Somebody took offense because of the contents of the last chapter my friend wrote (Alan and the Sheriff). I m taking this very seriously; there is only this little hint, though, and there will not bemore. I think that it is not ooc for the Sheriff.

Illusions 8

Meanwhile…

The last days with Roger had taken their toll on Guy, more than he would admit to himself. Roger's face and the hint of a smile when he had talked about his childhood….If he had lain in this bed, what would he had talked about? About his father, aboutthe fact that he had known early enough that he, Guy, was the reason for his mother's unhappy marriage? You're a bastard Guy, although you bear my name. What would he have talked about? Of himself, standing helplessly beside his mother when Guillaume of Gisborne had hit her again and again? How he had tried to protect her and had pummelled the man with his little fists? Eventually the little boy had buried all his feelings inside and had never wept again, not even when Guillaume had whipped him cruelly, not even at his mother's grave. Sometimes he still saw her lying on the floor, a pool of blood under her head where she had fallen after her husband's fist had hit her in the face….What would he have to tell, if he died this very moment? Nothing, there was nothing he would like to remember; the few happy moments in his life had been nothing but illusions, illusions of life and illusions of success.

And now he would give Roger's kinsmen the illusion of a doting nephew.

The instant he rode into the courtyard, Guy knew that he had made a mistake. Obviously, the husband of Roger's aunt had just as little money as Roger's father. He looked around. The estate seemed to be copious; stables were adjusted to the house and the buildings was new but barely adequate for a baron. What kind of rubbish had Roger told him?

Chickens cackled and a few ragged children were playing in the yard, staring at him for a few seconds and then forgetting about him again. Obviously strangers didn't mean anything here. Guy dismounted from his horse; even if he should decide not to stay here - and at the moment he was very much inclined to journey on rather quickly – he was exhausted after the strenuous voyage. Everything remained quiet and Guy crossed the dusty yard to the door of the main building; he knocked and looked around again. Heavens, the Gringstows didn't live better than some peasants.

The door opened and in the a young, plump maidservant looked at him questioningly and wiped her hand on her skirt. "Fetch your master or mistress, I…." Guy said, and then heard footfall behind him and turned around, facing a woman, who looked at him, friendly. She was no longer young but still a beautiful woman; there were few silver strands in her raven hair and only the hint of wrinkles around her generous mouth and her fair blue grey eyes. Her azure dress was of good fabric and embroidered on neck and sleeves, but it had obviously seen better days. This had to be Anne of Gringstow, his aunt. Guy smiled at her affectionately. This was what Roger would have done; for himself it was only the movement of his facial muscles. Her eyes widened and she reciprocated his smile. "Roger? You have to be Roger." When Guy nodded, she clasped his hands. "I'm so happy to see you. We got your letter months ago and were afraid…." Guy had stiffened involuntarily. He hated it to be touched. Anne mistook it for embarrassment. "You are not well, are you? Come on in. Osgood will be back any moment."

Guy followed Anne into the house, while a groom led his horse into the stables. The great hall was tidy but rather simple. Shortly afterwards the maid put a bowl with steaming stew on the table, fresh bread, water and wine. Guy enjoyed the meal and pretended not to notice Anne's glances. She had believed him to be her nephew because of the stunning family likeness. But he knew he had to be careful. Sated, he sat back in his chair and looked at his aunt.

"I'm so glad that you've come," she repeated and smiled. "The last time I saw you, you were four years old and of course you don't remember me. When I visited your mother years ago, you had already begun your education as a squire. I would have loved to meet you again under …better circumstances. This calamity…I still can't believe it…" Ann smiled wistfully, her eyes moist; she blinked. "I noticed your astonished look. You were surprised when you saw our house. We have not been spared from harm either. Not far from here are the remains of our castle. Lightning struck and everything burned down. We were lucky to save our lives and most of the horses. A part of the harvest was destroyed too. Nevertheless we are happy that…."

Right at that moment, the door opened and Anne halted. "Osgood!" she greeted the huge bearded man who had entered. "Osgood, my nephew Roger has arrived."

"Good to see you, son," Osgood of Gringstow said evenly and placed his hand on Guy's shoulder. He was even taller than Guy, an imposing figure, at least 6''4. He seemed good-natured though. His grey scrubby hair and his wrinkles indicated that he was a lot older than Anne, but Guy saw how lovingly his wife glanced at him.

"It's been a while since we've got your letter and we already thought that you hadn't made it." Osgood said, sitting down. The maid placed another bowl of stew in front of him and he tucked in. "You did good coming to us…," he added. "…although your aunt has probably already told you that things changed around here. This is everything we managed to save. We don't know whether we'll be able to rebuild Gringstow…But our house is your home as long as you want to stay."

Guy was accustomed to hiding his thoughts and feelings, but he realised that he had not been prepared to meet these people and the welcome they had given him. Damn! What had he done to come here of all places! He would stick out like a sore thumb, like a raven amidst of jolly sparrows. Anne noticed how silent he remained. „You know, Roger," she said, touching his hand again. "Your mother used to say that nothing could weigh you down, that you were always looking on the bright side of life. But it seems she was wrong; it has to be terrible for you." Abruptly, she rose and clasped him in her arms. He didn't dare to move; best, he would have liked to shake off her arms.

