He had never felt this way before.
Guy of Gisbourne couldn't even glance at one of the filthy Locksley peasant women churning cream into butter, without thinking of Marian. "Churn me between your milk-white thighs," he would think burningly, overcome by lust.
Everything he saw or thought about now was inflamed by his heated desires for the beautiful young woman he longed to possess. King Richard couldn't return soon enough.
Gisbourne snorted out a sneering laugh. Odd, that he should long for the king's return, while Locksley dreaded it. To think, a mere woman had turned the tables...the woman. Gisbourne doubted she even guessed at her power.
The sheriff chided him for being lovesick, openly mocked him for it. Well, Vaisey's mockery was nothing new. All the same, Guy was angry at himself for letting his burning urges get in the way of his duties.
Torn between his desire to to take her to the marriage bed a virgin, and needing to take her now, Gisbourne was a mass of raw nerves, unable to sleep or eat.
The sheriff was right. He was lovesick. All he could do was continue to woo her, even though she had already agreed to be his.
Hood barely even counted anymore. Initially, Gisbourne had wanted the woman because she'd once been his, thereby proving she was the best catch in England. She was pleasing to the eye, and a would be a worthy mate, a chaste lady with an untarnished reputation, a fine pedigree, and a house and lands she stood to inherit. But his feelings had changed. He needed to own her, body and soul. He felt consumed by her.
For a time, he tried to exorcise his lust by taking other women to his bed, but it did not help. He only despised them, burning even more fiercely for Marian.
The only thing that helped at all was brutality toward the lowlifes in his village, Hood's people, the scum of Locksley. Their fear and suffering gave him a brief respite from his own suffering. And so, he stepped up his cruelty, making them suffer, daily.
Well, he would have her, the day the king returned. Breathing hot, heavy, ragged breaths, he let his mind dwell on images of him crushing her naked body to his, at last finding release from his torment by dreaming of all the things he would do to her.
...
"You would know, if you gave me a gift. As it is, you only come out of the woodwork when you want something. Well?"
Satisfied that Marian would help him discover the identity of the stranger in the castle, Robin left the stables at Knighton, musing over Marian's challenge.
He wished he could restart the interview, keeping his jealousy in check, taking back the ugly insinuations he had made. She had every right to answer him in anger, after what he had implied.
He'd been taken aback by the magnificence of Gisbourne's gift to her, jealous that he didn't stand a chance to compete with it.
Yet the Marian he knew wasn't shallow, to be won by gifts, no matter how impressive. What had really angered her, he realized, was his absence. His neglect.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as he trotted homeward, to the forest. "I promised your father, I'd stay away."
He meant to keep his promise, only appearing on her property when it was absolutely necessary, like today. But that wouldn't stop him from inviting her to visit him!
Hope sprung to life in Robin's heart, as he formulated a plan.
His plan would need to wait, however. First, he needed to learn who was visiting the sheriff, and take care of his terrified men. John and Allan had traded mushrooms for unfounded, irrational fear, all over a mask!
And as for Harold...Robin didn't want Marian to know he kept a former Crusader caged, like an animal, in his camp. He needed to find help for him, so his mind could begin to heal.
He had no idea how, but he'd think of something. At least he'd assigned Much to look after him.
Much, with his kind, tender heart, and his own personal knowledge of the horrors of war, was already doing more for Harold than he realized. Robin wished he himself could face his memories and help the man, but he didn't feel strong enough. If he did, or even if his men guessed his weakness, he felt he wouldn't be able to lead.
He longed to be able to talk to Marian about this. Of all the people in the world, Marian had always been there to listen, to help and guide him, whenever he'd faced a problem. But not this time. Robin didn't want to open up and mention the horrors of war to her. It was better she never knew of them.
No, he'd have to deal with his own demons alone, and let Much handle Harold.
Breathing a silent prayer, he thanked God for his loyal friend, and his true, pure heart, wishing he could be more like him.