A Place to Call Home Chapter 3, a robin hood bbc fanfic

Title: A Place to Call Home, Chapter Three (4/?)

Rating: This chapter: PG

Characters: Guy/Marian

Summary: "I do not love you," she cried in frustration. "Why do you want me?"

A/N: I've set this story immediately after the events of the first season finale. However, I have included information derived from subsequent episodes, in particular from season three's "Bad Blood" used here for my purposes as source material and plot motives for the characters.

As a further note, I personally found the character of Isabella to be a tired and terrible plot contrivance, so for my purposes, she never existed. Guy was raised an only child.

Chapter Three

Over the course of the next few days, whenever Marian found herself wallowing in self-pity, she threw herself into work. She had walked away from Robin heartbroken, but resolute in the knowledge that they could not be together. Perhaps they had waited too long. Perhaps it was never meant to be.

She knew that for her own sake she needed to begin to find a way to come to terms with the situation in which she found herself. She was a long way from forgiving Guy for his trickery. But she was well-trained to take over the running of his household and found the work a welcome distraction, especially at those moments when she could feel the intensity of his gaze upon her. In those encounters, she knew that it was only a matter of time before he would seek to make her his wife in every way.

And so she set about keeping herself occupied and began by meeting and learning the names of each member of the small staff that served at Locksley. She had long known Thornton, who had first come to Locksley as the manservant to Robin's father and who had faithfully served the son until his departure for the Holy Land and glory. She quickly came to rely on him and his wealth of knowledge about the estate.

Of the remaining household staff there was a cook, housekeeper and one maid. In addition, there were two stable hands and a steward who oversaw the tenant farms.

Though the manor was in general kept clean, she saw many ways in which to improve things and laid out a plan to thoroughly scour the house from top to bottom. As the staff was small, she literally rolled up her own sleeves and got to work, grateful for the hard physical labor which left her too tired at night to toss and turn.

"I want them all removed and burned." His wife's voice carried across the courtyard as Guy rode in one afternoon. He swung down from the saddle and secured the horse's reins to a nearby rail.

"Once they are all out of the house, we will sweep and scrub the floors, Alyce," he heard her say to the housekeeper.

"Yes, m'lady." The housekeeper bobbed her head as he approached and hurried off to carry out her instructions.

"What are you doing?" He watched the maid and two stable hands carry armloads of rushes from the house and dump them onto a fire being carefully tended by Thornton. At least he now knew why no one had come out of the stables to take care of his mount.

"I am burning the rushes." Marian squinted against the glare of the sun as she raised her head to look at him.

"I can see that," he murmured. "I am left to wonder why."

"They are filthy."

His brows shot up in surprise. "I believe they were laid but a month ago."

"And it does not take long for them to become soiled," she said. "All of the dirt that is tracked into the house, bits of food which are dropped... they are likely crawling with vermin."

He folded his arms over his chest. "Will not the new ones encounter the same fate?" he asked curiously.

"I am not having them replaced."

His brows lifted again. "It will be cold."

"I would rather be cold."

He cast his eyes across the courtyard toward the fire. "Can you not replace them on a weekly basis?" he asked.

"I can, but I assumed you would not wish to incur the expense."

He nodded and stepped into the house. Turning back, he held out a hand. "Come, I have something for you."

Marian followed him into the house and gave an approving smile to the young maid, Hannah, who was sweeping the now bare floor. She saw Guy duck into the small room which he used as a study and poked her head through the doorway curiously.

The room was spartan, as was most of the rest of the house. Once the home of the Earl of Huntingdon, Locksley had boasted a collection of expensive, but tasteful décor. Elaborate tapestries hung from the walls protecting the occupants from the damp of the stone walls as well as providing light and color to the room. Like the paintings and other decorative touches, they were meant not only to provide a comfortable and pleasant home but to showcase the family's status. This room, like the others, was devoid of any such decoration and she could not help but to wonder what had happened to all of Robin's family treasurers. Sold, she feared, to swell Guy's coffers.

