Tending wounds is a nasty business. So is mixing love and politics.

Maids scurried back and forth, carefully diverting their paths around Guy as he paced outside the bathing rooms.

His hands had ceased their shaking, but now he needed to destroy every trace of the day. Not a single scrap should remain. If he could, he would salt the paths Winchester had walked so everything he'd touched would die. Purge. A sacrifice.

A girl nudged through the door, arranging a load in her arms.

"My lord, as you asked."

"Good." Guy took the heap and strode off towards Marian's rooms. The fire was well stoked and blazing. Too high. He dropped the heap by the hearth and poured wine.

Guy stared into the fire and let the wine scrape down his raw throat. Christ, he'd nearly lost her, but like Vaisey had said, was she even his? He'd been truthful—the papers were drawn up, it had been a matter of timing. Her father's health, Vaisey's demands, the coordination of Nottingham, and the estates of Lockley and Knighton all took his time. He was fortunate to see Marian at all some days, let alone court her and further their match.

He'd failed her. Guy of Gisborne, landless lord, grasping lackey, had failed at the one thing that might free him. Redeem him.

If he wished to be a husband he needed to act like one. He could only accomplish so much with his sword. Marian would need a shield as well.

Skilled fighters knew how to use both, and Guy of Gisborne was nothing if not a skilled fighter. Could he manage to be more?

The wine was days old and turning sour. The chambermaids had not expected Marian to return. Guy drank it quickly and yelled for fresh wine and linens as he jabbed the fire viciously. Logs collapsed and the first coals showed, glowing a hot yellow.

Guy kicked at the heap on the floor. Sour wine rose in his throat when he bent to pick it up and Guy had to swallow hard. He shook out the soft tan dress, shot through with red. It was handsome, if hastily made.

It would make no difference to the flames.

…

Guy was nudging a fresh log into place and debating adding another when Marian entered, flanked by maids. One of them had a medicine case, and Guy directed her to set it on the table.

"Sir Guy," Marian said with a wobbly curtsey. Her damp hair was tightly plaited.

"My lady," Guy bowed. The last chambermaids finished smoothing the new linens and the maids with Marian lingered, fussing with her loose gown and robe. Guy tried holding his hands behind his back, then crossed in front of his chest, and finally wished he could cut them off. "Have you eaten?"

Marian smiled slightly. "A bit. I have very little appetite."

Guy held up the new, shining flagon. "Some wine, then?"

The chambermaids all filed out then, and Marian dismissed her attendants with a few words.

"But my lady, the wounds-"

Marian held up her hand. "Are hardy worth seeing to. I can manage."

They left reluctantly. Guy could not tell if their nervous curtsies were for fear of him or on behalf of their mistress. Marian stood by the door as they left. Once the door was completely closed, her patient smile dropped and she leaned against the door.

Guy filled a goblet to the brim. "Here, drink."

"You often seem to offer me wine," Marian said as she rubbed her forehead. "I do not wish to be drunk."

"I am going to dress your wounds. It will be easier if you are." Guy poured a second goblet and took a drink.

Marian straightened. "I will see to myself."

He wanted to lash out—remind her of how the day might have ended had she 'seen to herself' or had he not intervened. He wanted to remind her that she might not be so well tended, but the words stilled.

He was not here to berate her.

Guy opened the chest and took out salve and bandages, then carried them to the chairs by the fire. Marian's shoulders, set with steel moments ago, were softer. She walked to the table and raised the goblet.

"Ouch," she muttered, and raised a hand to her lips.

"I can treat that, too," Guy said gently as he warmed the jar of salve in his hands.

She stood, looking at the chairs, touching her lips. Guy opened the jar and went to her, cursing himself. He should have seen to her earlier, for her lips were swollen and cracked. In the light of the fire, he could see the thin red lines of blood around her mouth. Painful, but not bad. He touched her jaw, tracing the bone with his fingertips.

"Marian?"

That stubborn chin softened and she tilted her head back, offering her lips. Guy swiped the salve and smoothed it over her lips, then around her mouth where the gag had rubbed and chafed.

When he finished, Marian raised her goblet and drank deeply, wincing but not stopping. As she lifted the goblet, her sleeve shifted and Guy was able to see her arms.

He eyed the ragged skin left by her bindings- he'd been too hasty with Winchester's death. The rings of shredded wounds at her wrists would take days to scab properly so she could wear lighter bandages.

Guy took her emptied goblet and filled it again. "Another. Quickly."

"Why?"

He handed her the goblet then pushed the sleeve up. Marian grimaced. Guy poured wine onto a linen bandage. "I need to clean them."

Marian stared at her wrist, turned her hand over and saw that the weeping wound was all around. She carried her goblet to a chair by the fire, sat, and held out both wrists.

It was as much of an invitation as he would get.

Guy sat opposite and took her free hand. "Drink"

She took a mouthful. Once she swallowed, Guy pressed the wine-soaked bandage into her injury.

"Ouch!"

"Drink."

"What will that help?" Marian panted.

"If you have to ask, you haven't had enough."

She drained the goblet again, and did so one more time after.

As her eyes began to glaze over, Guy wiped away the last of the dirt lodged in the wounds and applied salve in a thick layer before wrapping each wrist carefully. Then he filled her goblet again.

"Do you wish to see your father?"

Marian took the goblet. "Does he know?"

"No."

She frowned and held up her wrist. "No. Not until these heal enough." She drank her wine. "But… perhaps you might tell him that I am unwell, and do not wish to make him ill."

The air in the room changed, as though a window had been thrown open. Marian's face, sore as it was, was softened by a flush, and she pushed her slippers off.

Guy knelt down to pick them up. "I'll double the guard on your door tonight."

"Unnecessary." Her hand rested on his shoulder. It was such a small gesture, but it was common place things that he craved the most, so he sat by her chair and leaned against the side. Slowly at first, but surely so, her fingers crept to the back of his neck.

"I will guard you tonight, my lady," he breathed. Her hand was in his hair, lightly combing, as she gazed into the fire. Guy slipped his arm behind her legs and leaned his head against her thigh.

The gentle sweeps through his hair were slow and steady, accidental bumps to her wrists elicited no more than an adjustment to her movement, not gasps of pain. A brush on his cheek, then again in his hair. Guy imagined the scene in soft color, two lovers reclining before a fire, before or perhaps after, and he stroked her ankle, tracing the bones. Pressed his face to her thigh. Wished it was true.

He wanted to stay here, close to her. He wanted to carry her to bed and hold her all night, and kiss her awake when the sun rose. More. But her fingers were slower, and he wished to have this forever, not just tonight. When her hand fell to the side, Guy sighed and uncurled from the floor.

She gave him a sleepy smile when he laid her in her bed and tugged a blanket to her shoulders. He forced himself to walk away, to put away the supplies and stoke the fire.

As he pushed the coals into a pile, his eyes fell on a scrap of red. The edge was scorched and black, the stitches as crooked and flimsy as the reason it was made. Guy threw the bit into the fire and watched as it fluttered in the draft and settled on a coal before it blackened and turned to ash.

"Guy?"

"Yes?" He set the poker back on the stand, then stood by her bed and took her outstretched hand.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

Guy could not help himself. He kissed her cheek, and let his lips graze hers.

"Yes. Sleep, Marian."

…

Guy signaled to the guard to open the door. Sir Edward, weary but sitting at his table, looked up from his supper.

"Sir Guy, to what do I owe your visit?"

"A matter of some urgency." Guy ordered the guard out of the room and closed the door. "I will speak plainly, and I trust you will do the same."

...