Long chapter ahoy! I really did try my best to edit it down.
XIX
The Broken Cross
The chaotic week seemed to spin past Rebecca. It seemed as if, almost overnight, the entire shire had been turned upside down. First it was the mysterious disappearance of the Sheriff, next it was the suspicious absence of their former lord and master, Guy of Gisborne. It was as if he had just vanished. Lady Isabella offered little explanation for the suddenness of his absence. Only that he had fallen from the Prince's favour and had made good of his escape. Far from seeming distressed over this news, Isabella had seemed remarkably joyful and had announced that she would be the lady of the manor. Many of the villagers were uncertain of the lady, but others were equally ready to have a new and possibly fairer leader. Isabella quickly proved herself to be a just and kind mistress. Within a day she had won over most of the villagers trust by partitioning out extra rations of food from her own kitchens. She gave the villagers a day of rest, stating that she would like to visit each of them to get to know them better. This was all the excuse the people needed to give Isabella a chance. Already she was proving to be of far better and different stock then her demonic brother.
Rebecca tried desperately not to worry. At all times she could feel her heart pounding within her chest, so hard she thought it might burst open at the very mention of Guy's name. He was missing; possibly an outlaw. She should be out in Sherwood searching the woods for him, not lounging about in Locksley practically a free woman. Yet, Isabella had convinced her to forget him and lord knew she was trying, but it was agonizing to want to forget and to fear all at the same time. It would be better if she knew that Guy was safe, at least then she could move on and not wonder if he was cold or starving or hurt. She kept these worries to herself; however, knowing that if she ever voiced them aloud Isabella was likely to ban her from the manor.
Far from breathing a sigh of relief with the rest of the village, Rebecca was waiting on tenterhooks. Isabella had promised her freedom, money, and a position in this new Nottingham she had such plans on building. So far, nothing had come of the aid she had provided. Isabella kept hinting that very shortly she would be rewarded, and while Rebecca had not helped Isabella for the sake of monetary gain, she could not but think of the benefit it would be.
Yet, Isabella was not entirely content with just taking control of Locksley. She had been setting her sights on becoming the new Sheriff of Nottingham. Rebecca had been sceptical of the idea. There had never been a woman in such a position of power before. She should be grateful she was allowed to remain Lady of Locksely unchallenged. Rebecca should have guessed that this would never be enough for her. She was growing rather afraid of her new mistress's ambitions.
That evening her fears were doubly justified, for Isabella returned to Locksley in a high state of dudgeon. "Isabella, is something the matter?" Rebecca asked she removed her riding cloak. Isabella's face was a mask of dark secrets and her eyes were burning with indignation.
"Is something the matter? Is that all you can say?" Isabella snapped.
"Well...I..."
"It is Prince John. The Prince and all of his blood sucking little sycophants. All crowded around him asking for this county or that shire or this castle...and none with the brains to rule any of it."
"I don't think I understand your meaning...."
"Am I not a capable and intelligent woman, Becca?" Isabella asked.
"Of course ya are. No one's said otherwise that I can tell. What--"
"Then should I not have as good a claim as any to become the new Sheriff of Nottingham?" Isabella shouted causing Rebecca to jump.
"But...forgive me, Isabella, ya are a woman. An' no lady has ever been Sheriff before. Ya can't really think it likely the Prince would choose ya?"
"But he will choose me." Isabella said, picking up a candelabra from the table before her, "I know I have made a few poor connections in my time here, but soon he will realize who is real allies are and he will come begging me to take up the position. He thinks this Lord Sheridan is his greatest friend. The man is a great imbecile."
Rebecca followed her lady, holding her own candle. "Sheridan?" She asked.
"Royal Keeper of the Keys, and a supposed loyal friend of the Prince." Isabella explained to an astonished Rebecca.
"And ya think the Prince means to chose this man over ya?" Rebecca asked.
"I think he will, but I intend to make sure he does not." Isabella laughed as the two of them entered into the foyer. "I mean what does Sheridan know about Nottingham anyway?" She said snidely as she placed the candelabra atop one of the tables. Rebecca quietly shut the door behind her, with a small smile. "Stupid old fool." Isabella muttered.
Rebecca was about to speak when another voice caught her completely by surprise. "Hello, sister."
