The Wolf's Head - Prologue
Title: The Wolf's Head
Author: corrielle
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/characters: Guy, Djaq, Marian, Allan, John, and Will. Guy/Marian-ish
Word count: 3,797
Summary: Guy of Gisborne arrives in Locksley for the first time as Lord of the Manor in Robin's absence.
Notes: Many thanks to endcredits, who graciously agreed to be my beta at short notice and gave me both excellent advice and much-needed encouragement. Also, this story probably wouldn't be here without my girlfriend Rae, who read it first.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to legend and the BBC, and I make no profit from this work.
The earth was cold and hard under the horses' hooves as the riders entered Locksley. The first frost of winter was still on the ground, and the brown, bare stalks in fallow fields were sheathed in silver.
Guy of Gisborne rode at the side of the Sheriff of Nottingham, and fifteen armed men in black and yellow followed close behind. There was not a soul to be seen outside, though Guy thought he saw nervous faces half in shadow as he passed by. Even deserted, Locksley looked to be a well-kept village. The thatch on most roofs was new and clean, the walls of the peasants' homes were in good repair, and the livestock he could see from the road looked healthy and well-fed. He allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction. Locksley was indeed a fine manor, and it was soon to be his.
They were nearly at the door of the manor when a single man with iron grey hair and broad shoulders came out to greet them. Guy recognized him as the steward of the manor. Thornton, Guy thought his name was. The steward cast a disapproving glance at all of the horses blowing steam into the sharp morning air.
"Will my Lords be requiring stabling for your animals and food for your men?" he asked.
"No need for that. Most of us won't be here long," the Sheriff said, with a significant glance at Guy that was lost on no one.
The Sheriff dismounted and strode into the manor house as if he owned it with Guy at his heels. The steward shut the door as soon as they were inside, barely allowing Guy time to step into the room. A bright, crackling fire burned high in the hearth, and the lady of the manor sat in a chair beside it, ready to receive them. She had a blanket draped across her lap and a fur-lined cape over her shoulders, and yet she still shivered at the cold the open door had let in.
"A pleasure to see you again, Lady Elaine," the Sheriff said. "You're looking well for a woman who hasn't been out of her bedchamber in a month."
If Elaine of Locksley took offense at the Sheriff's manner, she did not show it. She was a small woman, well into middle age. Her thick blonde braid was streaked with grey and silver, and her skin was dull and pale. Her grey eyes, however, were still keen and aware, and she regarded Vasey coolly as he approached her.
"I thank you for your concern, My Lord Sheriff," she said when he was standing before her, "though I fear I will take no pleasure in your visit to my home today. I know why you are here, and it does not sit well with me." There was a sharpness in her voice that, had she been younger and less frail, might have given the Sheriff pause.
"Come now, Lady Elaine," Vasey said, placing one hand on the back of her chair and leaning in close to her. "Everyone in the shire knows that you are sick, weak, unable to fulfill your duties as master, or mistress, in your case, of the manor."
"And they also know that you would dearly like to see the lands I hold for my son pass to one of your men," she retorted.
The Sheriff feigned shock. "I am… wounded," he said, clutching at his heart with his free hand. "I stand to gain nothing from this. My concern is for the people of this village, and for you. You say you hold the lands in your son's stead, and the man I've appointed to oversee them will simply do the same. When your boy… what was his name?"
"Robin."
"When Robin comes home, all covered in dust and glory I'm sure, his lands will be returned to him, having been well taken care of while he was away, and in the mean time, you will be able to rest, free of responsibility for the day to day affairs of the village."
She did not ask what would happen if her son did not come home.
"Enough," she said abruptly. "You know I cannot win this argument, My Lord Sheriff, so please, just tell me. Who is it you have brought?" She peered at Guy, who was still waiting a respectful distance from the two of them. "This is not the man you wished to put in my place when you tried to take it from me last summer."
The Sheriff's response to her reminder of his defeat was to motion Guy forward, and the room was silent but for the tread of his boots on the floor as Guy came to stand before her.
"Sir Guy of Gisborne, My Lady," Guy said, bowing formally to her.
She smiled slightly at him then, and for the first time he saw a remnant of the beauty she must once have possessed.
"Well met, Sir Guy," she said. "I would say that you are welcome in my house, but I would not have my first words to you be a lie."
