Lion's Heart 3/4 Guy/Robin
Nov. 11th, 2007 12:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grenegomeTitle: Lion’s Heart (3/4)
Pairing: Robin/Guy, Guy/Marian
Rating: PG-13 (15?)
Warning: Another bit of swearing.
Summary: In which there is kissing, and a story about the Holy Land.
Part One
Part Two
He had no gold. Courtell was missing, and his men seemed curiously uninjured, except the new one, who was bleeding from a slight wound. The archers that had been so effective initially against Hood had all been discovered unconscious. Vaisey was going to be furious.
He looked down at Robin Hood, sprawled at his feet. Unconscious and bleeding. Perhaps not.
He had carried the man back through the woods, surprised at how easy it was to lift him. He had been more surprised that the outlaws had somehow taken the heavy gold without moving the cart. Hood’s men had vanished into the undergrowth, but he had no idea how long it would be before they regrouped with the gold and realised their leader had vanished.
Courtell or no Courtell, they had to move.
“Back to Nottingham!”
He slung Locksley into the cart and they were off.
Vaisey met their sorry looking procession at the doors of the castle. He did indeed look furious, until his eyes lit on Hood. Then his face transformed, he threw back his head and indulged in a long deep laugh.
“Oh good work Guy, is he alive?”
“Probably.”
“Even better.”
“I’ll have him locked in the dungeon.”
“No, no. We’ve had too many of them break out of there. Have the men clear one of the tower store rooms of anything he can use and lock him in there.”
“Yes sir.”
“Make sure you check him for any nasty surprises first.”
Really, he should have checked for weapons already, but he had been rushed.
“Yes sir.” And Vaisey left him to it.
It would be more dignified to have the men check Hood, but he looked at them, embarrassed and bruised, and had a sudden vision of them missing a dagger in Hood’s boot or something equally obvious. It would be better to do it himself. He moved over to the cart and ran his hands over Locksley’s frame. He could feel the muscle now, that he hadn’t seen when Locksley stood dripping in his bathtub. There was a coiled strength waiting in that body that made him wary. The wound was still bleeding, very gradually.
The Letter.
He fished it out of Locksley’s top, and it was still sealed. The man had never had time to read it, but it was decorated with his blood. He removed the tags Hood wore, but wasn’t sure why, and checked his pockets and obvious places to stash a weapon. There was a vial, like that damned liquid that had burned the ink from his skin.
He barked orders to his men, and they hauled Hood out of the cart. He didn’t envy them the long trek up the tower stairs with their awkward burden, or the necessity of hauling crates out of the storeroom.
But given a choice between that and explaining to the Sheriff that he had lost Courtell, he knew which he would prefer.
“So Hood’s men have him then?”
“I don’t know, probably. He should be safe, Hood ordered one of his men not to fight Courtell.”
“And he fell for the ‘Locksley is a mad man of the woods’ ploy?”
“Completely, and if the outlaws do have him, I doubt he’s going to be talked out of his opinion by a group of peasants.”
There was a tentative tap at the door. Vaisey gestured for Guy to see to it.
There was a guardsman there, looking terrified.
“Yes?”
“There’s a message for the Sheriff.”
“Does it happen to be wrapped round an arrow?” The Sheriff enquired.
“Y-yes sir.” The man stuttered, now clearly under the impression that the Sheriff had uncanny powers of foreknowledge. Guy grabbed it out of the man’s hand and slammed the door closed.
“Read it to me Gisborne.”
“To the Sheriff of Nottingham,
We are willing to exchange Cecil de Courtell for Robin Hood, unharmed. If you agree to this exchange, hoist a green flag above the castle, and we will tell you where and when to meet us.
The outlaws”
Vaisey laughed.
“They can keep Cecil, I want the gold. Now, how do you suppose I go about telling them that? Write it in giant letters on a green flag? GOOOOOLD. Hmmm. Unharmed, they said?”
“Yes.”
“And you said Hood was still bleeding?”
“Yes, should I call a doctor?”
“Doctor, no, we aren’t wasting money on a physician for him. Have one of the men see to it, and ask Hood how we go about getting a message to his men whilst you’re at it.”
“Yes sir.”
He left the room, and realised he was still holding the outlaws’ note in his hand as he strode toward the tower. That thought was stuck in his head for some reason, and he stared down at the parchment in his hand.
The letter.
He still had the King’s missive that he had taken from Locksley, and he hadn’t told Vaisey. Ducking into a niche by one of the windows, he extracted it from his shirt. There, the King’s seal. It was odd, he thought, that a man who could try to kill his king would be so hesitant about breaking his seal. Sacrilege, he thought as he broke it open.
My Robin,
You know that the man who bears this letter is to be trusted, and is fully aware of the situation between us. You may give him an open and honest reply. This is the first opportunity I have found to send word to you since your departure, a fact that saddens me greatly, but I could not trust such a letter to an ordinary messenger, and now that you are gone, I find it harder and harder to find trustworthy men I can spare for a long voyage. I think that things were left unclear between us.
My heart, understand that the very last thing I wished to do was abandon you, especially after you showed such bravery in keeping me safe. But the fever was heavy upon you, and the heat was eating you away to nothing. This war of mine demanded a swift advance, and I did not have the heart to drag you along, sick and wasting in my wake. I left orders for you to go home upon your recovery, not because I had tired of your presence, but because I had watched you, day after day pining silently away for your little Locksley and wilting in this monstrous heat. I know you will flourish again in England’s greenery, and the thought of your presence draws my thoughts to the end of this war, and my joyful homecoming.
It occurs to me that you will soon be in need of a wife to secure your line, and I have advice you should heed. Pick a patient and meek girl, one that will be content dandling your children and seeing to your estate without complaint during your long absences at my court. If there is no one of that description in your present circle then I must ask you to wait until you happen upon such a woman, or until I am home to aid in your choice. I have no doubt that with my assistance you could marry well enough to inherit lands that dwarf your present holdings.
Richard.
It was the King’s Christian name, so simple and unadorned that finally overwhelmed Guy. He stared blankly out of the window, until distant voices recalled him to the fact that he had a job to do.
Locksley and the King? It…couldn’t mean what he thought it did. Any sane man would have tried to exploit such a connection, before getting himself outlawed.
He resumed his march towards the tower, thoughts sliding disobediently round his mind.
He had barely remembered to pick up cloths and water, for Locksley’s wound. He stood facing the guardsmen at the door of Locksley’s temporary prison, and looked from the water, to them, and back again. He had seen their attempts at patching one another up, and didn’t think it wise to inflict that on Locksley and still try to argue that the man was “unharmed”. No, if you want a job doing…
“Let me in. If I want to get out, I’ll knock five times on the inside of the door. If it’s a different knock or I ask you to open the locks then it means Hood’s trying something and you need your weapons out. Understand?”
They nodded, and Guy chose to interpret that as understanding.
They let him in. Locksley had been left on the floor of the temporary prison, and he lay there still. Guy wondered how he was to go about asking how to get a message to Locksley’s men if he didn’t wake up.
It was surprisingly difficult getting an unconscious man out of his shirt, and he nearly knocked the water over in the process.
There. It wasn’t a bad wound, considering the brutal way Locksley had yanked the arrow out of his own flesh. Guy tipped water over it, and jerked back in surprise when Locksley gasped. There was silence in the room.
“I know you’re awake Hood, there’s no point pretending anymore.”
No response. He shook Hood, and he flopped about like a rag doll.
“I’ve got your letter.” He said calmly, trying a different tack.
Locksley’s eyes flicked open.
“That’s mine, give it to me.”
“You don’t own anything, anymore.”
“Give it to me!” Locksley tried to gab at him, but instead clutched at the back of his head and looked a little sick. “Ow.”
“I’ll let you read it on one condition.”
Hood regarded him silently, having found the presence of mind to adopt a blank expression.
“Tell me what you are to King Richard.”
“A loyal subject.”
“What else?”
“A good soldier.” Despite his pretence at indifference, the promise of the letter seemed to be drawing Hood in. “Why are you asking this? Has Vaisey sent you here?”
“Yes. But not to ask you these questions. He hasn’t read the letter.”
“You have?”
“Courtell, he called you ‘The Lion’s Heart’?”
Something like pain flickered across his features.
“What are you to the King?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Where did you get that name?”
Locksley had fallen silent again. Guy felt a bizarre hunger, and clutching Hood’s discarded filthy shirt in his hand, he stood, and began circling the room.