She was brought back to the present as Guy beckoned her into the room. He pulled open a drawer and withdrew a book and a large ring jangling with at least a dozen keys.

"You should have these things," he said as he handed the book to her. "This ledger is for the household accounts and the keys are for – well, everything." He jiggled the keys and made them dance on their ring. "This small key opens the bottom drawer of my desk," he said as he inserted it into the drawer's lock. He pulled out a small metal box and flipped back the hinged lid to reveal the coins stacked within.

"You should rightly have control of the household money," he told her as he handed her the keys. I leave to you how it is spent – just make a note of all expenditures in the ledger."

He folded his arms across his chest again and cocked his head to one side, making an elaborate show of studying her appearance. She wore a voluminous apron over her oldest gown and a smudge of dirt rode high on one cheek.

"I am not sure that I like my wife dressing as a ragamuffin." He smirked and reached out to toy with the kerchief she had tied over her dark hair.

"And I do not like having the Sheriff's lackey as my husband, but I was not given a choice."

Guy's hand fell to his side and as the light in his eyes gave way to an icy hardness, Marian realized – too late – that he had meant his words in jest.

"You did have a choice, Marian," he told her in a tone all the more frightening for its deadly control. "You chose to pretend a fondness for me and a willingness to become my wife. All of which I now realize was simply a way to manipulate me and, I suspect, carry information back to Hood." His fingers curled into fists by his sides.

"You played a game and, it seems we have both lost." He stepped away from the desk. "I will allow you to return to your work, madam." He sketched a formal bow.

"My lady," he sneered as he left the room.

Marian sank into a chair. She wished that she could recall her words for it seemed they did little more than make a bad situation worse. She felt trapped in this marriage to a man she did not love. She despised what he did and hated how he lived so much of his life, even if she could not quite bring herself to hate the man himself.

For indeed, if she was ruthlessly honest with herself, she would admit that there was something about him which she found enormously appealing. The problem was that every time she had felt a softening toward him, he would do something or be in involved in something which would cause her to harden her resolve against him.

She did not see him again that day until it was time to retire for the evening. He slid into bed, coldly silent, and she knew that things could not continue in this manner else the situation would fast become intolerable.

Sucking in a deep breath, she pulled her courage around her like armor and rolled over to face him. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling but she knew from his rigid posture that his attention was riveted to her. She sat up and looped her arms around her up drawn legs and propped her chin on her knees. "My father has many times accused me of having a quick temper," she murmured.

"Guy." She turned her head and waited until he was looking at her.

"I often speak without thinking first and my words can be hateful. I am sorry for having been rude earlier."

"I do not wish to be at odds with you, Marian." He shifted onto his side.

"I know." She drew in a deep breath and kept her eyes steady on his face as she continued. "I do not mean to be hurtful now, Guy, but I hate the things you do. I cannot pretend that I am proud to be called Lady Gisbourne."

His head jerked back as if absorbing a blow. He closed his eyes and gave a terse nod of his head in acknowledgment of her words.

"I understand," he said gruffly.

"I pray that someday changes," she whispered. Her hand hovered over his arm for a long moment before she withdrew it and laid back down facing away from him. They lay there a long time, each consumed by their thoughts until sleep finally beckoned.

They were excruciatingly polite to one another for the next two days and each night Marian collapsed into bed thoroughly exhausted. Something was going to have to give, she mused late one morning while in the kitchen with the cook setting the menu for the week. The two women were taking inventory of the larder while Marian made notes of what was needed from the market.

"Is Sir Guy partial to rabbit or pork?" she asked as she asking the cook to prepare a few of her own family recipes.

"I cannot say, my lady."

"You cannot – why ever not?"

"My Lord Gisbourne eats whatever we serve," the cook said nervously. "He's never asked for anythin' special."

They were interrupted by the housekeeper who poked her head into the pantry.