Guy was taken aback by her honesty, and he hurriedly discarded the carefully chosen words he had been planning to greet her with.
"Perhaps I will be able to prove that I deserve to have you think better of me," he said.
"Perhaps." She did not sound convinced.
The Sheriff, who had been observing them from the other side of the hearth and warming his hands near the flames, rubbed his hands together and said, "Good, good… Now that the two of you know each other, I'll be going. I'm sure you both have many things to discuss."
The Sheriff turned to go, and it felt odd to Guy not to be following him outside. Vasey wasn't ready to leave just yet, though. Just as the steward opened the door, the Sheriff turned sharply back toward the hearth where Guy was standing.
"I forgot to ask you, Gisborne," he said. "How many of your men would you like me to leave behind?"
"Five should be enough for now, the rest can come with my things later," Guy said.
"Gisborne hasn't had time to tell you this yet, so I will," the Sheriff said, shifting his attention to Lady Elaine. "We both agreed that these are difficult times, and Locksley needs protection and stability. So, Sir Guy has asked me to allow thirty of his soldiers to come with him to his new home. You can expect them before dusk tonight."
Elaine did not reply, but from the stony expression on her face, she was not happy about the prospect of having so many new men who would need to be fed and housed on her land. The Sheriff, glibly unaware of the lady's displeasure, was out the door and calling for his horse without a second glance.
"Too many," Elaine said in a soft voice.
Guy's eyes narrowed. Vasey had been out the door for only a few moments and already she was trying to undermine his authority and question his decisions. It was just as the Sheriff had warned him it would be.
"What was that?" Guy asked, hoping that she would not want to repeat her opinion when he would be sure to hear.
"Thirty is too many," Elaine said. "I do not mean to tell you your business, but I know how much food we have, and I know how difficult it will be to find beds and supplies for thirty grown men. They will be cramped and hungry, and the villagers in Locksley will be even hungrier because your men will eat the much of the stores we have put away for winter. Some of the peasants will fall ill, some will die, and the ones who are left will be weak. It will be no easy task to find strong workers for the fields when spring returns."
"How many do you think Locksley could support, then?" Guy asked quickly. He could still hear the Sheriff and his men outside the door. There was still time to change the plan without losing face.
"Fifteen at the very most," Lady Elaine said.
Guy nodded, then he went to the door and threw it open. Vasey was already on horseback, waiting for the rest of his guards to form up around him.
"Sir! About the men... I believe twenty will be enough," Guy said. Elaine looked neither angry nor surprised that he had not come down as far as she had asked, and he was determined to make no apology for it.
The Sheriff shrugged. "It's your manor, Gisborne," he said before digging his heels into his horse's side and riding away in a spray of dirt and frost with the rest of his guards struggling to keep up.
#####
On Guy's first evening at Locksley, the manor's kitchen staff served roasted pheasant and a fine brown ale from a brewer in the village. He ate at a long table in the hall that was empty save for himself and Lady Elaine, and she said very little to him at first. It would have been a pleasant change from the court at Nottingham, where every meal was accompanied by the constant hum of conversation, but her silence was unnerving.
When the meal was done and the plates were cleared away, the lady's maidservant helped her from the table to her chair by the fire and went upstairs to fetch a basket from her chamber.
"Would you care to stay with me while I work, Sir Guy?" she asked, pulling white cloth and a length of delicate lace from her basket. "This house can be lonely in the evenings, with so few of us here."
Guy was not worried about being lonely, but he had no wish to be rude, so he brought a chair from the table and set it on the other side of the fire. He wondered if she wished for him to talk to her to pass the time. He was not good at conversation for its own sake.
When he was settled, without looking up from her stitching, Lady Elaine asked, "Do you know why I did not contest your appointment here? It would have been my right, you know, to have my case heard in the Sheriff's court for all to see."
"Because you knew you would lose," Guy said. If she was going to be blunt, he would as well.
"And yet I could have made my displeasure known," she reminded him. "I chose not to. Because of you."
"Me?" Guy looked up at her, suddenly alert and wary. He wasn't sure he wanted this woman who had no reason to like him taking too much of an interest in him. "Why?"
Elaine looked up from her work and studied him for a moment, as if trying to remember something she had known once but forgotten.
"You don't remember me, do you? Not surprising… you would have had no reason to. But I remember you, Guy of Gisborne. You and your family."