Guy of Gisborne emerged from the shadows of the room like a wraith of darkness. Isabella was startled only for a moment before she attacked. Rebecca flew backwards, clinging to the wooden pillar as she watched the two siblings fight. Guy had unsheathed his sword and seemed hellbound to slay his sister where she stood.
"Guy, please...please just wait!" Isabella pleaded as she tried desperately to evade his attacks.
"What for you to betray me again?" He accused, the acid of his hate was not what frightened Isabella, it was the reality of the cold steel he swung at her.
"You got what you deserved!" Isabella hissed like a viper before she was grabbed by the hair and flung up against the wall. Rebecca let out a slight yelp of horror at the sight.
"And you," Guy said holding his sword up against Isabella's throat, "will get what you deserve."
Rebecca closed her eyes. He was going to kill her. She could not watch him murder his own sister. The candle holder fell from her hands and she covered her ears with her hands. She pressed her head against the pillar. He was going to kill Isabella and she had no doubt he would kill her next for aiding her. She could hear her own blood roar, as she pressed her hands to her ears, but she did not hear any screams or cries for mercy. Very slowly she opened her eyes. Spots of light danced before her line of sight as her eyes cleared. Isabella was still alive, and her brother was still standing over her, sword pressed to her throat...but so far it appeared he had not hurt her. She could see that they were talking, and very carefully she let her arms drop back down to her sides as her breathing returned to a normal rattle in her heaving chest.
"...but for that you need me alive. Kill me and you kill your last chance back with the new king. Let me live and we'll both get what we want." Isabella's voice was surprisingly calm in the face of her would be murderer.
The sword lowered as Guy took a step back away from his sister. Isabella raised a hand to her throat as if to make sure that her head was still firmly attached to her shoulders. "Do we have a deal?" She asked.
Guy nodded, sheathing his sword. The murder had not yet left his eyes and Isabella must have noticed it. "You should rest then...and we can talk more in the morning. Becca," she said a bit unsteadily for once as she walked over to the cowering servant. She took her arm, drawing her out of her hiding spot, "show my brother to a suitable room."
The look of pure hatred which, up until now had been reserved for Isabella was now directed straight at Rebecca. She trembled at the sight of it. She tried to formulate words, but her mouth made no effort to accommodate her. In her nervous state she nearly left the room without a candle to guide her. Doubling back she picked up her fallen candle-holder and relit the candle. She led her former master from the foyer out into the shadowy hall beyond. He did not speak to her, but he followed. Rebecca felt his eyes burning into the back of her head. She dared not turn around, but she feared she would find a knife in her back if she did not glance behind her occasionally. She placed a sheen of ice around herself. She would not concern herself with how much he hated her. He had brought it all on himself. She cared not. He had let her go and she was drowning, but she would learn. She cared not.
***
While this ice covering her heart was still half frozen Rebecca had assisted Isabella that morning. Like an automaton she followed her; going back into the servant's quarters to collect the little box that contained all the medicines that she and her mother had so diligently kept organized and accessible. Perhaps Isabella had not been lying to safe her life when she told Guy she wanted to change things. Rebecca left both brother and sister alone thinking this hopeful thought, but that was before she heard the crash.
Turning on her heels she flew back downstairs, thinking the two siblings were fighting again. What she saw; however, was far from that. Guy was laying slumped over the table and Isabella was holding one of the bottles from the medicine box. Rebecca stared, mouth agape.
"Concentrated Valerian root. Enough to knock out a horse. Now, I doubt Lord Sheridan would have thought of that one." Isabella chuckled.
"What did ya do?!" Rebecca squeaked, ashamed that her voice had grown so thin and wavering.
Isabella turned to look up at her servant. "Ah, Becca, good...help me get him upstairs so I can secure him until the Prince arrives."
"Isabella!" Rebecca made her way down the rest of the staircase. She was blocked from getting to Guy, "What did ya do t' him?"
"Stop whining." Isabella sighed, "He's fine. Your precious Guy is unhurt."
"Ya poisoned him. Ya didn't have t' do that." Rebecca said.
"Yes I did. He is going to my gift to the Prince and my way back into his good graces." Isabella explained haughtily, "Now help me get him upstairs and tied down so he can be handed over to the Prince's soldiers."