“This isn’t another move in your stupid game, Hood. It’s not about you playing the peasant’s hero, and it’s not about the Sheriff’s gold, and it’s not about the war. I just…I want to know.”
“It’s always about the war.” Said Hood, with a peculiar deadness in his voice.
“Fine then. Right, if you tell me the story, whatever it is, between you and the King, I’ll let you read the damned letter, and let you repay one of the debts you owe me.”
“One? There’s only one anyway.”
“I could have killed you today, and you know it.”
Hood looked as if he were wavering. He presumably thought it would be considerably easier to fight Guy if he didn’t feel guilty about it.
“Tell me the story, truthfully.”
“I want an oath from you first.”
“Really?”
“Yes. This, well, it probably shouldn’t get back to Vaisey. I don’t know what he could do with the knowledge, but I’m sure there’s something. And you have to swear not to use anything in this story against the people that are in it.”
Idiot, to expect Guy to consider his word to an outlaw binding.
“Fine, what do you want me to swear by?”
He looked directly into Guy’s eyes for the first time since he entered the room.
“Swear on Marian’s life.”
Oh.
Gisborne paused to give that weighty matter the consideration it deserved. He saw a flicker of approval in Hood’s eyes.
“I swear. Now where did you get that name?” He quit his pacing, and stood over Locksley.
“From Richard, I, I’ve never heard anyone else use it.”
“You were close to the King?”
“I saved his life, remember? You were there.”
“And in saving his life you got sent home…before that, were you close?”
“Sometimes.”
“When? At night?”
That question was too direct, Hood couldn’t evade it, and instead he looked up, mutinous.
“You owe me this. I want this story, and you have to tell it properly. I don’t want to drag it out of you.”
The outlaw took a few breaths, and winced as the wound reminded him of his presence.
“Here, I’ll wrap that up, you speak.” It would be easier to mask his reactions if he could invest his attention in a physical task. He was good at those.
Locksley took a deep breath, and then let it all out in a rush, words tumbling with it.
“Well…it was, the third year I think, that we were out there and Much and I had been separated from the army, long story involving a camel thief and a sandstorm, but anyway, we were moving towards the city where we knew our next assault would take place, but by the time we got there our forces were in and our men were running through the city…they were looting, burning…they were doing terrible things, and Much and I were walking through the streets, and it felt like the world was ending. I heard screams, young screams, and women’s screams, and we started running towards them and saw Englishmen thrusting their way into a building, a holy place, their version of our churches, and there were innocents hiding there…and they were screaming for help, I know enough of their language to know that…and the men were taking hold of them…”
He looked sick, and Guy realised that as furiously as Locksley usually shone, the darkness of the holy land had nearly swallowed him. He had asked for more than he had realised, asking for this tale.
“…and I drew my sword, and I struck out with the flat of it, bidding them all stop in the name of the King, and most of them, they were common men, and they shrank away at my voice, but one of them, a noble, he would not stop, he wouldn’t be ordered by me, and, he had, he had this girl. And then Much hit him. Knocked him out cold, and all those men in the temple, they saw, saw my manservant knock out a noble like they were equals in a tavern brawl, and I knew right then, that when that noble woke up, he’d see Much hang for it…”
He wasn’t even sure Locksley remembered he was there.
“…and it even crossed my mind that I should kill him, he deserved hanging for what he had tried to do, but, but I couldn’t, because he was on the floor…so, so we left. And the next day, Much was dragged out of my tent by an officer, and they started trying to pass judgement on him, but I wouldn’t let them. I said it was me, that I had struck him, and that any punishment should be mine, but that man was there, Venet, the one Much hit, and he swore he had seen me on the other side of the room when he had been struck, and I called him a liar, and he slapped me and demanded that I swear as much on the bible…and I shouted back, I don’t know what, something about him not being fit to touch a holy book…and then, then…Richard was there.”
Richard, not the King.
“And he said if there was any offence, he pardoned it, and flattered Venet into passivity, and then he ordered me into his tent. He hadn’t spoken to me much before and he examined me there, staring, and I was only wearing the thin clothes I had raced from my tent in, this was before I had learned to sleep in armour. He looked at me, and he said ‘Huntingdon, that was a…passionate defence for a manservant.’
And I told him it was a passionate defence for an innocent man. And he smiled and said ‘Is not your passion a little misplaced? Are the camp whores not to your taste? Nor the native women?’ And I just, I didn’t know what to say, I was rude, I just stared and didn’t answer…and then he asked me if I was grateful, and loyal, and I said I was, and he asked me how it was that subjects usually expressed gratitude and loyalty to their Kings, and I said I did, they knelt, and then he said…”
Hood faltered, and seemed a little red.
“He said, then I’d like to see you on your knees, Huntingdon…and I didn’t understand, but I knelt…and then he said he would appreciate it if I would do my duty to my king, and I…I realised what he wanted from me. It wasn’t something I had indulged in before and I was curious, I wanted to know how he would taste and if I would be good at it, because I’ve always been good with a woman, at least, that’s what they told me…and, well, I was. Richard took a liking to me.”
Of course. Why would the King of England be immune to Locksley’s charms? Everyone he met wanted to bed him, kill him, or follow him. Or all three.
“So, I became a member of his guard, because he wanted me close and not always in danger. But we argued, about how Saracen prisoners were being treated, I think, so when you came, it was the only night in weeks I hadn’t been sleeping in his tent, and then I was injured, and he decided I wasn’t worth his favour if I was damaged, and I was cast off. There, are you happy?”
Guy stared at him incredulously.
“You’re an idiot.” He said, and passed Hood the letter.
Locksley devoured the text and Guy watched his eyes widen and lips part in comic surprise. He expected a smile to bloom on Locksley’s face, but instead the man’s head snapped up, and there was anger in his eyes.
“A meek and patient woman!” He snarled. “Little Locksley? He thinks I’d treat a wife like that? That I’d abandon my people?” He sighed, and the anger sank out of him. “Perhaps it’s better he sent me away after all.”
“You’re an idiot.” Guy repeated. “The King of England has bedded you…and he sent you home to keep you safe. Why the hell are you living in a forest?”
“Well, partly because you’re living in my house!” Hood snapped back, climbing awkwardly to his feet.
“You fool! The King wants you to warm his bed after his wars and you don’t have the sense to use that?” Guy jumped up too.
“I don’t use my King!”
“But you are content to be used by him?”
“I’m not like you Gisborne, I don’t whore myself out for power and security.” Hood hissed that directly into his face, and Guy felt something that was not entirely rage flow through him. His hands were up, to hit Locksley, or push him down, he didn’t know, but somehow he had Hood pinned against the wall, and they were kissing, and clearly, they were both completely insane.
Guy broke away, and they stared at one another, gasping.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to do that.” Hood said, calmly.
“How-How long?” Guy choked.
“Yes. I stirred you the moment you first set eyes on me. It’s just I pissed you off more.”
“Well, you’re quite stirred yourself.”
“At least I have the excuse of living in the forest without anyone to bed. You’ve just gone mad.”
“The Saracen!” He objected.
“Djaq? If I touched her I’d have a mutiny on my hands.”
“That servant of yours.” He was not going to have Locksley weasel his way out of this.
“Much! He’s like my brother…a brother that cooks and mends, and tries to keep you out of trouble…actually, Much is like my mother. Bedding him would be wrong. Ugh… and now I can’t get it out of my head.”
Guy was fairly sure he could help with that, and he leaned in, capturing Hood’s mouth. He was aware of the man’s wounded shoulder, but all the same, his touch was not gentle. Neither was Hood’s, and a particularly unexpected bite to his lower lip made him jerk away.
“What are we doing?” He said. “There’s no possible way this is going to end well.”
“It can’t hurt. If we can burn this thing out that’s been flickering between us, then everything just gets easier and we can fight properly. And, well, if I give you a proper display of my gratitude, maybe you can forget my second debt.”
“I thought you didn’t whore yourself out?”
“This is for a good cause.” Locksley said, and grinned. For once, Guy didn’t find it infuriating.
This time Locksley initiated the kiss, though Guy thought kiss must be a misleading term, because there was far more than just lips involved. They had begun to clutch at one another, and their hips were rocking into an easy rhythm. This was… a very good reason to envy the King of England.
“I had…I had a vial on me. You’ll need something like it if you want to fuck me.”
Guy let loose a choked noise of pleasure, and then froze as he heard the locks on the door slide back.
