A Place to Call Home Chapter 13, a robin hood bbc fanfic

Title: A Place to Call Home, Chapter Thirteen (14/15)

Rating: PG-13

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.

Chapter Thirteen

The moon was high overhead as Guy made his way home. Restraining the urge to hurry, he held his mount to a walk, giving the beast a break from the punishing pace he had first set as he sought to put distance between himself and Lord Wykeham's estate.

"Not far now," he murmured as he took in the increasingly familiar landscape surrounding him. Hunger gnawed at his belly. His business with the prince concluded, he had hurried toward home and Marian without stopping even to assuage his hunger. Two days and one night away and he could not wait to return. Amused by his newfound domesticity, he huffed out a quietly self-mocking laugh. His stomach growled again and seeking to distract himself, he cast his thoughts over the events which had transpired during his audience with John.

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Dismounting, Guy handed the reins to a waiting stable boy. He dug his fists into the small of his back in a useless effort to alleviate the soreness earned by long, tension-filled hours spent in a saddle. He laid a hand on the pommel of his sword and then furtively felt for the knife hidden beneath his tunic. Somewhat reassured that he had the means of protecting himself if the need arose, he strode toward the keep with a confidence he did not fully feel and waited while his presence was announced. Once inside, a heavy oaken door swung open admitting him to the comfortably appointed chamber where Lord Wykeham and his royal guest enjoyed their midday meal.

"Ah, Sir Guy," the prince crowed. "So good to see you." His tone dripped with false delight.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" Wykeham asked through a mouthful of food.

"I would have a word with His Highness," Guy stated as he straightened from the deep bow he had sketched upon entering the room.

John waved a negligent hand as he assessed the platter of food before him for the choicest bit. "Well?" he asked with a touch of impatience at Guy's silence. "What is it? Speak, man."

"I would beg a moment's privacy, Your Highness."

John's gaze settled on Guy's face for a long, calculating moment before shifting toward his host. "You will excuse us, will you not, my lord?" he asked with oily smoothness.

Wykeham's mouth opened to protest the eviction from his own table, but the objection died quickly on his lips at the look in the prince's eyes. Heaving himself from the table with ill grace, he quit the room. John waited a moment and then jerked his head toward Guy. Interpreting the gesture correctly, Guy strode across the room and quickly yanked open the door, causing Lord Wykeham to stumble back in surprise. Cocking one brow, Guy inclined his head politely and waited for the other man to scuttle away.

"I trust you bring me the long-awaited news that Vaisey has secured the signatures of all who would support my cause." A cunning smile curved the prince's lips and he used a jewel encrusted dagger to tear a piece of quail meat from the bone. Popping the morsel into his mouth, he met the other man's look expectantly.

"The signatures have all been obtained," Guy confirmed. "Unfortunately…"

John's face lost its self-satisfied smirk. "Unfortunately, what?" he demanded.

"Unfortunately, my Lord Sheriff is no longer in possession of the pact, Your Highness."

"No longer in possession…" John leaned back in his chair and shoved the trencher of food away. "I think it best you explain yourself, Lord Gisborne, and quickly!"

"Lord Vaisey has lost possession of the pact."

"And what is being done to recover it?" the prince asked in a softly vicious tone.

"Riders have been dispatched to all corners of the Nottinghamshire and beyond in search of it."

"And that is all?" John slammed a hand down onto the table. "Do you understand what will happen if those papers fall into my brother's hands?" he roared. "He may already have them," he said, his voice dull with horror at the thought.

"I can assure you that he is not." Guy told him.

"Hood! Surely he had something to do with this!"

"I can also assure you that the outlaw is not in possession of the pact."

Eyes narrowing, the prince pushed himself to his feet.

"How is it that you stand before me so calmly in the face of this disaster?" he asked suspiciously. "By what means do you speak with such assurance?"

"Neither the king nor Hood have it," Guy told him flatly.

The prince's shoulders sagged with relief and he slumped back into his seat. He closed his hand around the jeweled stem of the chalice closest to him.

"You have it," he breathed.

'No, Highness."

John glared at the other man over the rim of the chalice he lifted to his lips. Taking a bracing gulp of wine, he lowered the cup back to the table.

