Precious Things; Guy/Marian; NC-17: part deux
xiii.
Guy came to her house, face shuttered and as angry as ever. Maybe her father could read his intentions, better than she could; maybe he knew the expression of Guy’s face from when he had been in the same position. He commanded her out of the room, and for once Marian did not argue. Her father needed to do this. He needed to feel in control of at least one part of his house.
She laid on the floor by the stairs, her head leaning against the banister. Their voices floated in the air around her like silent whispers and she could make out most of them.
“You know that the Sheriff has his eyes set on her, his eyes set on your land. He will act as the grand saviour, the understanding Sheriff who will take in the shamed daughter of the old Sheriff. Without you she will have no protection against him.”
“Gisborne…”
Her father spat the name as if it were a curse.
“… how dare you come to my house and throw these proposals to my face. My daughter has allies and friends who will protect her.”
Marian heard the heavy steps and she could imagine the anger of Guy’s face.
“Do you, sir, truly know your daughter so little that you imagine that she would forsake her lands for personal happiness? She is proud and she will stand by her family’s property against anything!”
Her father’s breathing was laboured, but he still managed to inject some force into his voice.
“How dare you suggest that I do not know my own daughter?”
Their voices rose in crescendo then and the words were now clear and Marian let her head fall onto the wooden floor.
“I want to marry her. I have no land of my own and I will let her stay on her own estate. It would be a beneficial arrangement for both of us.”
“Beneficial!”
Her father was shouting now and Marian worried again about his lungs, but she dared not to intervene. His father had already lost so much face when it came to her, she did not want to take it from him in front of Guy.
“How dare you demean my daughter’s happiness to ‘beneficial’.”
“Because it is all I can offer to her. I love your daughter, you know this. I have courted her for a long time, but she does not love me, but, Sir, she does not have time for love anymore.”
She heard the legs of the chair creaking against the floor and she knew her father had sat down. She could imagine his down cast eyes, and for a while the house was silent. Then Guy moved, and Marian wondered if it was a bad sign that she recognised his footfalls.
“Send for me when you have an answer, Sir Edward.”
The door slid shut behind him, but Marian would not move, she breathed in sync with her father. Counting the rattling breaths in her mind. Then her father walked up the stairs. He sat heavily on the highest step and she could see the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. Marian felt like she was floating. She had been proposed to for the first time. Her. Not her property, but her as a woman. I love your daughter. Even though her father would not see it that way. The only thing he had eyes for was Gisborne’s thirst for land, but Marian had felt his hands on her body and she knew the truth.
“I think you heard what went on in there.”
Her father would not look at her, his eyes searching the far wall. There was wariness, and fear, in his voice. She did not bother to reply, they both knew the answer.
“Did he speak the truth? Has the sheriff truly made threats against you?”
“Not in so many words, but his intentions were made clear.”
His shoulders slumped, and Marian felt like a criminal in her actions. She should not have burdened her father with this. But the fear in her would not allow her to be silent.
“You did not hear his voice. You did not hear the lust.”
Her father buried his face in his weathered hands and Marian feared he was weeping. She could not bear it, could not bear the sorrow of her dying father. She grasped a hold of his arm, trying to convey her need to comfort him. But he stayed strong for her and managed even to add some smile into his voice, even though none could be seen on his face.
“I had always hoped you might marry someone you would truly love. Someone you could be romantic with.”
She smiled at that, but his averted eyes could not see that.
“I am not romantic, father.”
“I know you are not, but you must forgive an old man’s hopes, Marian. I so wished you could have a say in the man I would bind you to.”
She pushed herself up from the floor, to sit by her father.
“I do have a say, father.”
His eyes seemed so old and Marian wanted to reassure him, wanted him to be happy for her.
“I wish to marry Gisborne; I want to be his wife. I know you do not approve, but this is my choice, father.”
He smiled then, just a little, and grasped her hands in his own.
“No, my dear. I do not disapprove, for you could do much worse in our situation.”
xiv.
