Title: A Place to Call Home, Chapter Ten (11/?)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Guy/Marian
Summary: "I do not love you," she cried in frustration. "Why do you want me?"
Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of the BBC. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended and no profit is made by the author.
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.
Chapter Ten
Marian sat near the hearth. Though she held the mending loosely in her hands, her attention was not on it. The dinner hour had come and gone and once again, Guy had not arrived. Indeed, it had been three days since he had sent a messenger home with word that his duties required his presence at the castle and she should not expect him. As the days dragged on without further word from him her anxiety increased. She had no way of knowing what was going on at the castle and could not help but worry over what kind of trouble the Sheriff was brewing and, more to the point, what role Guy was playing in those plans.
She had noted a palpable tension in the marketplace that morning as people whispered to one another and cast fearful glances towards the gray stone walls surrounding the castle. Merchants and shoppers alike seemed to be in agreement that something was afoot and that likely meant turmoil and misery for the people of Nottingham. Though patrols of soldiers left the grounds and disappeared into the forest and beyond at all hours of the day and night, neither the Sheriff, nor his master-at-arms had been seen in days. Word creeping out from within the castle walls was that the two were barricaded in the Sheriff's office with only the occasional guard or messenger permitted entry.
Most frightening of all was the eerie silence. Though the familiar sight of Vaisey ranting and raving as he paced about the parapets was a disturbing and frightening image, the unnatural quiet which now engulfed the castle served only to ratchet up the sense of apprehension among the populace to near unbearable levels.
She leapt from her chair when the door was suddenly flung open. A young man she recognized as the son of a tenant farmer stood in the doorframe, eyes wide with worry.
"Riders, milady," he panted. "Approaching fast."
Nodding, she set her mending aside. "Thank you." She forced a note of calm into her voice. "Go home to your family."
She hastened to a cabinet standing in one corner of the room and, pushing aside bolts of fabric, withdrew her sword from its depths. Sending a reassuring smile toward Alyce and the other servants gathered in the kitchen doorway, she unsheathed the weapon and pressed it along her leg, hiding the lethal blade within the folds of her skirt.
"Come away my lady," Alyce hissed from the kitchen.
Marian's hand flashed out in a quelling motion and she peered into the darkness beyond the window, straining to see. The rumble of men's voices could be heard and she closed her eyes and concentrated in an effort to make out what was being said. Her forehead furrowed in frustration as she was unable to distinguish the voices, let alone what was being discussed. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of horses cantering off and she let out a long breath. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of bootfalls rapidly approaching the house and she bit back a gasp as a looming figure emerged from the darkness. She shrank back against the wall – out of sight – her hand determinedly clenched around the grip of the sword. Still peering through the window, her rigid posture relaxed as she was able to make out the blurred features of her husband through the glass.
"Guy!" Relieved, she moved quickly to fling the door open.
Pleasantly surprised by his wife's eager greeting, a tired smile wreathed his face and he reached out to stroke a gloved hand over her hair in a quick caress. They stared at one another for a long moment before she recovered her wits and stepped back to allow him entrance to the house.
He pushed the door closed behind him and caught the glint of firelight reflecting off the side of Marian's gown as she moved away. Frowning, he peered closer and saw the sword clutched tightly in her hand. A movement from the other side of the room captured his attention and he swung his gaze toward the kitchen where the housekeeper and several other servants huddled.
"Something has frightened you." His eyes darted about the room, alert for any threat.
"It was nothing." She hurried toward him. "Only… you rode up so quickly," she explained. "Is something wrong?"
He shook his head and reached out to take the sword from her. He studied the blade closely, turning it over and over in his hands, a thoughtful frown marring his handsome features. Fearing that he would recognize the Nightwatchman's weapon, her breath caught in her throat.
"'Tis a warrior's blade," he noted after a long silence. "I shall endeavor never to provoke you into using it against me." Though his tone was light, his features were rigid. He reversed the sword and offered it to her hilt first. "Milady." He sketched a formal bow and the look he gave her as he turned away left little doubt that he knew her secret.
Fear coursed through her. Confident that he would never use the knowledge against her, she now worried that it would destroy the contentment which had sprung up between them in recent weeks. Stepping forward, she laid her free hand on his arm.
"Guy," she whispered plaintively. "I…"
His features softened and he stroked a finger over her cheek as he lowered his head to hers.