"What do they have to do with this?" Guy asked sharply.
"I remember your mother as a kind woman and your father as an honorable man," she said, carefully drawing her needle through cloth and lace. "I have no love for our new sheriff, but you, I thought, might be different… if you were your parents' son."
Guy turned his face toward the fire.
"Most people remember my father as a leper and my mother as the woman who sheltered him," he said.
"Is that how you remember them?" she asked. She didn't wait long for an answer before continuing. "I am sorry if it is. I have often wondered what happened to you and your sister after you… lost your parents. It is good to see you again."
She didn't mention the fire, for which Guy was grateful. She didn't have to. They both knew what had happened and who had been at fault, and she was not so cruel as to remind him of what he had done.
"And… you as well," Guy said, somewhat stiffly. He remembered her, now. She was Lord Malcom's sunny-haired wife, the lady with the kind face and soft voice. She had been one of the first women to befriend his mother when his family had came to Nottinghamshire from France. She hadn't often gone visiting even then, but Guy's mother had gone up to Locksley with herbs and medicines many times, and she always came back smiling. The more he remembered, the less comfortable he was sitting like a conqueror in her hall, in her house.
They talked for a while longer about people Guy had not thought of since he was young, and when the fire grew too dim for Lady Elaine to see her work, she called her maid to help her to her bed. Guy, however, sat for a long time by the glowing coals before seeking sleep in his own fine chamber.
#####
The people of Locksley came to know Guy of Gisborne as a hard master, but not a cruel one. He did not relish enforcing the Sheriff's taxes and dictates, though enforce them he did. Still, the village fared better than others that staggered under the Sheriff of Nottingham's rule. The peasants' faces grew leaner and hungrier as the seasons turned, but no Locksley families were forced to turn beggar, and even the poorest of them always had good seed to plant when spring came. In public, Gisborne maintained that his peasants repaid him with exorbitant interest for the privilege of having anything to put in the ground at all, but everyone in the village knew that when harvest time came, Sir Guy only asked that he be repaid a fair price for what he had given them. They also knew that it was Elaine's voice, always at his ear, that made him so magnanimous, and they blessed her for it.
Because Locksley sent both food and taxes up to Nottingham in abundance, Guy of Gisborne prospered, too. The Sheriff rewarded him with gold and silver, fine horses, and good wine. Some of it Guy saved against the day Robin of Locksley would return from his holy war. Some he spent on tapestries for the manor's walls and plate for its table. And in the dead of winter, he spent his own silver to pay for just enough dry wood to keep many hearth fires from going cold.
As long as Guy sent the Sheriff his tax money, kept his mouth shut except to agree when the nobles met in council, and did nothing to attract undue attention, Vasey left him to his own devices. He grew used to the respect, and even the fear that was sometimes in his peasants' eyes when they looked at him, to standing in a room full of land-holding men and being treated as one of their own, and to the comfort that came with power and position.
He did not, however, grow used to Marian.
At first, she was only one of Elaine's many visitors, the young woman to whom the lady's absent son was betrothed. A constant stream of noble women and merchants' wives and daughters came to the manor to wish the lady well and keep her company for an hour or an afternoon. Usually, having paid his guests the respect they were due, Guy would disappear to his rooms or find that he had pressing business elsewhere on the manor grounds, leaving the ladies to discuss whatever it was women talked about when they were alone. Marian, though, came more often than most, and when she did, Guy lingered. Elaine seemed to welcome his company, and Marian and he soon settled into a sort of prickly familiarity. She was free with her disapproval, and no harsh punishment in Locksley, no necessary show of authority passed without her letting him know exactly what she thought of it, and of him for ordering it. And yet, she was free with kindness as well. No cold, haughty calculation marred Marian's smile or soured her laugh. In that, she was different from every other young woman of noble birth Guy had ever met, and against his better judgment, he trusted her. Slowly, cautiously, he told her of his hopes and ambitions-land of his own, not held in another's stead, stability, wealth, respectability-and though she didn't applaud them, it was enough that he believed she understood them.
#####
The third winter after Guy came to Locksley, the snow fell early. In the space of three days, it covered roofs and fields and roads with a hand's breadth of cold, unrelenting white. The peasants in the village pulled their cloaks more tightly around their shoulders and patched the walls of their houses to keep out the wind, and at the manor, the fire in the great hall burned at all hours of the day.