"Enough with the riddles, my Lord Gisborne." His voice lashed out like a whip. "Speak plainly. Do you know where the pact is?"

"I do not."

The prince hurled the chalice across the room where it clattered against the stone wall, its ruby red contents spraying over a delicately wrought tapestry hanging nearby.

"But speaking plainly," Guy continued on as if the eruption of violence had never occurred. "I can reassure you that it has not fallen into Richard's hands. Nor will it as long as certain demands are met."

"Demands?" John asked in a voice all the more menacing for its surface calm. "Whose?"

"Mine, Your Highness."

"Yours?" the prince repeated in astonishment. "You would dare to make demands of me? Does Vaisey know you are here?" he asked. "Has he put you up to this?"

"No, Highness," Guy told him. "I can say with complete certainty that the Sheriff is unaware of my presence here."

A momentary look of confusion crossed John's face before being replaced by a look of calculation. "You seek to disengage yourself from Vaisey," he said knowingly. "You are looking to ally yourself with me directly." A laugh escaped the prince's mouth. "Ha! I must say that I did not think you had it in you, Lord Gisborne. You always struck me as such a toady. Who knew that so much cunning lay beneath all that bowing and scraping?"

The prince looked around the table, regretting the loss of the wine he had flung across the room. He waved an imperious hand toward a flagon waiting on a side table.

Guy moved the few necessary steps to reach the smaller table and poured a generous measure of wine into another chalice. With his back to the other man, he closed his eyes and drew in a bracing breath. Clearing his face of all expression, he carried the cup across the room. Stopping a few paces from the table, he ignored John's outstretched hand and lifted the cup to his own mouth.

"Hmm." Guy allowed an approving hum to escape his lips. "My Lord Wykeham sets a fine table."

"You forget yourself, my lord," John breathed harshly. "One word from me and you will be swinging from the gallows."

"I think not, Your Highness." Guy crossed his arms over his chest and studied the golden chalice in his hand with a nonchalance intended to set the other man on edge. "For you see, one word from me and you will be facing the king's court on charges of treason."

"It pleases me to remind you that your name is on that pact," John hissed.

"Indeed it is." Guy raised the chalice in an insolent salute.

"You would not risk Richard knowing of your own treason." John leaned back with a knowing smile. "What do you want? Money? Land?"

"You are wrong, Highness." Guy dropped his feigned indifference and straightened. "I seek neither. And, indeed, I would risk all to free myself from being in service to you or the Sheriff. Even if it means turning over evidence to the king of my own treachery."

John braced his hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward. "I do not believe you," he said at last. "I know you to be too self-serving to risk your life without the promise of personal gain."

"Try me," Guy challenged. "And we will see which of us is the more faint of heart."

"What is to stop me from summoning my guards and having you killed right here and now?"

"Nothing but this. The pact is not in my possession, nor can it be found anywhere in Nottinghamshire. You are welcome to scour all of Europe for its whereabouts. But know that if any harm should befall me or mine at any time, I have left orders that the pact be given immediately into the hands of the king himself." He moved closer, the dull thud of his sword against his leg a reassuring constant. Leaning down, he braced his hands against the white cloth covering the table and met the prince's gaze with his own.

The two stared at one another for agonizingly long seconds before John slumped in his seat.

"What is it you want?" he asked in a low voice.

"I want Vaisey removed from office in Nottingham and a new sheriff appointed in his place," Guy began.

John barked out a bitter laugh. "And I suppose you would like to take over for the Lord Sheriff?"

"No. Of course, I have some thoughts as to who should, but we will save that for another time."

"Fine," John snapped. "But I would not close your eyes to sleep at night, my Lord Gisborne," he said slyly. "Vaisey will not stand to see you overturn his position. And after all, who knows better than we the extent of his madness. I think him quite capable of anything."

"Vaisey will be taken care of," Guy stated flatly. "And you will allow it. You will tell your army to stand down and leave Nottingham unmolested."

John's chest rose and fell as he fought down the urge to call out to the guards he knew waited just outside the door.

"Have I your word, Your Highness?"

