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Please read the author's note at the end of the chapter. It's important regarding the OFC.

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Chapter 2: Confrontation

When they arrived at Locksley Manor, Guy slid from his horse and beckoned the girl forward. She came hesitantly, looking up at him with the first hint of uncertainty he'd seen since meeting her. Withdrawing his dagger, he smirked at her gasp, but instead of using it on her, as she'd clearly expected, he cut the rope around her wrists. It fell to the ground with a soft thud.

The girl instantly withdrew her hands and rubbed her wrists, the skin there chafed and caked with dried blood.

"Thank you," she said, bowing her head.

He watched her for a moment, then called for Mary, the head maid, to draw the girl a bath.

"I would really rather not," she said, her eyes widening and her gaze darting from Guy to the older woman. He thought she seemed too panicky for something as simple as a bath. But perhaps she feared water, like some peasants did.

"You're filthy, and you stink," he replied impatiently. Guy grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door.

"No, please," the girl begged, all dignity forgotten. "I can wash out back with a cloth."

His brows furrowed, and then he laughed, understanding dawning. Fear morphed into anger, as she wrenched herself out of his grasp.

"You did not acquire me for that," she spat and wrapped her dirty cloak tightly around her body.

"Calm, woman," Guy placated, still amused. "I do not intend to take you. But unless you want to sleep in the stables with the horses, I suggest you bathe."

"Horses would be preferable company," she muttered, ignoring the hardening of his features.

"Suit yourself," he ground out. Flicking his hand towards Mary, who had been nervously observing the events, Guy said, "Fetch the girl soap, a cloth, and a basin of water." He turned on the young woman, all humor gone from his face. "After you clean yourself, the maids will give you food and explain your duties."

Without waiting for a reply, he stalked inside, slamming the door behind him. He was already regretting bringing that girl back with him.

#

After an unsuccessful attempt to woo Marian, Guy returned to Locksley Manor that night in an even fouler mood than usual. The other day, she had saved his life during his ill-fated duel with Hood, and the humiliation of that defeat still stung. Not only had he been set on fire and nearly drowned by the outlaw, but he had lost the black diamonds to him, as well. In the Sheriff's eyes, it was yet another failure in a long line of them. Guy was acutely aware that he was on borrowed time.

He sat down heavily at the table and poured a goblet of wine. Downing it, he poured a second and a third in rapid succession. His servants were nowhere to be found-hiding, most likely, reluctant to encounter their master's ire. Guy didn't blame them. There were times even he wished he could escape from himself.

While refilling his cup for the fourth time, a figure emerged from the kitchens and set a plate of food in front of him. He looked up. It was the girl, appearing much improved in a clean kirtle. With the grime scrubbed from her skin, he noticed it was indeed a lighter shade than that of the slaves Thomas brought back from the Holy Land. Yet it nevertheless had an olive tone, which made him wonder again about her origins. But as before, he did not ask.

"More wine," he ordered. Guy bit into the meat and grimaced. He was growing tired of mutton.

The woman returned with the pitcher and topped up his goblet. As she turned to leave, his curiosity got the better of him.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Why does it matter?" she inquired, staring down at her feet. "You seem to enjoy calling me 'girl' and 'woman' well enough."

"It matters because I am your master, and I asked you a question."

She raised her head and glared at him. There it was. That defiance. He had been waiting for it.

"If I tell you my name, that is one more thing you will have stolen from me."

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I did not steal your freedom," Guy said condescendingly. "That was Thomas. In fact, you might be grateful to me for sparing you a harder master."

She laughed, piquing his anger.

"Thank you, my lord," came the dry reply. Accompanying it was a mocking curtsey that made his blood boil.

Quick as an adder, he caught her wrist. "You tread on dangerous ground," he warned, his voice low and ominous. He tightened his grip, feeling her delicate bones shift beneath his hand. "If you're not careful, you shall earn yourself a beating."

There was a flash of fear in her eyes, as she tried to pull away. He let her, and she stumbled back, wincing in pain.

"You would beat me?" the girl inquired. "But I thought you had kindly spared me such a master."

"Oh, believe me," drawled Guy. "Another man would have beat you already. And likely raped you, too." His gaze raked over her, lingering on her covered legs, then settled on her face again. "Thomas is an idiot, but he was right about one thing. You are insolent."

"Yes, another man would have punished me by now," she replied. "But women are beaten when they obey, as well as when they disobey. So what are we to do?"

Guy considered this and reluctantly acknowledged she had a point.

"Obey," he decided. "You may still be hit, but with less frequency."

"Perhaps," the girl conceded. "But I do not think I could abide that life."

"You would have no choice," he said softly, his ill will towards her diminished.

In that moment, he pitied her. She was clearly neither a Saracen nor a woman of low birth, unlike most of the slaves Thomas acquired. She probably had a family from where ever she hailed, maybe even a husband. A life of servitude should not have been her fate.

But then he remembered his own situation. A man of noble birth, dispossessed of his lands and title by Hood. A slave in his own right, forced to do the Sheriff's bidding yet denied any of the glory. Spurned by Marian, despised by the people.

And disrespected by a woman in his employ.

His features darkened, startling the girl.

"From now on, you will call me 'master,'" he barked. "You will do as I say, when I say. You will not speak out of turn, or talk back. You will be the meek servant, or so help me, I shall make you suffer."

She appeared taken aback by his harsh words and was silent, staring back at him with wide eyes. But in an instant, they narrowed, and she opened her mouth.

Guy was on her before she could reply, taking her upper arms in a bruising grip.

"You are my slave, girl, and don't you forget it," he hissed.

The impulse to throw her aside was strong, so consumed by anger and self-pity was he. Looming over her, he realized just how small and thin she was, just how easy it would be to demonstrate his dominance. She would fight him, of course-defiant as she was-, but he would overpower her effortlessly. A mere thrust of his arms, and she would crash into the chair. His pride would be gratified for a while, but like with every pain he had inflicted, the self-disgust would inevitably sober him.

He released her, noting that she was clutching his shirt, clearly expecting a more violent reaction. Her hands, which had turned white from the strength of her grip, loosened, and she cautiously looked up at his face. His eyes glinted coldly, but his fury had dissipated.

"You are dismissed for the night," he said tonelessly and removed her hands. "If you still insist on sleeping in the stables, find yourself a blanket."

With that, he grabbed the pitcher of wine and his goblet and ascended the stairs. Halfway up, her voice made him pause.

"Ajsa," said the girl. "My name is Ajsa

Author's Note: Ajsa is pronounced Ahy-sha, because the j makes a y sound and the s sounds like sh.