Oops... I know it's been over a week since my last update. The only excuse I can give is that I was utterly swamped with work and deadlines. I try not to make a habit of late updates, but I was just so tired that I didn't feel like writing. Forgive me?
Anyway, thank you for the response to this story! *hugs* It's kept me motivated to at least write mentally, if not physically.
Sesshomaru's Babydoll: Don't worry about it, love; we're all quite busy. I'm glad you're liking the story so far! I hope Guy can charm you a little. ;) Incidentally, Guy is a struggle for me, too, but not in the same way as for you, I suspect. My morals must be slightly off-center, because I can more easily dismiss his bad behavior. For me, it's trying to reconcile how he was portrayed in the show, how Armitage views him, and the potential he so clearly has. That's what's this story is, really-a chance to explore his psyche and the what-ifs.
Guest: Lol, yes, I got tired of typing "girl" or "woman." But I also don't think masters cared what their servants'/slaves' names were, so that's why I waited with her name.
Disclaimer: After discovering how fun Vaisey is to write, I'm going to do it more often. Apologies in advance...
Enjoy! :) And sorry again for my tardiness.
Chapter 3: Stars
Nobles and servants alike fled from the halls, as the Sheriff stalked down them, yelling curses that echoed through the castle. He was followed by Guy, who was oddly smiling, and a handful of guards hovering nearby to steady him if he stumbled. Which he did, when they rounded a corner. Still quite weak, he futilely slapped at the arms of his helpers, all the while muttering about "angels of death," "insane classist physicians," and "bloody Robin Hood."
The plot had been to poison Nottingham's peasants in an experiment to discover the most effective biological weapon. But, like most of Vaisey's plans, it went awry, resulting in his unwitting ingestion of the poison that he had intended for the poor.
The irony was not lost on Gisborne. On the contrary, it gave him a peculiar sort of pleasure.
That poison had nearly killed Vaisey, which was merely one of the reasons the man glared so balefully. He had been within inches of Robin Hood, but instead of finally capturing him, he had been saved by him. Gisborne's smile morphed into a smirk. That had to sting the Sheriff's pride.
"Wipe that smug look off your face, Gisborne, or I'll cut it off," Vaisey snapped.
Guy didn't. For once, it hadn't been his failure that had allowed Hood to escape, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't enjoy the moment.
"Apologies, my lord," he replied, not sounding regretful at all. "Shall I send men after him?"
"Has being jilted by the leper made you stupid, as well as pathetic?" inquired the Sheriff. "Of course you should send men after him! You should have sent men after him already!"
Guy gave the order but didn't accompany the search parties. They wouldn't find the outlaw anyway. They never did.
"Anything else, my lord?"
Vaisey rounded on him, his eyes half-crazed from anger or near-death, Guy didn't know.
"Yes," hissed the Sheriff. "Find me a competent henchman, because you are utterly useless. Hood was right there, and you couldn't catch him."
Amusement danced in Gisborne's eyes, as he surveyed the bald man in front of him. "With respect, my lord, but neither could you. Or was that not the reason you were dangling head-first out the window?" Vaisey looked like he would spit fire, and before he could retort, Guy continued. "I might have caught him, had I not been hauling you back inside. But the next time, I shall remember to let you fall."
Vaisey turned a reddish-purple hue, but the sudden lurch of his stomach took precedence over whatever threat he might have levied at Guy. Bending double, he retched, only narrowly avoiding Gisborne's boots.
"Take the Sheriff to his chambers," Guy commanded, disgusted. "And find someone to clean up that mess."
He watched two guards half-carry a belligerent Vaisey up the stairs, then headed outside to supervise the disposal of Joseph's body. Townspeople had gathered around it, observing the bloodied, mangled form with a perverse fascination. Gisborne was no stranger to horrific sights, but the unnatural angle of the man's neck unsettled him.
When the peasants noticed Guy's approach, they parted. Mothers clutched their children, while men hurled insults at him, condemning him a murderer and the Devil's right hand man. He pushed past them, roughly shoving aside the most vehement of the protestors.
"I was not the one who poisoned you," he snarled and pointed at Joseph. "He was."
Guy didn't know why he even bothered to defend himself; those louts would hate him regardless. Nevertheless, he didn't fancy being blamed for a crime he did not commit. God knew there were enough sins damning his soul as it was.
He allowed them a moment to spit on Joseph's dead body, before ordering the guards to herd them away.
"Get rid of him," he barked to the soldiers. "Bury him, burn him, toss him in the river...just make him disappear."
On his way back to the castle, he encountered Marian, shadowed by her "goon," as she called her guard. He regarded her coolly, his self-esteem still smarting from her most recent rebuff.