As Guy sat by the fire with the lady of the house one night just before the new year, Elaine looked up from the Psalter that lay open on her lap.
"May I ask a favor of you, Sir Guy?" she asked.
Guy frowned. She usually dispensed with the 'Sir' when they were alone. "Ask it," he said, leaning forward in his chair.
"Jane Scarlett is dying," she said. "You remember her-Dan Scarlett the carpenter's wife?"
"I know her," Guy said. Mostly, he remembered the fury and the fear on her face on the day he'd ordered that her husband lose his hand for taking one of the King's deer. That had been a bad business. Guy had known that Dan Scarlett wasn't fool enough to poach in Sherwood, but the man had refused to name his sons as the true culprits. The law demanded that someone lose a hand, and Dan Scarlett had confessed loudly and in front of many witnesses. He had given Guy no choice, and the village had lost one of its most valuable craftsmen.
"You should visit her. Take her family some extra meat and drink," Elaine said.
"If you wish. I'll send food with one of my men." He raised his hand to call in a servant.
Elaine shook her head. "It should be you that goes. Her sickness is not catching, and it would mean a great deal to her family."
"They have no reason to want me there," Guy said. "And if what you say is true, she will die soon anyway."
"Yes, she will," Elaine said quietly. "And when she is dead and buried, Dan and her sons will remember that their Lord saw fit to come and comfort them when they had need of it." Seeing his hesitation, she added, "I've known Jane for many years-she was one of the women who attended me when my son was born-and I would like for you to send her my affection and my good wishes. So, if you will not do it for them, then tell yourself that you do for me what I cannot."
Guy wasn't sure he wanted to be well liked. It would be difficult for a Lord who was too close to his peasants to make the cruel but necessary decisions that politics in Nottinghamshire sometimes called for. But, perhaps because Elaine so rarely asked him for personal favors, and perhaps because he could still see the glint of the sun on the axe blade as it came down on Dan Scarlett's hand, Guy relented.
"Fine. I'll go," he said, and he went to tell the servant who waited by the door to run to the stables and ready his horse.
Guy could feel the cold even through the thick leather of his gloves as he knocked on the door of the Scarlett house. The older Scarlett son, a boy just old enough to be called a man, answered the door.
"My Lord," he said in a flat voice.
Guy drew himself up to his full height, and, without meeting the boy's eyes, said, "I have had word of your mother's illness, and I've brought food to share with all of you while you tend to her."
The boy studied him for a long moment, and Guy had the uncomfortable suspicion that his intentions were being weighed and measured by a peasant who had no right to make any such judgments.
"Thank you, Sir Guy," he said at last, then turned over his shoulder and called, "Luke! Come and help me."
Guy stood to one side as the brothers brought in a side of beef, a small cask of ale, a bag of flour, and a bag of dried apples from the manor's store room.
"There's over a fortnight's worth of food here," the young man who had opened the door said when they were finished. He was still wary, as if he wondered what price Guy would extract from them in turn for the kindness.
"I was convinced that the generosity was warranted," Guy told him.
"And we're grateful for it," the boy said.
Guy was about to turn and go when Dan Scarlett called from inside, "Your manners, Will! Invite Sir Guy in out of the cold!"
"Will you come in, My Lord?" Will Scarlett asked. Guy could not decide whether the offer was genuine, or made out of a sense of obligation, and young Will Scarlett's eyes were impossible to read.
"I will," Guy said. Then, he ducked under the lintel and for the first time since he had come to Locksley, he entered a peasant's home as a guest and not a master.
#####
Jane Scarlett died two days later, and Elaine paid the priest at the church to have prayers said for her soul.
After Jane's death, things were different between Guy and the people who were in his charge. Some began to wave at him when he rode through the village, and they spoke more freely and laughed more often in his presence. Guy learned their names and their children's names, and he showed his face at marriages and burials when he could. Will Scarlett always met him with a quiet nod of respect, and when the spring came, he crafted Guy a fine English longbow at a price far below its worth.
They went on like this for a little more than a year, and sometimes, it was easy for Guy to forget that Locksley was not his, that Elaine's son would one day come back, and that Marian only ever smiled at him in friendship.
Then, one April morning, Robin of Locksley returned home-and in an instant, everything was changed.