Closing his eyes, the prince entertained a fantasy of seeing Gisborne dragged out in chains. But he was at heart a cowardly man and would not risk all he had worked so hard to obtain in order to protect the likes of Nottingham's mad sheriff.

"Do what you will with Vaisey. I care not." He reached out and tore loose a handful of glossy purple grapes with barely restrained violence. Drawing in a deep breath, he fought for calm. "If that is all…" He popped a piece of fruit into his mouth with a show of deliberate indifference.

"Unfortunately it is not, Highness. I would have one other thing of you."

"Speak then and get out of my sight!"

"You will give up your schemes to gain your brother's throne."

"You go too far and forget to whom you speak!" John raged. "I will bow to no man's purpose but my own!"

"You will bow to this man's purpose," Guy vowed. "I am determined, Highness and will have my way or die trying."

"Then you will die," John declared brazenly.

"And in a matter of days your brother will have written proof of your treachery and everything you have worked for will be gainsaid." A taunting smile crossed Guy's face. "Do you suppose that you will face your executioner's axe with courage?" he asked. His expression changed to one of puzzlement. "Perhaps you think Richard will show you a brother's mercy. I suppose it is possible," he mused wonderingly. Tapping a finger against his chin, he turned a thoughtful gaze on the other man. "Though, I confess that I have some difficulty imagining you living out the rest of your life imprisoned and without the benefit of your many servants and the comforts of your riches. But you must forgive me," he smiled winningly. "For I am sure you will meet your fate – whatever it may be - with the dignity fitting a man of your stature."

"Of course," he continued in the same contemplative tone. "There is always the chance you could beg for a mother's intercession on your behalf. Poor Eleanor." Guy heaved a sigh. "To be torn between sons." His eyes widened mockingly. "Whichever one of you do you suppose she will choose to champion?"

John slumped in his chair and rubbed a shaking hand over his face.

"You are Richard's heir," Guy reminded him. "Right now you enjoy all the pleasures to be had as the king's beloved brother. I have seen to it that you will find no other path to the throne. Will you risk all of your wealth and privileges for the momentary pleasures to be had venting your revenge on me?" he asked in a silken tone.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Defeat slurred the prince's voice and Guy bit back a victorious smile.

"Let us just say that I have grown sick of selling my soul to men who would trample on it for a pound sterling. I would pledge my allegiance now to my family and be left in peace."

"Your family? So it is your pretty bride to whom I indebted for this change in circumstance," John spat venomously.

Guy's entire body went on alert. He withdrew the dagger concealed within his tunic and leaned menacingly close.

"If you so much as breathe her name or give her any cause for grief, I will make it my life's mission to end yours." Guy's breath wafted across the prince's face, the heat of it at counterpoint to the iciness of his gaze and John shrank back in abject fear. "In fact, you should probably pray that she does not so much as catch a cold."

Straightening, Guy sneered down at the other man from his towering height.

"I would recommend that you ask your priest to offer a number of Masses for my lady's continued good health, Your Highness," he growled. "It is at her behest that I control my baser instincts and without her guidance I would be as a beast unleashed.

A sudden change came over Guy's demeanor. "Take heart, my prince!" he said bracingly. A sunny smile lit his face. "Remember. I too have personal reasons for wishing to keep your brother in the dark about my own involvement in this matter. Be of good cheer and consider us united of a purpose – to live our lives in peace and prosperity."

He lifted a derisive brow. "Are we not of a like mind, Highness?"

John's body quivered with barely suppressed rage. Gnawing on a thumbnail, he nodded in dismal agreement. "Be gone now," he demanded. "I would not see your face, nor hear your name mentioned in my presence again."

"It is my fondest desire to accommodate you, sir."

Brushing back the leather of his coat, Guy laid a hand on the pommel of his sword, the threatening gesture at odds with the jovial tone of his voice. And refusing to offer the courtesy of a bow, he turned his back on the other man and left the room buoyed by a confidence he had not enjoyed an hour earlier.

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Guy considered now the state of his personal finances. Careful spending had allowed him to amass a small fortune which he had intended for use in purchasing back the Gisborne lands. But those plans would need to be set aside now.