He was in the stables of the castle, or so the servants had told her. The air was dry and the smell of hay caught in the back of her throat. The corridors were dimly light by the small rays of daylight filtering in through the cracks in the wood panelling. There were no other lights in fear of fire. He was standing inside a pen, grooming one of the horses. The huge beast had him almost shoved to the wall, but he did not seem to mind. She stood there for a moment, observing his actions. A month or two ago she would have been shocked by the gentleness of his hands and the quiet, soothing calm of his voice. But now she knew better. Those hands had travelled over her body and the voice had spoken to her silently and made her fall apart, and for the first time she felt joy in the news she was delivering.
She could see the shock on his face as she entered the pen, but he covered it quickly behind his usual mask.
“My father will come to see you today. He will formally accept your proposal and arrangements will be made for our engagement to be officially announced.”
She could hear the strokes of the brush stilling, but she still would not meet his eyes.
“Was this your father’s choice. Did he force you into this?”
His voice was harsh and it made her look him in the face. There was hatred and rage in his eyes, but Marian refused to recoil from his anger. For a long silent moment they measured one another, and she realized his hate was not directed at her at all. He was angry at himself. She smiled.
“Not by a mile. To tell you the truth I was the one doing the forcing. I think he would have rather sent me to the Holy Land.”
He looked away and she could see his jaw tensing in the low light.
“Is that supposed to be a consolation? That your father loathes the very core of me.”
She felt her insides boiling. Men and their damned pride; why could he not just accept her and be done with it?
“But I do not. I hope that is a consolation, if you so wish to take it. I wish to marry you Sir Guy.”
She walked around the horse and with her hands on his face, forced his eyes to meet hers.
“I will be your Gisborne, if you let me.”
He kissed her then. It was so sudden it took her breath away and she was frozen in place, but then she could not help but cling to the sleeves of his coat.
xv.
Her father had insisted upon her consent more times that morning than Marian could count. Even when they were thundering through the forest in Guy’s carriage he was imploring if this was truly what she wished. Part of Marian wanted to tell her father the truth. How her body burned every time she merely caught sight of Guy in the castle, how he had brought her hair back and held her hands in his own. But she remained silent on all of those things and once more assured him. I do father, and I will.
Now she sat beside him, a mere foot away, forcing her gaze to admire the archers. His voice was soft in her ears as he leaned towards her:
“They say the peel of an apple could predict who a woman will marry.”
She nearly laughed at his words in delight and the motion made her severe the peel. It fell to the floor and both of their gazes followed it. She turned to his serious eyes and gave him an impish smile. They announced the name of his archer and he smiled back.
“You’ll like him...”
His voice died away as his fingers trailed on her forearm and came away bloody. She felt her heart stop and pressed the heel of the blade against her palm.
“I cut myself.”
She felt like a fraud as his eyes questioned her.
“Your arm...”
“No, my hand, I must have gotten some on my sleeve.”
His eyes called her a liar, but he would not say anything and she pleaded him in her mind; please please please. She did not know what she was pleading for; for him to accept the lie or for him to discover her secret. But at the arrival of his own archer his grey eyes turned away from her and Marian’s heart felt cold.
When the boy threatened her later on the day, she could not feel anything. Her mind was still numb from earlier and mechanically she spoke him down from his rage, but it was a hollow victory. The fear had been lodged into her stomach like a block of ice and Robin, who belatedly arrived to rescue her, got the blunt of that fear.
After the competition it was her duty to present the silver arrow. Her fear was momentarily pressed back by her satisfaction. She could almost feel the suppressed rage of the Sheriff. The crowd cheered for Rowan and she could not help but smile.
After the noise had died down her father took the stage. His voice did not waver and she marvelled at the power of his will. He had barely been able to whisper that morning. Instinctively she grasped a hold of Guy’s hand in the folds of her cape, hidden from view.
“Could I please have you attention for a brief while. I know you are all thirsty and the ale will soon be served, but there is something I would like to make known across the county.”
She could see the hooded form of Robin in the crowd turning around to listen.
