Intersections

Marian's delicate chains of events link together.

...

Marian jerked awake and squinted, clutching at her pounding head. Sleep could not refresh her, not now. Perhaps never again.

Time had ceased to have meaning in the sickroom. Had it been hours or days? It might have been weeks, for the weariness she felt in her heart. Rest was a moment of weakness surrounded by crushing, frustrating helplessness. As Marian sat up her vision cleared enough to make out a tray near her. Thirst struck her so suddenly that she lunged forward, falling to her knees, and snatched a pitcher from the tray, not caring what was in it. When she found that it was water, she drank until she was out of breath. Panting, she sat on the floor with her legs tucked to one side and looked around the dim room.

She remembered little beyond collapsing into a chair, but she'd fallen not from a chair, but from a cot. Marian pressed at her forehead and leaned back, wishing the ache and disorientation would subside.

At her back was most certainly not the cot she'd fallen out of.

Guy was slumped in the chair beside her, one leg splayed out and the other bent, his knee just behind her. He was filthy, covered in mud splatters and dust that had settled into his hair and formed little blotches where it had stuck to his sweat and dried.

So he had gone, and was back. Wincing, Marian rose to her feet and saw that the monk was sitting quietly by her father. Though he might have been sleeping, he opened his eyes as she approached.

"How is my father?"

"He is sleeping, my lady. That is good."

Marian nodded. "Did he say anything?" She did not want to ask, but needed to know.

"He asked for you once. I told him you were resting and he said not to wake you, then he fell asleep."

As the fog in her mind lifted she could feel that time had passed, and her stomach churned as she imagined what events must have occured while she'd slept. Events at the castle, at Knighton, and in the wood would soon determine her future. Every future.

"How long was Sir Guy gone, and how long ago did he return?"

The monk stood and looked out the window. "He left three hours ago, and returned no more than an hour ago. He ordered the tray and has not awoken since."

Marian folded her hands and forced herself into stillness that sat at odds with her mind. She would know within the hour.

…

The room was a trap, stuffy and overwarm, and Marian flung the covering from the window for relief. Under the moonlight, she took deep gulps of cool night air, hating the desperation that ran through her.

It was a waiting game. If the sun rose uneventfully, she would know. The actual events may change little, but her future would be little different from her past: a polite and cautious life of never ending dances with politics and chaos. She would be safe, but fixed in position and have little recourse.

She looked at Guy, slumped and uncomfortable in a chair made for smaller men. Everything was made for smaller men, men who made rules and enforced them at will, thinking only of themselves. For a long time, he had been one of them. What had changed?

It's a frightening burden to be someone else's reasons. Guy had taken risks, made decisions, even killed for her.

Vaisey may have ordered Winchester disposed of, but there was a particular vengeance in Guy's face at that moment. Perhaps he did kill for Vaisey, but he twisted the knife for her and then bandaged her wrists. He was gentle for her.

Had they not met, would Guy have been comfortable in that chair? Would he have continued to be a smaller man?

Had he grown shorter since his trip to Knighton?

Marian repressed the mad urge to laugh and left the window to sit by her father.

"Papa," she whispered. "Papa, did I do right?" Marian knew she may have tested Guy too much- the sheriff's hold on him may have been too strong, or the possible future not clear or promising enough. He was a principled man who had been twisted by fear and capricious rewards. Large enough to be worth his efforts, and inconsistent enough to keep him close.

Guy was not a fool, but his past was proof of what he was willing to do to achieve his goals. The question was whether he was willing to compromise her dreams in order to achieve his own.

"I suppose I shall know soon enough," Marian whispered to the night.

…

A sharp rap on the door had Guy bolting from his chair before Marian could rise. As he unlatched the door, Marian could hear her blood rushing in loud pulses in her ears. Low murmurs, muffled voices from the other side of door carried to where Marian sat, but she could not make out the words.

Guy stiffened suddenly and backed away from the door as it swung open wide. He turned towards her and Marian stood, deafened by her own heartbeat.

"Marian?"

She could almost smile at his confusion. Almost, and perhaps someday, but not today. "Is it Father Mayson?" she asked from her father's bedside.

"Well, yes," Guy said, frowning. "But why?"

The priest was allowed in and hurried over to join Marian at her father's side. He bent low to utter a blessing, then spoke softly to Marian.

"He may seem beyond this world, but the dying are closer to God, and know more than we imagine. I am prepared, if you still wish to proceed?"

Marian swallowed. "Was the delivery successful?"

"I placed the box in Robin's hands myself."

There. It was done, and instead of a feeling of accomplishment, Marian began to tremble. Her insides shook, for there was no taking back what she had done, and only one path forward.

Father Mayson stepped away and Marian could hear him opening a satchel. When Guy appeared at her side, he offered his hand and helped her to her feet.

"Edward, is he-"

That he could not speak the words was strangely comforting. "No, not yet. But we must be quick if we are to satisfy his last request."

For a moment, Guy's mouth worked as if to form words. He looked from Father Mayson to Marian, to Edward, and back round again, his eyes finally opening wide in comprehension. "The note," he began.

"Later," said Father Mayson. "I'll keep news of this quiet for a day or two at most, but after that you'll have to have a public announcement."

Marian nodded. "Robin should be far enough by then that the news will not reach him before he delivers the letters. The letters will be in the hands of the lords in Sussex before Prince John and Vaisey reach them, so they will act in unison."

Guy blinked. "And news of our marriage will reach them before they return." A shudder wracked his shoulders. "If I had not followed your instructions…"

"But you did," Marian interrupted. She patted her father's hand, took Guy's arm, and turned to face the priest. "Are we ready, Father Mayson?"

...