Though he took no personal pleasure in it, he had done what he could to neutralize the threat against the king for Marian's sake. But Richard was a man who thrived in battle and Guy had little doubt that when this war ended, the king would find another. And there was no guarantee that Richard would not fall on some foreign battlefield. As long as Richard remained childless, John remained his rightful heir and the chances that John would ascend to the throne sooner rather than later were strong.

And when that time came, Guy knew he and Marian could no longer safely remain in England.

So he would take a portion of his fortune and purchase some land elsewhere. Perhaps in France, he thought. He wondered if Ghislaine would approve of that. And he would make plans to spirit Marian out of the country and to safety immediately upon word of Richard's death.

But that day was not here yet, he thought as he crossed the boundary-line that denoted Locksley land. He was determined to make his plans and then set them aside and enjoy his life with Marian.

Of course, there was still Vaisey to contend with. His brow wrinkled in distaste of the task which lay ahead. He gave brief consideration to turning about and going directly to the castle to see the plan through to its end but decided instead to wait until the next morning. Tonight, he would stretch his aching body out in his own bed and bask in his wife's company.

At last, horse and rider crested a hill and Guy could see the manor house of Locksley. The stallion, sensing home, picked up its pace and within a few moments they were cantering into the courtyard. Stabling his horse, Guy stripped the saddle from its back and ran a hasty cloth over its hide. Scooping up a measure of oats, he set the wooden bucket into the stall and ran his hand over the stallion's powerful neck in a quick and careless caress before exiting the building.

Smoke puffed lazily from the chimneys and a faint light glowed in the windows downstairs. Guy felt some of the tension lift from his shoulders as he pictured Marian dozing in the chair by the hearth. The thought that she might have tried to wait up for him in the hope that he would return home that evening pleased him enormously.

He pushed through the door, the eager greeting dying on his lips at the sight which awaited him. Wide-awake and seated at a table, Marian had indeed been keeping vigil for him, but with a most unwelcome guest. For seated uncomfortably close beside her was Vaisey. She shot her husband a veiled look.

"There you are, Guy." She struggled to greet him cheerfully. "The Sheriff has been awaiting you this evening."

Guy snapped to attention and inclined his head toward the other man.

"My lord?" he intoned respectfully. "What is amiss to draw you out here so late in the evening?"

"I have been looking for you for two days." Vaisey's voice was low and threatening. "Where have you been, Gisborne?" Guy felt a shiver of fear race down his spine. Something had gone wrong for it was obvious to him that for the first time in weeks, the Sheriff was relatively sober and clear-eyed.

It seemed to Guy that a million thoughts fluttered through his head all at one time and he fought for control. Chief among those thoughts was the fact that Vaisey was entirely too close to Marian for Guy's comfort.

"In Derby, my lord," he replied cautiously.

"Wykeham's estate?"

"Indeed, my lord," Guy kept his voice was steady and calm.

Vaisey's eyes narrowed.

"And what were you doing there?"

Guy blinked and adopted a quizzical expression. "I was there on your orders." From the corner of his eye he saw Marian's eyes widen but she gave no other indication of her surprise at his answer.

"On my orders?" A look of confusion crossed the older man's face.

"Yes, my Lord Sheriff. You instructed me to leave for Derby two days ago. Do you not remember?"

"I…"

Guy's mind was racing now, in an effort to stay ahead of Vaisey and not trip over a lie. He cautiously moved closer to the pair seated at the table.

"Marian, our guest looks thirsty. Why have you not offered him a drink?" He injected a stern note into his voice and shot her a warning glance.

"Of course." Interpreting her husband's meaningful look, Marian began to rise to her feet.

"Stay where you are, girl!" Vaisey's hand shot out and he yanked her back into her seat.

Guy stiffened and though his hand itched for his sword, he made no move for it. Not while the Sheriff remained in such close proximity to Marian.

"Have I offended you in some way, my lord?" he asked, adopting the submissively respectful tone he always used when speaking with the Sheriff.

"Every day, Gisborne," Vaisey muttered. "Every single day." He shot the younger man a challenging look. "Tell me about your business with Wykeham."