“It is my great pleasure to announce that the houses of Knighton and Gisborne will soon be united. Sir Guy of Gisborne and my only daughter, Lady Marian will be wed a week from Saturday. I wish that all of you will be present there to wish them well. Thank you.”
For a moment there was complete silence in the yard, but slowly applause began. Marian thought that it were the sheriff’s soldiers who started it, but she still smiled. Guy pulled her forward, to stand by her father. She had felt the tension in him since the apple, but now he seemed calmed by her side. He lifted their clasped fingers to his lips, and just before they met her skin, whispered:
“It is all right.”
xvi.
The grooves on the wood of the chest were deep and sharp against Marian’s fingers. Her father’s voice had been faint and she had had to bend to properly hear.
“I did not want you to see them. I feared what you might find among her things. I feared the memories it would bring. But I think it is time.”
He had pulled the brass key from beneath his tunic and Marian had know he had not parted from it since they day of her mother’s death. It had been warm and heavy in her hand and she had wondered how badly its weight would have reminded him of her mother every day.
The lock was rusted and it took her a few tries before the old gears gave in and the mechanism snapped open. The dust was mixed with the smell of herbs and she could see the dead flowers crumbled upon the clothing.
One by one she pulled each dress from the truck and laid them over the chests lining the walls of their attic. In the light of the tiny little windows she could admire the bright colours. The last one was folded inside a white sheet. The light blue was as bright as it was on the only day her mother had worn it. The tiny embroidered white flowers seemed to change colour in the shadows and the light. She folded the dress and the thick veil that accompanied it open. The flowery pattern continued in the veil even though the white embroidery was harder to see in the light fabric. Her mother had obviously put much thought into this dress and suddenly Marian missed her more than she had ever before. Her mother should be here today, she should be here to prepare Marian for her wedding. She lifted the dress up against herself, and a thin enveloped fell out from beneath the hem.
Her name was inscribed on the envelope with shaky letters. She broke the clumsy seal of wax and pulled the letter out. The letters were spiky and little ink blots decorated the letter as well, as if her mother’s hand has shook terribly as she wrote it.
My lovely daughter, I wonder now what wisdom should I part to you. What will you need from me in the years to come that I will not be able to give you?
Your father is a good man, but he will never truly know you. He will never truly understand you. So I will tell you now, my love, that you must trust yourself above anything. The men who will be part of your life after I am gone will always pretend to know what you need and want. But you must not trust them.
Choose your husband wisely. Do not take a husband for love, for love dies in the harsh English winters and you are then bereft and are left with nothing. Take a husband of strength. One you can respect, for he will control all that is you.
And always collect the final apples of the fall and make jam of them. That will carry you over the coldest month without hunger.
She had to strain to read some of the words, and she knew her mother had been plagued by heavy fever and she had not been lucid during the last days. But something in the letter made her believe the words, believe in the wisdom her mother had not had time to pass on. Gently she kissed the spiky letters and folded the paper inside her own tunic. For a short time she wondered if her mother would have approved of her choice. Would she have been able to see through her husband or would she have been as deceived by Guy as her father was.
She gathered the dress and the veil in her arms and carried it downstairs. She would have to call the tailor to make some adjustments to the dress. She was slightly shorter and thinner than her mother had been.
xvii.
The maid had retrieved her in the middle of breakfast. Her father had not been roused yet and the house had been silent. The maid had insisted that she come to the kitchen. There was a man there demanding to speak to her and the girl was too afraid to tell him to go away. The fear in the girl’s voice made Marian grab her father’s long sword from the rack by the door before she followed the maid to the back of the house.
In the brightly lit kitchen stood the giant of a man she knew as John. He was hunched over by the door, trying to take as little of space as possible, while all the kitchen girls were giving him apprehensive glances from the corner of their eyes. Upon noticing her, the man gave a clumsy bow.
“Lady Marian. I want to speak to you.”
She gripped the sword in her hand, but sensed no threat from the man. She nodded her agreement and buried her apprehension. Marian commanded the kitchen staff out; even if the man meant no harm she could not take him to any other part of the house. Her father might awake any moment.