"It is more difficult than you might have believed to keep some things hidden in a marriage," he murmured as he ran his fingers over her gown where it covered her scar in a manner that was at once suggestive as well as a silent apology and she knew then that she had not been the only keeper of her secret. Blushing, she did not resist when he pulled her near.
"Will you put it away?" he breathed against her ear. And, knowing that he was speaking not of the sword but rather asking her to set aside the Nightwatchman for good, she gave a hesitant nod. Balancing her hands on his chest, she rose up onto the tips of her toes and impulsively pressed a kiss to his beard-stubbled cheek, offering up a silent prayer that fate and circumstance would not force her to go back on her word.
"Have you eaten?" she asked at length as she dropped back down onto her heels. He shook his head and began to unbuckle the clasps which ran down the length of his leather coat. She gestured toward the servants still crowded in the doorway and they immediately sprang apart. Returning her sword to the cabinet, she took his coat from him and handed it to Alyce when she approached.
"Have the kitchen prepare something for my lord to eat," she instructed.
"Yes, milady." The housekeeper bobbed a quick curtsy and hastened away. Marian led Guy to the dining table and poured spiced wine into two goblets. Offering one to him, she sank down into a chair beside him.
"You rode in as if the devil himself was on your heels." A troubled frown creased her brow. "Is something amiss?"
He shook his head. "I was simply eager to be home." He took a healthy swallow from the cup in his hand. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and opened her mouth to contradict him but the maid arrived with a trencher of food. He fell on the meal hungrily and though she had many questions, did not have the heart to badger him at the moment. She watched him use a hunk of bread to sop up some gravy and stuff it into his mouth. Never had she seen him consume a meal so ravenously.
"When did you last eat?"
He mumbled something around a mouthful of food and swallowed hard, washing it down with a gulp of wine. "I am not sure." He used his knife to tear a piece of meat away from the bone and popped it into his mouth. "Perhaps two days ago."
Watching with concern as he devoured his meal, she took note of the three day growth of beard covering his usually clean-shaven jaw and the dark smudges bruising the skin under his eyes. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and it was clear that he had been denied sleep as well as food in the last few days.
His hunger finally assuaged, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, heaving a deep sigh as he slipped into a light doze. Marian gestured toward Alyce and gave her whispered instructions. Moving quietly under her lady's watchful gaze, the housemaid reappeared to clear away the remnants of the meal, taking care not to rattle the dinnerware or bump the table. Marian leaned forward and brushed her fingers over her husband's hand, and though her touch was gentle, she startled him awake. He bolted from his chair, muscles tensed to combat a perceived threat.
"Shh." She rose to stand beside him. "I am sorry." She laid a soothing hand on his chest. "It was not my intent to alarm you." Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, she tugged him toward the stairs and up to their chamber where two servants were wrestling a large copper tub closer to the fireplace.
"I thought a hot bath would soothe you."
He looked down into her earnest face. "I fear that I may fall asleep and drown."
"I will stay near and rescue you if that is the case." A dimple flashed in her cheek and his lips curved in response.
"Truly, Marian." He cast a longing glance toward the bed. "I wish only to sleep."
She motioned the servants toward the door and spied Alyce climbing the stairs. Reaching out, she took a bucket of steaming water from the housekeeper's hand.
"Do not bother sending up the rest of the bathwater," she instructed. "But would you please see to it that water is heated and ready before breakfast tomorrow?"
"Of course, my lady. Will there be anything else?"
"No, Alyce. Thank you. Have a good night."
Pushing the door closed, Marian turned to find her husband perched on the edge of the bed, his chin tucked against his chest. Crossing the room, she laid a hand on his back. "Why not at least wash up a bit before bed?" she suggested. "You will sleep better."
Blinking like an owl, he stared at her as if in a stupor. She left his side and poured a measure of hot water into a porcelain basin on the washstand and more into the matching pitcher.
"Guy?" she prompted with an arched brow.
He rubbed his fists against his eyes in a manner much like that of an overtired child and she smiled. He pushed to his feet and stumbled toward her when she beckoned him near and she put a steadying hand on his arm.
"Wash," she ordered.