"No." Rebecca said recoiling, horrified. "The Prince'll kill him!"
"That is the point."
"I won't let ya do that, Isabella, Guy's your brother. Ya can't kill your own brother." Rebecca said.
"You will do what I tell you, Becca." Isabella said, shoving Rebecca aside.
"We had a deal! If I helped ya, ya said ya wouldn't hurt him!" Rebecca cried.
"Oh, Becca," Isabella sighed, cupping Rebecca's face in her hand, "I lied." And then she laughed, cold and icy enough to melt Rebecca's own prejudices and the frost she had wrapped about her own heart. "It's time you made a choice, Becca. Guy will be executed and I will be made Sheriff of Nottingham. You can die with him or you can help me. I promise you, your loyalty will be rewarded. On that I am not lying."
Rebecca stood aghast, heart pounding in her chest. She looked to the wild and mad eyes of the woman she had trusted; her friend; the child she had once loved and realized the Isabella she knew was dead. She looked over to the prone and helpless figure of Guy. Her choice was made. "Take Guy up t' his room, my lady; I'll fetch the rope."
***
Rebecca stood at the bottom of the staircase, her head leaning against the banister. Isabella had praised her to the highest. She promised her the entire world; anything she could want. She wanted nothing. She didn't even have the energy to look the woman in the eye. There was only one thought racing through her tired mind: she had been betrayed again. She had stood by Isabella because she had led her to believe that she still recalled the friend she once had been to her. Perhaps she did. Perhaps the only reason that she wasn't dead or tied up to a bed upstairs was because Isabella did remember all that she had done and she was reluctant to harm her. Rebecca almost wished she had, instead of tricking her, instead of making her feel wanted only to discover she had been used.
So, hollowed and exhausted she watched as Isabella made her way from Locksley to fetch the Prince. How long did she have until she returned? An hour or two at most? Then that was plenty of time.
Trudging up the stairs she made her way into Guy's former bedchamber. She dared not look at him, knowing that this was her fault. That she had put him there. Glancing out the window with a nervous eye, she made sure that no one was near. Of course no one was coming...she had time. That was when she turned to face him.
She leaned forward, her hand out to carefully untie the first knot binding his wrist to the bedpost. That was when, like a dragon, Guy sprang awake. Launching at a suspected attacker he grabbed Rebecca by the throat. She coughed, her hand suddenly going to pry his fingers off of hers. Startled to see her, he released her. She took a few steps back, coughing and rubbing at her neck. She glared at him, but he could not be blamed for his reaction. He was scared. She went back over to him and he tried to move away from her, but he only managed to strain against his bonds, the gag over his mouth muffled any curses he wanted to shout at her.
She hushed him distractedly as she clumsily latched onto one of the knots and began to untie it. Realizing what she was doing, Guy stopped pulling at the ropes. Rebecca worked silently to undo the first knot. She purposefully tied it falsely tight. It came away with relative ease, as did the second one. With his hands untied Guy sat up and pulled off the gag. Then like a freed wild animal he tackled Rebecca against the wall. She yelped in terror, but his hand covered her mouth as he hissed at her. "What do you think you are doing?"
Moving his hand away to hear her answer she stared at him spitefully, "I am saving your sister from making a terrible mistake."
"What would you care?" He spat. "Hasn't she promised you everything?"
"Nothing I cherished. Nothing I needed." Rebecca snapped.
"This is a trap." Guy concluded. "You will tell me to run and there will be guards down below waiting for me."
She shook her head, "No. Isabella is gone, an' ya don't have much time if ya want to run."
"Why should I trust you, wench?"
"Because I," She said, her voice shaking with rage, "never betrayed ya!" He did not believe her still. She pushed at him, realizing how repulsive his touch was to her. He backed away.
"Now quickly," She said in the silence, "tie me t' the bed an' cover me with the sheets. If Isabella still thinks she has ya here, it'll buy ya some time."
"Becca..."
"Don't!" Rebecca shouted, turning on him. If he was beginning to realize how wrong he had been then that was his misery to admit. She would have nothing more to do with him after this. At least this way she would be assured of his escape and of his safety. She could live the rest of her life knowing that he was alive, but she could never see him again. Her heart could not allow it. She had to learn how to survive on her own now. She sat down upon the bed and pressed her wrists together, stretching them out towards him. "Tie me up. I'm saving your life, and God help me, Guy it'll be the last I ever do for ya."