They had the sense to spring apart, and then Vaisey strode into the room.
He looked at them both. Guy was painfully aware that his lips were probably swollen. Locksley’s hair resembled a hedgehog, his lips were red, and Guy would have said his eyes shone, if Guy said that sort of thing.
“Gisborne.” Vaisey said carefully. “Does the fact you’ve been up here this long mean you were successful getting an answer from him?”
Hood’s eyes narrowed, and he looked for a moment, furious, before the blank face returned.
“Answer?” Guy mumbled, quite honestly uncertain exactly what it was he was supposed to be interrogating Hood about.
“Yes. How, exactly, are we supposed to be getting a message to his men?” Right. Was that relief in Hood’s face?
“No. Sir.” He decided to cling to the safety of monosyllabic answers.
“Very well. Get back to Locksley and start killing a peasant every hour. His men will be along soon enough, and you can tell them we’ll only exchange Hood for the gold.”
“No!” Hood shouted. “We have an agreement! We don’t kill you and you don’t hurt any innocents trying to get to us.”
Vaisey swung around with a laugh, incapable of resisting the allure of a dramatic exit.
“Are you coming Gisborne?” He snapped from the corridor, irritated that his exit was being spoiled by the fact that Hood and Gisborne were frozen in tableaux.
“Yes.” He said, transfixed by the horror in Locksley’s eyes.
“No.” Hood whispered.
He nodded his head infinitesimally as he backed out of the room, but he wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
He still didn’t know as he strode through the corridors, looking externally determined and intent, but internally incapable of a coherent thought. He wondered what would happen, if he returned to that tower room stinking of the fear and death of Locksley’s peasants. The Sheriff had never seen Hood truly out of control with rage. Guy had. He had thought for a moment that he wouldn’t have survived it. That rage was a terrifying thing, but it was an honest one, proving to Guy that the outlaw was no better a man than he.
And that vial was in his pocket, the vial that should burn, but according to Hood, was for something else entirely…
The uneasy understanding in this prolonged scuffle of theirs was a necessity. If he butchered half of Locksley and then Hood was set free, mad with grief and with a bow in his hand, none of them would live to see another sunset. It only made sense to kill peasants if you planned to kill Hood too. But the gold…
The chatter of guardsmen, somewhere out of sight, brought an end to his circling thoughts.
“What did you fall over? Thin air! You practically missed him on purpose!” Guy wasn’t sure, but he believed it was the new guardsman whose voice he heard.
“Shut up”, another guard snapped. “Someone might hear.”
“What, its only a joke, unless…oh, Christ, you did!”
“Shut up!”
And then a third voice joined in, slow, unsteady and fumbling.
“My sister, my Maddy. She’s in Locksley. And her husband died last month, and she’s got four mouths to feed, and she can’t, not by herself, and I’ve got my own to look after. Hood brought them food.”
“And money.” Said the second guard.
“And clothes.” Continued the first.
“You’ve got no roots here, you can’t understand, so you just shut your mouth, alright? And if you think you see Hood’s men round here, well, you just turn your back and let them sneak past or knock you down.”
He knew it. He knew he hadn’t hired stupid men. He’d hired men that were too smart. He understood now, how they could have so many unsuccessful fights with so few injuries, how so many men were knocked down and out by a single blow to the head, and why the only real fury in the fights was reserved for when the Sheriff was present.
He was an idiot. It had never occurred to him that these nameless suits of armour had families to feed. Families that Guy might be about to ride off and slaughter. He should have learnt that lesson from the old guard, trying to assassinate Vaisey. He didn’t like the idea of grieving guardsmen, not when they surrounded him on a daily basis, armed from top to toe.
Damn Hood. Why was it always so difficult?
The Sheriff didn’t follow him to Locksley, and he rode wildly down the pathways, his manic mood somehow infecting his horse. He had no idea what he was doing, and this wasn’t a normal state of affairs. Usually everything was simple. Obey Vaisey. Chase Marian, and try to woo her. Chase Hood, and try to kill him. Frighten peasants.
Now, he had an overwhelming urge not to kill peasants, in fact, he’d be happy to make peasants happy, if it would make Locksley inclined to show his gratitude. Clearly, he was thinking with his prick. He could still feel that vial in his pocket, and it felt like a silent promise.
He rode into Locksley, and he must have looked fierce, with his blood up and fire in his eyes, because the peasants cowered even more than usual. The horse reared under him, and he laughed.
“Gather round, all of you!” He bellowed, with a voice to rival a town crier. The peasants crept closer, a hesitant, quivering mass.
“Closer!” He didn’t want his words ringing into the surrounding countryside.
Eventually they had made their way into a semi circle, as close as they dared get to his temperamental mount.
“I have something to say, and you all need to listen, closely. Robin Hood has been captured, and the Sheriff has him in the castle.” There were quiet cries of horror at that, but the more intelligent individuals managed to stifle their reactions.
“However, the Sheriff doesn’t really want to keep him, so he proposes to exchange Hood, unharmed, for the return of the gold the outlaws took today. Now, as we aren’t in the habit of exchanging pleasantries with the outlaws, this means I have to find a quick method of getting word to them. The Sheriff has suggested that the best way of dong this is to start killing you, one an hour, until one of Hood’s men turns up.” There it was, dull horror in their eyes, and they looked one to the other, sickened. Guy felt that silent creeping disgust that he always did at such moments, that not a none of them had the nerve to take up arms and fight him. Pathetic.
“However, I don’t have time to waste, and I don’t particularly want to be shorthanded come harvest time, so I have another idea. I’m going into the house, right now, and I’m going to be there for the next three hours. Should the outlaws miraculously hear of Hood’s situation and somehow realise they should send me a sign of their agreement, then no questions will be asked. Is that understood?”
They stared at him mutely.
“I said, is that understood!” He roared.
There were a couple of nods in the crowd.
“Good. Remember, three hours, and then I’m forced to revert to the Sheriff’s plan.”
He wheeled the horse about, and trotted off to the stables.
He’d had a cup of wine, but he couldn’t relax. He felt as if his whole body was taut and stretched out, and he silently cursed Hood for making him uncomfortable in his own skin. Old Thomas was pottering about in the corner, doing something domestic, and when Guy cast his gaze in that direction he kept seeing the man’s eyes on him.
“What?” He snapped.
“Nothing master.”
“Don’t nothing me, old man, what’s in your head?”
Thomas considered him quietly.
“I was thinking, that it’s a good thing you’re doing this day, choosing your own path.”
Guy didn’t know how to respond to that, but was saved by an odd thumping noise at the door.
“Go and see what that is.”
The old man came back, bearing another message wound round an arrow. It had worked, and no one had died. When he had unravelled the message it read “Agreed, but you still have to take Courtell back.” Clearly the man’s growling was getting on their nerves. The message also specified the time and place of the exchange. He could see no obvious objections to their choice. Conveniently, the time specified was on the next day, which meant there was no call to disrupt the Council of Nobles. He would take the message to Vaisey.
“Well, Gisborne, I must say, that was fast.”
“The outlaws move quickly when they’re motivated.”
“Wonderful. Well, I want you to check our defences, and then meet me for the Council. Make sure you post a guard at that privy they keep sliding in and out of.”
“The defences?” That would take him forever, and he itched to return to the tower room.
“Yes, are you deaf?”
“Sorry sir.” He couldn’t help glaring daggers at Vaisey’s back as the Sheriff left.
It took him longer than it should to secure the castle, and the fact that he kept wondering if he could justify a careful examination of the tiny tower room, which by this point had been made the most secure room in the castle, probably contributed to his crawling pace. He was about to finish up when the nobles began drifting into the castle, trickling towards the council room.
He caught sight of Marian, trailing after her father. She caught sight of him too, and murmured something to the old man, who went on without her. She was waiting for him. She hadn’t done that before.
Guy moved forward, and felt as though he was stumbling and heavy, even though he was walking as he usually did. It had been a long day, that was it.
He was level with her, and had forgotten whatever it was you were supposed to say to begin a conversation. She took pity on him.
“Guy.”
“My lady.”
“ You really have no call for formality,” She smiled, lifting the hand that wore his ring. His future hopes, wrapped around that dainty finger.
“I wasn’t sure, Marian…” he trailed to a halt. This was ridiculous. What if this unpredictable social paralysis still occurred when he was married to the woman? He tried to imagine a wedding night on which he couldn’t meet her eye or open his mouth. He could feel his cheeks burn. Really, he hadn’t been aware he could still blush.