Guy's chest rose and fell on a long sigh and he lifted his hands in supplication.

"I was there by your orders," he repeated. "Prince John is his guest. The prince wrote to you asking for the status of our… progress," he said cryptically as though Marian were unaware of the existence of the pact. "You sent me to Derby to assuage his concerns while we continued to work on the… on the situation."

Again a perplexed look came over Vaisey's face and for a moment he seemed to Guy an old and vulnerable man.

"I… I do not recall." The Sheriff rubbed fretful fingers across his brow. The days and weeks of the recent past were a blur of alcohol-infused rages while awake and terrifying dreams in his sleep. His hand shook as he lowered it to the table.

He looked up at his master-at-arms. Though Gisborne's face bore the same combination of obedience and patience – along with a barely concealed sneer of haughtiness and disdain – there was something alarmingly off-putting in his manner. Vaisey cared not if he had Gisborne's respect as long as he had his loyalty. He could not put his finger on what was different, but something in the other man's demeanor had the hairs on the back of his neck rising in warning.

"I do not believe you," he breathed at last. "I have no recollection of sending you to Derby, nor would I ever send you to intervene on my behalf with the prince."

"My Lord Vaisey." Guy raised placating hands. "You have not been yourself of late," he began in a conciliatory tone.

"Do you want to know what I believe?" Vaisey clamped one hand firmly around Marian's arm and watched with amused interest as Gisborne twitched in response.

"Gisborne!" he rapped out sharply demanding the other man look at him.

"I asked you a question."

Vaisey noted the way Gisborne's chest rose and fell as he drew in a calming breath and the Sheriff made no effort to hide the amusement he felt at the younger man's display of discomfort, just as he took sadistic pleasure in the tension evident in the slender arm held in his relentless grip.

"My lord?" Guy finally dragged his gaze away from his wife.

The sheriff leaned forward. "I believe that you went to Derby in order to distance yourself from me. Did you lay all the blame for the missing pact at my feet?" His voice lashed out like a whip.

"Of course not, my lord."

"You went to the Prince to offer him your fealty, did you not? What is it, Gisborne? Do you want to be Sheriff?" he spat.

"No!" Guy shook his head, struggling to maintain a submissive tone. Things were escalating too quickly. He had to find a way to get Marian free from the Sheriff.

"If you went on my orders, why was your wife unaware of your whereabouts?" Vaisey's hand moved suddenly to tangle in Marian's hair. She winced as he gave the delicate strands a painful tug but refused to cower away from him.

"My husband tells me little of his duties on your behalf for he knows I do not approve," she said scornfully.

"Oh, is that so? Sparing the leper the finer details so she will love you, eh Gisborne?" Vaisey gave his fingers a vicious twist and Marian could not help the tiny cry of pain which escaped her lips.

At the end of his tether, Guy's hand flew to the pommel of his sword and he unsheathed the weapon. Taking a threatening step forward, he pointed the lethal blade at the Sheriff.

"Please take your hands off my wife." The politely worded request was a low snarl of warning.

"No." Vaisey leapt to his feet and yanked Marian out of her chair. Guy surged forward, coming to an abrupt stop as a glinting flash of metal caught his eye. A small sheath dangled emptily from the sheriff's belt, the lethal blade of his dagger pressed just beneath Marian's breast. Her hand was wrapped around the sheriff's wrist in an effort to pry the knife away from her body.

"Drop it," Vaisey ordered. At Gisborne's hesitation, he moved the knife closer to Marian, the tip of the blade catching menacingly on the delicate fabric of her gown.

The sword fell from Guy's suddenly nerveless fingers. Once again he raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Easy. Please. Just… do not hurt her."

Vaisey smirked, pleased by the desperately pleading tone of the other man's voice. Now, perhaps, he would get the answers he wanted.

Heart in his throat, Guy chanced looking at his wife. Her back to Vaisey, she met her husband's anguished gaze with utter calm and, to his shock, a hint of mischievousness. Her eyes widened purposefully. A small smile touched her lips and he tensed, ready for he knew not what.

