CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the dusky, ripe-smelling warmth of the stables, Guy tugged on the straps of the saddle to make sure it was fastened securely, then checked the shoes. The horse, a dappled gray, was no match for the black destrier he used to ride in better days but it was swift and sturdy enough for a long journey; that would do. The animal snorted and tossed its head; it seemed skittish, perhaps picking up on Guy's own mood. He was still livid at the fresh memory of sitting there and hardly saying a word while the four of them, Robin Hood and Marian and Allan and Hood's bloody manservant, were debating his fate. There was that, and the nerve-wracking uncertainty of trying to understand what Marian was up to: why would she, practically another man's wife—he could not afford to forget that—ask him to come to Aquitaine? Maybe the answer was simple. She wanted to give him a chance to atone for his crimes and earn the King's pardon; no more and no less than she'd do for that fat old hog Sheridan. He had mistaken her sympathy for love once before; he would not make that mistake again. And yet—
No more of that. He had to focus on the mission. As soon as Marian and Allan got back from the market, they would leave town and head west toward Grimsby—he was not going to think about what else lay in that direction—and by tomorrow…
Voices outside the stable door made him flinch and step back.
"… don't like leaving you here."
"Come on, Much; pretty soon we'll be together so much you'll get sick of me."
"You know I could never get sick of you," Much said reproachfully as the two came through the doorway. "It's just—I'll be there, and you'll be here, and—well, it's dangerous!"
Robin chuckled. "I'll be fine, and you'll be back by midday tomorrow if you make good time. You know we must get word to John and Tuck that we're not coming back for a while; besides, we need money. I gave everything to Marian."
After a palpably tense pause, Much said, "Speaking of Marian, are you sure it's a good idea to—" Spotting Guy, he started and cleared his throat. "Oh."
"Everything will be all right, Much," Robin said.
Much eyed him dubiously. "You're going to try to get Sheridan out of the dungeon, aren't you. By yourself."
"Don't worry, I'll be careful."
"Oh, I'll worry, because I know you'll come up with some mad scheme and before you know it—"
Guy rolled his eyes—how could Locksley put up with this, having the man fuss over him like a goddamned nursemaid?—but he knew his disdain was tinged with resentment.
"Much." Robin put his hand on Much's shoulder, and Guy looked away and pretended to recheck the saddle straps while the two men exchanged a hug. Out of the corner of an eye, he saw Much untie his horse and lead it toward the doorway, the straw rustling and crackling under the animal's hooves. Already about to step outside, Much stopped and half-turned his head and said, "Good luck" in a strained voice; after a moment Guy realized that it was addressed to him. He looked up, startled, and could think of nothing to say in response other than a low "Yeah."
Then Much was gone and Guy was left alone with Robin, who eyed him silently, slouching against the wall, his arms folded. It occurred to Guy that he owed the man a thank you for his letter to the Queen. The thought of it stuck in his craw, and it was even more galling to know that Robin did not expect his thanks.
"That was some commendation," he said gruffly. "Did you mean it?"
"You think I'd say it if I didn't? Not telling the whole truth was bad enough."
"What makes you think you can trust me?"
Robin shifted his feet, gave a slight shrug. "Intuition. I know you well enough, Gisborne; I know how your mind works."
"Do you." Guy scowled; that was not a particularly pleasant thought.
Robin stared to the side, as if his thoughts were far away, then moved his eyes back to Guy.
"Here's the thing. I'd trust you with my life; I'm just not sure I can trust you with Marian's."
Guy stared back, speechless; after the first surge of anger, his throat was thick with bitter shame. To think that he had no right to take umbrage at having such an accusation thrown in his face, at being thought capable of this vilest of deeds… Steadying himself, he took a long breath, then stalked toward Robin, stopping when they were little more than a hand's span apart.
"What would you have me do to prove I will not harm her? Give you my weapons?" He unbuckled his sword and let it drop in the straw at Robin's feet. "What else?"
Robin looked thoughtful, as if taking the measure of his words. Then, his lips quirked wryly. "Cut the dramatics, Gisborne; you're of no use on this mission unarmed."
Guy bent down to pick up the sword under Robin's stare; damn the man for always finding some way to make him feel foolish. He stood up and flicked his head, shaking his hair out of his eyes.
"Just remember," Robin said briskly, "this trip was her idea. I meant it when I said she's in charge. And if I find out that you so much as raised your voice to her, you'll have a lot more to worry about from me than from Richard."
As though any of that would matter if… Guy swallowed his retort and nodded.
"She is safe with me."
