Plots begin to converge, and Marian has a very long day.
...
The Hero We Need
Marian tucked the linen wrap around her wrist and sat back in relief. Her maids had fretted too much to be helpful, so after they dressed her hair with pretty yellow ribbons, Marian asked them to leave while she redressed her raw skin herself.
If she was honest, Marian preferred when Guy tended her, but…
She sighed, and began clearing away the ointments and bandages. It was complicated, and growing more so by the day. It was only a matter of how they would proceed. Marian could not imagine suddenly becoming a reserved noble lady, no matter how hard her father had tried to make her one. She would always be headstrong, and no veil or parchment was going to change that.
Her father had made certain rules, but knew she would break them. It was one thing to act the part in public, but if Guy expected a sweet, mousy thing behind closed doors, she would give him merry hell instead. She'd done the same to her father, after all.
Was it so bad that Marian wanted more, to be more, than a bauble in her husband's house? As a child she read the stories of dragons and rescued maids, of clever heroes outsmarting the wicked, and kindly families who earned their way to honor. She'd played with sticks that became swords in her hand, and her ponies were great destriers.
But not anymore.
Her poor father. Sir Edward had been so pale, yet so fierce the last time she saw him. She could feel the swirl of so many secrets, but there had been no time to talk. No space to talk with Robin there. Marian plucked at her bandages and hoped he would be stronger when she saw him next.
Heavy footsteps in the hall made Marian look up. There was hardly a knock when the door swung wide and Guy came crashing in, followed by red-faced chamber maids.
"My lady, we tried to stop him!"
Marian waved a hand. "It's fine," she said, then raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure Sir Guy would not come barging into my rooms without good reason." Marian took note of the set of Guy's mouth, and the hard line of his brow. "Is that not so, Sir Guy?"
"You must come with me, Marian. Now." He reached for her hand, clearly intending to drag her with him and brook no argument.
"I must?" Marian bristled. A dozen sharp words began to assemble on her tongue, preparing to fly.
"Now." Guy said flatly. At Marian's glare, he took her gently by the elbow to the corner of the room, facing away from the door. Away from the maid's ears. "It's Sir Edward." Guy paused. "He cannot wait."
"My wrists," Marian whispered.
"He cannot wait," Guy repeated. And then, that look… the soft, sad look. The one he made, for a brief moment, whenever she had to go. When she walked away from him. When she was hurting and he tended her.
"Marian, please."
Oh, no.
Marian heard the desperate catch in Guy's voice. It was unthinkable that Sir Guy of Gisborne could be rattled by anything besides a missing pile of gold, but here he was, begging her quietly.
It could only mean one thing. Marian swallowed hard over the bitterness in her mouth.
The maids watched as Marian took Sir Guy's arm and left.
…
Entertaining an aging parent was one thing. As they weaken, though… Over weeks and months, brightening their days, tending them, seeing to their needs, becomes a vocation. At times, one so encompassing that you could easily forget that it would not last. It could not go on forever.
Marian fought to breathe. He had only just set her on her own horse and taught her to ride. Been the sheriff. Called out orders to his estate manager at Knighton to build new pens for hogs. Gave the stable boy a new fishing pole. Toasted her with Robin at their engagement, eyes dancing with joy.
"The attending brother came to me earlier. I did not want to upset you, so I saw him just minutes ago."
"And?" If she pushed her fist into her chest, maybe her heart would not burst.
Guy paused at a door and their escort fell back, melting into the gray of the long hallway. "You should prepare. He is not… himself."
Marian could not say how they got to her father's rooms, for her mind was a pit of strange feelings that hissed and fought for her attention. Guy reached for the door handle and turned. "We have ten minutes before we must see the sheriff off. I will make sure you can come back immediately."
Confusion and anger won. "Then why even bring me now?" she snapped.
Guy winced and set his jaw. "Because I will keep nothing from you." He pulled the handle and the door creaked open, the heavy old hinge scraping metal across metal, straining the wood. "Wait," he murmured, and stepped close, crowding her.
Marian was about to recoil, startled, when Guy delicately unwound a ribbon from her hair and loosened it. One hand barely brushed his thigh and a knife blade glinted as he deftly sliced the ribbon in half, then wrapped a length around each linen bandage.