Marian's fingers tightened around the sheriff's wrist. She raised her leg and slammed the hard sole of her booted foot into his kneecap. Vaisey's painful cry mixed with the sickening sound of crunching bone. She tore herself free of his grasp and as he staggered back, Guy rushed forward.

Wrapping his hand around the Sheriff's throat, Guy shoved him against a wall. Vaisey gasped – in pain and in an effort to draw air into his lungs. His hands flailing out in desperation, he sliced the dagger across Guy's arm. The blade bit through the leather surcoat, drawing blood from the wound and a soft, gasping cry from Marian's lips.

"Guy!"

Guy grabbed Vaisey's wrist with his free hand and smashed it into the wall repeatedly until the dagger fell from the older man's nerveless fingers with a dull clatter. Guy used his superior height and strength to cage the other man and his fingers tightened threateningly around his neck.

"Have you lost your mind, Gisborne?" the Sheriff gasped. "Remove your hands at once!" Impatient bravado colored his voice.

"I worried that I might have some regret. But you dare come into my home and touch what is mine?" He pressed his thumb against the other man's windpipe and watched with satisfaction as wary concern replaced the bluster. "You put your hands on my woman? Perhaps I should thank you for making it easier."

"You do realize that there are none who will miss you?" he continued in a conversational tone which frightened Vaisey to his core. "The people of Nottingham will celebrate when you are gone." He let out a snarl as the Sheriff began to struggle in earnest for his freedom.

"You… you would not… dare," Vaisey gasped. His hands flew up and he scrabbled to pry Guy's implacable grip from his throat. "The prince… Nottingham will…" He gagged and coughed. "Nottingham will be obliterated and she will hate you for that forever." He reminded the other man of the safeguards he had put into place to protect himself.

"Ahh. But you see, unfortunately you were right, my Lord Sheriff." Guy leaned close and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I did go to see John for my own purpose. And he has been persuaded to lift the protection he has offered you," he said with a terrifying smile. "Hell is waiting for you, Vaisey," he continued quietly. "I am sure that I will one day see you there, but until then…"

Straightening, he tightened his grip punishingly. Unrelentingly. He was dimly aware of Marian standing close by. Though he imagined that she wished to turn away from the Sheriff's desperate struggle for life, she remained nearby, a steady presence.

Guy felt the life ebb from the Sheriff as his face turned red, then blue and his eyes bulged from their sockets before rolling back in his head, but he did not loosen his grip even when the other man's body sagged limply beneath his hands.

"Guy." Marian laid a cautious hand on his back. "Guy, it is over. You can let go now."

He turned his head toward her and blinked dazedly before easing Vaisey onto the floor. Staring at the lifeless body, a shudder rippled down his spine and he bent at the waist to brace his hands against his knees.

"Guy." Marian crowded close and wrapped her arms around him, laying her cheek against his back. "I will not pretend that I am sorry to see him gone." Her voice was muffled against the leather of his coat. "Not when he has brought so much misery to others. Most especially you," she whispered, and her arms tightened fiercely around him.

Taking a deep breath, he looked over his shoulder to meet her gaze.

"But I am truly sorry that we made you do this," she lamented as she felt him shiver in her embrace. "It was unfair and I fear too much to ask of you."

Guy turned and lifted a hand to her cheek. Threading his fingers through her hair, he watched the firelight tease out red and gold highlights in the silken strands.

"Do you want to know what I am feeling?" he asked.

"Yes." She cupped her hand over his. "Tell me. Please."

"I feel… free." He drew in a deep breath before expelling it on a long sigh of satisfaction. "For the first time in a long time… since before my father left us behind to go off to war, I feel free."

He smiled and shrugged.

"And I thank you for that," he whispered.

A brilliant smile broke across her face and then she was leaping up to wrap her arms around his neck. He banded his arms around her hips, lifting her from the ground. Peppering kisses over her face, he spoke of his love for her and spun her about in giddy circles.

At last they came to a stop, dizzy with relief and their lips met in a long sigh of a kiss. Her hands slid from his shoulders and her expression sobered when she encountered bloodstained leather.

"Your arm!"

He glanced down, the ache making itself known now that he was reminded of the wound. "It is not bad," he assessed as he flexed his arm.