She was smiling.
Then her hand was tight around his wrist, and she was leading him somewhere. He didn’t protest, and they ended up in the same alcove he had read Hood’s letter in that morning. They stood close together, and he could feel her skirts against his legs.
“I heard about Locksley today.”
“Heard what?” he blurted.
“That you spared the people from his unthinking cruelty.” Guy flailed mentally for a second before realising she was talking about the place and not the man.
“I’m not sure he will be so happy when he finds out.”
“He won’t. I heard it from a serving girl, and I don’t believe he’s in the habit of talking to serving girls.”
Guy’s relief must have shown on his face.
“Can I ask you something Guy?”
“You can ask me anything.”
She looked hesitant, and her eyes ran across his face. Clear, strong eyes. Like Hood’s.
“What will happen to Hood?” As soon as the words past her lips she looked away, as if afraid of his reaction.
“He will be exchanged for the gold.” She looked back, and her smile was radiant. Guy smiled back.
“You should smile more.” She whispered.
“Should I? Why?”
“It makes you very handsome. It makes me want to stay here and look at you, instead of sitting through that meeting.”
Guy was about to suggest they take that very course of action before realising that Vaisey and her father might well send a search party after them if they stood there, smiling like fools for any longer.
“I think we might be missed.”
“Very well. Something quicker than looking. To seal that smile.”
She leant in, and kissed him almost chastely on the lips. Guy felt as if all the air had been drawn out of the castle.
She stayed close, still looking, and breathed him in.
“You smell familiar.” She laughed, and then Guy jerked backwards, bouncing off the wall, trying to dismiss the image of grinding against Hood, and squashing the idea that he carried Hood’s scent on him. Hood’s lust. It was ridiculous. He’d ridden to and from Locksley since, and walked damn near every corridor in the castle. It was more likely he smelt of his horse.
She smiled once more, and glided off to the Council.
She had kissed him. Of her own accord. Guy needed to stop grinning if he wanted to get through the Council without Vaisey throwing something at him.
The Council was predictably long, and boring. Vaisey kept on crowing about foiling outlaw plans and how their eventual demise was inevitable. Guy didn’t point out that after the hostage exchange the situation would be exactly as it had been that morning, except they’d have to try and make sure the King’s messenger wasn’t offended that they’d got him kidnapped by vagabonds. At some of Vaisey’s most lyrical rhapsodising his gaze would slip across and catch upon Marian’s, and the corner of her mouth would twitch, just a little. He hoped his wasn’t doing the same.
He didn’t understand the point in these meetings. He’d been led to understand that under the old Sheriff, the man had used this as a forum to get advice on the management of the villages, but Vaisey hardly ever let anyone open their mouth. Clearly, the man just enjoyed having a captive audience.
“Isn’t that right Guy?”
“…yes.” He hazarded, thinking that would have been the appropriate response to whatever he’d been asked.
“Exactly! Really, that’s all you need to remember. Right, I’m bored now, you can all leave. Not you Guy.” He paused in his race for the door. “In a hurry Gisborne?”
“Ah, no, I just wanted to double check the defenses.” The nobles filed out.
“Don’t wear yourself out. Go to bed, you’ve been jittery all day.” Go to bed? What was he, a child?
“I wasn’t planning on staying here tonight. And I’m not tired.”
“Well, you are staying here, in case they try anything before the exchange. And you are going to bed, because I don’t want you bouncing around like this at the crucial moment.” He wasn’t bouncing. Perhaps his foot was tapping a little. And he had shifted around a lot through the meeting, but only because Vaisey wanted him to look threatening, and standing around looming for three hours just wasn’t comfortable. The Sheriff was giving him a level stare, and he couldn’t think of an argument that didn’t sound as if he were developing an insubordinate streak.
“Good night Sir.”
“Pleasant dreams Guy.”
His dreams were pleasant. As he slept, he pinned an imaginary Robin to his bed, and tore open his shirt in a way that would be physically impossible in real life. Robin batted his hands away, and Guy retaliated by capturing the man’s hands in his own. He examined the fingers, and there was a ring on them that didn’t belong there. Then the hands were different hands, and he wasn’t in his room at all, but stood in the sunshine, in Sherwood forest, hand in hand with his wife.
“Wakey wakey Guisbourn!” He gasped and jerked upright, uncertain of where he was. Vaisey’s face was inches from his own, and he nearly let loose an unmanly scream. He had locked the goddamn door! Vaisey seemed to be making a habit of this. He needed to start waking up earlier.
“Sir?”
“Get up Gisborne. Time to go.”
Guy stayed where he was, cocooned in bedding.
“Well?”
“I’ll meet you downstairs. Sir.” He wasn’t giving the Sheriff the satisfaction of watching him dress. Predictably, disappointment flashed across the man’s features, but he left without pushing the issue.
The exchange went alarmingly well. Hood was chained, gagged and blindfolded, and pinned between two burly guardsmen who were holding short swords at his neck. Guy felt this might have been slightly excessive caution on the part of the Sheriff. The cave they were in was empty, apart from their own men, and gloomy. It smelt a little damp. He was beginning to wonder if the outlaws were going to be late when he heard voices bouncing off the walls.
“All I’m saying is, it’s an awful lot of gold. They might not even notice.”
“Yes, they would!”
“I’m not being funny, but we could have like, found some golden looking rocks, and shoved them in instead.”
“If we’d found golden looking rocks, then we’d have found gold, and we wouldn’t be having this stupid conversation.”
“Enough! Gold, we don’t value. Robin, we do.”
“Yes, I’m shocked! Shocked you would think about double crossing them when my master’s life is at risk.”
“Robin will be fine. He’s always fine.”
“That’s what you think.”
It occurred to Guy that the outlaws weren’t aware they could be heard, but from the sound of it, all the gold was intact. It was also clear that they weren’t coming through the same entrance that the Sheriff and Guy had been directed to, which was alarming, because it was the only entrance they were aware of.
Eventually, the procession of outlaws appeared from what Guy had believed to be a shadow, but was apparently a narrow crack in the rocks. The huge wild looking man barely squeezed through, and had a chest of gold impossibly balanced on each shoulder. The manservant and the weasely looking one staggered under the weight of a third chest and the Saracen and the boy brought up the rear, dragging along a scruffy but unharmed Courtell. Guy noted that the manservant had Hood’s bow slung over his shoulder. The big man seemed to have been elected spokesperson in Hood’s absence.
“Here’s your gold.”
“Let’s see it.” Vaisey commanded.
The chests were set down and opened, and the gold glinted by the torchlight.
“Your man’s alright as well.”
“He’s not my man, he’s the King’s.”
They all shuffled uncomfortably at that, until the servant piped up.
“So’s my master. Get all that stuff off him.”
At a signal from Vaisey the chains and other bindings came off, leaving only a thin piece of rope around Hood’s wrists. He blinked in the dim light, his hair tufted up madly. Guy was put strangely in mind of a ruffled owl.
“Master? We found blood where they took you.”
“Just a scratch. All patched up.”
There was a bit of debate about the technicalities of the exchange, until Hood sighed, and raised his voice over the babble.
“Right, send Courtell over here, no John, don’t argue. Vaisey, get your men to let go of me, and we’ll leave the way they came. You have my word we won’t try and take the gold.”
“Your word?”
“Don’t sneer. You know full well I’m an honest man and that my word’s worth more than yours, outlaw or not. But that promise only holds until you get it safely back to the castle, then it’s fair game.”
There was a bit more bickering before this course of action was agreed upon.
Courtell was pushed forward, and Hood stepped out to meet him in the centre of the cave.
“I’m sorry about this Cecil. I trust you were treated well.”
“They aren’t your friends Robin. They’re helping this sickness worm its way through your brain.”
“I promise you I’m not a lunatic. Give Richard my regards, and tell him I am greatly in need of his homecoming…and, and tell him that there’s no woman like that in my circle, but that I won’t put him to the trouble of assisting me in the matter.”
Vaisey looked madly curious, and Guy felt slightly smug at being the only other man in the room to fathom this exchange.
Then Hood was across the room, and the rope binding his wrists was cut. The manservant placed the bow in his hand, and fastened a sheaf across his back. An unholy grin blossomed on Hood’s face. Guy felt twitchy again, and his fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the hilt of the sword at his side.
The outlaws melted away into the darkness, but not before Hood could whisper, “See you soon,” and wink at nobody in particular.