The bright, sunny yellow ribbon made a pretty contrast with her blue dress. It was so wrong, these joyful colors while…
Marian walked into the warm room. The desk was a riot of unkempt work- mad flurries of energy had stirred the scrolls and sheets into a whirlwind only to deposit them suddenly, unfinished. A tray of untouched porridge. A sweet smelling tisane. Her eyes touched everything but the bed.
"Kate? Kate my dear, I've wondered when you would return."
Marian looked to Guy in shock. Her father was sallow, shrunken. Diminished.
Guy leaned over. "I'm sorry." He pulled his gloves away and rested a warm hand on her back, encouraging.
She stepped forward, unsure of what to say. "I'm here, Edward." Her lips tripped over his name. She had not used it without 'Sir' first. And never to his face. He was always her Papa.
"Sweet Kate, I've been so foolish. Such a fool. Devoted to work and not you." Sir Edward stretched out his fingers. "Busy being sheriff and pretending to play politics."
Marian sniffed. "You are a good man, Edward."
He frowned. "I could have done better. Then. Maybe if I was better then, I would not have had to… not have had to do it now." He sighed, a deep breath rattling like the crackling of splinters. "But I have. I will not even need the rest. My letters." He looked around the room. "Sir Guy, where are my letters?"
Guy stepped closer to the bed. "Shall I have them brought to you, Sir Edward?"
"Please, Sir Guy. It went so well, I will not need the rest, I imagine, so I should like my Marian to have them. But please, you must keep them from Robin. He would not understand. He loves Richard too much."
Edward seemed to fall asleep for a moment. Marian had only enough time to draw breath before his eyes opened again.
"Marian, dear, have you seen Father Mayson at the Knighton chapel yet? You really must have a fall wedding." Marian felt her mouth fall open. "It's so much easier to arrange a feast near harvest time when the pigs are nice and fat. What say you, Guy?"
At her side, she felt Guy stiffen. "I always wished to be married in summer, my lord. When the fruit is sweet and the fields are still green."
But Edward was already leaning back more, sinking into his pillows with a smile. "Ah, a romantic. I should have known…" His breathing grew more labored, and between the gasps Marian made out unconnected words.
Customs. Law. Liberty.
"Papa?" she whispered.
"Come, Marian. The sheriff."
Safe. Keep her safe.
"Papa," Marian protested weakly. She strained to hear her father's mumblings.
Guy laid a hand on her shoulder. Weight. Gravity. Obligations of today and tomorrow.
"Marian."
Numb, Marian took Guy's arm and walked, hardly noticing the press of her steps. The door closed behind her, blocking her view and the sound of her father's wheezing. Her heart felt caught in a vise; how could it be that she wished to stay and run all at once?
Guy called to one of their guards. "Fetch the attending brother. I do not want Sir Edward left with anyone else under any circumstances, go!" His tone left no room for misunderstanding, and the man rushed off.
Feeling the insistent tug, Marian set her feet in motion and tried to understand what she'd seen, heard. Something more was at stake, more than her Papa had indicated.
Letters.
Her father and Robin had spoken of letters.
His truth may not be yours.
Ahead, the sound of horses and their grooms echoed through the halls. Marian limply followed Guy's lead into a small alcove off the main hallway. He took her by both shoulders,
"Vaisey will be gone for a few weeks. There is some disorder amongst the barons in Sussex and he and Prince John are journeying there today." Guy paused.
Marian glanced up and saw that he would not meet her eyes.
"He has other… expectations," Guy said roughly as they passed through the last archway.
The sun was bright and heat radiated from the stones bordering the main entry of the castle. On any other day, Marian would have frowned and stood stiffly as she was paraded and displayed in the courtyard. Today she felt as if she would melt, struck dumb by the sun, her day a series of jarring contrasts.
A marionette, dancing on her strings.
Horses pranced, jostling their carts as they were loaded with fine trunks and cases. Grooms hurried to calm the beasts as the last of the cargo was loaded.
Vaisey swept into the courtyard, followed by a half dozen guards and porters. He immediately saw Marian and grinned.
"Ah, excellent, you both managed to crawl out from under wherever you've been hiding."
Guy inclined his head. "My lord. Are you prepared for your ride?"
"No thanks to you. I had to order my horse myself, took me nearly a quarter of an hour to find the bloody pageboy." As Vaisey turned his attention to her, Marian felt her empty stomach heave.
"Dearest girl, you're so pale today. Sick with green, I imagine. Ah, well, we'll see to that soon enough. Well, you're pretty enough with the ribbons..." Vaisey glanced at Marian's wrists and raised his eyebrows. "Good show, Gisborne. Didn't know you had it in you."