“If Robin is too much of a coward to come here himself, I have nothing to say to you.”
He voice was harsher than she had meant, but the idea of Robin sending his lackeys to her was insulting. But the man shook his head.
“I come on me own, Your Ladyship. There are some things I need to say to you.”
Marian nodded for him to continue.
“About a month past, some of the men returned to camp. Two of them very badly wounded by the sword. They told me to have been attacked by Gisborne and his men while out hunting. Jonas, a younger lad, had been killed. We took care of the wounded as the best of our abilities and in a few days time I insisted to be taken to collect Jonas’ body. To give him a proper burial and all.”
His voice changed to a more halting tone, and Marian guessed he had noticed her white knuckled fingers squeezing the wood of the table.
“Now, you must, understand, My Lady that I saw nothing untoward in the injuries or the stories of these men. It would not have been the first time for our men to have been injured while hunting. But when I saw Jonas’ body I knew something was wrong. Such a small precise wound would only be inflicted by a very small weapon, at a close range, not by a sword. I realised that they had not been hunting. Gisborne would never get off his horse to fight for such a small crime. This appeared to be more personal.”
Marian shook her head, eyes cast to the table top, but he carried on without any regard to her reaction.
“I pressed some of the men then. And finally they admitted to me that they had come upon a lady on horseback, and had acted like no man ever should.”
Marian fought to keep her voice steady, and met the man’s eyes.
“That is an interesting story, John. Why did you wish to tell me this?”
He was silent for a while and she could read the pity and the apology in his eyes. She wanted to throw up, wanted to make him leave and never come back.
“Because I think the Lady was you. I think Gisborne came to your aid and killed Jonas in his rage.”
Her voice was cold, and so were her eyes and she could visibly see the man flinch.
“Gisborne did not kill him. I did.”
John was silent for a long time and Marian felt her anger peak.
“Does that change things for you? It would have been so easy to blame Gisborne and take me as the wronged damsel.”
The man shook his head again, his eyes averted now.
“No, My Lady. I was just after the truth.”
Marian nodded. She had nothing left to say. What had happened was monstrous, but she wished to leave it in the past, bury it deep, so she would never have to feel it again. But John was not finished.
“Is that why you are marrying him? Out of gratitude?”
“I fail to see how that is any of you business.”
He voice was like ice and John looked suitably chastened.
“And now I do believe you have overstayed your welcome. If you speak any of this to Robin...”
But his gruffy voice interrupted her.
“You will what?”
For the first time his voice sounded threatening, but Marian just smiled.
“I will tell your wife.”
At that John averted his eyes and moved to leave, his massive hands pressing on the wood of the door.
“But tell Robin this: my reasons for marrying have nothing to do with him, and he would do well to stay out of my way.”
She could see that he wanted to argue, but on the last second decided otherwise. He merely nodded and gave another stumbling bow and left. Slowly Marian pried her fingers away from the wood and forced her breath out in even puffs.
xviii.
I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own
- Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars
Marian had not been the kind of girl, or even woman, who imagined and planned her wedding day in her mind long before the event. She had never had any expectations, because she had always assumed to be married in someone else’s house, on someone else’s land. She looked at herself in the polished mirror and smiled at the reflection. If she would have imagined, this would have been it.
The knock on the door made her wonder about time, but it was nowhere near noon yet. She had not been able to sleep and had risen with the sun to prepare. Her father opened the door, where a young man stood patiently carrying a wooden box. She recognised the yellow and black sash on his arm and gave him a slight smile. He would not step over the doorstep, but gave a formal bow to her and her father.
“Sir Guy sends a gift for his bride.”
Her father took the box from the messenger’s hands while Marian waited in the background, as was proper. The man bowed once more and then left. Her father ran his hands over the wood.
“What is this, Marian?”
Quickly she took the box from her father and made her way to the stairs.
“Marian?”
His voice was louder, and she could hear the underlying hack of his lungs.
“I do not know, father.”
