A/N: this story takes place after Season 3, Episode 9: A Dangerous Deal. Guy has fled from his sister and jail. Here's one possibility for what could have happened next – I'm not sure what does, since I'm saving the next episode for a treat after I finish this standalone story! : ) But why not satisfy his urge for another nice girl?
I think it's hard to write about redeeming Guy without slipping into full-on melodrama angst, but one of the things that makes BBC's Robin Hood so fun is that there's always a note of humor and glee. So I tried to keep this one light!
…
"Are you really going out there?" Alys asked. She was nominally the laundry-maid, but with the state of affairs and the Master being in France as he is, she sat in the kitchen as proud as you please drinking boiled coffee with the cook.
But she's not a bad sort, Alys. "Yes," I said firmly, and she shivered.
"Brr! Better have a hot brick, then. I'll pop one on the fire while you harness the pony."
"Thank you," I said, smiling at her through the furry collar of my cloak, pulled up high. "I don't expect there'll be much to the marketing, but I'll see if I can't find some tea."
"Tea," she and Cook breathed together, as if praying. We had laid in the summer preserves and done the winter slaughtering as usual, and we had more than enough firewood what with the men clearing the East Field, but the Master hadn't restocked the tea before going abroad and we were all aching for a cup.
The Hilcote market was unlikely to offer such a precious import even on a good day. Now, with eight inches of snow blown up overnight, I'd be lucky to find a poor lavender-seller abroad. But I had promised to visit my sister and my brother-in-law and their new baby, and received permission for use of the pony-trap, and days off aren't so common that God's blown down a storm yet that would keep me from my little holiday.
He blew down something else instead.
I nearly screamed when I saw the body in the stable, he was so cold and dead-looking. A man dressed in black all-over lay curved in Mandy's stall. He must have stumbled in search of warmth and shelter in the sudden blizzard. His hands were curled into fists at his chest, seeking heat but not finding it, and the hollows of his cheeks and eyes were lavender-grey. Mandy whickered gently, seeming not at all disturbed at finding such a creature in her nice clean straw.
I dropped the bit I had been going to feed her and knelt by the stranger's side. "Sir?" I said. He didn't move. "Sir?" He stirred a little, and gratefully I reassumed my mitten, glad not to have to seek a pulse on such a dirty, chancy-looking fellow. I flew back to the Big House – my footsteps were already filling with drifting snow, but the sun was rising and illuminating a crystal sky – a beautiful day for a ride in a pony-cart, with the flakes blowing from the trees and into my hair like little specks of diamond. By God's thumbs, a thing like this would happen on my day off! I thought. I ran nearly the whole quarter-mile back, the deep fluffy snow dragging at my feet.
I entered through the kitchen and Alys turned from stooping on the hearth with a smile and a hot brick wrapped in cloth. "Here we are, nice and toasty!"
"Thank you, Alys," I said, huffing and puffing rather. "Save it for the man."
"What man?"
"There's a man dying in the stable."
"Dear God!" Roger and Wulf had joined them in the kitchen, and they jumped up, good strapping boys both.
"Thank goodness," I addressed them. "I can't move him myself, he's a big fellow. No cloak or anything, but he's not dressed like a tramp! Do you think Fenwick will have him in the house?"
"Better make it the back storeroom," Wulf said firmly, draining his coffee and wiping his mouth. "Fenwick can't object to him there. We cleared out the last of the goods a sennight past and there's the fireplace for smoking meat. Alys, lay the fire and heat some water; cook, find the bath. We'll thaw 'im like a turkey. Roger and me'll fetch him in."
I followed them, fussing like a skittish mare. "Where he could have come from, I don't know – for there's nobody coming from Blackwell or Hilcote, or he'd have known about the Big House – walking all night by the look of him! Ooh, the Master won't like it if he dies in the storeroom!" Finally Roger, a nice lad but silent, gave me a quelling look and I reined myself in hand.
