"Really, Sir Guy, I cannot accept this."
Marian tried to smile as she handed the blue summer gown back to Sir Guy of Gisbourne. What had the man been thinking, bringing her a gown to wear? Did he think she was his poppet, that he could dress her up any way he wanted? It was insulting!
"A bit of color for you," Gisbourne explained, unsurprised that she was attempting to refuse his generous gift. It was her standard response to his presents, but she always took them in the end. "I'd like to see you wear a bit more color."
Marian drew her breath in sharply. Yes, you would, and try to buy me as well with your unwelcome gifts. She masked her thoughts under a hesitant smile.
"Your money would be better spent helping those who have need of clothing. I have more than enough gowns for the season."
Gisbourne sneered. "Peasants can clothe themselves in their filthy rags. They know no better. You deserve to wear the finest cloth."
"Sir Guy, I insist you take it away. I cannot accept it."
"You reject my gift?"
His tone was one of outrage, as if she had slapped him across his face. She would need to tread more carefully.
"It is most generous, but I-"
Her voice trailed off. She was no coward, but the air had grown oppressive. She was finding it difficult to breathe.
"Wear the dress," Gisbourne ordered, before turning on his heel and striding out her door.
When he had gone, Marian found herself almost panting for air. She deliberately slowed her breathing, sighing with relief that he was gone.
Looking at the gown, she wondered how she could cut it up and disguise it so that it could be made into summer garments for village children. She would need some dye.
...
It was her fault. She had been responsible for making him so overbearing.
Gisbourne rode his horse toward Nottingham, lost in thought. The lady had been ungrateful...again.
There were times she was friendly...charming, and he thought he was on his way to winning her. At those times, she seemed so interested in his doings, so fascinated by his duties. Of course, he kept the details from her...his responsibilities carrying out the sheriff's orders were none of her concern. But he appreciated her interest in him anyway.
But other times, such as today, she appeared cool, detached, uncomfortable in his presence. And that only served to make him uncomfortable as well, and he hated feeling so awkward, so much at a loss.
Was it so wrong for him to present her with something that would go a long way toward improving her appearance? Most women would be thrilled!
Not that she needed help to be beautiful...she was undeniably the loveliest creature Gisbourne had ever beheld, even with her hair chopped short and the ugly gowns she wore. But she could look even better.
Most of her dresses were too ordinary for her station. Her woolen jumpers were plain things...the boyish vests she wore over them worse, hiding her womanly curves rather than displaying them. Not one of her gowns revealed her bosom, which Gisbourne could tell was round and full and creamy white. Such a bosom should not be hidden from view, but displayed to its advantage.
Gisbourne let out an incoherent roar. Why must she be so difficult? Why must she continually reject him?
There were nights when he lay awake burning with desire for her. He often fantasized about taking her...roughly stripping her of her clothing and her objections, subduing her and breaking her will, and then taking her again, once she realized how greatly she wanted him.
If he could only win her, convince her to marry him, she would belong to him completely, body and soul. He would beget heirs on her, heirs who would continue the Gisbourne line, as well as inherit his holdings, which would not only include Locksley but Knighton as well. Their union would restore to him what he deserved. And wouldn't Hood suffer, knowing the man she spread her legs for was Guy of Gisbourne.
He would see that he won her. She couldn't refuse him forever. He continued his journey, his mind engrossed on Marian.
...
Arrow nocked, Robin waited hidden behind an ancient oak, its trunk so thick it could easily shield several men. He waited for the approach of a lone rider who sat ramrod straight in his saddle as his horse trotted westward along the road skirting Sherwood Forest.
Gisbourne, Robin noted with amused loathing, no doubt returning from Knighton. What a stroke of luck! Well, Robin would waste no time giving him the welcome he deserved!
Still unseen, the outlaw lifted his voice, taking immense satisfaction from his enemy's startled reaction.
"Why in such a hurry, Gisbourne? Is Vaisey expecting you back so you can help him carry on his good deeds in Nottingham?"
"Hood!" Gisbourne was more alarmed than he let on. "Let me pass, or you will regret the day you were born."
"And just how do you propose to make me regret my birthday, Gisbourne, eh? I've always found it a pleasant occasion."