"Guy, I wanted to apologize for earlier," she said, looking up at him earnestly. Her blue eyes were soft, and he could almost pretend they held a glimmer of affection. "I was concerned about the people and mistakenly blamed you for their misfortune."
"You wouldn't be the only one," he murmured.
"No, I suppose not," she agreed. Marian glanced at the angry crowd trying to reach Joseph. "Their response is not unprovoked, though. Surely you realize that." His features darkened, and she amended her statement. "I do not mean they should react with violence, of course, but they suffered terribly at the hands of that madman."
Whether she was referring to Joseph or to the Sheriff, Guy didn't know, nor did he wish to. If she publically spoke ill of the Sheriff, Guy would be forced to take action, and then she would surely despise him. As it was, she wasn't terribly fond of him after he had torched her house.
"Life is suffering, Marian," he said brusquely. "The sooner you learn that, the better."
Whatever kindness she had felt towards him vanished, along with the almost-affection he had seen in her eyes.
"My home has been reduced to ash, my father is imprisoned, and I am confined to the castle, with a goon breathing down my neck at all hours," she retorted. "I am no stranger to unhappiness as of late."
"Be thankful you do not share your father's cell," Guy warned. "If it were up to the Sheriff, that's exactly what your fate would have been. It was only my intervention that spared you from it."
Marian sighed, and just like that, her demeanor towards him changed.
"I know, Guy," she said. "And I thank you. But it still pains me to think of my father in that cold, dank place."
"I have already instructed the prison guards to feed him properly," Guy told her. "There is nothing else I can do to make him more comfortable."
"You could persuade the Sheriff to release him."
"I cannot, Marian, and you know it." Guy was acutely aware that freeing her father would earn him her gratitude, but once again, he was torn between his ambitions and his affections.
"And you say you want power?" she scoffed. "You couldn't even stop the Sheriff from imprisoning my father after I had saved your life."
Guilt warred with anger, and as usual, anger won.
"You will never let me forget that, will you?" Guy snarled. "How many times have I intervened on your behalf? How many times have I turned a blind eye to your transgressions?" He advanced on her, his gaze as hard as his tone. "You are so keen to remind me of my debt to you, while conveniently forgetting yours to me."
She opened her mouth to reply, but Guy stormed past her, calling to a guard over his shoulder to escort the Lady Marian to her quarters. He had endured his fair share of humiliation from other knights, Hood, and the Sheriff, but he refused to tolerate it from Marian, as well. She was a woman, and she would learn her place, or would suffer the consequences.
#
It was late, nearly midnight, when Guy rode up to Locksley Manor. After the Sheriff had recovered from his poisoning, he spent hours berating Gisborne and cursing Hood, until Guy had managed to change the subject to what should be done about the outlaw. Nothing particularly clever was suggested by either of them, because they had already tried and failed at countless schemes, so they stewed in silence over their respective predicaments. It didn't take long for Vaisey to tire of this brooding, and he sent Gisborne away with the typical warning-he must kill Hood, or else the knight's usefulness would be at an end.
Little did that vile man know, Guy had just saved his scrawny neck. And what did he receive in return? Insults and threats. He had grown tired of them, which was why he'd employed Allan as his spy. With the information the turncoat provided, Guy would be one step ahead of the outlaw and would finally be rewarded with the recognition he deserved.
Lost in these thoughts, he nearly missed the figure standing to the side of the house, gazing up at the inky sky.
It was the girl. Ajsa.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"Shouldn't you be at the castle?"
He sighed, suddenly quite weary, and sent his horse to its stall with the groom.
"You have early hours, Ajsa," Guy reminded her. "I shall not be lenient if you awaken late because you were staring up at the sky when you should have been sleeping."
"I am not a child to be ordered to bed," she protested, but her tone lacked venom. Her attention was still on the stars, that dark hair shrouding part of her face.
"No," he agreed and stood in front of her. "But you are my servant. And as such, you will do as I say."
She looked at him, then, her features discernible in the light of the gibbous moon. Guy couldn't help but notice the sad glimmer in her eyes or the wetness on her cheeks.
"Of course, Master."
There was no mockery in her acquiescence or in her curtsey, as she gathered her skirts and walked into the house. In fact, she had sounded like his other servants, obliging and resigned.
"Wait." She stopped but didn't turn, not even when his footsteps grew nearer. "How did you get that limp?"
Although it had improved since his acquisition of Ajsa, he knew it still pained her.
"Broken ankle," she said tonelessly. "May I go inside now?"
Guy wanted to ask if Thomas had been the cause of her injury but instead said, "Yes, get to bed."
He watched the girl collect her flimsy shawl and retreat into the small room off the kitchen. Guy smirked. After three nights, it appeared she had grown tired of sleeping in the stables. Well, that was progress, at least, because she had overcome enough of her pride to accept the relative comfort of the servant's quarters.