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Marian finally begins to see how the game is played.

Influence

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Though her arm was through his, it was apparent that Marian was guiding her father, Sir Edward on their walk. Though their confinement had been loosened to extend to the immediate grounds, their assigned guards hovered mere paces behind as Marian guided her father through the garden.

She brushed at his sleeve so the trim laid properly. He was having a good day, and hardly leaned on her at all.

"I'm so glad you came out today, father. It would be a shame to spend such a warm summer day inside." She glanced at a row of sage and resisted the urge to pluck the leaves. "I have a dozen new quills and sheets of new parchment for you. What in the world have you been working on?"

Edward stepped carefully around a bundle of parsley, dropped from a basket. "I have spent time in thought. I decided that the most important things cannot be got at the end of a sword." He stopped and faced Marian. "Or, by the point of an arrow, as the case may be."

Marian picked up the parsley and made a show of examining it. Softly, she spoke, but her eyes were wide with excitement. "Did you write to the king? Have you heard some news?"

He sighed. The guards had stopped to match them, and were distracted by a pair of girls cutting and tying herbs.

"It has been years since Richard left, and it will be years before he returns, if he ever does. He may die in the Holy Land, or he may decide he prefers France to England."

"But he is the king!" Marian whispered ferociously.

"King of a cold, foggy rock. You have never seen France, Marian. Richard may be content to remain as a lord in France than king in England."

Marian pressed her palm to her chest, hoping to calm the pounding there, and took Edward's arm once more. "But, what can be done without a king? What of justice?"

"Is it a king you want, Marian," he murmured. "Or law?"

"A good king makes good law." Marian dropped the parsley into a basket and walked on. There was lavender up ahead.

"And what happens when a good king falls ill and dies? There is chaos. Progress made in a lifetime of good work may be wiped away in minutes. Caprice. Greed. But law may transcend the throne. It can be fixed and apply to all."

Marian said nothing, her eyes fixed on the rows ahead, but her mind churned.

Edward continued. "No imprisonment without process, no confiscation without payment, no trials without a judge!" Edward coughed, his whispers straining. "They are just ideas for now, but ideas will loosen the stranglehold we live under."

He coughed again. "But it will take time. You cannot wait so long. Please, Marian, protect yourself."

Marian saw Edward's eyes water, and knew he had no breath for words.

"Father, please, catch your breath. We can talk later."

"No! The sheriff…" Edward could speak no more, and could not stop coughing. Marian hated to do it, but she called the guards over and they half carried him away, back the castle.

Marian hurried to find a maid and ordered hot water and tisane for her father. He still recovered from these attacks, but who knew for how long?

…

Edward slept peacefully after some broth and resting his voice. Marian knew he would be well the next day, but she could not rest yet. These moments seemed to hint at future suffering and she could not cast it from her mind easily, and so she paced the halls and passages of the castle.

She wandered the outer walkways, past arches and through chambers open to the outside, not wanting to be shut into her rooms. The heat of the day was giving way to evening. Supper was some time off and the summer sun would light the castle for hours yet. It fueled Marian's restless walk, having nothing to do.

"Marian?"

She spun with a yelp, then covered her mouth until she caught her breath. "Guy. I'm sorry, I did not know you were there." Her skin prickled, for she was rarely caught so unawares.

Guy stood at an archway, stark black against the softening sky. His brow was deeply furrowed and hands clenched, unsure.

"Forgive me." He approached slowly. "I heard your father took ill today. I came to… find you."

Marian brushed her hair from her forehead. "I was not lost." She flinched at her own words. "That is, I find no peace when he is unwell."

Guy stopped at an arch a few feet away. Close enough to reach out, far enough not to. He leaned against the wall and sighed. "One of the brothers is sitting with him. He reports that your father is comfortable."

Marian laughed bitterly. "But not improving. I am not a fool, Guy."

He lowered his head, his bulk drooping for a moment. "No, you're not."

"Then why tell me? I am no girl, I need no fairytales."

Guy raised his head, the sinking sun casting deep shadows beneath his eyes. His voice rasped. "I'm not a man who offers them." He straightened and stepped forward, jaw pulsing. "Your father is dying. It will be a miracle if he lives to see next spring, and the monks suspect he will not see Christmas."

"My god," Marian gasped. It felt as though a blow had landed.

"I could tell you how vulnerable you will be. How Prince John and the sheriff will try to use you to manipulate the last remaining rebellious factions to obedience. How they might use you to bring this region to its knees."

Marian clutched at the stone wall by her side, refusing to back away as Guy stepped into a shadow in front of her. He dropped his gloves.

"I could remind you how easy it would be to say yes, to marry me now. To protect yourself and your father, to ensure your future, to shield you from them. To offer you a life of comfort and rank." He lowered his voice. "To offer you influence."

Marian swallowed. Her words came, shaky and broken. "Then what did you come to say, if not all this?"

Guy brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, barely touching her neck.

"That when you sit up with your father, I am always nearby, hoping you will call for me."

He swallowed, and Marian found herself once again watching the play of sinew beneath his skin.

"That when you have need, any need, you will ask for my service."

Guy's lips trembled. "I came to tell you I find no peace when you suffer."

The scrape of metal startled Marian, and she looked down. He held out a fine silver dagger. "I came to tell you that I am yours."

Marian stared at the glinting blade, and her father's words echoed in her mind. Law. Law before kings. He may be right, but law came on a blade before it was writ with a quill, and blades worked faster.

Arrows broke, but blades could be honed. And they only worked up close.

She looked up. Guy was pitifully tired, his eyes bright and sparkling from the shadows. Hope, she recognized. These last few weeks had eased their conflicts, bound them by shared misery and his dazzling hope. He'd taken every scrap she dropped and now he was offering himself.

Her father could have his quills. Less steady than she planned, Marian reached for Guy, pulling him close. His cheek was rough but his lips were soft and warm. Breath rushed from him and he kissed her back, needy, nudging her head to the side while his thick arm rose around her.

When she drew back, he knelt, holding out the dagger.

"Marian. Please," His voice was ragged and hoarse. "Please, Marian."

Her lips were still wet from his when she laid her hand on the dagger's hilt.