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"I expect you will pay these taxes on time next season. I don't want to have to make it hard for your family, Paul." He said, clicking the last lock of the handcuff open. The peasant Paul nodded solemnly as his hands were freed from his 72 hour detainment in the jails of Nottingham castle. He stared into blue eyes flecked with gold and sincerity; taxes were not so severe as when Vesey ruled, but paying full amounts was still a dream for down on luck farmers.
"Thank you, Sir Drake. Don't be offended when I say I hope not to see you or your father anytime soon." Paul gruffly said his goodbye. Drake laughed and patted his hand hard on the worker.
"We don't want to see you much, either." With that, the man was free to go. Drake cast the shackles aside to the bin where available pairs waited to break the hearts of criminals before locking up the newly empty cell. He wiped the grime from his palms onto tan trousers and scuffled out of the dungeons; even though he had lived in this castle for eight years, dank pits of despair, sweat, and melted wax can never be called a home. He was only able to cover a few dozen meters before running into his father under an outdoor archway. The years and the strain had coaxed gray hairs to become a part of Gisborne's sideburns, but he did not look very different at all from when Drake was a small child.
"Did you get the rest of the men out to Derbyshire?" Guy inquired immediately upon spotting his son. They continued until meeting up at a corner that overlooked the courtyard with Drake folding his arms.
"Yes, of course. You asked me to do it this morning, and I did. All men accounted for, the camp should be full by sundown tomorrow," Guy nodded and gazed out into the vacant entryway, "Dad, relax."
"There should be nothing to worry about." He answered. Gisborne was not particularly high strung, but now that Drake had grown into a fifteen year old Guy was lending over more and more tasks. They were all being achieved with stellar effort and results. Guy knew he had raised his son to be a man he would be proud of but it was still hard to share authority; at some point, he knew, he would have to give this entire job over. But that is a hard concept for someone driven by power and egotism.
"Just got Skinner out."
"The wife finally paid bail, eh?"
"Julie," Drake hastily said, "His wife's name is Julie Skinner." Guy jutted his chin to the side and sniffed.
"I get enough of that from your mother, don't start now." He lowly replied. The boys had a chuckle together; Drake had always liked that even when his father joked he wore a serious face.
"Speaking of, is Mum still out?"
"They just came back for supper. You prepared to join us?" Gisborne put his hand on the back of Drake's neck as the young man nodded, then they marched in tandem step to the dining hall.
The table was adorned with fresh fruits and loaves of slaved over bread that left an imprint in the air. The servants were topping off cups of wine when the Sherriff came to take his seat at the head of the table.
"All I'm saying is I don't remember you taking me out and buying me this many clothes when I was a kid." Drake loudly poked, watching his mother out of the corner of his eye. Lacie was already seated and dropped her hands to her lap with raised eyebrows at this quip. With a joking flavor she gave her son a warning look.
"Oh trust me, she did." Guy pitched in. His clear blue eyes were pools of joy when he watched his wife and daughter react. Lacie stroked through her child's hair a few times with her fingers.
"Don't listen to your brother, he is just being a stupid boy."
"Well you know," Margaret matter-of-factly stated, "You are welcome to come shopping for dresses with me and Mummy next time. We will get you something pretty." Drake was seated across from his eight year old sister at this point and rolled his eyes. She casually stuffed almonds in her mouth after sweeping aside raven hair with vibrant red undertones that burst in the sunlight, not missing a beat before any quips. Margaret was young but intelligent and witty; Guy was certain she would grow to be a heartbreaker. If he had put much thought into it, he would have realized that his daughter actually reminded him quite vividly of Maid Marian. She was sharp tongued and hinting at stubborn. Guy sucked the juices from a nectarine off his thumb before converting the topic.
"Drake, what is the word from the blacksmith? You know I need those cells replaced by the end of the month –"
"No, no, no," Lacie interjected almost immediately, "No business at the dinner table. You know that." At thirty five Lacie had fallen comfortably into the role of a woman who was set in her ways. After sixteen years of marriage, Gisborne had fallen into knowing his beautiful wife always had the last word on his actions. He put up his hands in surrender and continued the meal. The rest of the evening in Nottingham castle evaporated and, before they were aware, black had begun to gobble up sunlight and blanket the town.
"Margaret, I think its best we get you prepared for bed." Lacie mentioned with the last drink of wine. The young blood patched on a sour face and kicked her feet at the stool, glancing to her father for an opportunity to stay up. Was there anything to do? Of course not. But what child honestly wants to sleep for the night?
"Well what if Daddy or Drake need water? They are gonna be working late, I should stay up and bring them something." Even she heard the thinness of this excuse and sighed. Guy, with a grin in hand, spread apart his arms and waved his baby girl over. She complied and pressed her forehead into his heart.
"If you don't get your rest, how am I supposed to take you out for archery training after breaking your fast?"
"Oh that's great, Daddy!" Margaret hugged the troubled man tightly. After a kiss she and Lacie were off to throw on a dressing gown and soak in a warm bath to help pale the skin, quite a common practice for girls of their status. Guy scratched his nose and retrieved several parchment scrolls to splay out across the table. Being Sherriff was no cakewalk, but even though he was a fan of complaining, Gisborne adored his work. This is where he and his family belonged.
That night held little sleep for the men of the Gisborne clan; and unfortunately for them the next day would demand more energy than they could have foreseen.
