Founders
They've walked over the coals. The next two decades of English history have been sparked, and now Marian and Guy have other concerns.
...
Guy was sure that Marian had grown up imagining this day very differently. She would have risen to a day of nervous indulgences, pretty gowns, a festival field filled with music and maypoles, wreaths of flowers, laughter, and a grand feast.
A different husband.
Their wedding feast had consisted of a ladleful of the nightwatch stew and an overly generous toast to the life of Sir Edward Fitzwilliam. The only flowers were the poppies to ease him, and her wedding gown was foul and stained. He was even worse.
It was approaching dawn when Edward finally passed. Marian had slipped to her knees and kissed her father's hand, her tears falling in silence and wetting the linens.
Events afterwards occured in a hazy blur. Father Mayson left to arrange the funeral and file their contract, and the brother, faithful to the last hour, had to be carried away to sleep in a nearby chamber. When the holy sisters came for Edward, Marian swayed on her feet, miserable and exhausted, .
Thinking was like wading through muck, but Guy managed to recall the only fact that remained.
Marian was his wife. She was his wife and he was her husband and that meant he would care for her.
He would have tended her regardless, but now he could do so without the concerns over how it might look. Damn them all anyway. Damn them all because his Marian was hurting and he was going to help.
Guy approached his wife slowly, and stood behind her. "Marian."
Her head tilted, as though she heard him from a great distance. Her eyes were locked on her father as the sisters began to strip her father's nightclothes.
"Marian, we should leave."
She tore her eyes away and looked up at him. "I can't leave him alone."
"He's not alone. They will tend him now. You did your work."
"I can help," she said, her voice rising.
Guy slid his hands up her arms and turned her. Turned her away from the sight of her father's graying skin. "Your work is done. Let others do theirs." He raised her hands in his. "Let me take care of you, Marian. Please."
With a deep sigh, the iron in her posture dissolved and she slumped, her head bumping into his chest. Guy bent and lifted her in his arms and kicked at the door.
"Tell Lady Marian's maid to have a bath and clean clothes ready for… for my wife."
Guy tripped over the words in his mouth, liking their taste and feel.
The guard hurried away and Guy carried Marian down the hall. He had to turn around, for he originally walked toward her rooms. Her things would be moved later, but not now.
Marian was already drifting to sleep by the time he reached her door. Guy set her in a chair and held her hand until the maid, sleepy and yawning, shepherded Marian away. When they returned, the sun was rising. Dawn scattered through morning mist.
In her chemise, she squinted against the sunlight in the room. Guy yanked coverings over the window and dismissed the maid, then guided Marian to his… their bed.
It was not what he'd ever imagined for his wedding night, or morning for that matter. He'd had such plans, grand gestures and as luxurious gifts as he could provide. Details had shifted in the variations Guy had entertained these last few years: thoughts of winter weddings, full of roasts and chilly rooms that required close quarters for comfort; heaps of spring flowers to grace his bride's path; summer wines that loosened tongues and the ties of gowns…
In these scenes, for all their variety and appeal, one thing was always the same. Marian. Marian was always his bride. Since his arrival in Nottingham the half-formed face of his someday wife had taken her sweet shape. She was not always happy in his fantasies, but that was his mission now, wasn't it?
When Guy returned from a desperately needed and overdue bath, Marian was dead to the world despite the bright hour. If the incoherent mud he'd been trying to think through was any indication, then he was as bad off as she. Guy called for the cot to be brought to his chambers.
Marian was bereaved, and he'd not insult her grief. Guy collapsed into the too-short cot and hardly knew another thought.
…
Wakefulness came to Marian in a sticky sludge. She did not want to open her eyes, for being aware would make it all real, and she wished to cling to sleep as long as she could.
She squeezed her still-closed eyes more tightly shut. Her father had died slowly, and she'd watched the entire time; seen it all. Thank god Guy had been there…
Her eyes flew open and she sat up, disoriented, blinking at unfamiliar surroundings.
Ah, so that was real, too. And yet, she was alone in the bed.
A sleepy grunt came from across the room and Marian rose, taking a soft blanket with her as her shawl was nowhere to be seen. Guy looked as uncomfortable as a man could possibly be and still be asleep. She sat in a nearby chair and considered him.
She'd tested his loyalties. It might have been a terrible thing to do, but it was a risk she'd taken so she could know, once and for all, what her future and that of England would look like. Her only risk was whether the marriage would be one of equals, or if she would live a lifetime of equivocations. Marian would gladly trade her dead fantasies for a true future.