"My lady, come quickly," she said breathlessly.

"What is it, Alyce?"

"The peddler is coming!"

Marian and the cook exchanged grins and hastened to follow Alyce. The peddler's visit was an event looked forward to by all. Colorful fabrics and threads, pots and pans, exotic spices, silk ribbons and other fripperies competed for attention and the peddler was content to allow his customers to touch and linger, knowing that it only meant increased sales.

Marian stripped off her apron and smoothed her skirts as she stepped outside and peered at the overburdened wagon making its way down the lane toward the manor. As it drew closer, she frowned.

"I do not think it the peddler," she told the other women and she moved toward the stone fence for a closer look.

"Charles!" she cried as she recognized one of the servants from Knighton. A huge smile wreathed Marian's face when she caught sight of the young woman perched on the seat next to the driver. "Meg!" Marian pulled the girl into her embrace when she scrambled down from the wagon. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father sent me. He said you would need a lady's maid."

Marian smiled broadly, glad for a familiar face. She looked up as Charles jumped to the ground alongside them. "And you, Charles?" she grinned. "I know my father could not live without you. What brings you here?"

"Your father sent you some things, my lady."

"But…" she looked at him in confusion. "Father has already sent all of my gowns and other things."

"Yes, my lady, but today he sends this." The servant swept back the tarp covering the wagon bed to reveal a number of items which to Marian meant home. "He sent you a letter as well, Lady Marian.

She took the proffered note and eagerly broke the wax seal.

Dearest Marian,

Forgive me my shortsightedness. I sent only your clothing and other personal belongings. However, your husband has indicated to me that you might welcome some items from Knighton which may give you some comfort in your new home. I have chosen that which I think will bring you the greatest pleasure. But if you should wish to visit an old man and make him happy, come and take from here whatever you desire. I wish you joy, daughter.

With loving affection, your father,

Edward

Marian folded the note and slid it into her pocket to read again later. "Well!" She smiled through the tears shimmering in her eyes. "Let us see what Father has sent to me."

Guy returned home that evening to a wife who, for the first time since their marriage, was wearing a soft smile.

"My lord," she greeted him quietly.

"Marian." Baffled caution colored his tone.

"Supper is ready if you would eat."

He slowly followed her to the table and at her expectant look, fumbled to pull out her chair so that she could sit. He cast his eyes about warily, bewildered by her sudden willingness to share a table with him.

Marian sent a discreet signal to Hannah who hastened forward with the meal.

"I did not know what you would like." Marian dished up portions of venison ribs in a broth made of vinegar and red wine and seasoned with sage and pepper.

The look he gave her was so decidedly confused that she hastily bit back a grin.

"Bread, my lord?"

Guy took the heel of the loaf and dug into his meal.

Marian sampled a bite and deemed it a bit bland. She made a mental note to purchase garlic and cloves and perhaps some mace and coriander when she went to the market. She watched Guy eat in silence for the next few minutes and noted with relief that he was well-mannered at table. Unlike so many other men of her acquaintance, he chewed with his mouth closed and did not hunch over his plate as if to ward off thieves. He ate perfunctorily – and made no effort toward conversation.

"Is the venison to your liking, Sir Guy?"

He gave a quick jerk of his chin without ever lifting his head.

"Is it cooked to your taste? I find it a bit bland myself," she said conversationally.

Guy dropped his fork to the table with a clatter. "Alright, Marian." He sat back slowly and shot her a wary glance. "What is it you want? Why are you being so… nice?"

Annoyed, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips. "I wanted only to show my thanks but you are obviously too dim of wit to understand!"

"Your thanks?" His tone was the wary one of a man who recognizes he has done something wrong but is at a loss to understand exactly what.

"You have not even noticed the changes," she huffed as she flopped back into her chair. "Never-mind." She waved a dismissive hand. "I am sorry to have interrupted your meal.

