Weekend at Vasey's, Chapter Five
Yes, I did stay up all night finishing this, why do you ask?
Disclaimer: I don’t own the rights to Robin Hood BBC or the characters. Phillip is all mine, though (lucky me!).
Author’s note:
I want to thank everyone who has commented and reviewed the story so far. I love hearing back from all of you. I even took some inspiration for this next chapter from some of the comments, so thank you again for that. This chapter has a bit more plot, so let me say I’m sorry for that, but I hope you enjoy it, anyway.
I should be updating again pretty soon. This chapter was getting long, so I decided to go ahead and post part of it now.
This chapter is rated R for language and "adult" concepts (if you really want to call any of this "adult").
Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four
Will Marian and Allan be able to keep the Sheriff’s death secret during Phillip’s horsie ride? Will Team Castle be able to find Vasey’s seal to save Nottingham from Prince John’s army? And will Guy ever get to finish thinking his thoughts?
Chapter Five
“It’s not gonna work. We’ll all be hanged.”
“Oh, shush, Allan! Don’t be such a coward. We’re doing this for the people of Nottingham!” Marian said while looking at Gisborne’s manservant with utter disdain, then tied a knot around a stiff human leg that was straddling a horse.
“What good will it do them when Sir Falls-on-his-head-a-lot finds out the Sheriff’s dead, and we’ve been keepin’ it a secret? They’ll be killed, you’ll be killed, Giz’ll be killed, and what’s worst, I’ll be killed. So I fail to see what good we’re doin’ here.”
“Nonsense! This is going to work, I promise. And if something does go wrong, then perhaps the Nightwatchman will have to make an appearance, and then - ”
Allan, an apt pupil of his master Guy, grabbed Marian’s arm. “Don’t even think about - ” Unfortunately for him, he was also much smaller than his master, so Marian felt no qualms about kicking him in the shin.
“Owww! Hey, I’m only tryin’ get you to see reason here.”
“It’s too late to argue now, Allan! Just grab that rope and make sure it’s secure. We can’t risk having the Sheriff fall off his horse.” Vasey’s mount, Iscariot, looked back at them and seemed to roll his eyes. Marian reached up to pet him, thinking perhaps he was feeling nervous about carrying the corpse of his master, but she shrank back in disgust when the animal flashed its missing tooth at her. “Did - did the Sheriff have Iscariot’s tooth pulled to match his own?”
Allan shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe that’s the reason he bought him.”
“Fantastic.” Marian sighed, wishing she hadn’t chosen this particular day to wear her tarty shepherdess costume. The corset was squeezing the breath out of her, and the wig was bound to fly off during the ride. At least my cleavage looks amazing. Too bad Guy - er, Robin - isn’t here to see it.
She adjusted the Sheriff’s oversized robe so that it covered the ropes and the wooden supports that were keeping the body upright. Well, semi-upright, anyway. She also pulled the large hood down to cover most of his face.
“There, all ready. Go and tell Sir Falls - I mean, Sir Phillip - that we’re ready for him.”
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Meanwhile, back at the castle, Sir Guy of Gisborne was beginning to panic. He’d searched everywhere in the Sheriff’s quarters, but had found no clue as to the seal’s whereabouts. He’d found some incriminating documents, a heap of animal (he hoped) bones, strange-looking jewelry decorated with skulls, more perverse drawings of himself by the Sheriff, and a couple of souvenir shot glasses from the Holy Land that Guy had thoughtfully brought back for him. Didn’t even take them out of their case, Guy thought bitterly.
Thinking that perhaps the Sheriff had hidden the seal in some other part of the palace, Guy stepped out into the corridor. He paused for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t stop thinking about Marian in her shepherdess costume, especially since she was now out with Allan and Phillip . . . and the Sheriff. What if she fell in love with Phillip? True, Phillip was a complete imbecile, but then, Marian had fallen for Robin Hood once, so there was no telling what freak turn her affections might take.
Guy looked down both sides of the corridor, and when he saw the door to Marian’s room, it brought another twinge to his already tormented brain . . . and other areas. What if the Sheriff hid the seal in Marian’s room? It was possible . . . unlikely, but possible, and the Sheriff had told him he’d hidden it somewhere he’d never find it . . . Yes, it was time to search Marian’s room. And if he happened to come across anything personal, like a diary or a lacy undergarment, well, it would all be in the name of helping the good people of Nottingham. Naturally.