Marian looked away in horror. Guy tightened his grip on her arm.
"My lord, has there been word on Sussex?"
Vaisey examined his fingernails. "Nothing much new. Some nonsense about law and customs. Nothing specific. John intends to demand loyalty oaths. We'll reward the first ones to swear and bleed the holdouts dry. By blood or gold remains to be seen. Oh dear," Vaisey cooed. "I may have upset your lady. Apologies." He made a mocking bow before taking offering his horse a carrot. "Now, if you'll excuse me, one does not keep the monarch waiting!"
Marian clung to Guy's arm as Vaisey mounted his horse from the steps and spun. "Remember, Gisborne, by the time I return or I'll have three more ready. Ta!" He spurred his horse lightly and trotted from the courtyard, his carts rumbling slowly behind.
Despite the heat, Marian trembled. Furious. Sick. Guy hurried her away back to the cool shade of the archways. Marian took deep breaths, struggling to keep her feet.
"I'm sorry," Guy said simply.
Marian leaned back into the wall. "So this is to be my life," she bitterly laughed. "Called to public mockery at his whim?"
"I can protect you-"
Tired of sentiment, Marian held up a hand to silence him. Whatever words he'd meant to say became fuel for his pacing. "A blade is nothing against wind, Guy. One day it will not be words. What then? If things do not change, if Vaisey does not allow us to leave, I shall wither."
Guy stopped, his eyes darting across her face, then into the distance. Then he shook his head as if to clear it and extended his hand. "Later, first we must see your father."
When they arrived at Sir Edward's rooms once more, the brother was there, crushing herbs. He looked up and wiped his brow as Guy pushed the door open.
"Sir Gisborne, it is good you called me back. Ah, Lady Marian," the brother nodded to her.
Marian bowed and accepted his blessing. "I'm sorry I've not had a chance to thank you for your care of my father in… in my absence." Her gaze fell upon the desk, now covered with nothing but fresh parchment and a new quill and ink. When she turned back, her neck felt hot. "Where is my father's work?"
The friar reached under his habit and withdrew a stack of rolled letters. "I thought it best not to leave them out. He speaks of them sometimes." As Marian reached to take them, he spoke very softly to her. "I have given your father his absolution, the contents of which will die with me."
The stack was heavy in her hands, but she held them tightly. "How is he?"
"Resting. Now that you are here, I will go and gather a tray." He turned to leave, tucking his hands into his sleeves.
"Has he been hungry?" Marian asked.
The brother paused, and smiled gently. "No, my lady. It is for when he wakes."
…
Marian watched her father breathe, muttering words here and there in the same way as when she left with Guy to see the sheriff off. It was hard to watch sleep that gave no peace. Exhausting to hear the hard intakes, followed by a labored release and not a restful sigh. Over and over again.
It was Guy who pulled her from the chair by Sir Edward's bed. He held out his hands. "May I?"
She stepped closer and realized what he was offering. "He wished me to read these," she said, looking down at the stack of letters.
"Then you should do it now. You may not wish to later."
Guy helped Marian to a chair across the room from the bed, then gave her as much privacy as the chambers allowed. She could still see the whole room, but the sound of rattling breath was mixed with the snapping fire, and by the afternoon light she read the first letter.
And the second.
The third.
Her hands shook. Could it be? Marian wondered at the wildness of it all. Was it possible to do, say such things? Were it not for some clever wording and a few choice oaths and pledges, the neck of anyone who read it could earn a rope. It was not a full plan, far from it, but more a series of ideals. Values. The words alone were but little, but the ideas. These ideas, in the hands and minds of powerful men… men with influence, stiff morals, but flexible loyalties…
Such men existed. But not in Nottingham. Or did they?
Marian swallowed. She could yet effect change. She could yet save the people. But she could not do it alone. Change happened from the inside, and there was no more inside than this. Whatever history would say of her, of this night and those to come, her decision would not be forgotten.
"Guy, I think you should read this."
…
After the initial shock at the contents of the letters, Guy began to pace the room, eyes roving in thought. He stopped every so often, like a man walking a hedge maze who has made a wrong turn and must now retrace his steps.
"These letters must be sent," he finally said. "Vaisey's trip to Sussex with John is to silence the rumbles caused by the first letters. These," he ran a hand through his hair, leaving behind a tangle of black. "There is clear enough logic to organize more barons, more senior peers. It ends the rally for Richard and makes John's path clear, conditionally."
