A/N: Thanks to whatsthefracas for the beta help. Check out her RH stories and now a new "True Blood" as well!
Chapter Thirty-seven: Settling In
Life settled into a routine once more, with boredom the constant enemy. The outlaws began sleeping more and more during the day as little Tom's crying kept them up at night and it was yet too cold for Deirdre to walk him outside. She was walking him around their chambers yet again, rocking him and shushing him, exhaustion claiming her body. Allan snored noisily and she glared at him. "How can he possibly sleep with all the noise our son is making?" she thought. As she passed near him, she "accidentally" kicked him, interrupting his sleep. Allan woke with a start, reaching for his sword as he sat up, blinking rapidly.
"What?" he demanded, wondering where the danger was.
"Oops, I guess I stumbled," Deirdre claimed innocently. "I'm just so awfully tired. Here, you take your son for a bit." Deirdre handed the squalling infant into his father's hands.
"What do you want me to do with 'im?" Allan sat, wide-eyed with Tom in his stiff arms.
"Talk to him. Sing to him. I don't know." With a sigh, Deirdre collapsed onto the pallet next to her boys, running a hand through her hair.
"Talk to 'im about what? It ain't like 'e's gonna talk back." Allan looked down incredulously at his wife, whose eyes were shutting as she answered him.
"It doesn't matter—it's just the sound of your voice he hears; he doesn't understand the words yet."
Allan turned his gaze back to Tom and began talking softly to his son, who snuffled but still was not quiet, not until Allan began speaking the words to the Irish lullaby that had brought little Tom into the world. Allan continued speaking the only Irish words he knew—except those he would not say in front of a child—as the baby slowly calmed in his arms. With a sigh Tom drifted off to sleep, his small thumb in his mouth, his long lashes fanning his cheekbones. Allan sat back with a sigh of his own, turning to hand the sleeping child back to Deirdre. He raised an eyebrow in amusement at a particularly loud snore that issued from her open mouth before settling Tom on the pallet between them.
In Fulham, life was also settling into its new routine. During the day, Guy trained with his men and rode when the weather was good, while Adelaide sat with the ladies, sewing or knitting to pass the time away. There was always gossip, and Adelaide often had to negotiate treacherous verbal waters; before long, the ladies began giving curious stares to her still-slender form. None of them knew of the Queen Anne's lace seeds she took or of the small pocket of fear that was still left in her heart, despite Guy's gentle behavior. Night after night, he held her, making love to her and then snuggling close until dawn, except when her "woman's time" came upon her, and then he slept on a pallet next to the bed so he would not be as tempted.
As she sat before the window in the ladies solar, Adelaide listened to the twittering voices of the other women, complaining about their husbands. She knew they wished to draw her into their game, to learn more of her newly formed relationship with the handsome, if brooding, Sir Guy of Gisbourne. She found the forthrightness of the other ladies to be somewhat off-putting; they spoke of things best left in privacy.
"My William is so funny. Thinks I can actually feel it when he puts his baby-sized twig inside of me. Last night, he had the nerve to say to me, 'There you are,' when he was done, as though I should be happy now," declared a rather horse-faced young woman with dull brown hair and narrow brown eyes.
"Whatever did you tell him, Bernice?" asked the blonde with the pale blue eyes.
"I didn't tell him I would be satisfied later by the prince's head stableman, that's certain!"
"Oh, that man has the right equipment and he knows what to do with it!" the blonde agreed.
Adelaide flushed at their comments, embarrassed by their honesty and their wantonness; of course, even if she were wont to, she had no need to visit one such as the prince's stableman, not with Guy as her husband.
As if reading her mind, Bernice piped up once more, speaking to Adelaide this time.
"So what of Sir Guy, Adelaide?"
"What of him?" Her vague answers annoyed the other women, but she refused to discuss what went on in her bedroom; she had been hotly embarrassed to discover that Lord Henry had discussed the goings-on in their bedroom—in minute detail—although he had lied about her responses and his size. Her cheeks had flamed to hear the servants speaking of the details of Lord Henry's rapes, of how they had twittered over the lies he had told of her begging him to take her in every way, making it out like she was some enthusiastic camp follower.
When she had been younger, Adelaide had fantasized—as did all her friends—of marrying a handsome prince who would carry her away to his home. She had dreamt of him carrying her up the stairs to their bower, but never really knew what happened in that room. Years later, her older friends and her older sister had described to her how wonderful joining with a man could be. She had looked forward to her wedding night, until the actual event had changed her opinion, scarring her with its violence. Now Guy had shown her the true joy to be had in a marriage bed, and she felt he deserved more than for her to treat him the way Lord Henry had treated her, by speaking of the details of their private moments with others. Guy did not seem like the kind of man who would appreciate her talking with anyone of the things that transpired between them.