Pairing: Robin/Guy, Guy/Marian
Rating: PG-13 (15?)
Warning: Another bit of swearing.
Summary: In which there is kissing, and a story about the Holy Land.
Part One
Part Two
He had no gold. Courtell was missing, and his men seemed curiously uninjured, except the new one, who was bleeding from a slight wound. The archers that had been so effective initially against Hood had all been discovered unconscious. Vaisey was going to be furious.
He looked down at Robin Hood, sprawled at his feet. Unconscious and bleeding. Perhaps not.
He had carried the man back through the woods, surprised at how easy it was to lift him. He had been more surprised that the outlaws had somehow taken the heavy gold without moving the cart. Hood’s men had vanished into the undergrowth, but he had no idea how long it would be before they regrouped with the gold and realised their leader had vanished.
Courtell or no Courtell, they had to move.
“Back to Nottingham!”
He slung Locksley into the cart and they were off.
Vaisey met their sorry looking procession at the doors of the castle. He did indeed look furious, until his eyes lit on Hood. Then his face transformed, he threw back his head and indulged in a long deep laugh.
“Oh good work Guy, is he alive?”
“Probably.”
“Even better.”
“I’ll have him locked in the dungeon.”
“No, no. We’ve had too many of them break out of there. Have the men clear one of the tower store rooms of anything he can use and lock him in there.”
“Yes sir.”
“Make sure you check him for any nasty surprises first.”
Really, he should have checked for weapons already, but he had been rushed.
“Yes sir.” And Vaisey left him to it.
It would be more dignified to have the men check Hood, but he looked at them, embarrassed and bruised, and had a sudden vision of them missing a dagger in Hood’s boot or something equally obvious. It would be better to do it himself. He moved over to the cart and ran his hands over Locksley’s frame. He could feel the muscle now, that he hadn’t seen when Locksley stood dripping in his bathtub. There was a coiled strength waiting in that body that made him wary. The wound was still bleeding, very gradually.
The Letter.
He fished it out of Locksley’s top, and it was still sealed. The man had never had time to read it, but it was decorated with his blood. He removed the tags Hood wore, but wasn’t sure why, and checked his pockets and obvious places to stash a weapon. There was a vial, like that damned liquid that had burned the ink from his skin.
He barked orders to his men, and they hauled Hood out of the cart. He didn’t envy them the long trek up the tower stairs with their awkward burden, or the necessity of hauling crates out of the storeroom.
But given a choice between that and explaining to the Sheriff that he had lost Courtell, he knew which he would prefer.
“So Hood’s men have him then?”
“I don’t know, probably. He should be safe, Hood ordered one of his men not to fight Courtell.”
“And he fell for the ‘Locksley is a mad man of the woods’ ploy?”
“Completely, and if the outlaws do have him, I doubt he’s going to be talked out of his opinion by a group of peasants.”
There was a tentative tap at the door. Vaisey gestured for Guy to see to it.
There was a guardsman there, looking terrified.
“Yes?”
“There’s a message for the Sheriff.”
“Does it happen to be wrapped round an arrow?” The Sheriff enquired.
“Y-yes sir.” The man stuttered, now clearly under the impression that the Sheriff had uncanny powers of foreknowledge. Guy grabbed it out of the man’s hand and slammed the door closed.
“Read it to me Gisborne.”
“To the Sheriff of Nottingham,
We are willing to exchange Cecil de Courtell for Robin Hood, unharmed. If you agree to this exchange, hoist a green flag above the castle, and we will tell you where and when to meet us.
The outlaws”
Vaisey laughed.
“They can keep Cecil, I want the gold. Now, how do you suppose I go about telling them that? Write it in giant letters on a green flag? GOOOOOLD. Hmmm. Unharmed, they said?”
“Yes.”
“And you said Hood was still bleeding?”
“Yes, should I call a doctor?”
“Doctor, no, we aren’t wasting money on a physician for him. Have one of the men see to it, and ask Hood how we go about getting a message to his men whilst you’re at it.”
“Yes sir.”
He left the room, and realised he was still holding the outlaws’ note in his hand as he strode toward the tower. That thought was stuck in his head for some reason, and he stared down at the parchment in his hand.
The letter.
He still had the King’s missive that he had taken from Locksley, and he hadn’t told Vaisey. Ducking into a niche by one of the windows, he extracted it from his shirt. There, the King’s seal. It was odd, he thought, that a man who could try to kill his king would be so hesitant about breaking his seal. Sacrilege, he thought as he broke it open.
My Robin,
You know that the man who bears this letter is to be trusted, and is fully aware of the situation between us. You may give him an open and honest reply. This is the first opportunity I have found to send word to you since your departure, a fact that saddens me greatly, but I could not trust such a letter to an ordinary messenger, and now that you are gone, I find it harder and harder to find trustworthy men I can spare for a long voyage. I think that things were left unclear between us.
My heart, understand that the very last thing I wished to do was abandon you, especially after you showed such bravery in keeping me safe. But the fever was heavy upon you, and the heat was eating you away to nothing. This war of mine demanded a swift advance, and I did not have the heart to drag you along, sick and wasting in my wake. I left orders for you to go home upon your recovery, not because I had tired of your presence, but because I had watched you, day after day pining silently away for your little Locksley and wilting in this monstrous heat. I know you will flourish again in England’s greenery, and the thought of your presence draws my thoughts to the end of this war, and my joyful homecoming.
It occurs to me that you will soon be in need of a wife to secure your line, and I have advice you should heed. Pick a patient and meek girl, one that will be content dandling your children and seeing to your estate without complaint during your long absences at my court. If there is no one of that description in your present circle then I must ask you to wait until you happen upon such a woman, or until I am home to aid in your choice. I have no doubt that with my assistance you could marry well enough to inherit lands that dwarf your present holdings.
Richard.
It was the King’s Christian name, so simple and unadorned that finally overwhelmed Guy. He stared blankly out of the window, until distant voices recalled him to the fact that he had a job to do.
Locksley and the King? It…couldn’t mean what he thought it did. Any sane man would have tried to exploit such a connection, before getting himself outlawed.
He resumed his march towards the tower, thoughts sliding disobediently round his mind.
He had barely remembered to pick up cloths and water, for Locksley’s wound. He stood facing the guardsmen at the door of Locksley’s temporary prison, and looked from the water, to them, and back again. He had seen their attempts at patching one another up, and didn’t think it wise to inflict that on Locksley and still try to argue that the man was “unharmed”. No, if you want a job doing…
“Let me in. If I want to get out, I’ll knock five times on the inside of the door. If it’s a different knock or I ask you to open the locks then it means Hood’s trying something and you need your weapons out. Understand?”
They nodded, and Guy chose to interpret that as understanding.
They let him in. Locksley had been left on the floor of the temporary prison, and he lay there still. Guy wondered how he was to go about asking how to get a message to Locksley’s men if he didn’t wake up.
It was surprisingly difficult getting an unconscious man out of his shirt, and he nearly knocked the water over in the process.
There. It wasn’t a bad wound, considering the brutal way Locksley had yanked the arrow out of his own flesh. Guy tipped water over it, and jerked back in surprise when Locksley gasped. There was silence in the room.
“I know you’re awake Hood, there’s no point pretending anymore.”
No response. He shook Hood, and he flopped about like a rag doll.
“I’ve got your letter.” He said calmly, trying a different tack.
Locksley’s eyes flicked open.
“That’s mine, give it to me.”
“You don’t own anything, anymore.”
“Give it to me!” Locksley tried to gab at him, but instead clutched at the back of his head and looked a little sick. “Ow.”
“I’ll let you read it on one condition.”
Hood regarded him silently, having found the presence of mind to adopt a blank expression.
“Tell me what you are to King Richard.”
“A loyal subject.”
“What else?”
“A good soldier.” Despite his pretence at indifference, the promise of the letter seemed to be drawing Hood in. “Why are you asking this? Has Vaisey sent you here?”
“Yes. But not to ask you these questions. He hasn’t read the letter.”
“You have?”
“Courtell, he called you ‘The Lion’s Heart’?”
Something like pain flickered across his features.
“What are you to the King?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Where did you get that name?”
Locksley had fallen silent again. Guy felt a bizarre hunger, and clutching Hood’s discarded filthy shirt in his hand, he stood, and began circling the room.