While his hands moved obediently to tug on the laces of his shirt, she crossed the room to pull clean linens and a cake of soap from a cupboard. Turning back, she found him stripped to his braes. Setting the length of cloth and soap on the washstand, she changed into her nightclothes and climbed into bed. Sitting in the middle of the bed, she idly braided her hair and looked with appreciation on his tall, leanly muscled physique as he made quick work of his bath. Rolling the soap between his fingers, he scrubbed his hands over his face before spreading the lather over his neck and torso. Rinsing quickly, he ran wet fingers through his hair and dried himself. Striding toward the bed, his momentary burst of energy seemed to fade. He slumped on the edge of the mattress, rolling his head back and forth on his shoulders and she winced sympathetically at the popping sounds amplified by the quiet of the room. At last, he stretched out on his back. Nestling into the bedclothes with a long, loud groan, he reached out and wrapped a warm hand around her ankle.
"Guy." She threaded her fingers through his damp hair. "Where have you been the last three days?"
He grimaced. "At the castle with the Sheriff."
"Yes. But what have you been doing that has prevented you from sleeping or eating?"
The notes of suspicion and irritation in her voice had his hackles rising, but the underlying tone of concern did much to soothe him.
"Tomorrow," he mumbled around a mighty yawn. "Can we not discuss this tomorrow?" Taking her silence for acquiescence, he gave her ankle an affectionate squeeze and, succumbing to the hypnotic winnowing of her fingers through his hair, slipped effortlessly into sleep.
Forcing her anxiety aside, Marian blew out the candle and slid down in bed, moving carefully so as not to awaken her husband. He shifted again, rolling away from her onto his stomach and she followed. She stretched out, crooking her leg over his and her arm over his waist. He stirred and mumbled her name. Cupping her hand in his, he tucked it between his chest and the mattress. Resting her cheek against the smooth skin of his back, she stared into the glowing coals of the fire until, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his back, she slept.
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Guy's rest was disturbed the next morning and he shifted in protest, burying his face into the pillow. The persistent sound of his wife softly calling his name and the gentle touch of her fingers on his shoulder prevented him from slipping back into a deep slumber. In defense, he hooked his arms around her waist and lifted his head to her lap.
"Shh," he mumbled as he nuzzled his face into the soft fabric of her chemise.
Marveling at the growing ease of affection between them, Marian bowed her body over his and he tightened his arms around her, sighing contentedly as she ran her hands over the muscled satin of his back and pressed a warm, soft kiss against his shoulder blade. They stayed thus for long seconds, enjoying the simple pleasure of the quiet interlude. When she felt his body loosen on a glide back towards sleep, she reluctantly began to rouse him again.
"Guy." She shifted and rested her lips against his ear. "Guy," she whispered again. "Come. It is time to rise."
He grunted a protest, burrowing his face into her belly and she could feel the moist warmth of his breath through her chemise.
"Guuuy." She sang his name in a voice that was gently insistent until at last he yielded to her call. With a disgruntled sigh, he rolled onto his back. Dragging open heavy lids, he peered around the room, some part of his brain taking note of the sunlight gleaming through the window glazing.
"What is the time?" He blinked at her sleepily.
"Dawn was over an hour ago," she told him.
He dragged himself from her loose embrace and stood. Raising his arms over his head, he stretched his hands toward the ceiling. Marian rose at the sound of a gentle tapping from across the room. Belting her wrap around her waist, she opened the door to admit Alyce.
The housekeeper bustled into the room carrying a linen draped tray. A blush suffusing her cheeks, she pointedly averted her eyes from the imposing sight of a nearly naked Sir Guy and instead focused all her attention on supervising the steady stream of servants who had followed her into the room bearing buckets of steaming water. When the copper tub was filled and several buckets set near the fire to keep the water warm, the housekeeper shooed everyone from the room.
"If that will be all…?" Her lady smiled and nodded her thanks and the housekeeper left the couple alone.
Marian turned to find her husband rooted to the spot in which she had left him. She returned to his side and touched her hand to his. He turned to her, a fogged look in his eyes and she jostled his hand lightly until she saw his gaze clear.
Having noted that the kitchen had sent up a cold breakfast of bread, cheese and eggs boiled hard, she smiled up at Guy.
