Chapter 2:

Guy wondered why this new woman was so silent.

She always had her head down, her hands clasped together. She was happy and unhappy at the same time, it seemed to him, if that even made any sense. She seemed happy that she had a chance for new employment and a place to live. On the other hand, she seemed unhappy, because something bad must have tormented her. Unfortunately, that was not uncommon for servants. Since they were considered lowly in society, they were oftentimes mistreated and abused by anybody above them, and they couldn't do anything, because the courts were not in their favor. It was always the case that a servant's word would be taken less seriously than by a lord, or a baron.

She didn't look like she suffered a bad fate, but then again, servants were always quiet, and nobody cared about what they had to say.

Meg jumped when he entered the kitchen. She immediately put the lid over the pot that was brewing something delicious over the fire. Guy could smell some type of pork stew with apples. His favorite meal.

He was surprised at her surprise at seeing him. It wasn't like he was going to sneak-attack her. Truth be told, he was starting to get annoyed at her sudden jumps at seeing him. It has happened before. He would pass by the garden on the way to the stable, and she would jump and drop the basket of apples just because he happened to pass through the orchard. She looked at him with wide eyes for two seconds before her eyes went to the pile of bruised apples at her feet and she bent down to pick them up and put them back into the basket. And even as she did that, he could see the lines of tension forming on her face. He wanted to approach her and ask her what was wrong, but he was afraid that she would have a panic attack or something. So, he walked away, even though he wanted to confront her about her apparent fear of her master. As he walked, he could have sworn he heard sniffles from behind him. He looked back for a moment to see, but Meg was already dashing into the Manor to put the apples into the kitchen. Better not to disturb her for whatever reason. After all, she was just a servant, he reasoned within himself. Whatever is going on in her head was of no concern for him.

Another moment, he went upstairs after returning from the castle into the Money Room, which was a room where he kept many bags and chests filled with coins and jewels that he has earned and accumulated from his years of service to the Sheriff of Nottingham. It was also where he sat down at his desk and looked over the finances of the week, to make sure that everything was in order—the necessary food ordered for him and the servants, fodder for the horses, wages for his workers, things like that, especially a pine-scented soap that was his favorite and that he must have for his baths.

As he entered the room, he saw Meg again on her knees on the floor, dusting a wooden chest with a rag. As she was doing that, she was picking up some small bags from the floor and placing them atop the newly-dusted chest, the coins jingling. One bag was not tightly closed enough, so some coins dangled onto the floor. She tentatively picked each coin up, one by one, with a certain rigor and caution at the same time, as if to ensure that not one coin was missing. She placed each coin individually in the bag, as if also to ensure that one did not accidentally fall into her pocket. From her two weeks in the Manor, she must already have known that her lord and master kept a scrupulous pecuniary record of virtually everything. One missing coin spelled disorder for his finances, exceedingly meticulous as that may seem. This very meticulousness was one of the factors which lead to a perpetually messy desk cluttered with parchment papers, filled with words and numbers that Meg did not recognize, in fact which she did not know were words and numbers at all. Servants, if any, ever learned to read and write, much less recognize simple numbers.

Meg heard the door open and close. She stood up and whirled around to face Guy, her face blanched with that usual fear. Guy would be lying to himself if he thought her strange behavior didn't bother him. For some reason, it did. He could not pinpoint the uneasy feeling he had, especially when her hand went into her pocket to reach for something. She did not take it out, instead she clutched onto it tightly for dear life.

"Sorry, Master, I was cleaning," she said hurriedly. She released the grip on the item she had in her pocket and handed him the bags that she newly tightened, so the coins would not fall again this time.

Guy gave her a small smile and a quiet "thank you" as he accepted the bags. At that lighting-moment, his hands gently brushed against hers. He could feel her shudder, even though it was the slightest of shudders, barely perceptible to the average human. But Sir Guy, with his keen gift of perception, was not an average human. His uneasiness turned to alarm as he noticed the faded yet visibly multiple streaks all over her hands. The fading away part suggested that they appeared a while ago, but anybody who was as physically close to her as he was at that moment could see that she hurt herself…or somebody hurt her.

Guy looked directly into those deep brown eyes, not noticing that she placed her hands together, as if sensing that he saw the marks. Against his will, he struggled to prevent himself from wondering about this mysterious, quiet woman whose only interactions he ever shared with her was when she said "I'm sorry Master" whenever he suddenly entered the same sphere of space as her.