He was staring at her in confusion. She could see a brief flash of contrition in his eyes and for one second she thought he would apologize to her. That he would ask her to flee with him into the woods and to god knows where. Once she would have gone with him. Now...she hurt too much to trust him again.
He approached her, pulling the rope down from the posts behind her. He took her hands in his and began to bind them. He did not tie the rope tight about her wrists and he held her hands with such surprising gentleness it almost brought tears to Rebecca's eyes. "She will kill you." Guy whispered.
"I am already dead." The words fell from Rebecca's mouth with such swiftness and surety their meaning could not be misunderstood. Guy looked up at her, so now he understood that they were not so very different after all. She stared at him blankly as she saw this recognition of similar pain pass over his features. Oh, how long had she wished to see such a look? How long had she been trying to show him she could have been the confidant and friend he had so sought? But too late, she bewailed silently, too little and too late.
With her bound hands she managed to grasp the cloth beside her which would serve as a gag. She handed it off to Guy and he tied it about her face. She laid herself down upon the bed and he covered her up with the sheet and she knew it would be the last she ever saw of him.
Guy stood back and away from the bed. What had just happened? Rebecca was a traitor, he had found proof enough of that; then why was she risking her life to save his? Guilty conscious? Or had she been telling him the truth all this time? But that thought was unbearable. She was indeed a fool to think he would escape without first taking his revenge upon his sister. He concealed himself behind the door. When she came in he would strike. He lurked in his hiding place for no more than a few passing minutes when he could hear voices coming from below. Isabella had returned with the Prince.
"I wanted to give you a personal coronation gift." Came Isabella's silky and treacherous voice as she sauntered casually back into the room. Guy could see the swish of her dress as it flowed over the wooden floorboards, as smooth as snakeskin. The Prince lagged just a pace or two behind, standing beside the bed unimpressed but petulantly curious. "So you bring me to your bedchamber?" He mocked.
"I give you my brother." Isabella said triumphantly, "Guy of Gisborne!" She pulled back the covers of the bed only to stare down in confusion and stuttering horror at Rebecca. And in that expression of feigned terror in her servant's eyes she knew she had been outsmarted by the fool.
In that moment of disarray Guy made his move. He darted out from behind the door and took hold of the Prince, knife in hand. His sister screamed for the guards, but Guy knew he had the upper hand. "Look what you've done to me Isabella." He spat, "you've betrayed me. Both of you!" With that he threw Prince John against the wall and made his escape.
He ran down the flight of stairs, making sure he was one step ahead of the guards, he knocked over one of the shelves, blocking the path. He tore from the manor like a rat fleeing a legion of cats; down around the back of the manor he ran, tearing into the forest just beyond. He even laughed, feeling the maddening rush of freedom course through his veins for just a moment. It was the most alive he had ever felt in a long time.
Just then he fell. Something had managed to tangle between his legs and he went down to the ground with a dull thud. Whatever he had tripped over he had kicked it with his boot heel upwards so that it landed beside him. As he rose to scramble back to his feet he realized he had been felled by a poorly carved cross. A chill ran down his spine, slowing his movements. He picked up the cross to examine it and realized with a horror unlike any he had ever known that it was his name written on the cross...a marker for a grave. As he made to throw the sickening omen away his eyes got another detail. There inscribed with a faint and almost illegible hand was a far more colder and darker truth upon the cross:
Guy Tanner
1174
With a cry, Guy let the grave marker fall from his hands, as they were shaking. Recalled to reality with his movement he turned and ran as far away from the little grave as he could. The small and plain cross burning like a brand across his eyes as he fled now from more than the fear of any mortal punishment.
Late Winter 1173
"Ill again, my girl?" Gemma snapped as she tried to rouse her sleepy eyed daughter from her cot.
Rebecca groaned, she had only just been released from her captive state nearly a month ago and ever since then she had been heavily sick. Rebecca thought she was dying, Gemma thought she was forcing her own illness upon herself, but whatever the cause, it could not be questioned that the girl was looking pale and sickly.