Marian nodded grimly. "How do we get them to Sussex? You cannot leave, Vaisey would know."
Guy rested his elbows on his knees. "And any messenger must travel fast. Know the roads. The forests."
"Guy," Marian began to protest. "You cannot mean it."
Guy sat up and continued. "And this cause needs a great ally. Someone that was for Richard. Someone his most loyal noblemen, and the common folk, would follow."
"He won't do it."
"He will if you ask him to."
Marian looked toward the bed. For the past hour, she'd tried very hard not to think of why she was in the room. Tried to forget she was holding vigil at her father's deathbed.
His truth may not be yours. Take care.
"He'll hate this. He'll hate me."
Guy laughed grimly, lowering his head into his hands. "No, he hates me."
She took a deep breath. "I told Robin I would marry him when Richard returned."
Quiet. Marian glanced and saw that Guy had not moved. "I know," he said softly. "Your father told me."
She could not breathe. She could not breathe, so she stood swiftly, nearly upending the chair. "Then why are we here?" she rasped.
Guy raised his dark head, hair prodding out in all directions. He looked ragged, careworn. "You did what you had to do. Do you think I don't know what that's like? It's politics." He stood, and walked slowly to her, and laid out his hand. "But Marian, if there is one thing I might ask -one thing I may beg of you-" he paused, his hand bright-edged in the firelight, held out to her.
Hesitating, trembling, Marian lightly set her hand in his, ready to spring away. He did not grasp to stop her. "What would you ask of me?"
He drew a shaky breath. "That there be no politics between us. Not when we are alone. None of it matters when we are alone."
She allowed her hand to rest over his, and fought the weight of her question. It had suddenly grown unbearably heavy. "Why do you wish to marry me?" she whispered.
His fingers twitched beneath hers. His chest heaved, for a moment looking for all the world to have ridden at full sprint for a day. There was no swagger, no arrogant Gisborne. Marian watched a wave of vulnerability wash over him as he struggled, choosing his words from jumbles.
"I fear I am damned."
"What?" She snatched her hand from his and retreated, circling away.
He followed. "Just days ago, I prayed for the first time in as long as I can remember. I made only one request. I had no reason to hope, but I did." In a strange dance, they rounded the room a pace from each other. "I was granted my request, and I swore that I would devote myself to that one thing if I might evade hell."
Though her eyes burned, Marian could scarcely blink. "And what was your request?"
"To save you from Winchester and have you as my wife." Guy sagged and gripped the back of a chair. "In return, if I could earn your affections, your trust, I might save my soul."
Marian ground her teeth until her jaw protested. "If you seek absolution, I'm certain the friar will return soon."
"No, Marian. But if you could find me worthy of kindness, perhaps I am not beyond hope."
They both fell silent, the fire and Sir Edward's breaths now deafeningly loud off the stone walls. Marian's mind raced, and she found her eyes flitting from one place to another, setting things in her mind here and there only to rearrange them. There were so many factors, so many things to consider, but she could not help coming back to the same place.
The door latch rattled and Marian jumped, pulling her from her thoughts. The door opened and Guy quickly ran to it. The brother had returned with his tray. This time there were poppies. Marian drew a sharp breath. There were piles of them, and the friar began the task of grinding and mixing.
Guy stood at her side and caught her as her knees weakened. "Shh," he soothed. "It's only to ease the way, not force him there."
Marian gripped Guy's solid arm and leaned into him. Perhaps there should be no politics between them, but that did not mean they could not have their reasons, she thought as she wiped her tears from the black leather.
Cautiously, Guy leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Marian looked up. She'd never seen him look this way. She'd seen him unsure, sad and lonely even, but never gutted and illuminated at the same time. As her tears dropped in thick streams, she whispered to him. "We'll send the letters. But not under my father's name."
"Whose then?"
Marian squared her shoulders and picked up a quill. "The letters will be signed Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntington." She set her jaw and thought of her stories, and glanced at her father. "They will be signed Robin Hood." She turned from Guy's surprise to the friar who mashed at a milky paste. "Do you know Father Mayson at Knighton?"
The brother focused on his work. "Yes, my lady. Will he arrange services?"
A jolt went through Marian. She bit back a small sob as she set sealing wax to warm and inked the quill. "Yes. And I would like you to arrange a delivery to him. Before the bells toll for my father."