The sun stood high, gleaming palely through the thin clouds, by the time Marian and her two companions left The Pilgrim and headed for the Lincoln city gates. They rode at a slow trot through the busy narrow streets, with Guy in front, Marian a few paces behind him on the horse Robin had given her, and Allan bringing up the rear.
Marian stared into Guy's black-clad back and thought of Robin, their good-byes in the stables at the inn; the way he had looked at her as if wanting to ask her something, and in the end gently stroked her cheek and said, "Good luck." She had barely exchanged a dozen words with Guy all morning, always with others around, and had spoken little to Allan during their outing to the market, except about the practical matters of buying the things they'd need on the road. It was only on the way back to The Pilgrim that Allan, who'd been giving her uncertain looks for a while, had asked suddenly, "You sure you know what you're doin'?"
"You mean," she had replied, steadily, "taking Guy along."
"Well, yeah! I don't get how you can be so cozy around 'im after—after what he did."
Marian had picked up her pace, pushing her way past some women walking to the market. "You don't mind being around him and he had you tortured," she parried in an irritated half-whisper. "And didn't you say he nearly hanged you after you got back from the Holy Land?" Then she had another thought that shocked her, because it put Robin and Guy on the same footing. "You follow Robin, too, and Robin tried to kill you once."
Allan raised his eyebrows. "Guess I'm easy. Anyhow, it's not the same, is it." She gave him a dirty look and he shrugged. "Look, it's none of my business, alright? I'm just sayin'—"
"What?"
"If this is some kind'a game you're playin' with 'im, I don't want any part of it. I reckon Giz is half out of his 'ead already—"
"A game!" Her voice was bright and sharp with anger. "I'm trying to bring the King back home; isn't that what we all want? And Guy…" She took a deep breath. "I think he deserves a second chance. You got one, didn't you?"
"Hey, I'm fine with that. I mean, Guy's alright when 'e's not tryin' to kill me. Or you," Allan added uncomfortably. "It's just—things don't always turn out like you plan, do they. If they did, I'd be a rich man right now and I suppose"—he glanced around, spotting a couple of laborers coming toward them, and lowered his voice—"you'd be the lady of Locksley Manor, 'ey?"
The lady of Locksley Manor; it had been a very long time since Marian had imagined that. The thought of it rattled her, then left her oddly numb.
As they walked briskly along a nearly empty unpaved side street, Allan gave her another sideways look. "What about Robin, then?"
She had frowned, startled. "What do you mean?"
"Not bein' funny, but if I was set to marry a girl an' she was takin' off on a trip to France with some other bloke, I wouldn't be makin' big plans for the wedding."
"I am not taking off on a trip. The three of us are going on a mission."
"Right," Allan muttered. After a brief pause he asked, "So you're still marryin' Robin, huh?"
"No," she said defensively.
Allan had chuckled at that, and Marian had bristled in silence; then they had rounded the corner of the street leading to the inn, and she had said curtly, ending the conversation, "I know what I'm doing."
She knew what she was doing, she told herself now as they rode toward the gates, the horses' hooves clacking on the cobblestones. Perhaps a part of her had missed Guy's company, his friendship. She didn't like feeling this way. After everything he had done… And yet—she had meant what she said about giving him a second chance, hadn't she? The past was what it was. If they could be allies—
The church bells began to toll for the sext liturgy, striking again and again until the air was thick and heavy with their clamor. A moment later Marian, Guy and Allan stopped at a street corner to let a vendor's cart rumble past, and Marian craned her neck to peer at the city gates, already in sight ahead of them. Once they left Lincoln, she'd breathe easier. Prince John's men had to be searching for her—looking for a woman, more likely than not, either in a nun's habit or in a blue dress, but perhaps with an eye to a male disguise as well; John and Jasper both knew she'd used one. They could be on the lookout for Guy, too, if Vaisey had already sent word of his and Robin's escape; and Guy, she thought, glancing at him as he rode forward, was much too recognizable.
The bells' last echoes were fading when they reached the gates and slowed down; and there, Marian spotted two men in Prince John's colors, keeping watch alongside the city guard. One looked vaguely familiar; she must have seen him at Lincoln castle. She gazed past him, careful not to react. Then she noticed that the man was staring—at Guy, not her.
"You!" he called out. "Stop! What is your name?"
Guy brought his horse to a halt. "Sir Godfrey de Reymes, on my way to Stamford with my squire and my manservant," he said haughtily, using the cover they'd agreed on.
They were moving again; another moment and they would clear the gates. Marian's hands clenched on the reins.
"It's Guy of Gisborne!" Prince John's guard bellowed, whipping out his sword. "Stop him!"
