Epilogue

"God's teeth it's hot!" Gisburne cursed as he dismounted in the courtyard of Nottingham Castle, his feet crunching on the first fallen leaves of this most unseasonably hot autumn day. "Any word from the Sheriff yet, Captain?"

"Yes, my lord." The man hurried to keep pace with Sir Guy as he strode into the hall. "He will be another week in London, at least."

"Good!" Gisburne shed his heavy surcoat and looked around in distaste at the crowded hall. His head was starting to pound. "I'm retiring to my chambers, Captain. Send up some wine and something to eat."

"Yes, my lord." The man was hesitating.

"Well, spit it out, man!"

"There's a woman to see you, my lord."

"A woman?" Sir Guy snapped. "What sort of woman?"

"Er, well…em…"

"Oh, come on, come on! Young, old, pretty, ugly? What kind of woman?"

"Not young my lord, and not pretty either." He looked round sheepishly. "But respectable-like, no peasant, although she does have a goat with her. She says it's important."

It was always important. "Oh, very well. Send her up along with the wine." With any luck it wouldn't be so important that she'd want to see him in private."

But it was. When the wine arrived, in the blessed cool and quiet of his private quarters, she did too, a sturdy, no-nonsense matron swathed in linen and encumbered by a large basket. She waited sternly for the servant to leave – even checking the door to see that he wasn't eavesdropping.

"So…Mistress?"

"Mistress Fletton," she replied stoutly, examining him with great dissatisfaction over her heavy burden.

"And how is it I may help you, Mistress Fletton?" replied Gisburne with exaggerated courtesy, pouring himself a welcome cup of wine and slouching back in his chair.

She bent laboriously, placed her basket on the floor and rummaged a purse from within the depths of her clothing. "I am sent from my mistress, whom I nursed as a child and loved as my own when her mother died. Here is the token I am to give you as proof."

She held out a wad of cloth. Placing his wine aside, Gisburne rose to take it, and unwrapped it warily to discover Gisla's silver pin. His face tightened. Despite the passage of many months since he saw her led away on her wedding day, and flinging himself wholeheartedly into his work, the wound was scarcely scabbed. "What is it? What's happened? Is she all right?" he demanded.

Mistress Fletton took a deep breath and launched into what was obviously a carefully learned speech. "My mistress was recently brought to childbed in the Priory at St. Morvens, where she was making a pilgrimage. Although she is safe and well, my Lord FitzAllen was saddened to hear that the child, who was a boy, had arrived too early and had not survived the birth."

Sir Guy's face twisted with anger. "And you were sent here to tell me this?!"

"No, my lord." Mistress Fletton's florid face revealed her impatience. "I was sent here to ensure that history doesn't repeat itself." She bent, drew back the covering of the basket, and gently retrieved a bundle which she held out to him.

The crumpled face of a sleeping infant was just visible among the snug wrappings. Gisburne's eyes widened in confusion. "But…but…you just said the child had died?"

The nurse raised her eyes heavenward with a sigh of exasperation. "No. I said that FitzAllen was sorry to hear that it had died."

Sir Guy's face still registered incomprehension. "Then it wasn't early after all…but…."

The baby opened his eyes sleepily and looked around, his blue eyes still unfocused, and Gisburne suddenly understood.

"Oh." His face was unreadable.

"Well, go on then." Mistress Fletton thrust the bundle into his arms, and turned towards the door.

"Wait!" The panic in Guy's voice was unmistakable. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, don't fret!" Mistress Fletton laughed. "I'm just off to fetch some milk for the wee bairn. Tomorrow I'll find a good wet nurse and you can arrange our escort to Gisburne."

"Gisburne?"

"Well, surely this isn't a suitable place for bringing up the boy?!"

"Oh, yes, I suppose not."

She left the room, chuckling to herself, and left him alone with his strange new responsibility.

Cradling him carefully, he walked to the open window. Outside, trees wavered in the dry heat, their leaves crimson and gold in the yellow light, but in Gisburne's mind's eye, they were bare and silvered, and the air was filled with snow.

The End