MEG PONDERS GUY'S MYSTERIES

Meg stood at the table in the warm kitchen of Gisborne Hall, kneading a bowlful of bread dough. Guy was gone to Nottingham with Robin and Allan on business for the day, and, knowing them, they wouldn't be back until late, not with a stop at the Trip Inn figuring in their plans. If the snow continued, they might even stay for the night, and come back on the morrow.

She smiled to herself as she rolled the dough onto the floured surface of the table. If Guy were home, she certainly would not be on her feet, making bread. That was work for the servants, he would insist, and he'd have her settled in a well-cushioned chair instead, with her feet up and a cozy blanket covering her lap.

Ghislaine was four months old now, but her husband still fussed and worried over her as much as he had right through her pregnancy and after the birth, even though she assured him regularly that she felt perfectly well and strong. He had done the same thing when Rodger was born, and although his excessive coddling was at times annoying, she also found it endearing.

He had not been home to fret over her when Richard was born, however. He had been locked away, along with Robin, in King John's dungeons.

They had learned of King Richard's death, and the coronation of his brother John as the new king, five winters ago when Tuck and Archer had brought them word. Several anxious months followed this sobering news. Then, one terrible day, King John's guards had arrived in Locksley to take her husband and Robin back with them in shackles to London. Torn forcibly from Guy's arms, she would never forget the look in his eyes as he was led away from her.

How she and Marian got through the hellish weeks of waiting and wondering, she could not remember. They had both clung to hope that all would end well, but they also knew there was a very good chance that they would never see their husbands again. Every waking moment she had imagined Guy already dead, cruelly executed by the new king in revenge for his "betrayal" so many years ago. Night after long night she had laid awake, cradling her body swelling with the new little life she and Guy had made with their love for each other, and prayed for his safe return.

Marian and Matilda had been with her when Richard was born almost eight weeks later, after a long and tiring labour, but not Guy. By the time he and Robin were released and allowed to return to Locksley, his second son was already two months old.

Matilda had spent her days between Locksley Manor and Gisborne Hall for several weeks after that, to help Meg and Marian tend to their weakened, emaciated husbands and nurse them slowly back to health. As if the semi-starvation and filthy conditions they had to endure in the prison weren't enough, Guy had become very sick with a high fever shortly after his return home. Soon after, Rodger had also fallen ill.

What would I have done without Matilda? thought Meg. Or Anna? How would I have coped without her, with a newborn, a toddler, and a bed-ridden husband vying for my attention and care? Quiet, shy little Anna. She was the bravest one of all of us, and a rock of support for me.

Rodger was so sick at one point that I thought we were going to lose him. I couldn't tell Guy, he was so ill himself. I was afraid to leave Rodger's bedside, so I left Guy largely to Anna's care. Poor Anna, who was so afraid of him! But pity took the place of her fear when she saw him all weak and helpless, lying in his bed unable to get up. She sponged him off to cool his fever, bore up under his delirious ranting, and patiently spooned broth into his mouth as though he were a child.

He can shout at her all he wants now, but she just smiles and says "Yes, sir", and goes about her business. She wasn't afraid of him after that, and I don't think she ever will be again.

She looked down at the basket where her daughter slept peacefully. Ghislaine was a placid, good-natured baby, like Richard had been. Richard was quite besotted with his baby sister, and eager to play the role of "mother's helper" in any way he could.

He's such a sweet little boy, thought Meg. A steady character, so affectionate and kindhearted. He'll be my comfort in my old age.

She divided the bread dough in two, and oiled the loaf pans.

Rodger, well…. At the moment he's more taken with his pony than his sister. Out in the barn with him now, no doubt, feeding and grooming him.

Guy took such pains to find Rodger just the pony he wanted. Does our firstborn know that? Is he aware of the weeks his father spent scouring the horse dealer's markets in every town for miles around until he found what he was looking for, all in a desire to please his son and give him what he asked for?

It would be a black pony that he wanted, too. Black, with a spot of white. Like Guy. Black, dark, with that little spot of light, that spark of goodness in him. The good man underneath the darkness, the man I came to love.

Meg pressed the dough into the pans as she contemplated the mystery that was her husband.

Guy expects so much of Rodger, too much sometimes. He forgets that our son is still just a little boy. But I know why.

Every time he looks into Rodger's face, he sees himself. He doesn't want our son to follow in his footsteps, to do the things he's done. It's his chance to get things right this time, through our son, and not watch him make the same mistakes or have to live with the same regrets that he must live with for the rest of his life. So he sternly punishes every bad thing Rodger does, and tries to stamp out every wrong tendency or thought he sees in him.

Rodger is too young to understand. He's innocent, and I want him to stay that way as long as he can. He doesn't know what his father was, what he's done. Someday we won't be able to hide the truth from him, but I don't want him to know those things right now. Not yet.

Does he know how much his father loves him? Probably not. He only believes that his father is hard on him and he can never please him. He sees that the other children in the village have it much easier, and it hurts him.

Just when I think I have Guy figured out, though, he surprises me all over again, and sometimes pleasantly so. He gave him that pony right after Rodger disobeyed him. He punished him so severely, and then presented him with the new pony Rodger had given up all hope of ever owning. I don't know who was more shocked by the gift, our son or me.

Well, life with Guy has never been dull, and I don't think it ever will be. But from that night we spent in the dungeons of Nottingham Castle, when he poured out his heart to me as we both faced death, I knew we belonged to each other. If by some miracle we both survived, I vowed that I would join my life willingly with his. Robin and his friends provided the miracle by rescuing us, and I followed through with my vow. I have no regrets. I would do it all over again.