Next: Part 1
Author: corrielle
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/characters: Guy, Djaq, Marian, Allan, John, and Will. Guy/Marian-ish
Word count: 3,797
Summary: Guy of Gisborne arrives in Locksley for the first time as Lord of the Manor in Robin's absence.
Notes: Many thanks to endcredits, who graciously agreed to be my beta at short notice and gave me both excellent advice and much-needed encouragement. Also, this story probably wouldn't be here without my girlfriend Rae, who read it first.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to legend and the BBC, and I make no profit from this work.
The earth was cold and hard under the horses' hooves as the riders entered Locksley. The first frost of winter was still on the ground, and the brown, bare stalks in fallow fields were sheathed in silver.
Guy of Gisborne rode at the side of the Sheriff of Nottingham, and fifteen armed men in black and yellow followed close behind. There was not a soul to be seen outside, though Guy thought he saw nervous faces half in shadow as he passed by. Even deserted, Locksley looked to be a well-kept village. The thatch on most roofs was new and clean, the walls of the peasants' homes were in good repair, and the livestock he could see from the road looked healthy and well-fed. He allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction. Locksley was indeed a fine manor, and it was soon to be his.
They were nearly at the door of the manor when a single man with iron grey hair and broad shoulders came out to greet them. Guy recognized him as the steward of the manor. Thornton, Guy thought his name was. The steward cast a disapproving glance at all of the horses blowing steam into the sharp morning air.
"Will my Lords be requiring stabling for your animals and food for your men?" he asked.
"No need for that. Most of us won't be here long," the Sheriff said, with a significant glance at Guy that was lost on no one.
The Sheriff dismounted and strode into the manor house as if he owned it with Guy at his heels. The steward shut the door as soon as they were inside, barely allowing Guy time to step into the room. A bright, crackling fire burned high in the hearth, and the lady of the manor sat in a chair beside it, ready to receive them. She had a blanket draped across her lap and a fur-lined cape over her shoulders, and yet she still shivered at the cold the open door had let in.
"A pleasure to see you again, Lady Elaine," the Sheriff said. "You're looking well for a woman who hasn't been out of her bedchamber in a month."
If Elaine of Locksley took offense at the Sheriff's manner, she did not show it. She was a small woman, well into middle age. Her thick blonde braid was streaked with grey and silver, and her skin was dull and pale. Her grey eyes, however, were still keen and aware, and she regarded Vasey coolly as he approached her.
"I thank you for your concern, My Lord Sheriff," she said when he was standing before her, "though I fear I will take no pleasure in your visit to my home today. I know why you are here, and it does not sit well with me." There was a sharpness in her voice that, had she been younger and less frail, might have given the Sheriff pause.
"Come now, Lady Elaine," Vasey said, placing one hand on the back of her chair and leaning in close to her. "Everyone in the shire knows that you are sick, weak, unable to fulfill your duties as master, or mistress, in your case, of the manor."
"And they also know that you would dearly like to see the lands I hold for my son pass to one of your men," she retorted.
The Sheriff feigned shock. "I am… wounded," he said, clutching at his heart with his free hand. "I stand to gain nothing from this. My concern is for the people of this village, and for you. You say you hold the lands in your son's stead, and the man I've appointed to oversee them will simply do the same. When your boy… what was his name?"
"Robin."
"When Robin comes home, all covered in dust and glory I'm sure, his lands will be returned to him, having been well taken care of while he was away, and in the mean time, you will be able to rest, free of responsibility for the day to day affairs of the village."
She did not ask what would happen if her son did not come home.
"Enough," she said abruptly. "You know I cannot win this argument, My Lord Sheriff, so please, just tell me. Who is it you have brought?" She peered at Guy, who was still waiting a respectful distance from the two of them. "This is not the man you wished to put in my place when you tried to take it from me last summer."
The Sheriff's response to her reminder of his defeat was to motion Guy forward, and the room was silent but for the tread of his boots on the floor as Guy came to stand before her.
"Sir Guy of Gisborne, My Lady," Guy said, bowing formally to her.
She smiled slightly at him then, and for the first time he saw a remnant of the beauty she must once have possessed.
"Well met, Sir Guy," she said. "I would say that you are welcome in my house, but I would not have my first words to you be a lie."
