Winchester enlightens Marian. Guy offers an alternative argument.
The gag was less for restraint than a reminder to not bother. The same could not be said for the bindings on her ankles and wrists. Marian stopped testing their strength to spare herself further damage.
"My castle is lovely," Winchester slurred. "If you behave yourself, I'll even let you see it, but no more riding. It ruins a woman, you know. Until then, well, you'll find your accommodation less than the best we have to offer."
Marian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He'd not risk her health in a dungeon, so it would be servant's quarters. It would be crude, but hardly like living in the forest.
Winchester scooted closer. "You'll be a fine decoration for my Great Hall, once you're tamed. Edward let you grow like a wild bramble, all briar roses and thorns." He snaked a hand over her belly. "I'll have you blooming like a proper lady soon enough."
With a rough swipe, Marian shoved his touch away, crying out into the gag as the metal bonds cut into her wrists.
Winchester laughed. "Looks like Gisborne couldn't manage you, either. Well, I have a habit of succeeding where others fail. Many others, as it seems in your case." He fiddled with the curtains of the carriage, sealing out any view she had.
Marian cradled her throbbing wrists to her chest. Her skin was ragged and her fingers felt cold. The carriage jostled, driving the iron bands into her once again. Though she was unable to see the road, the uneven tilt could only mean that they had entered the forest.
Robin.
Surely he would have heard. Surely he would come.
Her wrists were seeping blood.
"You will be interested to know that I have quite an excellent memory, my lady. I recall my earliest lessons with shocking detail, and can recite with perfect accuracy the names of all my tenants, their children's names, and how much they pay in rent and tax every year. A rather useful skill these days, don't you think?"
Marian refused to respond.
"It's been some years, but I recall the days when our finest young men were setting off with Richard. All white capes and shining shields. I knew most would never return, and my dearest friend and I exchanged many a letter discussing the stupidity of it all, the pointless waste of the whole campaign. I looked forward to his letters, knowing that his writing brought the last good sense left in England."
Winchester dabbed absently at the darkening blood on her wrists with a handkerchief.
"The days came when another crowd of loyal lads were polished and readied for the trip. My friend asked me to come and stay with him to give a final feast for the young man betrothed to his daughter."
Marian glared.
He ignored her and continued. "So you can imagine my surprise when the very boy was dressed as a page and delivered a fascinating letter in my friend's handwriting just a few months ago!" Winchester patted Marian's knee as if they had shared a great joke.
"Edward tried, you know. He tried to hide his hand but his loops you know… loopy as his head these days, I hear. I realize Gisborne will never be an ally after this, for whatever time he has left, but if I have you I can subdue all of Sussex and this little uprising. I'm going to gather up the other letters and present them as proof of your father's treason and indict the Sheriff at the same time as the treason occurred under his roof."
Marian blinked, half blinded by dawning realization, and sickened by the sudden whirling in her stomach.
Dear lord, he'd planned it all. This is what it felt like to see the end of hope, the death of justice.
"Prince John would be a fool to let me have all of Winchester, Sussex, Nottingham, Knighton, and Locksley, but he'll have no choice but hang the traitors and expand my estates as a reward. I'll quietly pass lands to my nephews and graciously swear to keep you as my wife, unable to spread your father's poison." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I may say you're soft in the head like your father. Might smooth a few things later."
As Winchester chuckled at his own brilliance, Marian's mind raced. His idea had probably not seen the outside of his skull until now, and he only told her because he believed her defeated.
And if Robin did not come soon, she would be.
The carriage slowed, rattling to a stop. Marian held her breath, waiting for the whoop of ambush. Robin would whisk her off to the forest, but he might let Winchester go. He was careful about killing when it came to peers and titles.
With an oath, Winchester stood and opened the carriage door. Marian chewed the gag, thinking through the possibilities. Winchester would humiliate her father, get Sussex, and quite possibly have all their necks stretched.
If she wasn't hanged, she'd be an orphan. Guy's words echoed in her ears, only it wasn't Prince John and the sheriff who were using her. If she wasn't executed, she'd be sold off as a favor.
If she lived, she would end up Winchester's wife anyway.
As her stomach rolled, Marian strained to hear. There were only low voices outside. That was strange—Robin liked nothing better than making his speeches before making his point.
"Why have we stopped?" Winchester asked imperiously, bored.
Marian could only hear a murmur, so she scooted over on the bench seat and looked out, peering behind Winchester.
A guard, draped in flowing back, was edging closer to the doorway to the carriage. Prowling. Quick and deadly despite his bulk. Far too big to be Robin.
A hand darted beneath the black cloak and Marian watched, ignoring the conversation in front of her. A flash of sunlight blinded her, a reflection off metal. A blade.
Her blade.
The hood dropped, and Guy took another silent step closer. His eyes scanned her and took in her gag, the thick iron bands on her wrists.
His lip curled in fury, and he held up the dagger and nodded his head toward Winchester.
Marian saw the question. Read it in the grim set of the cool eyes and the tense grip on the blade. The blade he'd offered up. The blade she commanded. Marian glanced at Winchester's profile and remembered his threats, glared down at her bleeding wrists. Saw his sleeves crusted with jewels—finery paid for by a thousand cruelties.
Marian met Guy's gaze, and narrowed her eyes.
The blade flashed once more. Lightning. A wet rip.
...
Marian remembered little of the ride back to the castle. Her bones were jarred, but her hands were free, and her mouth was unbound. Free to speak, but there were no words.
What was there to say? She'd mumbled her thanks, and from there her words caught, shaken loose.
Shaken.
So she clung to the only thing there was to hold. Solid.
Guy pressed her hands, gripping like a vice around his middle. "You're safe, Marian."
Marian felt the words as much as heard them. Impressions of the forest blurred, a familiar turn blended into a heap of stone then a darkened copse. She held tight as a shadowy figure, lean and fair, took shape against the beeches. Marian buried her face into the leather before being jarred again.
When she looked again, it was gone.
"I have to take you back to the castle," Guy apologized.
She closed her eyes. Vaisey was not far. She could hear his horse.
"I know."
"We wouldn't have to if…" Guy cleared his throat. "If—if we," he trailed off.
Marian held fast and pressed her forehead to his back. She had no words. What was there to say?
...