"Anne, let go of him," Osgood mumbled. "These gooey women!. Come on, Roger, let's go outside and look after your horse. " Guy understood that this was the way Osgood wanted to give him comfort and distraction. Ann released Guy and blinked the tears in her eyes away, while Osgood rose, sliding his arm around his wife's shoulders, caressing her tenderly.

Guy followed Osgood to the stables, where the groom had already rubbed down the horse and had given it water and oats. "It has never been easy for us, especially for Anne that we don't have children," Osgood said eventually. "Two miscarriages and a girl dying shortly after her birth…It will be good for Anne that you are here now. Be lenient if she tries to mother you a little. You are the last of her kinsmen."

Some time later they returned to the house. "there is something I wanted to give to you," Guy told Anne. "Mother would want you to have this." He fetched a small silver ring from his back, giving it to her, then took a little pouch with peppercorns for Osgood. This should resolve any doubts they might have about his identity.

Of course, the Gringstows didn't know that Guy had much more with him. But neither Anne nor Osgood would search his things. Nevertheless, he would hide the money carefully. Content, Guy went to bed this evening. He was back in England and was safe here for now. As soon as he had been accepted as Roger of Hale in the neighbourhood, he could make further plans.

Osgood had been right. Anne glowed and was happy to have her nephew's company. To Guy this kind of relationship was new and unfamiliar and he needed a while until he could deal with it more openly. Guy helped Osgood with his work and he realised that he came to like the older man despite himself. Since his childhood, Guy had been a loner. He had made an exception with Marian and what good had it done him. He had been determined not to be so careless again, but Osgood really seemed to like him.

Breaking in the yearlings was hard work. "You know," Osgood said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "When Anne told me you'd come I agreed, of course. After all, you are her nephew and had lost all your family. But I was somehow worried how you would cope with your new life here. Rumour had it that you were a charmer but flippant and unreliable. Don't get me wrong, but probably your family's death has changed you. I'm glad that you are here and ….would be very proud to have a son like you."

He harrumphed and went over to the water trough to wash. Guy remained behind, glad that he had not been forced to say something. If he had had parents like Anne and Osgood, his life would have taken a different tack. He would not be able to stay here forever, but perhaps he could postpone his departure for another few months.

Some weeks later he accompanied his uncle to town. They would try to sell some of the horses, the basis for being able to rebuild Gringstow. Guy knew that Anne and Osgood secretly hoped to tie him to them and to Gringstow. Osgood hat no kinsmen either and so Anne's nephew Roger would inherit everything. What should he do?

Brycgstow was teeming with people. Osgood was well known in the city and introduced his nephew to some of his friends. Business had been good and they were satisfied, having sold the yearlings for a good prize. They would pay a visit to the tavern before they would ride back home.

Osgood grinned, licking the beer foam from his lips. "I've seen the girls giving you the eye. Most of them wouldn't be suitable for you, but have you seen the daughter of my friend Lionel. She's lovely and of marriageable age, just fifteen. She will also get a considerable dowry; so, what do you think of marriage?"

Marrry? Him? The laughter stuck in his craw.

"Son, you look as if I had talked about your funeral. Relax, but think about it."

Absent-minded, Guy sipped his beer. Perhaps Osgood was right. Nobody had said anything about love, only of marriage and one wench was as good as the other. A pretty face and much money wouldn't do any harm either.

This was not possible! Guy of Gisborne in Brycgstow? Alan didn't trust his eyes. He stood in the shade at a table of the tavern and Guy had not noticed him so far. He looked different with shorter hair and a beard, but this was him. He was talking animatedly to an older man beside him, even laughing now and then.

Gisborne couldn't know anything about Vaysey's plan. The Sheriff had entrusted Alan with a task nobody knew about. On the other hand….could Vaysey have lied to him? Was it possible that Gisborne hadn't done a runner after all but was staying here at the Sheriff's orders? And if so, why had Vaysey sent him, Alan, to Brycgstow? He didn't believe in coincidences.

Probably Vaysey didn't trust him but mistook him for Robin's spy. He used him, humiliated him, so that he felt sick only thinking about the Sheriffs little games. How often he had envied Gisborne being the Sheriff's right hand man, but these times were over. Alan knew, however, that he had not the strength to leave. He had become inured to the good life and people didn't know what role he played, come night. In public he had replaced Gisborne, but this incident aroused suspicion in him whether he had been deceived. If Gisborne was here on the Sheriff's orders, the message he, Alan, had got from one Jules de Beaudelaire, of the Black Knights, would be useless. But Vaysey had made a mistake; he had not reckoned that he would arrive in Brycgstow so fast.

He would have to find out if this was really Gisborne and would keep this knowledge for himself. Shortly after he had got to know from the landlord that the older man was Osgood of Gringstow, whose family had been living here for generations and that Gisborne was his nephew, who had arrived from France some months ago. Perhaps it was only a similarity; sometimes things like this happened, but…damn….

At this very moment he heard the man shouting that the landlord should bring another round. This voice he knew, and this was one coincidence too much – gotcha!