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Marian, now riding alongside the Sheriff, Allan, and Phillip, reached down to her bosoms and yanked up on her corset, nearly braining Allan with the shepherd’s crook in the process. She was starting to appreciate the comforting feel of her Nightwatchman costume, which she hadn’t had time to fetch from her room in the castle, so it seemed any appearances by the masked hero would have to wait. She also wished her costume came with a cape, because it was freezing outside, and the sheer poufy sleeves did little to block the winter air.
Sir Phillip noticed the lady give a little shiver, and, ever the gentleman, he leaned over to her, and said, “Lady Marian, you must be freezing.”
“Yes, I am a little, actually,” she said, eyeing Phillip’s warm cloak.
That nobleman, trying to be courtly, suggested, “Maybe the Sheriff would share his cloak with you. It’s big enough, isn’t it?”
“No!” Marian shouted, disappointed and alarmed. “I mean, no, thank you, Sir Phillip.”
Allan, who was riding a little behind the others, attempted to throw his voice again to impersonate Vasey. “No, I need my cloak . . . Let the leper suffer.”
“That’s a bit unkind, don’t you think, my lord?” Allan asked.
“Not at all, my boy, not at all. She’s a sodding idiot, dragging us all out here into the cold on a day like this without even putting on a warm cloak first,” the “Sheriff” replied.
Marian looked back at Allan and Vasey incredulously. No, he wasn’t actually pretending to have a conversation with - was he? No. This whole thing was just a bad nightmare. Except for the whole dead Sheriff thing. That was nice. Marian smiled.
Unfortunately, Phillip thought she was smiling at him, and he smiled back. He cleared his throat, then leaned over to her and whispered, “My lady, how is it that you’re not married yet? Surely it’s not because you’re too old, is it?” The compliment was, admittedly, not a smashing success.
“Uhh . . . no, Sir Phillip, it is by choice. I mean, I was engaged twice; it’s not as if I’m some spinster that no man ever wanted, or anything. As a matter of fact, they were - well, one of them was very handsome and well-built, and the other one was, um, very loyal to the king.” Marian wondered if that last bit wasn’t as great of a compliment as she’d meant it to sound.
The group was just rounding the corner before passing into Locksley village, where the few peasants who were outside stopped their work and stood gaping at the new arrivals, particularly at the strange woman dressed as a pastoral strumpet.
“Ahh, I see. So then, you are not engaged right now, my lady?” Phillip asked, pulling out a hunk of Brie that he had secreted away in his tunic for a mid-morning snack, and taking a bite out of it.
“N-no, not really.” Marian strongly regretted leaving the Nightwatchman costume at the castle, since that would have provided a welcome diversion from this line of questioning.
The dead Sheriff cackled, “Nobody wants her! She’s got no property, no family, and she has a tendency to put people in situations where they’re very likely to be killed.”
Allan laughed, then replied, “Yeah, so what if she’s got an utterly marvelous pair of . . .” Upon seeing Marian’s murderous look, he finished weakly, “eyes. They’re, uh, very pretty.” Marian hid her smile at Allan’s cheekiness. Why doesn’t Robin ever say that about my . . . eyes?
She shivered again as a single snowflake dropped onto her nose.
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Guy let himself into Marian’s room, not taking care to be quiet, since he knew she was going to be gone for at least a couple of hours with Sir Phillip. First he examined her desk, going through all the drawers, but he found nothing of interest, not even a single letter or sketch that might indicate that she was thinking of him in secret. He thought he’d hit upon something when he found a secret compartment that could be accessed by pushing a carefully-hidden latch, but the only thing he found there was a beautifully illuminated copy of Aristophanes’ The Birds. For some reason, this reminded him of the Sheriff and his pitiful aviary. He would have to ask one of the guards to feed the poor creatures.
He moved on to Marian’s trunk, which contained a few pretty gowns, a couple of elaborate costumes, an old XVII Magazine, a gauzy black sheath, and a couple of hideous cardigans that were, thankfully, quite moth-eaten. He was about to pull them out to see what was at the bottom when his eyes hit upon what he assumed was a self-portrait of Marian riding a horse bareback. Her wavy hair floated behind her, and her head was tossed back in ecstasy, while her bare legs straddled the creature and her hands grasped its mane. Guy knew she loved horses, but he never realized how very, very much she loved them until now.
He wondered if perhaps she also liked kittens. Kittens were so tiny and cuddly and furry, and they never hit you or yelled at you or made you stand and watch while they bathed, not like some people. Not that he would have minded watching Marian taking a bath; that would be quite a different thing.