"Not your birthday, Hood. The day you were born."
"I see no difference in the two. Perhaps you should climb down from your horse and enlighten me."
Robin could read Gisbourne's intent from the tension in his body. The man had no plans to agree to Robin's "request" to dismount. Instead, he looked ready to take his chances and flee. Spurs were set to dig into the horse's sides, shoulders were squared, hands tightened on the reins. But Robin had other plans.
An arrow whizzed so close to Gisbourne's ear it ruffled his hair.
"Show yourself, Hood!" Gisbourne called, visibly shaken.
"Climb down from your mount. I meant what I said earlier. Or do I need to bring you down myself?"
Robin fired a second arrow. This one's incredible path raced directly under the horse's belly, passing through the steed's front and back legs.
"I did warn you," Robin said mockingly as Gisbourne's horse reared. Then, in a more threatening tone, he advised, "Don't make me shoot the horse. My aim could go awry, and who knows what I might hit."
Gisbourne's voice, slightly shaken, called back, "You wouldn't shoot my horse, Hood. You paid too much for him years ago."
"Get your facts straight, Gisbourne. For your information, he was born and bred on my property, once his sire had been put out to stud. The only money I spent was towards his keep, and you're doing that for me now. Thank you very much, by the way." He laughed and stepped out into the open, bow raised, arrow aimed to shoot. "But you're right...I wouldn't shoot him. Which is exactly why I suggest you do precisely what I say. Be warned, I intend to keep firing arrows until you choose to obey me, and if one should happen to go astray, it certainly won't end up lodged in the horse's back."
Gisbourne knew Hood had the advantage. "What is it you want, Hood?"
"Not much. Dismount first, so we can talk."
Grudgingly, Gisbourne slipped off his mount on the far side of Robin, placing his horse as a shield between himself and the outlaw. "You can't steal my horse, Hood."
"Of course I can't, since we both agree he's rightfully mine anyway. Now, if you will be so kind as to unsheath your sword and toss it very carefully toward me...not too close, mind you. Right over here would be fine...I have a friend who could make good use of it."
"You'll hang for this, Hood!"
"Add it to my tally. Your sword. NOW."
A third arrow arched over the back of the horse and whizzed so close to Gisbourne's hands, he dropped the reins. Robin shouted, scaring the horse away.
"Now look what you've done, Hood!"
"Hope you wore comfortable boots. It's a long way to Nottingham on foot. Now, throw down your sword. I'm getting tired of repeating myself."
"And I'm tired of listening to your smug voice!"
"Well, then, give me your sword and you won't have to listen to it anymore." Gisbourne didn't move, but his face was filled with loathing. "My quiver's full, Gisbourne, but it only takes one missed shot, and I get your sword anyway. So, what's it going to be?"
With an incoherent cry of fury, Guy of Gisbourne pulled out his sword and threw it into the ground. Its blade dug deep into the earth.
"Ah, thank you, Gisbourne. Most generous! Allan will be most grateful."
"Allan! Not the fast talking liar!"
"Liar? Allan? I don't think so. He describes you fairly truthfully. Let me think...how did he put it? Oh, I remember now!" Robin cleared his throat. " 'A god forsaken ugly eunich whose disposition would be vastly improved once he's cured of his constipation.' I think that was it."
"You are the liar, Hood! That peasant doesn't speak that way!"
"Right again, I confess. Those were my words. Allan's language tends to run a bit more on the salty side. Would you like to hear his description of you?"
"Damn your soul to hell!"
"Pretty mild language, that, Gisbourne, compared to Allan's. Oh, and one more thing." Robin grew deathly serious. "If I ever hear of you laying a finger on a single innocent woman from my village, I will kill you."
He loosed one final arrow, slicing through a thickly coiled rope.
A sound above Gisbourne's head caused him to instinctively look up, and he was met in the face by a bucket full of fresh horse manure.
Robin laughed aloud as Gisbourne swore a string of oaths.
"Trust me, a little soap and water will soon put you to rights again. I only wish we'd met on your way to Knighton today. Goodbye, and thanks again for the sword! Allan will be eternally grateful."
Gisbourne continued swearing as Robin jogged back to his makeshift camp in the depths of the forest.