Marian shut herself inside her room and leaned her back up against the door. She stood that way, unmoving, unfeeling, staring vacantly into nothingness, for a full quarter hour.
She felt numb at Martin's story about Robin's "adventures" in Aquitatine. Never mind that Aylesbury had deceived himself as to doubt her virtue, just because she had kissed him in the past. She was not offended, as her father believed, because Martin had spoken openly of philanderings in front of her. After all, she was not completely ignorant of such things...she had overheard filthy snippets of conversation between castle guards...she had witnessed the breeding of animals on her father's estate...she was not so shocked as to pretend to swoon or be offended by such talk. It was the specific person involved that paralyzed her...not talk of the act itself.
She knew firsthand what a passionate nature Robin had. She had shared such a nature herself, when they had been a couple. But they had never crossed the lines of decency, though they had come close a couple of times. Both of them believed in honor, in virtue, in God too much to dishonor their upcoming marriage vows, or to dishonor Marian's father, or especially to dishonor each other! It had not been so hard to wait...well, it had been, but they had remained strong, knowing that one day soon, they would wed and then...
But why dwell on this? They had not married! She needed to stop! Robin had obviously changed his mind about honor and virtue since he'd deserted her for the battlefield!
Marguerite! Marian hated her! She must be a woman of no shame...a tart! A strumpet who thought nothing of defiling a library! No doubt she spoke French, in a stupid accent. Marian pictured her older...much older than Robin...maybe even thirty!
She grew suddenly, overwhelmingly sad. Marguerite was no doubt prettier than she...thinner, finer boned and delicate. She was most likely fascinating, living at the sophisticated Court of Aquitaine! She probably wore elegant gowns and never forgot her riding gloves or had a hair out of place. She was certainly well versed in all the highly desired feminine accomplishments Marian lacked...music, sparkling conversation, needlework!
"And all I can do is fight with a sword and ride horses better and faster than anyone in the shire. Anyone but him," she added grudgingly.
It didn't matter. Why should it matter? She was who she was, and she liked herself anyway. If he had changed so much as to consort with indecent horrible women, acting indecent and horrible himself, what did it matter to her?
Still, she dreaded facing Martin alone tomorrow. He had whispered in her ear he had more stories to tell. Much as she dreaded hearing them, she knew she would listen with fascination to everything he had to say, or torture herself wondering what she refused to hear.
She let her body slide down her door until her bottom hit the floor, and buried her face on her raised knees, sobbing silently so that her father would not hear the anguished cries of her broken heart.
...
"Come along, Annie. You'll be safe here."
In the dead of night, Sir Guy of Gisbourne led Annie, her belly great with child, to a cottage hidden in the forest, just outside of Locksley. It was the home of Matilda, a midwife and healer, whom Gisbourne had heard was both skilled and discreet. He valued her discretion, for he couldn't let the Sheriff, or Lady Marian, know about Annie's bastard.
"Guy, will you stay with me?" Annie's soft voice sounded frightened.
"You know I'm needed at the castle."
"But when will I see you again?"
Gisbourne didn't answer. Annie was used to his silences, and his absences. He was a very busy, important man. She resigned herself to waiting for him here, among strangers.
One of the strangers entered the cottage and bustled up to her now. Annie could not help but like the friendly woman immediately.
"Now, let's have a good look at you," the woman said in lieu of a welcome, sizing Annie up with dark brown eyes.
"Ah, no need to worry," she said to Gisbourne. "She'll do just fine."
"I will?" Annie asked. "You could see I'm worried?"
The woman gave her a motherly smile. "It's written all over your face! But you just relax now and leave everything to me...and the babe! I've helped more babies enter this world than you've hairs on your head!"
She turned to Gisbourne. "Don't you worry, neither. I'll take good care of her, and the babe."
Gisbourne sniffed in disgust, sneered, and motioned with a swift nod of his head that he wanted to speak with Matilda in private.
"Take care of Annie," he instructed. "See that she survives."
"You've got nothing to worry about. She may look delicate, but she's of hearty peasant stock. She'll sail straight through this and be back on her feet the same day."
Gisbourne sneered at her words, and her familiar tone. Annie had done this to him...forced him into this horrible, humiliating situation!
"There's something else I want you to do," he continued meaningfully, placing a coin in Matilda's palm. "I want you to take care of the child."
"That goes without asking, or paying," Matilda chuckled. She suddenly stopped.
"Wait a minute! You're not suggesting I raise your bairn?"
"I'm telling you," Gisbourne continued menacingly, "to take care of it."
Matilda's eyes grew wide, then narrowed in fury when his meaning became clear.
"Take care of it?"
"Annie must not know," Gisbourne commanded. "Tell her it died on its own."
Without another word, or a "goodbye" to Annie, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the night.
"Slow witted, evil minded fox turd!" Matilda hissed after him. Recovering her composure, she rejoined Annie.
"Here," she said in her motherly way, "you can sleep beside my Rosa. Get all the rest you can these next few days...you'll be missing it after your babe arrives."
Annie eased herself onto the bed, without waking the young woman sleeping there.
"Fine man you've got there," Matilda said sarcastically.
Annie gave a romantic sigh. "He's wonderful! I'm to be his wife!"
"Is that so? Well, you just close your eyes and think pleasant thoughts. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Annie closed her eyes, and Matilda watched her drift off to sleep.
"Oh, I'll take care of your babe, you chiselled faced bastard," she muttered. "But not in the way you want!"
She spit, wondering how such a sweet young woman could have fallen for such a black soulled monster.