Guy charged ahead with a fierce shout, and Marian gave her mount a hard kick in the sides, taking off after him. There were cries of "Stop them!" and "Close the gates!", and two guards with halberds rushed to bar Guy's way but he came straight at them and they jumped aside, losing their nerve. Marian raced past them, Allan almost neck to neck with her. She saw Guy glance over his shoulder—God's mercy, was he about to tarry out of concern for her?—but then he surged forward again and in another moment they were out of the gates, galloping at full speed while the people coming up the road scattered in fright. A gaunt middle-aged woman driving a donkey barely had time to get out of the way and shook her fist after them, cursing.
"You think maybe they won't come after us?" Allan yelled, his voice almost drowned out by the clatter of the hooves and the rush of the wind in Marian's ears.
"Not a chance!" she shouted back. Indeed, half a dozen guards on horseback were already riding out of the gates. The fugitives sped on, Marian now in the lead, but their pursuers showed no sign of giving up the chase.
"Head for the woods!" Marian called out, veering off the road. The forest lay some eight miles east, on the other side of the city; not an easy distance to cover quickly. A few times when the guards fell behind, Marian, Guy and Allan slowed down to a trot to give the horses some rest, only to speed up again, too soon, when the pursuers would pick up pace and start to close in. Once, a man in Prince John's colors broke ahead of the rest and loosed an arrow that grazed the flank of Allan's horse, drawing a hearty curse from Allan and causing the three to take off at a short burst of gallop the horses were now too tired to sustain. At last they reached the forest's edge and rode alongside it until Marian spotted an opening in the trees.
"You two go first," she said, and caught Guy's worried look. "I'll be right behind you."
The three of them dove into the green half-darkness of the woods, staying on a path that was barely wide enough for one. As they rode further in, Marian scanned their surroundings for a hiding place.
"I'm going to slow them down." She reached for the bow she'd taken from Allan. "Ride on ahead—I'll catch up."
"Why?" Guy asked raggedly.
"Because one can stay hidden more easily than three. Now go!"
He turned reluctantly and trotted off after Allan, with another backward glance at her before they disappeared into the trees. Marian moved behind some tall shrubs and waited until she heard the sound of hooves and voices. She could now glimpse the men through the leaves, coming closer. She steadied her bow, held her breath; their lives, and their mission, were now in her hands.
At last she had a clear view of the front rider, some twenty feet away. She released the arrow and watched the man jerk as it hit its mark, then sag, his hands still clutching the reins. The horse bucked and neighed wildly and went down with the rider, blocking the path. Marian ran her arm across her forehead, wiping off the sweat. She'd bought some time.
They had stopped to rest at the foot of a hill, hoping they'd evaded pursuit by riding through a shallow brook for a while, reversing direction from where they'd been going along the path. Allan spotted a spring flowing from the rocky, mossy hillside, and went to fill up a flask; Marian and Guy came over to splash the clear, fresh water on their faces and drink from cupped hands. The three of them then busied themselves tending to the horses. Rubbing her mount's sweaty flanks with a wet cloth, Marian darted her eyes toward Guy and saw him watching her, his expression shadowed with unease. He quickly averted his gaze, bending down to check his horse's legs. Was he troubled because she had just shot a man? She hadn't killed him, she was quite certain of that; and yet, from the moment she became the Nightwatchman, she had known she was fighting in a war…
"We won't get to Grimsby before nightfall; the 'orses need rest," Allan said. "Should we just—"
Before he could finish, Guy shushed him with a quick motion, listening intently. Marian heard it too: the distant rustle and crackle of something moving through the forest, and other sounds that could be whinnies and voices.
"Prince John's men?" Allan whispered.
Marian strained to listen. The sounds were far away, and not in the direction from which she and her companions had ridden; if it was a search party, at least it would not fall on their trail.
"I'm going to find out," Marian said. "Stay here."
She moved stealthily through the trees, careful to make no noise. The sounds seemed to fade, and she stopped, thinking to go back. Then she heard them again, and this time they were unmistakably human voices, growing closer as she followed them, until she could hear the men talking just beyond the trees and shrubbery where she could glimpse a clearing.
"Could be anywhere by now. We've lost them for sure, haven't even seen any tracks."
Marian moved closer and gingerly parted the branches. She saw several of the guards who'd been pursuing them, Prince John's men and ones from Lincoln Castle, watering their horses at a small pond.
"So we go back to Prince John empty-handed," spat a tall, broad-shouldered man in the Prince's colors. "Hell's bones, there's no telling what he'll do; there's already four men in the dungeons for letting that girl get away"—Marian winced slightly at this—"and now we've had Gisborne, and maybe Robin Hood himself, slip through our fingers!"