Guy was taken aback by her honesty, and he hurriedly discarded the carefully chosen words he had been planning to greet her with.
"Perhaps I will be able to prove that I deserve to have you think better of me," he said.
"Perhaps." She did not sound convinced.
The Sheriff, who had been observing them from the other side of the hearth and warming his hands near the flames, rubbed his hands together and said, "Good, good… Now that the two of you know each other, I'll be going. I'm sure you both have many things to discuss."
The Sheriff turned to go, and it felt odd to Guy not to be following him outside. Vasey wasn't ready to leave just yet, though. Just as the steward opened the door, the Sheriff turned sharply back toward the hearth where Guy was standing.
"I forgot to ask you, Gisborne," he said. "How many of your men would you like me to leave behind?"
"Five should be enough for now, the rest can come with my things later," Guy said.
"Gisborne hasn't had time to tell you this yet, so I will," the Sheriff said, shifting his attention to Lady Elaine. "We both agreed that these are difficult times, and Locksley needs protection and stability. So, Sir Guy has asked me to allow thirty of his soldiers to come with him to his new home. You can expect them before dusk tonight."
Elaine did not reply, but from the stony expression on her face, she was not happy about the prospect of having so many new men who would need to be fed and housed on her land. The Sheriff, glibly unaware of the lady's displeasure, was out the door and calling for his horse without a second glance.
"Too many," Elaine said in a soft voice.
Guy's eyes narrowed. Vasey had been out the door for only a few moments and already she was trying to undermine his authority and question his decisions. It was just as the Sheriff had warned him it would be.
"What was that?" Guy asked, hoping that she would not want to repeat her opinion when he would be sure to hear.
"Thirty is too many," Elaine said. "I do not mean to tell you your business, but I know how much food we have, and I know how difficult it will be to find beds and supplies for thirty grown men. They will be cramped and hungry, and the villagers in Locksley will be even hungrier because your men will eat the much of the stores we have put away for winter. Some of the peasants will fall ill, some will die, and the ones who are left will be weak. It will be no easy task to find strong workers for the fields when spring returns."
"How many do you think Locksley could support, then?" Guy asked quickly. He could still hear the Sheriff and his men outside the door. There was still time to change the plan without losing face.
"Fifteen at the very most," Lady Elaine said.
Guy nodded, then he went to the door and threw it open. Vasey was already on horseback, waiting for the rest of his guards to form up around him.
"Sir! About the men... I believe twenty will be enough," Guy said. Elaine looked neither angry nor surprised that he had not come down as far as she had asked, and he was determined to make no apology for it.
The Sheriff shrugged. "It's your manor, Gisborne," he said before digging his heels into his horse's side and riding away in a spray of dirt and frost with the rest of his guards struggling to keep up.
#####
On Guy's first evening at Locksley, the manor's kitchen staff served roasted pheasant and a fine brown ale from a brewer in the village. He ate at a long table in the hall that was empty save for himself and Lady Elaine, and she said very little to him at first. It would have been a pleasant change from the court at Nottingham, where every meal was accompanied by the constant hum of conversation, but her silence was unnerving.
When the meal was done and the plates were cleared away, the lady's maidservant helped her from the table to her chair by the fire and went upstairs to fetch a basket from her chamber.
"Would you care to stay with me while I work, Sir Guy?" she asked, pulling white cloth and a length of delicate lace from her basket. "This house can be lonely in the evenings, with so few of us here."
Guy was not worried about being lonely, but he had no wish to be rude, so he brought a chair from the table and set it on the other side of the fire. He wondered if she wished for him to talk to her to pass the time. He was not good at conversation for its own sake.
When he was settled, without looking up from her stitching, Lady Elaine asked, "Do you know why I did not contest your appointment here? It would have been my right, you know, to have my case heard in the Sheriff's court for all to see."
"Because you knew you would lose," Guy said. If she was going to be blunt, he would as well.
"And yet I could have made my displeasure known," she reminded him. "I chose not to. Because of you."
"Me?" Guy looked up at her, suddenly alert and wary. He wasn't sure he wanted this woman who had no reason to like him taking too much of an interest in him. "Why?"
Elaine looked up from her work and studied him for a moment, as if trying to remember something she had known once but forgotten.
"You don't remember me, do you? Not surprising… you would have had no reason to. But I remember you, Guy of Gisborne. You and your family."