“This isn’t another move in your stupid game, Hood. It’s not about you playing the peasant’s hero, and it’s not about the Sheriff’s gold, and it’s not about the war. I just…I want to know.”
“It’s always about the war.” Said Hood, with a peculiar deadness in his voice.
“Fine then. Right, if you tell me the story, whatever it is, between you and the King, I’ll let you read the damned letter, and let you repay one of the debts you owe me.”
“One? There’s only one anyway.”
“I could have killed you today, and you know it.”
Hood looked as if he were wavering. He presumably thought it would be considerably easier to fight Guy if he didn’t feel guilty about it.
“Tell me the story, truthfully.”
“I want an oath from you first.”
“Really?”
“Yes. This, well, it probably shouldn’t get back to Vaisey. I don’t know what he could do with the knowledge, but I’m sure there’s something. And you have to swear not to use anything in this story against the people that are in it.”
Idiot, to expect Guy to consider his word to an outlaw binding.
“Fine, what do you want me to swear by?”
He looked directly into Guy’s eyes for the first time since he entered the room.
“Swear on Marian’s life.”
Oh.
Gisborne paused to give that weighty matter the consideration it deserved. He saw a flicker of approval in Hood’s eyes.
“I swear. Now where did you get that name?” He quit his pacing, and stood over Locksley.
“From Richard, I, I’ve never heard anyone else use it.”
“You were close to the King?”
“I saved his life, remember? You were there.”
“And in saving his life you got sent home…before that, were you close?”
“Sometimes.”
“When? At night?”
That question was too direct, Hood couldn’t evade it, and instead he looked up, mutinous.
“You owe me this. I want this story, and you have to tell it properly. I don’t want to drag it out of you.”
The outlaw took a few breaths, and winced as the wound reminded him of his presence.
“Here, I’ll wrap that up, you speak.” It would be easier to mask his reactions if he could invest his attention in a physical task. He was good at those.
Locksley took a deep breath, and then let it all out in a rush, words tumbling with it.
“Well…it was, the third year I think, that we were out there and Much and I had been separated from the army, long story involving a camel thief and a sandstorm, but anyway, we were moving towards the city where we knew our next assault would take place, but by the time we got there our forces were in and our men were running through the city…they were looting, burning…they were doing terrible things, and Much and I were walking through the streets, and it felt like the world was ending. I heard screams, young screams, and women’s screams, and we started running towards them and saw Englishmen thrusting their way into a building, a holy place, their version of our churches, and there were innocents hiding there…and they were screaming for help, I know enough of their language to know that…and the men were taking hold of them…”
He looked sick, and Guy realised that as furiously as Locksley usually shone, the darkness of the holy land had nearly swallowed him. He had asked for more than he had realised, asking for this tale.
“…and I drew my sword, and I struck out with the flat of it, bidding them all stop in the name of the King, and most of them, they were common men, and they shrank away at my voice, but one of them, a noble, he would not stop, he wouldn’t be ordered by me, and, he had, he had this girl. And then Much hit him. Knocked him out cold, and all those men in the temple, they saw, saw my manservant knock out a noble like they were equals in a tavern brawl, and I knew right then, that when that noble woke up, he’d see Much hang for it…”
He wasn’t even sure Locksley remembered he was there.
“…and it even crossed my mind that I should kill him, he deserved hanging for what he had tried to do, but, but I couldn’t, because he was on the floor…so, so we left. And the next day, Much was dragged out of my tent by an officer, and they started trying to pass judgement on him, but I wouldn’t let them. I said it was me, that I had struck him, and that any punishment should be mine, but that man was there, Venet, the one Much hit, and he swore he had seen me on the other side of the room when he had been struck, and I called him a liar, and he slapped me and demanded that I swear as much on the bible…and I shouted back, I don’t know what, something about him not being fit to touch a holy book…and then, then…Richard was there.”
Richard, not the King.
“And he said if there was any offence, he pardoned it, and flattered Venet into passivity, and then he ordered me into his tent. He hadn’t spoken to me much before and he examined me there, staring, and I was only wearing the thin clothes I had raced from my tent in, this was before I had learned to sleep in armour. He looked at me, and he said ‘Huntingdon, that was a…passionate defence for a manservant.’
And I told him it was a passionate defence for an innocent man. And he smiled and said ‘Is not your passion a little misplaced? Are the camp whores not to your taste? Nor the native women?’ And I just, I didn’t know what to say, I was rude, I just stared and didn’t answer…and then he asked me if I was grateful, and loyal, and I said I was, and he asked me how it was that subjects usually expressed gratitude and loyalty to their Kings, and I said I did, they knelt, and then he said…”
Hood faltered, and seemed a little red.
“He said, then I’d like to see you on your knees, Huntingdon…and I didn’t understand, but I knelt…and then he said he would appreciate it if I would do my duty to my king, and I…I realised what he wanted from me. It wasn’t something I had indulged in before and I was curious, I wanted to know how he would taste and if I would be good at it, because I’ve always been good with a woman, at least, that’s what they told me…and, well, I was. Richard took a liking to me.”
Of course. Why would the King of England be immune to Locksley’s charms? Everyone he met wanted to bed him, kill him, or follow him. Or all three.
“So, I became a member of his guard, because he wanted me close and not always in danger. But we argued, about how Saracen prisoners were being treated, I think, so when you came, it was the only night in weeks I hadn’t been sleeping in his tent, and then I was injured, and he decided I wasn’t worth his favour if I was damaged, and I was cast off. There, are you happy?”
Guy stared at him incredulously.
“You’re an idiot.” He said, and passed Hood the letter.
Locksley devoured the text and Guy watched his eyes widen and lips part in comic surprise. He expected a smile to bloom on Locksley’s face, but instead the man’s head snapped up, and there was anger in his eyes.
“A meek and patient woman!” He snarled. “Little Locksley? He thinks I’d treat a wife like that? That I’d abandon my people?” He sighed, and the anger sank out of him. “Perhaps it’s better he sent me away after all.”
“You’re an idiot.” Guy repeated. “The King of England has bedded you…and he sent you home to keep you safe. Why the hell are you living in a forest?”
“Well, partly because you’re living in my house!” Hood snapped back, climbing awkwardly to his feet.
“You fool! The King wants you to warm his bed after his wars and you don’t have the sense to use that?” Guy jumped up too.
“I don’t use my King!”
“But you are content to be used by him?”
“I’m not like you Gisborne, I don’t whore myself out for power and security.” Hood hissed that directly into his face, and Guy felt something that was not entirely rage flow through him. His hands were up, to hit Locksley, or push him down, he didn’t know, but somehow he had Hood pinned against the wall, and they were kissing, and clearly, they were both completely insane.
Guy broke away, and they stared at one another, gasping.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to do that.” Hood said, calmly.
“How-How long?” Guy choked.
“Yes. I stirred you the moment you first set eyes on me. It’s just I pissed you off more.”
“Well, you’re quite stirred yourself.”
“At least I have the excuse of living in the forest without anyone to bed. You’ve just gone mad.”
“The Saracen!” He objected.
“Djaq? If I touched her I’d have a mutiny on my hands.”
“That servant of yours.” He was not going to have Locksley weasel his way out of this.
“Much! He’s like my brother…a brother that cooks and mends, and tries to keep you out of trouble…actually, Much is like my mother. Bedding him would be wrong. Ugh… and now I can’t get it out of my head.”
Guy was fairly sure he could help with that, and he leaned in, capturing Hood’s mouth. He was aware of the man’s wounded shoulder, but all the same, his touch was not gentle. Neither was Hood’s, and a particularly unexpected bite to his lower lip made him jerk away.
“What are we doing?” He said. “There’s no possible way this is going to end well.”
“It can’t hurt. If we can burn this thing out that’s been flickering between us, then everything just gets easier and we can fight properly. And, well, if I give you a proper display of my gratitude, maybe you can forget my second debt.”
“I thought you didn’t whore yourself out?”
“This is for a good cause.” Locksley said, and grinned. For once, Guy didn’t find it infuriating.
This time Locksley initiated the kiss, though Guy thought kiss must be a misleading term, because there was far more than just lips involved. They had begun to clutch at one another, and their hips were rocking into an easy rhythm. This was… a very good reason to envy the King of England.
“I had…I had a vial on me. You’ll need something like it if you want to fuck me.”
Guy let loose a choked noise of pleasure, and then froze as he heard the locks on the door slide back.
They had the sense to spring apart, and then Vaisey strode into the room.