So they thought Robin could be one of their fugitives. Were they taking her for Robin Hood? A smile tugged at her mouth in spite of herself. Good; Robin would be safer if Prince John's men believed he'd left town.
"We should keep looking," one of the Lincoln guards ventured anxiously.
"For what?" the tall man shot back. "Three damn outlaws in a big forest? Forget it; for all we know they're halfway back to Nottingham—"
Then they were talking over each other and Marian could only make out scattered words and curses; finally, the tall one, who was apparently in charge, mounted his horse and the rest followed suit. For a moment it looked as if the leader of the group would head toward the spot where Marian stayed hidden, and she held her breath—but then he turned his horse around and barked at the others, and they rode off onto a path that would take them nowhere near her. Marian breathed relief and waited. After a while, judging it safe, she moved away and began to make her way back to where she had left Guy and Allan.
A noise made her freeze. There it was again: the rustle of a branch, a twig snapping—someone was coming toward her. An animal? No, definitely a man. Tense and alert, trying to keep as still as possible, Marian took cover behind a tree. Her hand went to the hilt of the sword at her belt. Then she peered carefully around the thick trunk and saw a tall, dark figure moving between the trees. At once, her anxiety turned to irritation. Guy.
When he was close enough, she stepped out abruptly to face him. He stopped, startled.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Guy looked at her, his jaw tight.
"You're following me."
"I am looking out for you."
"But I told you and Allan to stay where you were."
He frowned, his face half-veiled by the forest's shadows. "I thought you might need help. It could have been Prince John's men."
"It was Prince John's men." Marian shook her head at his worried look. "Everything's fine. We've lost them. Guy, there was no need for you to come after me. If you'd found me while they were still close by, you could've—"
"Marian—" He exhaled an impatient huff. "I promised your husband-to-be that I would keep you safe from harm."
She stared, taken aback. "Robin asked you to protect me."
"He is—concerned for your safety," Guy said, averting his eyes.
She understood then; her safety from Guy. She couldn't exactly blame Robin for that. For a bitter moment she saw it again, the courtyard in Acre, the gleam of the sun in the metal of Guy's blade—Robin leaning over her, horrified, as she looked up at him dazed and broken. She closed her eyes, willing it away. When she opened them again, Guy was looking at her with a mix of frustration and concern.
"Robin is not my husband-to-be."
She saw Guy flinch slightly, his face momentarily defenseless with shock. Then he stood still and rigid, watching her, as if expecting her to say something else. Marian tugged at the cuff of her sleeve, shifted her head to look past Guy at the gnarled mottled trunk of a birch.
"We are not going to be married," she said.
He did not move, and it was a long moment before he asked, "Why?"
Annoyance bubbled inside her. "Because I am a fickle woman who breaks men's hearts for sport; isn't that what you think of me?"
Guy shook his head. "No," he said. "No."
"We both decided it would be best this way," Marian said. There was a short, awkward silence; her fingers went to a non-existent lock of hair. "We should go back. Allan is probably getting worried."
She walked off and Guy followed; but after a short while, in a patch of forest sparse enough to let through shards of sun, she stopped and turned to face him. He eyed her warily, the misty light shimmering on his face.
"Guy—"
"What?"
"You cannot think of me as a woman under your protection. We are together on a mission, you and I and Allan, and we all look out for each other—do you understand?"
"Yes," he said grudgingly, his expression both stubborn and perplexed.
Marian watched him a moment, then quickly pulled her sword from the scabbard. He blinked in alarm.
"What are you—?"
"Draw your sword," she said.
"What?"
"Spar with me. I'll show you that I can take care of myself."
"I've seen it."
"Obviously not enough." She raised the blade, a fleck of sun dancing on its edge. The point of the sword grazed his sleeve. "Go on. Spar with me."
Guy's hand brushed over the hilt of his sword, then dropped at his side.
"No," he said, almost inaudibly.
"Because I am a woman!"
"Because…" His voice snagged and he lowered his head. The anguish she'd seen in his face, now half-hidden by the long straggly hair, left her unexpectedly shaken. "Are you mad to think that —"
A spasm choked off his voice, rattled his frame. Moved, she almost reached out to touch his shoulder until she realized she'd be comforting him over the pain of having almost killed her, having thought her dead at his hand. She drew back and then remembered she still had her sword out. She sheathed it, her face hot. "Let's go."
"We take a shortcut 'ere"—Allan gestured to the left—"we can get to town before dark and stay at the inn. Caistor, that's the town."
They had stopped at the edge of the forest, at the top of a sloping hillside overlooking another swathe of forest, a vast stretch of fields warmly gilded by the evening sun and, in the direction where Allan was pointing, a distant village.