She closed the door behind her and laid the box on her dressing table. The top was smooth and worn with age. There was nothing eloquent about the box, nothing festive. She could imagine him trying to find even remotely clean chest to bring her, and smiled at the thought. Slowly Marian lifted the lid. The hinges sliding open without a sound. The velvet lining was black, and inside rested a pair of daggers with sheaths and a belt. Their handles were intricately carved and perfect size for her hands. Her fingers slid over the small leaves and indented flowers, and the bold and smooth etching of MG. Over the sharp blades rested a simple brown envelope. She had never seen his handwriting before, but the sharp thin letters suited him. With shaking fingers she pried open the seal.
I know it is customary to give the morning gift only after the wedding, but as we did things wrong way around the first place, I though they would be suited for now. It would honour me if you would wear them today.
With these I wish to once more show you my love, which I am not capable to do in words. I will never do justice to your beauty, your honour or your courage. I wish to show you that I will love you in everything that you are and in everything that you wish to do.
Gently she lifted the daggers from their box and beneath them rested a mask of black leather. The tears and the sobs were so sudden Marian could no nothing to combat them. The trepidation and fear of the last week came pouring out in huge, chest shattering sobs and she could not stop. She did not hear the soft steps on the stairs or the subtle knock. Alice’s voice floated through the room:
“Lady Marian, I have come to wish you well for your wed...”
Alice’s words were caught in her throat at the sight of Marian in tears. She rushed to the Lady’s side kneeling by her seat.
“Dear, it is not so bad, do not shed tears on this wonderful day.”
Marian shook her head at the other woman’s gentle words, and managed to hiccup out through her tears.
“I love him. I have never told this to anyone, but I do.”
Alice hugged her then, an unusual show of boldness on her part, and smiled into Marian’s veil. She had felt a stone on her heart for all week for the kind Lady Marian, who would have to marry where she did not love. Now she stroked her shaking shoulders and whispered.
“Then tell him that, My Lady. Men are so fragile in their affections. I am certain he will love you back well.”
Marian nodded, unable to from words, the hilt of the dagger squeezed in her palm. She could feel the grooves and the edges against her skin, the marking visible. But this time she did not mind.
Marian wiped her eyes and smiled at Alice. She walked around the room prattling on about how beautiful Marian looked, how lovely the day was and how fondly she remembered her own wedding day. At that Marian felt guilt sting in her heart. She should tell Alice the truth, but would the truth hurt more after all these years than the sorrow she has learned to live with. Marian knew the old sorrow to be better so she stayed silent and smiled at the other woman.
“Alice, thank you for coming. It means the world to me. I have no women friends near here to keep me company, so I appreciate yours.”
The older woman smiled back brightly and moved behind her to smooth over her veil and adjust the crown of fall flowers holding it in place.
“I know many of the villagers do not approve of your father’s choice, but I always thought that a woman should have happiness on this day so I came to wish you well. And I do know something about unsuitable marriages, I do.”
Marian raised her eyes from the daggers in her lap and met Alice’s gaze in the mirror. She smiled, but Marian could now see the sorrow beginning to peek through the happy facade of Alice’s eyes.
“When I chose to marry John, God rest his soul, people would speak behind my back. They would say how could I marry such a violent oaf, how such a slip of a girl could wed him.”
Marian had to smile at that. She could truly imagine people’s remarks.
“It does not matter what they think. What matters is what you know in your heart. You are the only one who needs to accept him.”
Alice let the veil go, finally pleased with her handiwork. Marian rose from her chair still holding on the twin blades.
“Would you mind helping these on me?”
Alice gave her a curious look, but nodded. The belt fit perfectly underneath the belt of her dress. Marian turned around admiring herself in the mirror. She could see Alice smiling behind her and Marian turned and hugged the other woman. Alice remained rigid in her embrace for a moment. Then her joy won over propriety and she hugger her Lady back.
“Thank you Alice, for your kind words and your company. I insist that you come to the wedding and to the banquet after. And bring your family. Today we shall all dine well.”