Guy took the drawing over to the bed, and sprawled out his long frame, his feet hanging over the edge. Surely there was plenty of time, he thought. He could be alone with his “thoughts” for a while, and then he would be able to think much clearer. Yes. Oh, God, yes.
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Most of the villagers of Locksley had stayed indoors to keep warm on this blustery December day, but they began to come out of their homes, or at least peek out of the windows, when they heard the commotion caused by the arrival of the visitors from the castle.
“Please, my lord Sheriff, I don’t have any more money to give you! I already paid my taxes eight times this year!” one of the peasants pleaded to the unheeding Vasey. Even more frightened when the Sheriff did not reply, he continued, “Please, sir! We’ll be more than happy to give you Kate if you need money! You could sell her at the market. Please, take her!”
Allan, leery of the peasant’s close proximity to the not-so-dearly-departed Sheriff, shouted, “Back off! Sheriff’s not well today. He doesn’t want your stupid girl, or your tax money. He’s just out for a ride. Now bugger off!” He held out his arm, his pointing finger indicating that the man would be best advised to depart.
“But, sir, it’s really no problem if you want to take Kate away to market. We don’t mind, honest!” the man responded.
Marian, worried that he would reach out to touch the Sheriff and cause him to fall, brought her horse around to the man, whom she recognized as Eric, a pig farmer, and a friend of Robin’s. She hissed down at him, “Quiet down! All your lives are in danger if you don’t.”
Eric the pig farmer did not look happy, but he knew that if Lady Marian was telling him to do something, he had better listen, because he knew that she would cut a bitch if she felt like it.
Marian, Allan, Vasey and Phillip proceeded through the village, Allan holding the Sheriff’s horse’s reins as casually as possible, until they passed by a small stand full of garish pottery that was only painted on the bottom half. There stood a young blonde woman sporting a what can best be described as a follicular abortion, a loose braid trailing sadly across her forehead. As they were about to pass her, the girl rushed out into the road. Luckily (or perhaps not), Allan was able to stop Vasey’s horse in time to keep it from trampling her.
“What’s the matter with you?” Marian asked, trying to be sympathetic, but hoping this bizarrely-coiffed maid would jigger off sooner rather than later.
“Stop! I won’t let you do this!” the blonde girl yelled.
“Do what?”
“Whatever it is you’re doin’ here. It’s wrong!”
Marian cocked her head sideways, then smiled knowingly. “You must be Kate.”
“How did you know that?” the woman asked, surprised.
“Just a guess.”
Kate addressed the Sheriff directly again. “You can’t do this! I’m tired of the way you’ve been treating us, and I won’t stand for it. I have to protect me mum and me brother, those two standin’ over there.” She pointed at a 40-ish blonde lady and a ruddy-haired boy. The blonde woman was shaking her head furiously at Kate and mouthing, “Ixnay!” but Kate didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, that’s them. You’d better not do anything to them, do you hear?”
Allan cleared his throat for his best Sheriff impression: “Young lady, am I going to put up with your shenanigans a moment longer? A clue? NO!”
Marian looked quizzically at Allan, mouthing, “Shenanigans?” Allan shrugged at her.
Kate put her hands on her hips and approached the Sheriff more closely, trying to look into his face. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “What’s this, then? Can’t you see the Sheriff’s de-”
Marian, always a quick thinker, reached down with her shepherd’s crook and hooked it around Kate and jerked her off the road so fast that she had no time to get the rest of the word out. “Desperately ill! Yes, the sheriff is very sick, and we must be getting on now,” Marian breathlessly finished for her.
Phillip, still munching on some cheese, looked at Marian admiringly. He liked the way she handled herself and her shepherd’s pole thingy. It was very reassuring, especially when traveling amidst ignorant peasants, which was a new experience for him.
The four of them at last rode out of Locksley village, with Kate hurling curses at them from the pottery stand, until her mother and brother, along with a few other villagers, tackled her to the ground.
Once they were well away from the village and approaching the woods, Marian and Allan noticed that the snowflakes were falling faster than before. “We’d better get back to the castle, don’t you think?” Allan asked.
Phillip, who had been enjoying his horsie ride, was not ready to go back yet. “But I wanted to see the rest of Notterdam!”
Marian gave him her best coquettish smile from under her saucy blonde wig, and said, “But Sir Phillip, there will be cheese and wine for lunch, which will surely be ready soon.”