"Bath first," she decided and gave him a gentle push. He stripped and eased himself into the tub. Marian shrugged out of her wrap and perched nearby on a low stool to study her husband's face. Though the harsh lines around his mouth had softened somewhat and the shadows under his eyes lightened, fatigue was still evident to her critical gaze. She counted on the warmth of the steaming bath and food to alleviate the lingering remnants of his exhaustion. Long moments passed and he slumped deeper into the water, making no move toward bathing. Smiling ruefully, she tapped an insistent finger to the center of his chest.
"Wash," she ordered when he captured the irritating digit in his wet hand.
Grunting, he opened one eye to peer at her balefully. Unperturbed, she held his gaze.
"My lord." She patiently held out a chunk of soap and washcloth with one hand and with the sweetest of smiles curving her lips, flicked water at his face with the other.
Wide awake now, Guy pushed himself up in the bath, settling his back against the copper rim. Reaching out as if to take her offerings, he clamped dripping fingers around her wrists and hauled her upright, until she was teetering precariously over the steaming water.
"Guy!" Her voice was a low warning as she strained back against his grip. "Do not!"
"In. Get in." He braced his feet to gain better leverage and tugged her insistently forward. She shrieked as he ignored her warning and using his superior strength, topped her into the bath.
"This chemise was silk!" she wailed furiously as water sloshed violently over the sides of the tub.
"This chemise…" He cocked his head to the side and studied with interest the way the now translucent silk revealed rather than disguised the curves beneath. "…is in the way." He cupped the heavy weight of her breast in one hand, flicking his thumb over its distended center.
"Off," he demanded, giving the chemise an impatient tug.
Lips pursing into a pout, she imperiously batted his hand away.
"No."
He tugged again at the offending material and gave a hopeful look to which she responded by lifting her pert nose into the air.
"No," she sniffed dismissively.
His fingers toyed with the hem of her chemise, flirting with the warm skin beneath. Leaning forward, he rasped his tongue over the exposed length of her throat.
"Marian," he called, his voice husky with invitation.
Struggling to maintain her aloof countenance, she turned her head and peered regally down her nose at him.
"You know you want me," he crooned softly as his hands traced suggestive patterns over her thighs.
She stifled a gasp, her eyes fluttering closed as an arrow of pleasure zinged through her. Taking a deep breath in an effort to regain some measure of control, she opened her eyes.
"Well," she breathed in a carelessly thoughtful tone, "I had thought to take a bath myself after you had finished, but you have fooled around so long the water is cooling even as we speak." She tapped a contemplative finger against her lips. "It would be a pity to let the hot water go to waste."
He grinned in happy agreement and together they stripped the chemise over her head, tossing the ruined garment to the floor with a sodden thwack. Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, she leaned back against his upraised knees. Their bodies undulated together, the water gently lapping in concert with their slow movements as they made lazy love in the quiet of a new morning.
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Clean and dry, they dressed and moved to the table to sate other appetites.
"You promised last night that we would talk." Marian nibbled on a cube of cheese.
Guy dusted a sprinkle of salt and pepper over an egg and popped half into his mouth. Their playful interlude had allowed him to distance himself from the last few days but reality once again intruded. He looked at his wife who was watching him with patient attention and he shook his head in resignation for he knew she would not rest until she was in possession of all the details.
"The Sheriff was… distraught," he began.
Marian let out a huffing sound. When is he not, she thought with irritation.
"He has lost an item – one of particular importance to him."
She propped her chin on her hand and met his gaze steadily. "Lost an item," she repeated.
"Actually, he believes it to have been stolen and I cannot help but agree."
"And might I be so bold as to inquire as to exactly what this item might be?" she asked testily.
"He has been in a towering rage since he has learned it went missing," Guy continued as if she had not spoken.
"He is always in a rage," she pointed out.
"Not like this." Guy rubbed his fingers over his face as memories of the last three days played out in his mind's eye. Over the years, he had learned to cope with Vaisey's mad rages. The sight of the Sheriff pacing about the room, arms waving maniacally, specks of spittle dotting his chin was one that had become almost comforting in its familiarity. But the deadly clam displayed by the man in the last few days had left Guy shaken. One hour had bled into the next with the Sheriff staring into the flames and the unnatural quiet was more disturbing to his master-at-arms than any crazed fit he had ever witnessed.
Guy had spent the days standing alertly in the presence of his master and the Sheriff's unspoken thoughts were more frightening in their silence than any deranged plan he had ever hatched in the past. For the first time, Guy had little to no idea of what Vaisey was truly thinking and that terrified him.