"Will you be joining us in the stable?" the blonde—Ingrid, if Adelaide remembered correctly—insinuated.
Adelaide blushed. "I do not think so."
The other two women exchanged knowing looks.
"So, Sir Guy is like our stableman then, eh? I always thought he would be. He may not hold lands in his own name, but he does throw off this…aura…of power. My husband says there is no Gisbourne for Sir Guy to hold, but that he holds a village named Locksley. So why is he named "Gisbourne" Harold was wondering?"
Adelaide had no answer, her cheeks turning deep red over her ignorance.
"I do not know. Does it matter what a man has though, if he is good and kind?"
The women twittered like silly birds. "He must be quite large to instill such loyalty in our Adelaide! I'll bet he knows how to use it, too!" Bernice added slyly.
Bernice's speculations, and referencing her as "their" Adelaide, angered her. She put down her sewing and began to gather her things, intent on being anywhere but near these two women and their nasty insinuations.
"I'll thank you to not say such things. What goes on in my bedchamber is between my husband and myself. I trust that the next time we meet, the conversation will be more civil!" With that, Adelaide stormed out of the solar, slamming the door and then hurrying down the stairs and to her chambers, intent on fetching her cloak and then getting some fresh air.
Guy had stopped in their chambers to get a fresh shirt and to clean up for supper—the prince was fastidious when it came to the cleanliness of those who sat close to him and would be most displeased with Guy showing up to the supper table unwashed. He had his shirt off and his hair, face, and chest glistened with water; he was reaching for the towel beside the washbowl when Adelaide stormed in, muttering under her breath. He had never seen her like this—her anger had always been restrained, but not this time. Her color was high, her eyes bright and flashing fire as she growled about, "Ladies, indeed!" Guy was sad to watch the veil drop over her eyes as she looked up to see him standing there.
Adelaide had slammed the door to the chamber, the latest invective dying on her lips as she glanced up to see Guy standing by the fire. He was bare from the waist up, his chest glistening in the firelight, nipples hard from the chill of the water. A small smile played on his lips, and amusement lit his eyes.
"My Lord…Guy. What brings you here?"
Guy looked around him before resting his gaze on Adelaide.
"This is my bedchamber, is it not?"
Adelaide flushed and looked to the floor. Guy stepped forward and took her chin in his hand, pulling her face up to look into her eyes.
"I am joking, Adelaide. I was dirty from riding out with my men and needed to wash before supper." Guy brought his lips down on hers, feeling them give way and open to his tongue before her own tongue met his, her arms reaching up to allow her hands to twine in his hair. He pulled her body close, his hands stroking her back and her bottom, and felt her nipples harden through the material of her dress. He broke away, resting his forehead on hers.
"I still smell of horses. I must wash."
Adelaide found herself disappointed. Feeling his hard body pressed against hers, his mouth plundering hers, she had wanted nothing more than to lie with him then and there. Instead of releasing him, she kept his head close to hers as her fingers gripped his hair.
"You smell just fine, Guy. We have plenty of time yet before supper."
Her mouth found his and this time, she was the aggressor. Guy was surprised to find his sweet little Adelaide behaving so wantonly. His cock throbbed painfully behind the leather in response to her as she dropped her hands from his head to run them down his chest and to the ties of his pants. A finger brushed along the top of the pants as she urgently tried to unlace the ties. Guy didn't know where this temptress had come from, but he wanted to take her so badly it was an almost physical pain.
His hands gripped her neck, his mouth plundering hers before he broke away with an oath as the servant who was announcing supper knocked on the door, his yet-falsetto voice carrying through the oak into Guy's fevered brain. His eyes burned with intensity as he looked down at his wife.
"We will finish this later," he promised, sending a shiver of anticipation racing down her spine.
Supper seemed to take forever; Guy and Adelaide were each tortured by the other's nearness. The prince requested Guy's company after the meal, leaving Adelaide to walk up to their chamber alone. Quickly, she undressed, washing up in the clean water she had had Mary bring up before settling by the fire with a fur her only covering. She found herself unable to relax, her whole body quivering with need for Guy. She jumped up to pace the room, the fur still wrapped around her shoulders, and thought about how very different Guy was from Lord Henry. Lord Henry had been older than her by decades and his coloring had been pale; Guy's dark good looks had turned many a woman's eye. Where Lord Henry had reveled in her pain, Guy was careful to give her pleasure. She was shocked to find that his extreme caution annoyed her sometimes, that she actually enjoyed a certain level of pain when Guy was with her—like the time he had gotten carried away while suckling her nipple and bit it. He had been apologetic, while she had merely been frustrated that he had stopped. Knowing that Guy had no desire to cause her pain lent a certain thrill to it when he did accidentally pull her hair too hard or thrust fully into her too soon. She found it ironic that the wanton woman Lord Henry had tried to beat his wife into being was instead responding to Guy's warmth and compassion.