"Sit down." She urged him toward the table, intent on stripping off the blood-soaked coat so that she could see how much damage had been done, but he held out a forestalling hand.

"Marian," he asked. "Does anyone know that he was here?"

Her husband's urgent tone caught her attention.

"I do not think so." She cast a glance toward the back of the kitchen where the servants' quarters were housed. "He arrived here after I had dismissed the staff for the evening and just before I was about to retire to our chamber. Why?"

"I think it would be better if no one knew of our involvement in his death," he warned.

"You did gain John's cooperation," she asked. "You were not just saying that were you?"

"No," he said reassuringly. "I was able to persuade John to see things our way. But still, I think it best that no one know about what happened here tonight. He had many supporters," he reminded her.

She nodded and creeping quietly toward the kitchen, listened intently to the sounds of the house. Miraculously it seemed that no one else had been awakened during the confrontation with Vaisey and she whispered a quick prayer of thanks for thick stone walls before returning to her husband's side.

"What do you propose we do?"

Guy hoisted Vaisey's corpse from the floor and draped it over his shoulder with a grunt.

"Bury him."

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Sweaty and out of breath from his exertions, Guy dragged himself up the stone staircase. Once inside their chamber, he collapsed into a chair as Marian stoked the fire. Pouring water into a metal basin, she set it on the hearth to warm.

"Come." She laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Let us get you out of these filthy things." He had wrapped Vaisey's corpse in his leather surcoat before lowering it into the grave and now she pulled at his dirt-crusted tunic and trousers.

"You will have to wait until tomorrow for a bath," she commented as she set his boots aside and tugged the tunic over his head. "But we will see what we can do to get you cleaned up."

She set a candle down on the table near him and had him rest his arm on the rough wood. Taking up a cloth, she dipped it in water and began to dab at the blood encrusted wound.

"I am sorry," she murmured. The dried blood gave way beneath her ministrations and fresh blood began to flow freely again. He shook his head and grunted as she continued to clean the wound. Finally satisfied that she had thoroughly removed any dirt from the wound, she studied it closely for a long moment.

"I am not sure, but I think it may need to be sewn."

Guy glanced down at the angry slash across his bicep. "It is not that deep." He shook his head tiredly. "Just wrap it." His jaw made a popping noise as a deep yawn wracked his frame.

Dipping her fingers into a pot of salve, she smoothed the thick ointment over the wound.

"Will you tell me what happened with John?" She wrapped a length of cloth around his bicep and secured the ends in a tight knot. Lifting the basin of warm water to the table, she soaked a clean cloth and soaped it.

Guy closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair and as he basked beneath her attentions and the gentle bathing she gave him, he spoke to her in minute detail of his audience with the prince.

When he was finished, he opened his eyes and it was all he could do not to leap up and shout with joy at the obvious approval which shone in hers.

When she had rinsed away the last of the soapy residue on his chest and arms, he rose and crossed the room. Stretching out on the mattress, he let out a low groan of contentment and watched his wife strip out of her garments and into a clean chemise. Standing next to the bed, she pulled a brush through her hair.

"So?" she asked suddenly, startling him out of a light doze. "I am your woman, am I?" she asked, referring back to something he had said earlier.

He pushed himself up onto one elbow. "You are my wife," he said simply, and reaching out with the other hand, he tugged her onto the mattress beside him.

Marian plumped the pillow beneath her cheek and regarded him closely. "I am," she confirmed, and cupping a protective hand over the slight swell of her stomach, she smiled a private smile, drawing a puzzled look from her husband.

"And do you think that someday you will be able to say that proudly?" he asked with an unaccustomedly boyish shyness.

Marian shifted closer and pressed her lips against the bandage which stood out with a stark white brilliance in the dimly-lit room. Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she snuggled close.

"Someday is closer than you may think." Hiding a delicate yawn behind one hand, she drifted into sleep.

Guy tugged the blankets around her shoulders and, craning his head, brushed his lips over her brow. Wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace, he reflected that though he may one day follow Vaisey into hell, he could live with that thought.

For he knew that he had found heaven here on earth.

A/N: Just the epilogue (which is fully written and just needs a wee bit of editing) and then we're done!