"You have not said what was stolen." Dread curled in her stomach. Her husband's disquiet was a palpable presence in the room and, all appetite lost, she pushed away her plate.
"It is a document," he told her.
"A document? Of what import?"
"It is a pact of sorts."
"A pact," she repeated flatly. "A pact to do what? A pact between whom?"
He lifted his gaze to hers.
"A pact between those who support Prince John."
"Support his quest to gain the throne?" she clarified.
He nodded.
"That is ridiculous!" she scoffed. "He cannot lay claim to the throne while Richard lives –" Her words broke off and she looked at him with mounting horror.
He cocked his head to one side and waited as the realization broke over her beautiful features.
"It is a pact to kill the King and put John on the throne!" she exclaimed.
He inclined his head in silent agreement. Marian buried her face in her hands as a fresh understanding dawned.
"You signed it, did you not?" Her voice was muffled behind her hands. Though he said nothing, she shook her head back and forth in denial and when she looked up, tears of rage and fear glittered in her eyes.
"How could you?" she demanded.
His face was a stoic mask.
"How could I not?" he countered. "To not sign it would have been akin to signing my own death warrant – or worse – yours."
She gnawed on her thumbnail. "And it is missing," she clarified at length, striving for calm.
"Yes."
"And you do not know who has it?"
He leveled a pointed glance at her.
"Robin," she breathed.
"In all probability."
"What…" She swallowed hard. "What has been done to recover it?" she asked fearfully.
"Riders have been dispatched to every end of the shire in search of Hood and his gang, but as you know, they are too well-hidden and there are none who will speak against them."
"What will happen?"
"If Hood has not already sent word to the king, he will do so at any moment. The Sheriff has sent men to watch the ports but it will be impossible to find the messenger. Hood will not send one of his people – they would be too easily recognized."
He shrugged philosophically. "Eventually, Hood will get word to the king and Richard will do what he will do."
She agitatedly played with a crust of bread, crumbling it into tiny pieces.
"Are you going to ask me to lead you to Robin?"
He swiped a tongue over his lips, betraying his own disquiet.
"The Sheriff wanted to drag you to the castle for questioning, but I managed to convince him that you know nothing of the outlaws' whereabouts."
"And… he believes you?"
His shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. "Vaisey assumes that you have been brought to heel over these last months of our marriage." His lips curved in a humorless smile. "I see no reason to disabuse him of the notion."
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
"But you," she said. "Are you going to ask me?"
He gave a sharp shake of his head. "No. Believe me, madam. I am aware of your divided loyalties."
She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing further and the look on his face told her that he feared testing those loyalties lest he come out on the losing end. And, in truth, she had no assurance to give him for she did not know how to protect one of them at the potential cost of the other's life.
She stretched out a hand and laid it over his.
"I could speak with Robin." she began. "I could ask him…"
"No!" He scraped his chair back from the table and leapt to his feet. "If the Sheriff catches wind of you slipping off into the forest, he will… he would…" He shook his head violently. "No! I forbid it!"
"But perhaps I could – "
"No." He softened his tone and sat back down. Wrapping his hand around hers, he looked into her eyes.
"What will be, will be," he told her. "As long as the Sheriff believes you have no involvement with Hood and are loyal to me, you are safe."
"And if Robin gets word to the King?" she asked worriedly.
"Then you will still be safe because Hood will be sure that Richard knows you have always been a loyal subject."
"And what of you?" she asked brokenly.
Unable to explain to himself let alone to her the measure of calm which had come over him with the realization that it was all drawing to a head and that one way or another his fate would finally be decided, he pried open her clenched fingers and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. "What will be, will be," he repeated.
Her fingers curved around the side of his face as he nestled his face into the warmth of her hand and she leaned forward to rest her own cheek against the silk of his hair.
There was a way out of this mess. She was sure of it though she could not yet see the path. There had to be a way to set Guy free of the quagmire in which he lived. She would not allow the vagaries of fate to determine the course of her life any longer. There was a way out – for all of them – she vowed to herself and she would find it.
TBC
A/N: Obviously, I was wrong in my last thoughts that I might wrap this up in a single chapter. But we are – obviously - winding closer to the end.