rage. For a moment Marian thought he would let it drop, but then he walked up to her with so much force that she backed into the wall. He followed and she did not have time to shelter herself before his gloved hand slapped her across her face. The blow left her with a burning sensation on her cheek and a ringing which faded slowly like an echo in her ear. Her shout of surprise had been cut off by the pain, and when her eyes met Guy's her mouth was wide open in shock. Guy's breath was cold and sharp against her face and his lips were pressed together to a tense line of fury. He held her arms so hard that she had no way of escaping the confrontation. Too far, she mused behind the pain and terror. I took him too far.

"It is my right," he finally answered, "as your husband, to- discipline you, when I see it fit to do so. Do not think I am beyond using that right, Marian. You may look innocent but I know you." He jerked her towards him them pushed her back into the wall with a force which pressed the air from her lungs. "Always—remember—that I – know—you," he hissed between clenched teeth before he let her go almost as violently as he had attacked her.

Once the confrontation was over they stood awkwardly some distance apart. She was watching him with something akin to pity and somehow it burned worse than her scorn. The realization of what he had done had started to dawn on Guy, yet his feelings were jumbled and confused. Violence was immediate satisfaction, a rewarding surge of power which could not be denied. But there was guilt as well, and it was worse now because in spite of everything he cared for this woman. He had so longed for her elusive love. She - the angel who he had once looked upon as his road to redemption. How tainted and fallen she stood before him now.

"I will go to bed," Marian finally broke off the silence. "It has been a long day. Do not visit me."

"Marian…" Guy shut his eyes, trying to hold on to the thoughts as they slowly settled. If they parted in anger then that anger would slowly sizzle until next they met, and so the swift decline of their marriage would continue forever on. In spite of the lingering anger he let in the shred of compassion which was buried deep inside him like a thorn.

Marian turned as she walked away, looking at Guy with a small, hollow smile. "Yes?"

"I am… glad you have looked into the tending of the farm. I have no training in such matters." Guy hesitated. "We will invite your father to dine with us tomorrow."

"It is finally New Gisbourne then?"

"The correspondence came though this morning. The sheriff has been handling the matter and the papers states clearly that Locksley will be renamed. I will go to London in a fortnight to authorize the papers." He had whished to ask her to come with him, but now he found it might be better not to. Perhaps some time apart was what she needed to feel more at ease with the situation. Perhaps it was what he needed to regain control of his emotions.

"I am glad," Marian smiled, "Truly. It matters so much to you. Goodnight Guy."

As Marian went to her chambers she was plagued by thoughts of her own cruel words. Her defiance seemed childish in retrospect, but whenever she imagined any other response it had the shape of a lie. What she felt most strongly was not regret, but frustration. She had wishes and longings as strong as any man's. How come they didn't seem to matter to the world? Exasperated she shut the door and barred it.

She had to watch her mouth. If she acted the good wife, took care of Locksley – or New Gisbourne – then she would not anger Guy. She had seen a softer side of him, one which she might be able to reach if she kept calm. She knew that there was a whish for redemption even though he appeared unable to understand the concept. It was a very thin line she had to walk on. On one hand she had to be a kind and dutiful wife, on the other her heart refused to settle into this life. Perhaps it was denial, but she found it impossible to accept that this was the end of all her ambitions. She could not stop fighting and still remain Marian.

Perhaps when Guy was gone to London she could have wind beneath her wings again; if only for a short while.