Those eyes were begging to cry. They were heightened in alarm and fear, for her face turned a whiter shade of white, if that were even possible. She bit her lower lip and glanced quickly at the closed door behind him.

He had to ask.

"Why must you be so frightened? I want to get to know my new servant, instead of having a stranger in my own home. Tell me, how would you feel if somebody you didn't know stayed at your home, and you had no clue who they were or what kind of person they are? Unsettling, right? I do not like strangers pass by in my home, not having an inkling of who they are." he said in French. This was the first time he conversed with her in French, and he was surprised at himself for switching languages so suddenly. He had a penchant for switching languages from time to time, something which annoyed Thornton to no end, but Sir Guy didn't care. French was just as native to him as English, as his mother was French, and his father an Englishman. Combine the two, and there came a man who spoke French and English with the same amount of fluency and ease. Sooner or later, Thornton gave in and forced himself to learn just enough French to converse on daily matters with his master.

The sun shining through the open window rested its rays upon Meg, casting a golden sheen on her brown hair, resting upon it like a crown and rendering her locks the color of cinnamon. The sun also illuminated the tears that were beginning to form.

"I'm sorry Master," she replied in French, darting pass him and leaving the room faster than one could say "hello." She slammed the door behind her.

Back in the kitchen, Guy was awakened from his trance when Meg spoke to him:

"Is there anything you need, my lord?"

"No, no, I was just going out the back door to the stable."

Meg nodded and turned to face the pot.

As Guy opened the back door to leave, he stopped in his tracks and said:

"Whatever you are cooking there, it smells appetizing."

For the first time since he met her, he saw her make a little smile. She took a strand of hair that was tucked behind her ear and covered it over the right side of her face. But Guy knew that the hair was unloosed to cover the rosy blush forming on her cheek. He could not help but take in her appearance. He almost never gives two cents about his servants, but he knew that this servant in particular was…he could not find the right words to describe her. Mysterious, yes indeed, and that's what bothered him.

He noticed that she noticed that he was taking in her appearance, so he said something to fill in the awkward silence that was growing in the room.

"Thornton and Matilda have done nothing but compliment your culinary skills."

"Have they?" she put a little sprinkle of rosemary into the pot, taking a wooden spoon and stirring the thick stew that was forming.

"They have. The other day, Thornton was praising that chicken dish you made to the high heavens." Guy chuckled at himself as he recalled his old servant using the superlative to describe what Meg made them that dinner. And then, he went off on a tangent about how the ex-servant Mary used to burn her chicken and served raw dough as bread. Thornton, despite his meek and gentle comportment, had a dramatic flair that came out of the woodwork from time to time.

"It's a recipe I have made thousands of times," Meg admitted. "It's nothing special. 'Tis only a simple recipe I have always cooked for my previous masters."

"Well, Thornton and Matilda are justified in praising your cooking skills. They have a keen sense of judgement." He took a step forward towards her, without thinking at all how Meg would feel. Her master was approaching her, becoming a little closer to her. He did not shy his gaze away from her as he declared: "My former servants are nothing like you."

What could that possibly mean? "I am very grateful that you considered me for this position" was Meg's only response, keeping her head down in that coy way of hers.

"Why, you are competent, and—"pointing at the pot over the fire"—you cook very well."

"Thank you," was all Meg could say to the first compliment that she received in a long time.

He extended his hand out to her. "I am honored to meet you."

"Honored?" Meg said quietly to herself. She reached her hand out, and to her surprise, Guy held it up and gave it a little kiss. Right on one of the deeper streaks that stood out from the rest. Guy didn't know that, as all he thought about at that moment was kissing her hand. But for her, that was significant. It was one of the deepest marks, one that evoked the most pain.

She knew Guy heard her, for he smiled. It wasn't that malicious glare he would send to his soldiers whenever they screwed something up and they knew he was going to give them hell, but this was a soft, genuine smile. Subtle. Yet one that left a lasting impression.

"It is an honor to have somebody like yourself in my household," he explained, slowly releasing her hand.

"Me?" She said almost inaudibly. But Guy bowed his head and already left the room. She stood there in stupefied silence as she heard Guy walk away into the stable.