Robin's future was limited, blind with loyalty to a man who did not return the devotion. Marian regretted the lie, but Robin had chosen his path long ago, and it had not included her.
She'd thrown her lot in with her best option and he had not failed her. Her marriage to Guy would likely be one of respect and honor. With such a foundation, perhaps there was room for more...
Her eyes were drifting closed once again when Guy began to shift restlessly on the cot. Marian sat up and saw Guy waking, rustling under the sheet, his sleep-softened face a curious sight to her. She supposed it would not be the last time she would see it.
"Marian?"
"Yes, Guy. I'm here." She slid off the chair and took his outstretched hand.
"You're here." He felt her hand, and found the little ring on her finger. "It was real. Was it real? I am not dreaming?"
"No, Guy. It was real," Marian tucked her legs underneath her, wanting to shrink away. "All of it."
He sat up, balancing on an elbow and turned stricken eyes on her. "I wanted to give you such a beautiful wedding. Not… this. I'm sorry."
"Shh. I cannot think on it now. After my father's funeral."
"Of course." Guy sat up completely and pushed the sheet away. "Marian," he began and paused. He appeared at odds with himself. "Marian, no matter what happens, today, when Vaisey returns, whenever, I need you to know something."
"What, Guy?" She sat up on her knees as Guy swung around to face her. He nudged unruly hairs from her forehead and cupped her cheek as he smoothed them, his eyes widening when Marian pressed her cheek to his palm.
Guy swallowed, his jaw clenching for a moment. "I love you."
Marian's breath caught. She'd known, in truth, but knowing and hearing- with such stark, plain speech- were two things. "Guy, I…"
He shook his head. "No, not now. I don't expect it now, maybe I shouldn't ever. But if you could look kindly on me…"
Marian burst into tears. Held back for so many hours, days, they spilled hot and fierce down her cheeks. Strong arms snatched her before she could crumble to the floor, clutching her close.
…
Marian did not cry when Edward Fitzwilliam of Knighton was buried. Her father would not like her so upset anymore. And though Guy was determined to prevent any interruptions, Marian demanded that he not send men into the nearby woods. Later, a patrol found a clutch of arrows with striped fletching, laid at the tree line. They'd been broken in half.
A fresh supply of tears welled in Marian's eyes. She cried them in silence, wetting Guy's shoulder.
...
Word came by way of grimy messengers to Nottingham that Lord Vaisey would return in a week. Mere days later, word came by way of the kingsguard that Lord Vaisey was en route to Germany with a delivery of ransom to free Richard.
A month later, during a quiet evening of chess, word came via the same guards that a terrible misfortune had befallen Lord Vaisey. They further reported that Prince John requested Sir Guy of Gisborne to serve as interim sheriff until the arrival of the Earl of Derby in a few months time.
Marian reexamined the board as Guy relayed the last reports. "What does it mean?"
Guy sat across from his wife and folded his hands as she refilled his wine. They'd nervously paused their game when the guard approached. "It means that the barons have access to John, and he is listening." He moved a piece and threatened Marian's position.
She returned the favor. "What does it mean for us," she said softly.
Guy stood and stoked the fire. Pleasant evening chill was giving way to wintery cold, and the castle walls were ever gray and damp. "If he brings his own men, it means we may be able to leave."
"We can go home?" Forgetting the game, Marian stood and walked to Guy's side by the fire. As the poker kicked up sparks, she hesitated, her question caught somewhere between her lips and her fear of the answer.
"Are you wondering where home is?" Guy asked.
"Yes. I'm sorry." Marian cringed, turning away. So many things had gone well, she felt she had no right to ask for more.
The poker slid back into the holder and Guy placed his hands on her shoulders. He could not say for certain who received more comfort from it. "It may be safer to settle at Knighton. If Richard returned, he may restore Locksley to Hood. If our goal is to avoid attention, our permanent residence should be Knighton, and we will maintain and oversee Locksley."
Marian nodded, but she chewed her lip for a moment. "Which would you prefer, though?"
Guy gently turned her to face him, and Marian saw the trembling in his lips. "Can you not guess? Can you not see?"
She reached up and held his cheek in her hand. "See what, Guy?"
He held her palm to his face and kissed it. "You are home."
Chess pieces clattered to the floor. The game was over.
...
The end! Thank you so much for reading!