The stranger hadn't moved when we returned. Neither had Mandy. I gave her a wrinkled apple to sooth her after her traumatic experience, not that she seemed to mind much either way, while the men heaved the stranger up by his shoulders and ankles and carried him back up the track. I poked around in the straw but he had no possessions I could find. Soon I followed them.
I came across a busy group in the back storeroom. There was a healthy blaze alight in the big fireplace, thanks to Alys, and Cook was carrying two buckets of gently steaming water in her brawny arms to add to the half-full tub. Roger and Wulf still held the man aloft while Wulf argued with Fenwick. Fenwick was twittering like a hen. "No strangers in the house while Master's away! He won't like it!"
"God won't like it if we let him perish!" Wulf roared. "Be charitable, man!"
"And he wouldn't have to know," Alys added, reasonably.
Meanwhile Cook continued to fill the tub like some kindly Titan.
"But you're needed! The snow's risen high enough that the sheep have fled their enclosure, and you women have duties!" Fenwick's color was rising.
"It's my day off," I said, sighing inwardly. "I'll see to him."
Fenwick turned on me and threw his hands up. "Fine!" he said. "On your head be it! But I want him out by morning!" Alys rolled her eyes where he couldn't see.
"We'll need to undress him for the bath," I said doubtfully.
"Well, I need the men to find and bring back the sheep," Fenwick said, puffing himself up. "You'll have to do it."
"Me!" I was scandalized. "But – but – he's a man!"
"Fine! Roger and Wulf, see to it, and the rest of you lot, back to work. Men,I'll see you in the back field in ten minutes with the dogs or I'll know why not."
Cook placed her next round of full buckets by the fire and departed. Alys followed, squeezing my hand lightly for encouragement. "Good luck," she whispered. "I'll send some fresh clothes." Fenwick strutted after them.
I waited outside the door of the storeroom, taking the opportunity to divest myself of my winter garments. I heard some grunting and muttered directions as Wulf and Roger worked together to get the strange man out of his things and into the tub. Finally there was a gentle splash. "Can I come in?" I called.
"Almost," Wulf answered. He opened the door and took a coarse dishcloth from a shelf beside me. The stranger was lolling naked and unconscious in the tin bath, and I quickly looked away. Wulf draped the cloth over the bottom half of the tub, screening most of the man from view – well, the parts that counted. "There you are." He and Roger marched out, looking sorry. "He's pretty far gone – not too well-fed lately, by the looks of him, and the cold has taken its due. We must accept whatever God has in store for him."
"Thank you," I said, not really all that grateful for the depressing speech.
They nodded and left, and I stepped inside. The little room was very warm. The stranger's head rested on the edge of the bath at an awkward angle, and his pale skin clearly showed the marks of bruises and cuts. His clothes made a depressing little heap to one side. They were dark, dirty and tattered. His boots, however, placed neatly together at the foot of the bath, were of good quality.
The makeshift towel blocked his lower body from view. The water was already becoming begrimed, dirt loosening from his skin and floating to the surface, so I had to fish for his arm and hand and raise them from the water to see. A violent color was returning to his fingertips as his blood awakened. "You'll make it," I judged. "Please don't waste my time." I dropped his arm with a small splash.
His hair was long, greasy and tangled, and I cast a suspicious eye over it, not overly desirous of lice. "Wait here," I instructed the inert form. "And don't drown while I'm away."
I ran back through the front storeroom, the stillroom and the kitchen, where true to her word Alys had left a bundle of clothes nicked from the laundry. Some trousers of the Master's that he'd left for mending, a shirt that was of some common weave but thick and clean, and good wool socks. I hoped they'd fit. The man had strong, round shoulders, and there weren't many working at the Big House who were as broad and tall. I gathered them along with a wooden comb and a pair of shears.
He lay where I left him, but a healthier color had returned to his lips and cheeks. I checked his hand again. His pulse was beating steadily and there was no evidence of frostbite on his fingers. His feet would have to look after themselves.