Robin, Marian, Allan—they all think they know Guy, but no one knows him the way I do. I'm the one who wakes up beside him at night when the memories of the people he killed torment him. I'm the one who holds him until he falls back asleep exhausted. Only I know the fear that haunts him every day, the fear that lurks around every corner of Locksley and Nottingham, the fear that someone waits his chance, with knife or sword or bow, to take his revenge on Guy for what he's done. It's his burden to bear for the rest of his days, and I can't help him. I love him so much, but try as I might, I can't take away his pain.

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She set the loaves to bake, wiped her hands, and picked up Ghislaine, who had just opened her big brown eyes and yawned. She sat down in the chair to rock her, and recalled Rodger's face when he had walked into their bedroom the night before, and been treated to the scene in his parent's bed.

Thank goodness we were mostly hidden from his young eyes under a thick bedcovering. My, the way Guy sprang from the bed and hustled our son out of the room, muttering curses unfit for the boy's ears at our interrupted lovemaking! Guy frightened him with his explosive temper, and Rodger has no way of knowing that his father wasn't as angry as he sounded.

"Tell him you're sorry," she had said to Guy, and Guy had agreed. But he had left early, before Rodger was awake, and she knew that by the time he came home, after he'd thrown back a few pints of ale with Robin and Allan, he'd have forgotten all about frightening his son.

Well, she would tell Rodger. She would explain the best she could. That's what mothers did. That's what women did. They smoothed over bumps, salved wounds, kissed away hurts, polished off rough edges.

And Guy certainly has his share of rough edges that need polishing. Oh, yes, if anyone knows that, I do.

She could still see Guy's eyes as he'd kissed her goodbye, shining into hers with the warm, intense glow that always followed their lovemaking.

"You look rather pleased with yourself," she'd whispered to him, and his smile had deepened, his roguish, sensual smile that still caused her pulse to race after ten years of marriage and three children. Those words had become their little private joke, for they were the first words she'd spoken to him the morning after they had been joined as husband and wife.

It had been so sweet, so good last night. Even better after the interruption, for she had been unable, after Guy crawled grumpily back into the bed beside her, to suppress her laughter, and soon the frown had left his face and he'd laughed, too. She loved to see him laugh, to see the way his whole body relaxed when he laughed. Then she was in his arms again, and he had made love to her as tenderly as he had on their first night together.

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She heard the front door open as she set Ghislaine back in her basket and went to check on the bread. Rodger came into the kitchen, his jacket and his boots covered in snow and bits of hay.

Just like his father, thought Meg, as the snow began to melt and make puddles on the floor, the floor Anna had just swept and scrubbed an hour ago. Never a thought to the messes they make that others have to clean up.

But one look into her son's sad face, and she stopped the scolding that was ready on her lips.

"You look like you've lost your best friend. What's wrong, darling?"

Rodger didn't reply right away. He stood at the table, twisting and rolling a bit of leftover dough in his hands. Meg didn't pry, didn't hurry his answer. He would talk when he was ready.

"Mother," he said at last, "do you think Prancer still likes me, or do you think he's mad at me, 'cause I ride Starlight now?"

"If you show him you still care, he won't be mad," she replied after a moment's pause. "He's a wise old pony, Rodger. He knows."

"I petted him and gave him a carrot," said Rodger. "But….I still feel bad, somehow."

"Prancer will always be your friend, don't you worry about that. But you're growing up, Rodger. Oftentimes to get something you want, you have to let something else go. I know it hurts—"

She stopped. Marian. That's who Guy gave up. He had to let her go, though it broke his heart to lose her. He couldn't have her, and he knew it. She belonged to Robin. He married me instead, and learned to be happy with another.

What will my son have to give up in the future? Will his heart be broken the same way?

Rodger's head bent down as he continued to twist the dough between his hands.

"Something else is bothering you, isn't it?" she offered. "What is it? Are you upset about last night?"

He sighed and looked up at her. Her son, with his brooding, solemn expression, his strong, angular face and piercing blue eyes, was a hazy mirror, an unfinished but still discernible reflection of Guy.

Guy is already in him, in this child we made together. All of Guy's strengths, and all of his weaknesses. All of his temper, his passion and his anger, and all of his vulnerability, are here in our son, our sensitive little son.

Life is going to hurt him, just like it has his father, and I can't always shield him from the hurt, any more than I can heal all of my husband's wounds. Will he learn to be happy just the same? Will he be strong, and learn to forge a life for himself out of pain and loss as his father has done? Will he be grateful for every day, and every joy that comes his way?

"Why was Father so angry with me?" asked Rodger. "You said if I had a scary dream I could stay with you, so why did he yell at me?"

Meg pulled her son close, wet jacket and all, and kissed the top of his curly head.

"He wasn't angry with you, Rodger. Your father didn't mean to yell at you."

"Then why did he?"

"Dear, it's hard to explain."

"You mean it's complicated?"

"Yes, it's complicated. You see, your father and I, well, sometimes we want to be alone. We were, we were loving each other, Rodger, when you walked in, and it startled us, that's all. That's why your father yelled at you. He wasn't really angry, and he's sorry he frightened you. Just remember to knock next time before you come in."

Is that why I heard them laugh? They were laughing at me? thought Rodger. And loving each other? But don't Mother and Father always love each other?

"Loving each other? What does that mean?" he asked aloud.

And then Mother said the familiar words, the ones he'd heard so many times before.

"You'll understand when you're older."