"Go, Father," Marian urged, while Sir Edward hesitated outside Saint Mary's Church in Nottingham. "You've done nothing wrong. We don't need to slink in, as if we're outlaws. Besides, we're not here to be seen, but to worship."
Endowed with the courage and boldness her father lacked, Marian lifted her chin in defiance at the questioning stares of the Lammas Eve worshippers, daring them with a glance to say anything against her beloved father. No one, except for Edward himself and his successor, Vaisey, knew why Prince John had removed him from the office he'd held so honorably for more than fifteen years.
Locating two seats in a pew near the back, Marian quickly slid in, wishing she could hide herself and her father from the curious stares. It didn't matter that many looks were sympathetic; everyone was wondering what Sir Edward had done, causing Prince John to replace him.
The mass droned on, yet Marian found it hard to concentrate. She noticed the seat in the front pew, formerly reserved for her father, now occupied by the despicable little man who had stolen his job. His bald head gleamed in the candlelight like the polished globe of a fortune-teller. But what really drew her attention was the figure sitting beside him, in her own accustomed seat.
The man, even when seated, was tall. His black-haired head was proudly set upon two broad, powerfully built shoulders, with muscles rippling against the tight black leather he wore. Even without seeing his face, Marian sensed something sinister within him, something menacing and dangerous.
She knew he must be the new sheriff's lieutenant, the mysterious Sir Guy of Gisbourne, the man she'd heard had enjoyed twisting his sword blade through poor innocent Mark. "Stop it," she silently scolded herself. She felt as bad as the other supposed worshippers, staring, rather than worshipping God this warm Lammas Eve. Yet she couldn't seem to focus on the service.
Every time she kneeled and rose up, she glanced forward, striving to see Gisbourne's face. What did so brutal a killer look like? As of yet, she could see nothing but the back of that black-haired head, his strong neck and shoulders. She wanted to see his face, stare back at him in challenge, accuse him of what he'd done, and watch him wilt. He had to have a conscience...all men did! Yet how could he sit so calmly in church, after what he'd done?
The new sheriff, bored and filled with Burgundy wine, was snoring in the front pew. With a sudden snort, he woke up, annoyed to find himself still in church.
"Get on with it!" he shrieked at the priest, stunning everyone present. "Blah blah bladdey blah! Enough of the goobly gook! Wave your foul smelling incense over us, say your blessing and your amen, and be done! I have work to do!"
No one had ever spoken to a priest so rudely, so arrogantly against God's representative on Earth. No one breathed, waiting for the priest to reprimand the outrage, or for God to strike the sheriff down. But neither event took place. Instead, the priest froze, quaking in fear, staring not at Vaisey, but at Gisbourne. In the silence, the sheriff leaped energetically to his feet and turned to address the congregation.
"You are dismissed!" he commanded, laughing at everyone's discomfort. "And by the way, I have set my own 'alms box' beside the church's, just inside the doors. I expect you to be generous, dig deep into your purses, and double what you would put in the other, for the forgiveness of your sins." He sneered out his last words, mocking the giving of alms, as if people only gave to buy their way into Heaven. Thriving upon the attention of a captive audience, he scanned his eyes triumphantly over the fearful crowd. "After all, our king needs funds, for his glorious Crusade! We can't let his troops starve now, can we, hmm? Give, give, and feed our young men who are risking so much, for the Kingdom of God!"
His speech was a mockery, and a threat. And to make certain the people knew he meant to threaten them, the sheriff issued a one-word command. "Gisbourne!"
Marian at last caught a glimpse of the man's face, his powerful arms, chest, and slim waist, when he slowly rose and turned to face them. His eyes met hers for an instant, chilling her, and she dropped her eyes, unable to give him the defiant glare she wanted. A shudder passed through her, and she longed to get away from his steely blue stare, as hard and cold as the blade of his sword.
"Come," her father told her, fumbling to untie his purse so he might escape the sheriff's wrath.
"You're not going to put our alms in his box, surely!" Marian protested. "No, Father! Don't give in to his threats! Our money should go to the poor!"
"It will go to the king's troops," Sir Edward floundered, not believing what he said, yet too frightened for his daughter's sake to be strong. "You don't want Robin to starve, do you?"
Hearing his name spoken aloud, Marian felt her strength drain away. She wilted on her father's arm, as her head grew faint and her legs turned to jelly. She despised herself for her weakness, for the illness she couldn't be rid of, but she was helpless against it. "Take me home," she pleaded, wanting to be a little girl again, and crawl onto her father's lap and cry.
Yet even weak, she reached into her own purse, emptying its contents into the church's alm's box, rather than the sheriff's, even while feeling Guy of Gisbourne's eyes watching her.