The other woman gave her a slightly clumsy curtsey and disappeared through the door with a grin and Marian could not help but be uplifted by her joy. She heard her father’s courteous voice welcoming Alice to the celebrations and then bidding her goodbye. She listened to her father’s steps in the living room and finally allowed the happiness to rise in her. It felt bright and bubbly inside her chest and for a moment Marian thought she could not breathe through her grin.
She walked to the end of the hallway, where the heavy doors lead to the master bedroom. No one had lived there since her mother’s death. Her father had refused to set foot in it for many months after her death, and even now he did not like being there. Now it would be Marian’s new bedroom. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. It had been aired out and new linens put everywhere. Her father had commissioned a new bed for them, as was customary. It had been brought yesterday, nearly late for the wedding. She let her fingers travel over the wood, familiarising herself with it. Part of her wondered would she have been afraid. No one had spoken to her about her wedding night, but she knew women were often afraid. But the daggers, heavy and solid against her hip, reminded her how good it felt not to be afraid anymore.
Her thoughts were interrupted by shouting and raised voices downstairs. In a second she had time to pray. O Lord, please not my father. And then she rushed to the hall and down the stairs.
Robin stood on the doorway, his bow and arrow firmly grasped in his fist. She could see a band of his men on the porch behind him, blocking out the light from the doorway. At the sight of her Robin squared his shoulders, as if readying himself for a fight. Slowly she moved into the room, cautiously looking around the side doors for anyone laying in ambush. Part of Marian scolded her; this was just Robin, he would never trap her. But in the back of her head still rested the thought of the thick earth clogging into her lugs and Marian stood on her guard.
“Gentlemen, this truly is not a good time. Whatever business you are here for...”
“Marian.”
Robin’s voice was hard but Marian would not let him continue.
“...must wait until after the wedding.”
Robin shook his head, eyes serious and boring into hers.
“I will not let you do this, Marian.”
All the playfulness Marian had been used to hearing in his voice was gone and she finally understood he would not see reason in this.
“When have I ever given you the implication that your will has any power over my decisions?”
He merely shook his head again, as if her decisions were not even to be discussed.
“You cannot marry him. He is everything you stand against, everything we have been fighting for! How can you forsake that?”
She tried to keep her voice steady and low, but Marian could hear the rage starting to seep into her words.
“Robin. You and I have never fought for the same things. You fight for glory and for King and country. I fight for the poor women and children who are left to these abandoned estates to starve. I have been doing so for five years. And that is not about to change, just because my name will.”
“Are you honestly so stupid that you think that he will allow you to continue as the Nightwatchman?”
His voice was harsh and it made her want to flinch, but Marian fought the urge and tried not to sink to his level.
“How dare you come here and call me names, and make assumptions about my marriage agreements!”
Easily her fingers wrapped themselves around a dagger by her side, and her father moved, as if to come between them.
“Robin, please.”
Her father’s voice was soothing. Marian’s eyes were again drawn to the men blocking the doorway as her father tried to calm Robin. Their faces were familiar to her, in a distant sort of way.
“I am sorry Sir Edward. I understand your reasons for allowing this to continue, but I cannot let this happen.”
Robin’s voice was a whisper in her ears, as her eyes collided with one of the men. She knew him, knew his sneering mouth and the foul words he had shouted at her not so long ago. The hilt was solid in her hand and it slid out of its sheath like knife through butter. She could see fear flashing through the man’s eyes, and Marian bared her teeth.
She was jolted out of her rage by John’s voice and by his staff that shoved the men away from the doorway. Marian felt a shiver of satisfaction as the man was thrown to the floor by the force of John’s blows. Robin turned to his friend, his voice raised in anger.
“John, what is this?”
But his demands were drowned out.
“Out! Everybody out now!”
John’s voice made even the wooden beams shake and quickly the men, all but Robin scattered outside.
“We have no right to stop the Lady. If we do we will be worse than the Sheriff, Robin.”
She could see the protests forming in Robin’s mind, but John would not let him voice them.
“She goes there of her own will, and none of us have any say in that. Not even you Robin.”