He looked at them both. Guy was painfully aware that his lips were probably swollen. Locksley’s hair resembled a hedgehog, his lips were red, and Guy would have said his eyes shone, if Guy said that sort of thing.
“Gisborne.” Vaisey said carefully. “Does the fact you’ve been up here this long mean you were successful getting an answer from him?”
Hood’s eyes narrowed, and he looked for a moment, furious, before the blank face returned.
“Answer?” Guy mumbled, quite honestly uncertain exactly what it was he was supposed to be interrogating Hood about.
“Yes. How, exactly, are we supposed to be getting a message to his men?” Right. Was that relief in Hood’s face?
“No. Sir.” He decided to cling to the safety of monosyllabic answers.
“Very well. Get back to Locksley and start killing a peasant every hour. His men will be along soon enough, and you can tell them we’ll only exchange Hood for the gold.”
“No!” Hood shouted. “We have an agreement! We don’t kill you and you don’t hurt any innocents trying to get to us.”
Vaisey swung around with a laugh, incapable of resisting the allure of a dramatic exit.
“Are you coming Gisborne?” He snapped from the corridor, irritated that his exit was being spoiled by the fact that Hood and Gisborne were frozen in tableaux.
“Yes.” He said, transfixed by the horror in Locksley’s eyes.
“No.” Hood whispered.
He nodded his head infinitesimally as he backed out of the room, but he wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
He still didn’t know as he strode through the corridors, looking externally determined and intent, but internally incapable of a coherent thought. He wondered what would happen, if he returned to that tower room stinking of the fear and death of Locksley’s peasants. The Sheriff had never seen Hood truly out of control with rage. Guy had. He had thought for a moment that he wouldn’t have survived it. That rage was a terrifying thing, but it was an honest one, proving to Guy that the outlaw was no better a man than he.
And that vial was in his pocket, the vial that should burn, but according to Hood, was for something else entirely…
The uneasy understanding in this prolonged scuffle of theirs was a necessity. If he butchered half of Locksley and then Hood was set free, mad with grief and with a bow in his hand, none of them would live to see another sunset. It only made sense to kill peasants if you planned to kill Hood too. But the gold…
The chatter of guardsmen, somewhere out of sight, brought an end to his circling thoughts.
“What did you fall over? Thin air! You practically missed him on purpose!” Guy wasn’t sure, but he believed it was the new guardsman whose voice he heard.
“Shut up”, another guard snapped. “Someone might hear.”
“What, its only a joke, unless…oh, Christ, you did!”
“Shut up!”
And then a third voice joined in, slow, unsteady and fumbling.
“My sister, my Maddy. She’s in Locksley. And her husband died last month, and she’s got four mouths to feed, and she can’t, not by herself, and I’ve got my own to look after. Hood brought them food.”
“And money.” Said the second guard.
“And clothes.” Continued the first.
“You’ve got no roots here, you can’t understand, so you just shut your mouth, alright? And if you think you see Hood’s men round here, well, you just turn your back and let them sneak past or knock you down.”
He knew it. He knew he hadn’t hired stupid men. He’d hired men that were too smart. He understood now, how they could have so many unsuccessful fights with so few injuries, how so many men were knocked down and out by a single blow to the head, and why the only real fury in the fights was reserved for when the Sheriff was present.
He was an idiot. It had never occurred to him that these nameless suits of armour had families to feed. Families that Guy might be about to ride off and slaughter. He should have learnt that lesson from the old guard, trying to assassinate Vaisey. He didn’t like the idea of grieving guardsmen, not when they surrounded him on a daily basis, armed from top to toe.
Damn Hood. Why was it always so difficult?
The Sheriff didn’t follow him to Locksley, and he rode wildly down the pathways, his manic mood somehow infecting his horse. He had no idea what he was doing, and this wasn’t a normal state of affairs. Usually everything was simple. Obey Vaisey. Chase Marian, and try to woo her. Chase Hood, and try to kill him. Frighten peasants.
Now, he had an overwhelming urge not to kill peasants, in fact, he’d be happy to make peasants happy, if it would make Locksley inclined to show his gratitude. Clearly, he was thinking with his prick. He could still feel that vial in his pocket, and it felt like a silent promise.
He rode into Locksley, and he must have looked fierce, with his blood up and fire in his eyes, because the peasants cowered even more than usual. The horse reared under him, and he laughed.
“Gather round, all of you!” He bellowed, with a voice to rival a town crier. The peasants crept closer, a hesitant, quivering mass.
“Closer!” He didn’t want his words ringing into the surrounding countryside.
Eventually they had made their way into a semi circle, as close as they dared get to his temperamental mount.
“I have something to say, and you all need to listen, closely. Robin Hood has been captured, and the Sheriff has him in the castle.” There were quiet cries of horror at that, but the more intelligent individuals managed to stifle their reactions.
“However, the Sheriff doesn’t really want to keep him, so he proposes to exchange Hood, unharmed, for the return of the gold the outlaws took today. Now, as we aren’t in the habit of exchanging pleasantries with the outlaws, this means I have to find a quick method of getting word to them. The Sheriff has suggested that the best way of dong this is to start killing you, one an hour, until one of Hood’s men turns up.” There it was, dull horror in their eyes, and they looked one to the other, sickened. Guy felt that silent creeping disgust that he always did at such moments, that not a none of them had the nerve to take up arms and fight him. Pathetic.
“However, I don’t have time to waste, and I don’t particularly want to be shorthanded come harvest time, so I have another idea. I’m going into the house, right now, and I’m going to be there for the next three hours. Should the outlaws miraculously hear of Hood’s situation and somehow realise they should send me a sign of their agreement, then no questions will be asked. Is that understood?”
They stared at him mutely.
“I said, is that understood!” He roared.
There were a couple of nods in the crowd.
“Good. Remember, three hours, and then I’m forced to revert to the Sheriff’s plan.”
He wheeled the horse about, and trotted off to the stables.
He’d had a cup of wine, but he couldn’t relax. He felt as if his whole body was taut and stretched out, and he silently cursed Hood for making him uncomfortable in his own skin. Old Thomas was pottering about in the corner, doing something domestic, and when Guy cast his gaze in that direction he kept seeing the man’s eyes on him.
“What?” He snapped.
“Nothing master.”
“Don’t nothing me, old man, what’s in your head?”
Thomas considered him quietly.
“I was thinking, that it’s a good thing you’re doing this day, choosing your own path.”
Guy didn’t know how to respond to that, but was saved by an odd thumping noise at the door.
“Go and see what that is.”
The old man came back, bearing another message wound round an arrow. It had worked, and no one had died. When he had unravelled the message it read “Agreed, but you still have to take Courtell back.” Clearly the man’s growling was getting on their nerves. The message also specified the time and place of the exchange. He could see no obvious objections to their choice. Conveniently, the time specified was on the next day, which meant there was no call to disrupt the Council of Nobles. He would take the message to Vaisey.
“Well, Gisborne, I must say, that was fast.”
“The outlaws move quickly when they’re motivated.”
“Wonderful. Well, I want you to check our defences, and then meet me for the Council. Make sure you post a guard at that privy they keep sliding in and out of.”
“The defences?” That would take him forever, and he itched to return to the tower room.
“Yes, are you deaf?”
“Sorry sir.” He couldn’t help glaring daggers at Vaisey’s back as the Sheriff left.
It took him longer than it should to secure the castle, and the fact that he kept wondering if he could justify a careful examination of the tiny tower room, which by this point had been made the most secure room in the castle, probably contributed to his crawling pace. He was about to finish up when the nobles began drifting into the castle, trickling towards the council room.
He caught sight of Marian, trailing after her father. She caught sight of him too, and murmured something to the old man, who went on without her. She was waiting for him. She hadn’t done that before.
Guy moved forward, and felt as though he was stumbling and heavy, even though he was walking as he usually did. It had been a long day, that was it.
He was level with her, and had forgotten whatever it was you were supposed to say to begin a conversation. She took pity on him.
“Guy.”
“My lady.”
“ You really have no call for formality,” She smiled, lifting the hand that wore his ring. His future hopes, wrapped around that dainty finger.
“I wasn’t sure, Marian…” he trailed to a halt. This was ridiculous. What if this unpredictable social paralysis still occurred when he was married to the woman? He tried to imagine a wedding night on which he couldn’t meet her eye or open his mouth. He could feel his cheeks burn. Really, he hadn’t been aware he could still blush.
She was smiling.