Phillip, unsure of what to do, looked at the Sheriff deferentially. Marian kicked Allan with her slippered toe to get him to respond.
“Uhh, yes, I’m tired. Let’s go eat. And hungry,” Allan grunted in his Vasey voice, then winced at the awkward phrasing.
“Well, all right then. I would like to try some of that Gruyere,” Phillip said, a bit of drool glazing his chin.
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Marian was riding her stallion, squeezing her hips together with every bump and jostle. The horse made many quick leaps into the air, causing her bosoms to bounce with the motion, and bringing a smile to her sensuous lips as they reached the earth again. Yes, this was a good one. Guy was starting to insert himself into the daydream, making himself the horse, as he neared the completion of his contemplations. This drawing is definitely going in my scrapbook, Guy thought as his eyes rolled back in his head.
Suddenly the door burst open, and two bodies came rushing through it. “Gisborne!”
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Guy hastily tried to hide the sketch he’d been . . . admiring . . . and grabbed a pillow to try to cover a certain bodily region that had become exposed during the admiring process.
“What are you doing here?” Robin Hood demanded, as if he’d any right to be there himself.
“Yeah, what are you doing in Lady Marian’s chambers?” Much echoed.
Guy stood up, holding the pillow in front of him, and reached for his dagger. “I could ask you that, Hood. But I think I know what you were doing here - getting yourself killed.” As he waved the dagger, Guy regretted that this didn’t seem as threatening coming from someone holding an embroidered cushion in front of his groin. Damn it.
“What’s the matter Gisborne? From the look of it, you must be happy to see me!” Robin smirked at the tall, dark man in front of him.
“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Much asked.
Robin rolled his eyes. “It’s a joke, Much. Honestly, I don’t know why I even keep you around!”
“Master, you don’t mean that!” Much cried, hurt.
“Yes, I do! I should have sold you in the Holy Land like that sultan wanted me to.”
“Sold me? To a sultan? You - you couldn’t do that, could you?” Much’s lower lip began to quiver.
Robin, as the pièce de résistance of his passive-aggressive sport, reached out and put a warm hand on Much’s shoulder. “Of course not. I need you. For cooking, mostly.”
Much’s face burst into a smile at these words. “You do need me! I knew it!”
“For cooking,” reiterated Robin.
“He needs me,” muttered Much, exhaling deeply with a joyful expression.
By this time, Guy had returned his clothing to its normal state and had tucked the drawing of Marian safely into his jacket. “You two done yet? I really don’t have time for this.”
“You don’t have time for us? Would you listen to that, Much? It’s like we’re not even welcome in our own castle!” Robin exclaimed arrogantly.
“Your castle? How does that work? This was never your castle, Hood,” Guy corrected him.
“Oh, right, right, I was confusin’ it with Locksley, which I still say belongs to me, Gisborne!” Robin countered. “Besides, the former Sheriff of Nottingham was a friend of mine, and he lived here, so that practically makes it mine.”
“No, it doesn’t, Hood.”
“Yes, it does, Gisborne.”
“No, it really doesn’t, Hood.”
“Yes, it does, Gisborne! Much! Tell him!”
Much nodded his head at Guy when Robin turned to look at him, but when Robin faced Guy again, Much held out his hands helplessly and shrugged. “Uh, yes, Master, that is logic that is in no way faulty.”
Guy felt a new sense of pity for Hood’s servant, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to kill them both, multiple times, for interrupting his sexy alone time. He waved his arm, threatening Hood with his curved dagger. “What the bleeding hell are you doing here? Better tell me now, otherwise I’ll have to torture it out of you.”
“Aren’t you going to torture us, anyway?” Robin asked, smugly.
“Well, yes, probably, but this will hurt even m- sod it, yes. But I might let your friend live - and - and have Bonchurch.”
“Really?” Much asked, pleasantly surprised.
“Much! You’re not helping!” Robin shouted. “You’re so quick to betray me. Unbelievable. And what do you mean, Gisborne, about giving him Bonchurch? You can’t do that without the Sheriff’s permission.” Robin smiled superiorly.
“I just meant . . . that I would get the Sheriff to do it. That’s all,” Guy stammered. Damn Hood! “GUARDS!”
Coming up:
Team Castle gets a clue to the whereabouts of the seal. Phillip surprises Guy. Marian gets to change clothes. Vasey is still decomposing. Allan goes to the dungeon. Or maybe not.
Chapter Six