As Rebecca rolled over her first instinct was to grab the bucket which she kept at the side of her bed, just in case she felt the need to be ill again, but thankful there was no pressing need. She pushed the covers off of her and swung her legs over the side of the cot. She shook her head, although her hair was matted with sweat and her eyes were bleary and red. "M'fine." She muttered.
Gemma placed a hand upon her forehead, her face a line of a frown. "No fever. I'd say that counts for something. Right then, my girl, up ya get an' make yourself useful 'round here. An' no sneaking off back to bed in the middle o' the afternoon. Ya ain't the Lady o' this manor. Chores t' be done."
Shivering with the chill of the deep winter air, Rebecca grabbed her work dress to slip on over her white shift. This hardly did anything to keep out the cold, but Gemma would be the one to tell her that cold was good for hard workers. The more you worked the warmer you'd be. Normally, Rebecca would not complain, but today the world was spinning and she could not find a straight line to walk upon. She trundled silently into the kitchens and accepted a bowl of plain gruel from one of the maids. It was about all she could keep down, and she rejected the small piece of bread being handed to her.
She ate quietly and slowly, finding every bite as repulsive as the last. Almost the moment she put her spoon down for good she found she had to bolt from the kitchen and out a side door which led to the snowy grounds outside to vomit up the little breakfast she had just consumed. Stooping low and gasping for breath as the sickness left her, she leaned against the wall of the doorway. The chill air of winter was a comfort against her. She almost felt as if she could fall asleep in that very spot when her mother found her and dragged her back indoors.
"Are you trying to catch your death out there, my girl. Here," she handed her a handkerchief, not waiting for Rebecca to respond, "Wipe your mouth, ya look like the dead."
Rebecca actually managed a small chuckle at that as she did as her mother asked. Rebecca had been morbidly amused in a great deal of deathly things of late. She found her illness to be some great joke; a point she had been trying to prove to her mother.
"All settled now?" Gemma asked.
Rebecca nodded, her stomach did indeed feel less like a tumultuous storm and her head was beginning to clear. It was always this way. The mornings were the worst, the day progressed with very little interruption, but her lethargy was a permanent affliction. "I'll get t' my chores now, mum." She sighed.
"Wait." Gemma ordered gruffly. She seemed to be reluctantly holding her daughter back, but her concern for her health seemed to have finally taken priority over the regular chores of the household. "This sickness has gone on far enough. There's a woman in the village. A right healer some folks say. You're gonna go t' her, see if she can't set ya straight."
"I don't want a healer." Rebecca muttered.
"I know, ya want t' die moaning and bewailing your fate like some tragic maid in a child's tale, but it won't do, Becca. Your sick, plain an' simple and it ain't catching, whatever it is. The healer'll know what's the matter and that'll be the end o' it." Gemma said firmly. "Take a cloak. The sooner ya go, the sooner ya can get back and get on with it."
***
Bundled up tight against the winter wind, Rebecca made her way into the village. The home that she was looking for was on the outskirts of the village. Unsure if her directions had been right, but faithfully believing that her mother had not steered her wrong, she knocked upon the old door twice. She received no answer the first time, befuddled by this she knocked once more.
The door swung open, "I would have thought the weather enough to ward off any patients for the day. Well? What is it that you want?" The woman of the old hovel stood with her hands on her hips as she stared down the wind battered form of her visitor.
"I...I was..."
"Speak up there, girl, I haven't got all day." The woman snapped.
"Are ya...Matilda the healer?" Rebecca asked.
"Yes, an' this is my home. You still haven't told me what you want. Now speak up, are you a woman or a mouse?" Matilda said.
"My mum sent me. Said ya know..what..what was wrong..."
Matilda sighed, "Get in." She said, "No sense in asking you what ails you while your standing in a thick of snow." She led Rebecca inside her home. It was surprisingly warm on the inside.
A young girl was sitting upon the bed. She gave Rebecca a smile and a wave. Rebecca waved back. "My daughter, Rosa." Matilda grunted out an introduction.
"She is lovely." Rebecca said, feeling her gift of speech returning to her now that she was out of the cold and realizing that this woman was not so very fierce after all.
Matilda nodded at the compliment and offered Rebecca a chair. She sat down, pulling her cloak about her shoulders, still reluctant to take it off. She felt unsure as to why she had come in the first place. "Now," Matilda declared, "What brings you to my home on such a fine day as this one?"