I gingerly straightened his head so that his hair fell over the edge. Then, feeling like the Master's little daughter playing with one of her dollies, I began to comb it through. Whenever I found a tangle I couldn't comb, I cut. Then I went around and evened it all out. I'm not exactly a fashionable lady's maid, so the resulting fringe was ragged, but neat and clean. Instead of falling almost to his shoulders, it was cropped to his chin, revealing the back of his thick neck. I swept aside the trimmings to be burnt later, as I don't like the smell.
It was when I was leaning over him to comb the hair back from his forehead that he woke up.
It must have been confusing for the poor fellow – waking up partly underwater, with an upside-down stranger frowning in concentration at him and holding a big pair of scissors. It didn't help that he's one of those sudden wakers – no fluttering eyelashes, just pow! Awake! I was startled too! "What is this?" he bellowed, and his arm shot out to grab me.
That it, his arm would have shot out, but his muscles were too stiff from their ordeal. I batted his slow grab away easily. "Steady on!" I said. "You're alright! Easy now! You're safe."
Honestly, I had almost forgotten my dolly was a person, so still and limp had he been. So I wasn't what you'd call prepared, conversationally. Luckily the man subsided. "Where am I?" he asked, his blue eyes darting around the storeroom. "Who are you?"
"I'm Michaela," I said soothingly. "I'm the under-housekeeper for Brock Manor, several miles from Hilcote. I found you in the stable here."
"How dare you hold me here – what are you doing?" he demanded.
"Oh, just making ungrateful-stranger-soup," I retorted. He struggled to rise. "No, don't –"
Too late. I turned around quickly as he braced his strong arms on the side of the bath and pushed himself upright. From the corner of my eye I saw him make a grab for the falling cloth. Still from the corner – I swear – I saw that it wasn't quite doing the job.
"I'm naked!"
I had turned away with one hand held up to block the view, and I spluttered with laughter, sounding near-strangled with hilarity to my own ears. "Oh, are you? Oh goodness me I hadn't noticed!" I flapped my hand to the buckets still steaming by the fire – luckily on the far side of the tub. "There's fresh water if you want to rinse."
I could tell he was bending by the shadow he cast, and he rose with one bucket and poured the contents over his head, roaring and spluttering in the deluge. The empty bucket clanged as he threw it aside. "And clothes," I added. I held my hand up to my eyes again, cupping the side of my face, and kept my face turned away while I handed him the packet.
I heard the slap-slap of his bare feet on the floor, one after the other, as he stepped from the tub. His hand, warm and still a little damp, brushed mine, and I dropped the clothes hastily.
"Right," I said. "Well. Good. You…put those on. I'll return with some food." I curveted around him and walked backwards to the door, my head still turned awkwardly aside.
"Michaela?"
I stopped and looked at him, from pure habit. Luckily he had made it into the breeches, though they were full almost to overflowing with bulging thigh muscles, and was lacing himself into the shirt. Standing, he was well over six feet fall.
"Thank you," he said reluctantly.
"You'll find your hair in the corner!" I squeaked incoherently, and fled.
…
"Oooh, is he dead?" Alys breathed, poking her head out from the laundry. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair frizzed with steam.
"No!" I said. "He's awake!"
Cook grunted impassively, but she filled a bowl liberally with good meaty stew.
"Oo-er, who is he? Where's he from? Is he handsome?"
"I don't know, I don't know, and Alys, you saw him as well as I!" I filled a beaker with warm mead while Cook sliced some new bread.
"Only with his clothes on!"
"Alys! I didn't see anything! I just looked once he was dressed!" Cook rolled her eyes. She is a wonderful woman, a veritable mountain, silent and kind, who uses her impatience with our twittering as a way to hide her massive gentle heart.
"He'll be wanting this now," she said, her resonant voice as always sweeter than you'd expect.
"Thank you." I took the tray from her and settled my beaker and his upon in. "Though I will say – he fills the Master's breeches better than the Master does!"
"I didn't mean it like that!" I called over my shoulder, as Alys's hooting laugh and even the Cook's slow gentle chuckle chased me out of the kitchen.