"What do they have to do with this?" Guy asked sharply.
"I remember your mother as a kind woman and your father as an honorable man," she said, carefully drawing her needle through cloth and lace. "I have no love for our new sheriff, but you, I thought, might be different… if you were your parents' son."
Guy turned his face toward the fire.
"Most people remember my father as a leper and my mother as the woman who sheltered him," he said.
"Is that how you remember them?" she asked. She didn't wait long for an answer before continuing. "I am sorry if it is. I have often wondered what happened to you and your sister after you… lost your parents. It is good to see you again."
She didn't mention the fire, for which Guy was grateful. She didn't have to. They both knew what had happened and who had been at fault, and she was not so cruel as to remind him of what he had done.
"And… you as well," Guy said, somewhat stiffly. He remembered her, now. She was Lord Malcom's sunny-haired wife, the lady with the kind face and soft voice. She had been one of the first women to befriend his mother when his family had came to Nottinghamshire from France. She hadn't often gone visiting even then, but Guy's mother had gone up to Locksley with herbs and medicines many times, and she always came back smiling. The more he remembered, the less comfortable he was sitting like a conqueror in her hall, in her house.
They talked for a while longer about people Guy had not thought of since he was young, and when the fire grew too dim for Lady Elaine to see her work, she called her maid to help her to her bed. Guy, however, sat for a long time by the glowing coals before seeking sleep in his own fine chamber.
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The people of Locksley came to know Guy of Gisborne as a hard master, but not a cruel one. He did not relish enforcing the Sheriff's taxes and dictates, though enforce them he did. Still, the village fared better than others that staggered under the Sheriff of Nottingham's rule. The peasants' faces grew leaner and hungrier as the seasons turned, but no Locksley families were forced to turn beggar, and even the poorest of them always had good seed to plant when spring came. In public, Gisborne maintained that his peasants repaid him with exorbitant interest for the privilege of having anything to put in the ground at all, but everyone in the village knew that when harvest time came, Sir Guy only asked that he be repaid a fair price for what he had given them. They also knew that it was Elaine's voice, always at his ear, that made him so magnanimous, and they blessed her for it.
Because Locksley sent both food and taxes up to Nottingham in abundance, Guy of Gisborne prospered, too. The Sheriff rewarded him with gold and silver, fine horses, and good wine. Some of it Guy saved against the day Robin of Locksley would return from his holy war. Some he spent on tapestries for the manor's walls and plate for its table. And in the dead of winter, he spent his own silver to pay for just enough dry wood to keep many hearth fires from going cold.
As long as Guy sent the Sheriff his tax money, kept his mouth shut except to agree when the nobles met in council, and did nothing to attract undue attention, Vasey left him to his own devices. He grew used to the respect, and even the fear that was sometimes in his peasants' eyes when they looked at him, to standing in a room full of land-holding men and being treated as one of their own, and to the comfort that came with power and position.
He did not, however, grow used to Marian.
At first, she was only one of Elaine's many visitors, the young woman to whom the lady's absent son was betrothed. A constant stream of noble women and merchants' wives and daughters came to the manor to wish the lady well and keep her company for an hour or an afternoon. Usually, having paid his guests the respect they were due, Guy would disappear to his rooms or find that he had pressing business elsewhere on the manor grounds, leaving the ladies to discuss whatever it was women talked about when they were alone. Marian, though, came more often than most, and when she did, Guy lingered. Elaine seemed to welcome his company, and Marian and he soon settled into a sort of prickly familiarity. She was free with her disapproval, and no harsh punishment in Locksley, no necessary show of authority passed without her letting him know exactly what she thought of it, and of him for ordering it. And yet, she was free with kindness as well. No cold, haughty calculation marred Marian's smile or soured her laugh. In that, she was different from every other young woman of noble birth Guy had ever met, and against his better judgment, he trusted her. Slowly, cautiously, he told her of his hopes and ambitions-land of his own, not held in another's stead, stability, wealth, respectability-and though she didn't applaud them, it was enough that he believed she understood them.
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The third winter after Guy came to Locksley, the snow fell early. In the space of three days, it covered roofs and fields and roads with a hand's breadth of cold, unrelenting white. The peasants in the village pulled their cloaks more tightly around their shoulders and patched the walls of their houses to keep out the wind, and at the manor, the fire in the great hall burned at all hours of the day.