Then her hand was tight around his wrist, and she was leading him somewhere. He didn’t protest, and they ended up in the same alcove he had read Hood’s letter in that morning. They stood close together, and he could feel her skirts against his legs.
“I heard about Locksley today.”
“Heard what?” he blurted.
“That you spared the people from his unthinking cruelty.” Guy flailed mentally for a second before realising she was talking about the place and not the man.
“I’m not sure he will be so happy when he finds out.”
“He won’t. I heard it from a serving girl, and I don’t believe he’s in the habit of talking to serving girls.”
Guy’s relief must have shown on his face.
“Can I ask you something Guy?”
“You can ask me anything.”
She looked hesitant, and her eyes ran across his face. Clear, strong eyes. Like Hood’s.
“What will happen to Hood?” As soon as the words past her lips she looked away, as if afraid of his reaction.
“He will be exchanged for the gold.” She looked back, and her smile was radiant. Guy smiled back.
“You should smile more.” She whispered.
“Should I? Why?”
“It makes you very handsome. It makes me want to stay here and look at you, instead of sitting through that meeting.”
Guy was about to suggest they take that very course of action before realising that Vaisey and her father might well send a search party after them if they stood there, smiling like fools for any longer.
“I think we might be missed.”
“Very well. Something quicker than looking. To seal that smile.”
She leant in, and kissed him almost chastely on the lips. Guy felt as if all the air had been drawn out of the castle.
She stayed close, still looking, and breathed him in.
“You smell familiar.” She laughed, and then Guy jerked backwards, bouncing off the wall, trying to dismiss the image of grinding against Hood, and squashing the idea that he carried Hood’s scent on him. Hood’s lust. It was ridiculous. He’d ridden to and from Locksley since, and walked damn near every corridor in the castle. It was more likely he smelt of his horse.
She smiled once more, and glided off to the Council.
She had kissed him. Of her own accord. Guy needed to stop grinning if he wanted to get through the Council without Vaisey throwing something at him.
The Council was predictably long, and boring. Vaisey kept on crowing about foiling outlaw plans and how their eventual demise was inevitable. Guy didn’t point out that after the hostage exchange the situation would be exactly as it had been that morning, except they’d have to try and make sure the King’s messenger wasn’t offended that they’d got him kidnapped by vagabonds. At some of Vaisey’s most lyrical rhapsodising his gaze would slip across and catch upon Marian’s, and the corner of her mouth would twitch, just a little. He hoped his wasn’t doing the same.
He didn’t understand the point in these meetings. He’d been led to understand that under the old Sheriff, the man had used this as a forum to get advice on the management of the villages, but Vaisey hardly ever let anyone open their mouth. Clearly, the man just enjoyed having a captive audience.
“Isn’t that right Guy?”
“…yes.” He hazarded, thinking that would have been the appropriate response to whatever he’d been asked.
“Exactly! Really, that’s all you need to remember. Right, I’m bored now, you can all leave. Not you Guy.” He paused in his race for the door. “In a hurry Gisborne?”
“Ah, no, I just wanted to double check the defenses.” The nobles filed out.
“Don’t wear yourself out. Go to bed, you’ve been jittery all day.” Go to bed? What was he, a child?
“I wasn’t planning on staying here tonight. And I’m not tired.”
“Well, you are staying here, in case they try anything before the exchange. And you are going to bed, because I don’t want you bouncing around like this at the crucial moment.” He wasn’t bouncing. Perhaps his foot was tapping a little. And he had shifted around a lot through the meeting, but only because Vaisey wanted him to look threatening, and standing around looming for three hours just wasn’t comfortable. The Sheriff was giving him a level stare, and he couldn’t think of an argument that didn’t sound as if he were developing an insubordinate streak.
“Good night Sir.”
“Pleasant dreams Guy.”
His dreams were pleasant. As he slept, he pinned an imaginary Robin to his bed, and tore open his shirt in a way that would be physically impossible in real life. Robin batted his hands away, and Guy retaliated by capturing the man’s hands in his own. He examined the fingers, and there was a ring on them that didn’t belong there. Then the hands were different hands, and he wasn’t in his room at all, but stood in the sunshine, in Sherwood forest, hand in hand with his wife.
“Wakey wakey Guisbourn!” He gasped and jerked upright, uncertain of where he was. Vaisey’s face was inches from his own, and he nearly let loose an unmanly scream. He had locked the goddamn door! Vaisey seemed to be making a habit of this. He needed to start waking up earlier.
“Sir?”
“Get up Gisborne. Time to go.”
Guy stayed where he was, cocooned in bedding.
“Well?”
“I’ll meet you downstairs. Sir.” He wasn’t giving the Sheriff the satisfaction of watching him dress. Predictably, disappointment flashed across the man’s features, but he left without pushing the issue.
The exchange went alarmingly well. Hood was chained, gagged and blindfolded, and pinned between two burly guardsmen who were holding short swords at his neck. Guy felt this might have been slightly excessive caution on the part of the Sheriff. The cave they were in was empty, apart from their own men, and gloomy. It smelt a little damp. He was beginning to wonder if the outlaws were going to be late when he heard voices bouncing off the walls.
“All I’m saying is, it’s an awful lot of gold. They might not even notice.”
“Yes, they would!”
“I’m not being funny, but we could have like, found some golden looking rocks, and shoved them in instead.”
“If we’d found golden looking rocks, then we’d have found gold, and we wouldn’t be having this stupid conversation.”
“Enough! Gold, we don’t value. Robin, we do.”
“Yes, I’m shocked! Shocked you would think about double crossing them when my master’s life is at risk.”
“Robin will be fine. He’s always fine.”
“That’s what you think.”
It occurred to Guy that the outlaws weren’t aware they could be heard, but from the sound of it, all the gold was intact. It was also clear that they weren’t coming through the same entrance that the Sheriff and Guy had been directed to, which was alarming, because it was the only entrance they were aware of.
Eventually, the procession of outlaws appeared from what Guy had believed to be a shadow, but was apparently a narrow crack in the rocks. The huge wild looking man barely squeezed through, and had a chest of gold impossibly balanced on each shoulder. The manservant and the weasely looking one staggered under the weight of a third chest and the Saracen and the boy brought up the rear, dragging along a scruffy but unharmed Courtell. Guy noted that the manservant had Hood’s bow slung over his shoulder. The big man seemed to have been elected spokesperson in Hood’s absence.
“Here’s your gold.”
“Let’s see it.” Vaisey commanded.
The chests were set down and opened, and the gold glinted by the torchlight.
“Your man’s alright as well.”
“He’s not my man, he’s the King’s.”
They all shuffled uncomfortably at that, until the servant piped up.
“So’s my master. Get all that stuff off him.”
At a signal from Vaisey the chains and other bindings came off, leaving only a thin piece of rope around Hood’s wrists. He blinked in the dim light, his hair tufted up madly. Guy was put strangely in mind of a ruffled owl.
“Master? We found blood where they took you.”
“Just a scratch. All patched up.”
There was a bit of debate about the technicalities of the exchange, until Hood sighed, and raised his voice over the babble.
“Right, send Courtell over here, no John, don’t argue. Vaisey, get your men to let go of me, and we’ll leave the way they came. You have my word we won’t try and take the gold.”
“Your word?”
“Don’t sneer. You know full well I’m an honest man and that my word’s worth more than yours, outlaw or not. But that promise only holds until you get it safely back to the castle, then it’s fair game.”
There was a bit more bickering before this course of action was agreed upon.
Courtell was pushed forward, and Hood stepped out to meet him in the centre of the cave.
“I’m sorry about this Cecil. I trust you were treated well.”
“They aren’t your friends Robin. They’re helping this sickness worm its way through your brain.”
“I promise you I’m not a lunatic. Give Richard my regards, and tell him I am greatly in need of his homecoming…and, and tell him that there’s no woman like that in my circle, but that I won’t put him to the trouble of assisting me in the matter.”
Vaisey looked madly curious, and Guy felt slightly smug at being the only other man in the room to fathom this exchange.
Then Hood was across the room, and the rope binding his wrists was cut. The manservant placed the bow in his hand, and fastened a sheaf across his back. An unholy grin blossomed on Hood’s face. Guy felt twitchy again, and his fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the hilt of the sword at his side.
The outlaws melted away into the darkness, but not before Hood could whisper, “See you soon,” and wink at nobody in particular.
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Date: 2007-11-11 10:42 am (UTC)