Marian glanced at him, surprised. "You've been here before?"
"Yeah, I've been to lots'a places. You know, doin' odd jobs—"
"Like parting people from their money?" Guy asked tartly. It was the first time he had spoken in a while; since they'd resumed their journey, he had been thoughtful and even more somber than usual. Marian pursed her lips and looked away. Whatever he was brooding about was his own business.
Allan smirked brazenly. "Only if they wanted to be parted from it, mate."
"Really.Well, either way, we're not taking your shortcut."
"Why not?" Marian asked.
"It would take us too far out of our way. We should keep going straight to Grimsby."
Allan shot him a disgruntled look. "What, and sleep in the woods?"
"That's what outlaws do, isn't it?"
"Not when there's a nice bed a short ride away! I'm tellin' you, we should head for Caistor. So it's a few hours' delay—"
"Fine," Marian said. "That's what we'll do."
She gave her horse a light kick in the sides. Guy's hand shot out to grab the reins, making the horse whinny.
"Marian—"
She snapped her head toward and started to ask if he was being difficult on purpose, but something in his expression cut her short.
"You've been there before… On the Sheriff's orders?"
His face hardened. "My family's land was there."
"Your family's—"
"Yes, less than two miles west of Caistor; does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"You grew up here."
"Yes. Until it was lost." His gaze drifted to where the village lay.
Marian slowly shook her head. "And you've never gone back. All this time, when you lived a day's ride away—"
Guy gave her a sharp look. "Why should I have? It's not my land or my house. What was I supposed to do, Marian? Ride in and claim them as mine? Come sneaking around the estate telling the villagers I was still their rightful lord?" His mouth twitched up in mockery. "The way Robin would have done?"
Before she could think of a retort, Allan cut in. "'ey! Not to break up your little trip down memory lane—"
"There is no trip down memory lane," Guy snarled.
"—but let's just stick to findin' a place to stay for the night, alright?"
Marian looked from Allan to Guy, then to the village. The houses were tiny in the distance, but she could make out the church and the manor house. She turned her head toward Guy, meeting his eyes directly.
"Robin," she said, "would have gone to the manor and asked for their hospitality."
His disbelieving look gave way to a flash of anger. "You can't be serious."
"Marian, come on," Allan said impatiently.
She'd said it mainly as payback for Guy's jab at Robin; but now that she thought about it… well, why not? Maybe it would do him good to stop running from everything he didn't want to face. And she couldn't deny that she was at least a little curious.
"Why shouldn't we? Any lord of the manor would offer hospitality to a traveling knight; it is no more than common courtesy."
For a long moment Guy stared at her in silence. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, blowing it in his face; he jerked his head to shake it off. Marian had a fleeting thought of a man steeling himself to be brave at his own execution, then scoffed at the comparison. If he had to deal with some painful memories, he was hardly the only one.
"Very well," he said thickly, and rode off before she could say another word.
Marian sighed and kicked her horse into a trot. Allan followed, and even without looking at him she could sense his mute disapproval. She sped up until she had passed Guy and was a few paces in front of him.
As she rode ahead, Guy wondered vaguely and unhappily if he should give up even trying to figure out what she was after. One moment she was telling him to hang back and permit her to rush headlong into danger, the next she was informing him that she had ended her betrothal to Hood, yet wanted no other protector—and now this, a ridiculous and humiliating visit to his childhood home. She was every bit as incomprehensible as ever, and as ever he found it impossible to withstand her stubborn will.
He watched her ride, the sunlight gentle on her dark cropped hair, and without warning the realization that she was alive flooded him: Christ's blessed heart, she was alive and here when, but for some miracle he didn't deserve and couldn't fathom, she should have been buried in the hot sand thousands of miles away. Guy shivered and moved his lips in a soundless prayer of thanks.
They were entering a grove that had to be crossed on the way to the estate; Marian dipped her head to avoid a low-hanging branch, and Guy found himself gazing at the tilt of her bare neck, his thoughts now drifting in a much less pious direction. He grit his teeth against the image.
She was still Locksley's lady. Whatever their quarrel, Marian and Robin would get past it and be together; he would not delude himself again on that score. Locksley's lady, he told himself, dimly aware that even this was better than thinking he could have had a chance with her now if he had not, in one foul, mad moment, irrevocably thrown it away. He watched her silhouette in the dusk of the grove. She was alive, and here, and she didn't hate him or shun him. It had to be enough.
NOTES
MargaretThornton, as always, huge thanks for the thoughtful comments. That is a very interesting interpretation of Much. I think you finally got an account with the site so from now on I'll be able to answer you directly? :-)