Adelaide paced back and forth in the small chamber. As Guy was the prince's favorite and they were a newly married couple, she and Guy were one of the few who actually had a private room; even so, Adelaide missed the spaciousness of her own rooms in Mablethorpe. She was frustrated that they yet resided in Fulham, under the prince's careful—and leering—eye. She wanted to go home, to begin their life together as man and wife in their own place, and while Mablethorpe would always hold dark memories of her former lord, Adelaide had worked hard over the past decade to make it more hers than his. She could only imagine how much better the place would be after the next decade under the hand of her new husband.
She was standing by the window, staring out at the woods, when the candles flickered in a cross-draft. She turned to find Guy standing in the doorway; his face held the intensity of a predator that has finally cornered its prey. Adelaide moved away from the window and dropped the fur to the ground, shivering in anticipation as Guy closed the door and stepped into the room.
Guy leaned back against the oak head-board of the bed, Adelaide nestled in his arms, her finger idly swirling the hair on his chest. It had been over a month since Adelaide had first given herself to him, and she had grown more comfortable with him every day. Where Lord Henry had wanted only her compliance, Guy seemed interested in her honesty. Most men she knew were cruel, but Guy was always well-mannered, at least with her. There were times when she looked into his face when she would catch an unguarded look of longing and sadness, and she wondered what brought the looks on. Perhaps it had something to do with what the ladies had said earlier—about there being no Gisbourne lands. Adelaide took a deep breath, deciding to do something which Lord Henry would have beaten her for—she asked Guy what bothered him.
"Guy, the prince said that you needed lands. You know, before, when he was arranging our marriage. What happened to the Gisbourne lands?"
Under her hand, she felt his chest tighten, heard the sharp inhalation of his breath.
"It is something I prefer not to speak of," he answered her harshly.
Hearing the anger in his voice, Adelaide was afraid of Guy for the first time in a long time. She back-tracked quickly, as two years under Lord Henry's tutelage had taught her to do.
"I am sorry, My Lord. Please forgive my boldness." She stayed where she was, curled against him, wary of movement. Movement attracted attention. Movement led to beatings, to violation.
Guy felt her body stiffen; her answer lacked the hard-won informality that had grown up between them. He sighed, kissing the top of her head.
"It is I who am sorry, Addy." He purposefully used her pet name, to put her back at ease. "I should not have snapped at you. It is a good question, one my wife deserves to have the answer to. It is…difficult to think of."
"As difficult as…" Adelaide stopped, wishing her tongue could be put under lock and key sometimes.
Guy moved his head to stare down at her.
"'As difficult as…'" he retorted.
"Nothing. I understand if you have no wish to speak of it."
"Adelaide…" His voice was deep with censure. "Tell me," he commanded.
It was Adelaide's turn to sigh.
"I am sorry, Guy. I wondered if it were as difficult to speak of as beatings, beratings, and violations. As difficult to speak of as your husband showing to others what should be private between you. Or of the terror when there was nowhere to turn, no one to protect you from the one who should have been your protector. I shared my pain with you, and it has made it more bearable. I thought that maybe…"
The silence stretched, and Adelaide was once more on edge, waiting for the back of his hand to find her cheek; waiting for Guy to reach in and grab her tongue as Lord Henry had once done in front of others, claiming that he had not tired it out enough apparently if she still had the use of it, and that he would cure that oversight forthwith, leading her from the hall to an alcove behind a tapestry and forcing her to take him in her mouth then and there, being careful to make a lot of noise in the process. He had then led her back to the hall and handed her a napkin to clean the corner of her lips as her cheeks flamed hot in embarrassment. She heard a low rumbling sound in the midst of her horrible reverie, and under her hand, Guy's chest was shaking. She looked up, surprised at the sound of his derisive laughter, to see a crooked grin on his face.
"I suppose when you put it like that…You are right, Addy. You have shared your past with me. It is only fitting that I share my past with you." Guy sighed and closed his eyes, seeming to try to gather the strength to say the words.