Rebecca laughed a little, "Nothing...I came for the sake o' my mum. She thinks I'm sickening for something. Wouldn't leave me be 'till I agreed t' see ya."
"Young girls should listen to their mothers." Matilda chided, "Maybe she's more astute than you care t'know."
"Maybe." Rebecca agreed with a light smile, "At any rate. It's nothing serious. Just a sickness in the mornings an' times during the day. Makes my head spin an' makes me tired. It passes though."
"Always in the morning?" Matilda asked.
Rebecca nodded, "Get's better later on. Like I said, jus' say it's nothing so my mum can stop worrying herself over it."
Matilda frowned and glanced at her up and down, examining her. "Smell o' cooking turn your stomach at times?"
"Sometimes...not always. I can eat fine most o' the time...except this morning." Rebecca shrugged.
"And how are you now?" Matilda asked.
"Fine, like nothing ever happened." Rebecca shrugged.
Matilda seemed to have already come to her own conclusions, but she had a few more questions for the girl, "Mum had to let out a few o' your dresses lately?"
Rebecca blushed, "Only a bit. It's winter...ain't it always the way t' get a bit rounder?" She joked.
"Tell me girl," Matilda asked, her voice lowering, "Are you..." this was a tender matter, she could not just barge in with a few short words and expect an answer. "That is...are you betrothed?"
She could see from the look upon Rebecca's face that this was not so. "I...I don't—what does that have t' do with anything?"
"A great deal I'm afraid." Matilda sighed. "For I do believe you are with child."
The cloak fell to the floor to spill about the legs of the chair. Rebecca sat as rigid as a rod for a moment. Her cheeks paling considerably and her eyes slowly going wider and wider. With shaking hands she covered her abdomen, looking down at it with fresh eyes. "That can't be." She whispered, the panic rising in her voice, "H-h-how can ya be sure? It can't..."
"I've dealt with many a young girl confused over the changes to her body. I am sure. Is the rogue of a father living in Locksley?" Matilda asked, although Rebecca had no words to reply. Frowning Matilda squinted her sharp eyes, studying the girl's face intently. "Though I do not think you're from this village, but I do recall your face..."
"I'm not from Locksley." Rebecca exhaled slowly, her voice a frightened whisper. "I was brought here...'bout a month ago."
"Dear Lord," Matilda said, "you came here with the rest o' the lot from Gisborne?"
Rebecca stared quietly at Matilda before nodded slowly. "My name is Rebecca, an' yes," she said, forcing the words out, "I used t' live in Gisborne."
"Rebecca..." Matilda repeated, "I've heard that name....you're..."
"I know what they used t' call me." Rebecca said quickly as she rose to her feet. "Apparently they were right, hm?"
Matilda stood up as well, "You should rest yourself, child." She advised.
"Matilda..." Rebecca said, "Swear that ya won't tell a soul." She begged and Matilda felt a tug of pity for the waif of a girl. She found herself agreeing without being told twice.
Rebecca picked up her cloak from the floor and draped it over her shoulders. She said her thanks in a cool tone and left the home of the healer. Outside the snow whipped past her face, freezing any tears she might have had. She walked, slowly at first, her astonishment freezing her limbs more effectively then the snow could. Then she began to smile. Then she laughed. She was the only one laughing in the dead winter morning. She ran, kicking up the snow as she ran back to Locksley. Her heart feeling lighter and filled with such a joy she knew not how to contain it.
She wrapped her cloak tighter over herself, as if to shield her child from the cold. In an instant she knew she would protect her child from far worse dangers than snow or winter. She knew that when she told her mother of this she would try to convince her to abandon the child. Well, she would not. Her baby had already been denied a father it would not be denied a mother as well; Rebecca was going to make sure of that.
A/N: Told I could do much, much worse then previously seen. Oh, but we're far from finished although things are going to start escalating even faster than before. How on earth are Becca and Guy going to manage now, hm? Next chapter will be up soon! Do review!
Also, some scenes of dialogue that appeared in this chapter are (c) BBC. And if you were wondering I started working on this story back when ep 8 first aired. That servant girl intrigued the heck out of me, don't ask me why.