Changes? Guy let his gaze wander around the room and at last noted the finely-wrought tapestry hanging on a wall between two windows, a small bench with a colorfully embroidered cushion near the hearth, silver candlesticks on the mantle and other touches meant to brighten a home.

"It looks nice," he offered cautiously and cast about frantically in his head for something else to say when she did not respond. "I… um… I had forgotten until now how such small things can cheer a room."

Marian studied him for a long moment. "My father wrote to me that it was your idea."

Self-conscious under her intense gaze, he simply shrugged and played with his fork. "I wish you to be comfortable here."

"It was kind," she offered softly. "Thank you."

He bobbed his head once in response.

"Go ahead." She speared another rib and placed it on his plate. "Finish before it is cold."

They ate the rest of their meal in a silence that was somehow at once comfortable and awkward.

"There is more, if you are still hungry."

"I thank you, no." He scraped his chair back from the table and stood, ill at ease.

"It was good," he finally grunted. Setting down his napkin, he shot another glance around the changed room. "I am glad that you were pleased." He hesitated for a long moment as if he would say something else before striding off to his study.

Bemused, Marian tore off a hunk of bread and chewed it slowly as she worked on the puzzle that was her husband, for she was not ignorant of the fact that by asking her father to send to her some bits of Knighton, he was attempting to do something which would make her proud to be his wife.

Guy's duties did not require his attendance at the castle so early the next day. He was surprised – and pleased – when Marian joined him to break their fast and was then quickly flummoxed when it became apparent that she expected him to join her in conversation. Prior to their marriage, most exchanges between them had been the riposte and parry of an argument or debate which he had found at turns to be either stimulating or infuriating. He had little ease in making genial conversation with a woman.

"I am going to the market today," she announced.

Guy kept his gaze locked on his meal, wondering furtively if such a comment actually warranted a response. He took what he considered the safest route and nodded. But he sensed, rather than heard her long-suffering sigh, and risked lifting his gaze to her.

"If you would tell me what your favorite meals are, I will see to it that the cook adds them to the menu."

"Favorites?" Confusion was evident on his face and she resisted the almost overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

"Yes, my lord. It is not a difficult question. What dishes give you the most pleasure?"

He shrugged and spooned up more porridge. "I do not think I have a favorite," he said at last.

Marian flopped back into her chair. "Everyone has a favorite, Guy. How is it possible you do not?"

He was at a loss to understand why it mattered but he gave it due consideration as it seemed obvious that she was waiting for an answer.

"I am a soldier," he said at last. He stuffed a chunk of bread into his mouth and chewed, well-satisfied with his answer until it became evident that Marian was not.

"You are a soldier? What does that mean?"

He set down his spoon and gave brief contemplation to eating his morning meal elsewhere in the future. Perhaps the cook could wrap up some cheese and bread for him to take with him when he left the manor.

"Guy?"

"It means that food is intended to provide sustenance to the body. A soldier eats whatever rations are provided."

And, he thought darkly, if he ate with his men he would not be expected to spend his time jibber-jabbering at the table.

"But…" Marian propped her chin on her hand and studied him inquisitively. "You were not always a soldier. What about when you were a child? What meals did your mother serve which gave you enjoyment?"

"It has been many years since I was a child, Marian. Many years since I have had a mother."

She felt a brief stirring of pity for a man who seemed unable to find enjoyment in one of life's most simple pleasures and, giving him a sympathetic nod, they finished their meal in silence.

Shaking off the gloom, Guy stood and strapped his sword belt around his waist. Picking up his coat he strode back to the table.

"Purchase what you will at the market," he told her archly. "Perhaps you will find something that will become my favorite.

Emboldened by the saucy smirk on her face, he risked brushing his lips across her forehead. He bounded out of the manor and toward his horse, buoyed by the startled look on her face.

Finally, he thought. He had a plan.

TBC

A/N: I am getting there. It may seem meandering but I have an endgame in mind.