To enforce his words, John placed his staff against Robin’s chest and with a small bow motioned Marian and her father towards the door. As softly as she could Marian pushed the dagger back into its place and forced her breath to even out. John’s eyes were soft and Marian smiled at him.
“Your horses are waiting outside, My Lady.”
“Thank you John.”
She could see the betrayal on Robin’s face and for a moment Marian regretted not speaking to him about this before. Robin was a man of action, but she did not know him well enough to confide in him. She had had the suspicion for a while that he still considered her to be his, that upon King Richards return she would be here, waiting. She understood his anguish, but could not partake in it.
“Robin, I would have never been yours. I never promised you such things.”
His face fell, and Marian felt guiltier in her love, than she had when she’d been lying to her father. She was taking the hand o his enemy and he could not understand why. And that was the reason why she could never marry Robin: he could never see the choices forced upon her. Marian was about to step over the threshold, but stopped at the sight of John's face. He was smiling a little, and she thought about his wife.
“Alice will be at the wedding. If you wish to see her.”
The man’s head bowed, as if by some great pain, but his voice was surprisingly clear.
“Thank you, My Lady.”
They walked through the band of outlaws, her father’s hand on her elbow. He would not look at her, until they had reached the horses.
“Marian, what was that about?”
She, in turn, would not meet his eyes. Her fingers slid over the leather of the ladies saddle that she had never used before. It had been brought from the storage room just for this day.
“Nothing, father. Absolutely nothing.”
Easily Marian mounted the horse, and with care arranged the dress around herself, so none of it touched the ground. She could see one of the stable boys helping her father mount his horse, and felt glad that he was still able to ride. She had insisted that they would ride to the wedding. Her father had called her imprudent, but she had just laughed. It had been her way of showing independence and the colours of Knighton. The long, bright sashes were tied to her reins.
Robin had come out of the house and when she looked back Marian could see his grim face. Marian understood why he had tried to stop her; understood his reasons beyond his infatuation and lingering love for her. He thought that she would go to Gisbourne’s side now, he though that she would belong to the castle now. But what Robin did not understand that with this marriage she was buying Guy’s freedom from the Sheriff and from his own ambitions. Robin would see it as selling her own freedom in exchange for his, but that was something she was willing to trade. She would be his Gisborne and in turn he would let her stay in Knighton.
The barren branches of the trees crated an archway over her head and the frost bitten leaves crunched under the hooves of her horse. She smiled to the empty forest and to her father who rode a few paces behind her. The church came to view behind the bend in the road and Marian was surprised to see so many people on the yard. As she rode through their ranks, she could see the scowls on their faces, she could see the fear and she smiled at them. I will prove you wrong; I will show you the good that is in him. She knew herself to be naive in the hope that he would change, but she could try.
His eyes were hooded as she stopped outside the steps of the church, he would not look at her or smile. The soldiers standing on guard helped her down from her horse. She could feel the heavy gazes of her villages on her back as she walked up the steps. His hand found hers under the heavy fabric of the sleeves. Softly she leaned against him and with her free hand adjusted his collar and whispered.
“Do not be afraid. For I will.”
Alice stood among the villagers and smiled. She could see that many of her fellow watchers were eying the edge of the forest. As if waiting for Robin Hood to rescue the fair maiden from such a terrible fate. Alice wondered if she was the only one who could see the small and coy smile on the lips of the bride, and the way her fingers squeezed those of her groom in a deathly grip beneath the folds of her long sleeves. These were things people did not wish to see. They wanted their world to be simple, black and white; where the lines between evil and good were clearly drawn.
Alice, however, knew life to be different, with John she had learned to look beneath the surface of people. Maybe that was why she could be happy for Marian, for she recognised the look so plainly written on Sir Guy’s face. The same expression had been looking at her not too many years past on her own wedding day, she recognised the expression of wonder and happiness on the man’s face; the amazement that this beautiful and gentle woman was to be his wife. People, including her family, had much misjudged John, and maybe today Marian’s family was misjudging her future husband as well.
End