As Guy sat by the fire with the lady of the house one night just before the new year, Elaine looked up from the Psalter that lay open on her lap.
"May I ask a favor of you, Sir Guy?" she asked.
Guy frowned. She usually dispensed with the 'Sir' when they were alone. "Ask it," he said, leaning forward in his chair.
"Jane Scarlett is dying," she said. "You remember her-Dan Scarlett the carpenter's wife?"
"I know her," Guy said. Mostly, he remembered the fury and the fear on her face on the day he'd ordered that her husband lose his hand for taking one of the King's deer. That had been a bad business. Guy had known that Dan Scarlett wasn't fool enough to poach in Sherwood, but the man had refused to name his sons as the true culprits. The law demanded that someone lose a hand, and Dan Scarlett had confessed loudly and in front of many witnesses. He had given Guy no choice, and the village had lost one of its most valuable craftsmen.
"You should visit her. Take her family some extra meat and drink," Elaine said.
"If you wish. I'll send food with one of my men." He raised his hand to call in a servant.
Elaine shook her head. "It should be you that goes. Her sickness is not catching, and it would mean a great deal to her family."
"They have no reason to want me there," Guy said. "And if what you say is true, she will die soon anyway."
"Yes, she will," Elaine said quietly. "And when she is dead and buried, Dan and her sons will remember that their Lord saw fit to come and comfort them when they had need of it." Seeing his hesitation, she added, "I've known Jane for many years-she was one of the women who attended me when my son was born-and I would like for you to send her my affection and my good wishes. So, if you will not do it for them, then tell yourself that you do for me what I cannot."
Guy wasn't sure he wanted to be well liked. It would be difficult for a Lord who was too close to his peasants to make the cruel but necessary decisions that politics in Nottinghamshire sometimes called for. But, perhaps because Elaine so rarely asked him for personal favors, and perhaps because he could still see the glint of the sun on the axe blade as it came down on Dan Scarlett's hand, Guy relented.
"Fine. I'll go," he said, and he went to tell the servant who waited by the door to run to the stables and ready his horse.
Guy could feel the cold even through the thick leather of his gloves as he knocked on the door of the Scarlett house. The older Scarlett son, a boy just old enough to be called a man, answered the door.
"My Lord," he said in a flat voice.
Guy drew himself up to his full height, and, without meeting the boy's eyes, said, "I have had word of your mother's illness, and I've brought food to share with all of you while you tend to her."
The boy studied him for a long moment, and Guy had the uncomfortable suspicion that his intentions were being weighed and measured by a peasant who had no right to make any such judgments.
"Thank you, Sir Guy," he said at last, then turned over his shoulder and called, "Luke! Come and help me."
Guy stood to one side as the brothers brought in a side of beef, a small cask of ale, a bag of flour, and a bag of dried apples from the manor's store room.
"There's over a fortnight's worth of food here," the young man who had opened the door said when they were finished. He was still wary, as if he wondered what price Guy would extract from them in turn for the kindness.
"I was convinced that the generosity was warranted," Guy told him.
"And we're grateful for it," the boy said.
Guy was about to turn and go when Dan Scarlett called from inside, "Your manners, Will! Invite Sir Guy in out of the cold!"
"Will you come in, My Lord?" Will Scarlett asked. Guy could not decide whether the offer was genuine, or made out of a sense of obligation, and young Will Scarlett's eyes were impossible to read.
"I will," Guy said. Then, he ducked under the lintel and for the first time since he had come to Locksley, he entered a peasant's home as a guest and not a master.
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Jane Scarlett died two days later, and Elaine paid the priest at the church to have prayers said for her soul.
After Jane's death, things were different between Guy and the people who were in his charge. Some began to wave at him when he rode through the village, and they spoke more freely and laughed more often in his presence. Guy learned their names and their children's names, and he showed his face at marriages and burials when he could. Will Scarlett always met him with a quiet nod of respect, and when the spring came, he crafted Guy a fine English longbow at a price far below its worth.
They went on like this for a little more than a year, and sometimes, it was easy for Guy to forget that Locksley was not his, that Elaine's son would one day come back, and that Marian only ever smiled at him in friendship.
Then, one April morning, Robin of Locksley returned home-and in an instant, everything was changed.
Next: Part 1