Chapter 30 | Guy of Gisborne
Ipaced around my cell, sat on the bench, stood, and paced some more. At least George had the decency not to shackle me to the wall. Yet he kept me in the dark, knowing I’d hate it.
Just how long do you plan to keep me stashed away in here before you make your decision, Sheriff?
My cell had no windows, so I had no idea what part of the day it was. I did have a good understanding of time, however, and knew I’d been locked away for about half a day.
It infuriated me to know that I could have been doing something useful, but instead was relegated to wasting my time in here.
For that reason, my surprise was great when I had a most unexpected visitor late in the night. The footfalls on the damp stones were light and soft. I spun in my cage, arms still crossed, and perked my eyebrow—
As Madam Marian appeared from down the hall. Dressed in a hood over her stark-red curls, with a cloak enclosed around her tight gown.
“Marian,” I murmured, moving toward the bars, “imagine my surprise.”
She shot me a small smirk and opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“If you’re going to tell me how ironic it is to find me in here, with you out there, you can save it. George has already used that one.”
Her smirk widened into a smile before dashing away completely. “Hail, Icarus.”
I barked a laugh. “That’s good. Aye, woman, I flew too close to the sun.”
She seemed relaxed—likely because I had no weapons on me and there was an iron wall separating us. I couldn’t put hands on her. Not that I had any intention of doing so, even if I could. The threat of violence, however, had always been enough to get Marian to bend to my will.
That, and the promise of status. Power.
Oh, and there was another thing keeping her at my heels all these months. Something we both deigned not to discuss, though it was entirely pertinent right now, given my situation.
“How did you get down here?” I asked.
“The warden upstairs is napping.”
I was impressed. “A permanent nap?”
She shrugged. “The girl I sent him is good. Also, the tea he had was doused with the same tincture used to drug those women you were shipping off.”
I frowned, my face sinking. “So you learned about that. I’ll have you know, Marian, I had nothing to do—”
“Yes, yes,” she said, holding up a well-manicured hand. “Save your innocence, Guy. George’s scheme or not, it was a rotten thing to do, playing on my naivety. I have fought to protect women my entire life, you bastard. Not use them for weak men’s purposes.”
I raised a brow. “Is that what you’re doing at your Teahouse, Marian? Protecting your ladies by offering their bodies to sniveling noblemen?”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “They make a good living. They’re free to leave anytime they wish, without the coercion of poison influencing their decisions. The women I employ have protection from the more ruthless ways of life here.”
“You’re a regular almshouse nun, woman.”
She paused and smirked. We looked into each other’s eyes—so close, yet so far—separated by the bars of my jail cell.
I said, “You look like a Merry Man in truth now, if I’m being honest.”
“Aye, I suppose I am. Want to know what changed my mind about them? The truth about the tincture I’d been unknowingly supplying the girls was part of it, surely. But I appreciate their camaraderie, too. Things have changed in the outlaw camp since I was first associated with them. They were attacked by vicious, faux ‘bandits’ sent by Sheriff George the other night, and they came together in defense. I helped save some orphan girls.”
“A charming tale, Marian. I’ve only recently learned of George’s misadventures. A foolish strategy, I admit. And the reason I’m in this cage.”
“Maybe it wasn’t so foolish, then, placing rats inside the den.”
I stepped away from the bars, resuming my pacing. I could only look at Maid Marian’s pretty face for so long before getting annoyed with it. “Why are you here, Marian? I am jailed. You have your freedom. You could have—”
“You once showed me kindness, Sir Guy. Admittedly, it was for your own gain, but you noticed my ambition and helped me flourish in a time of need. I am merely returning the kindness, as a final act.”
I snorted. “I suppose I have a soft spot for weak women.”
She laughed, sharp and snide, to combat my mean-spirited barb. “A regular almshouse nun you are, Guy.”
I smiled while pacing. Our conversations were typically dripping with sarcasm and snotty attitudes. It was how we talked. There was no reason to put up any fronts now. I enjoyed her fire.
“I am assuming you came to Nottingham not just to see me . . .” I let the words linger, glancing over at her.
“You would be correct.”
I stopped pacing, tapped my chin, and thought. My mind whirled with possibilities, and one thing stuck out to me—one strategy above all others.
I marched to the bars, surprising Marian back a step with my quick movements. “Do something for me, then. One last thing, to repay the kindness I once showed you, as you say. Then you’ll be free of me for good.”
Her sharp eyebrows lifted. “Free you from your cell, I’m guessing?”
“No, I don’t care about that. Sheriff George will not harm me. He is too dependent on others making decisions for him, and with Bishop Sutton gone . . .”
“For how cunning and diabolical you are, Sir Guy, you place a foolish amount of trust in an unhinged man.”
“I don’t deny it.”
She tapped on the bars, leaning forward. Imploring me with her eyes in a seductive manner, batting her long lashes. “What is it you want from me, then?”
My eyes swerved down to her ample cleavage on the other side. Back to her face, and I frowned. Leaning closer, with my lips past the bars, I whispered into the shell of her ear.
If George was going to have sweet nothings whispered into his ear by my rival Sutton, then I would do the same thing with this woman.
Marian listened, raising her brow. “That is all? And after?”
I threw my arms out, pulling back. I noticed the gooseflesh along the nape of her neck. “You will be free of all your obligations to me.”
“You know that’s not what I mean, bastard.” Her eyes narrowed angrily.
I sighed. “Do this for me, and I will never lay eyes on your boy again.”
She inhaled sharply, her thin neck hollowing. I had not spoken his name in many months—ever since I started “looking after” the boy.
There was one threat that no woman—no mother—could go against. I had been holding it over Marian’s head ever since her rise from squalor, after the death of Robin’s father, Sir Thomas, and Marian’s loss of that connection. She had needed a place to stay, and a job to do.
I gave her all that and more . . . with the understanding that if she didn’t do what I asked, harm would come to her bastard child.
A child she hadn’t ever spoken with, and only watched from afar.
At its core, the brave “knight” named Barry was at the crux of every decision Marian had made over the last year or more. The direct influence over all of her betrayals and maneuvers. Only I knew that, and now I was freeing her of my treacherous hand.
It was an impossible offer to ignore, and it came with the smallest of prices.
Yet, some mischievous, angry part of me didn’t want her to feel like she had gotten one over on me and was winning this bout.
So, I pulled back, and with a curl to my lips, said, “I haven’t seen the boy as my ‘captive’ for quite some time now, in fact, Marian. My fondness for the young firehound has, unfortunately for my reputation, become something honest and true.”
She pulled back. I expected tears, or bulging eyes, or some look of surprise. An accusation of betraying her or fooling her—pulling the wool over her eyes. An espousal of harsh words directed at me, which often fueled my vigor.
Instead, she matched my smirk with one of her own. Except it was twice as smug, twice as diabolical.
And she said, “I know, Guy.”
Now it was my eyes bulging. A lump forming in my throat as a knot coiled deep in my belly. My world crashed down around me, so abruptly it made me stutter back a step.
“You . . . know?”
Marian nodded. “You may be a cutthroat bastard, Sir Guy, but I know a truth about you: It’s not weak women you have a soft spot for. It’s other bastards. Like you. While you’ve been watching Barry, I’ve been watching you.”
I blinked rapidly, trying to hide my shock but utterly failing. There was no way to account for this twist of fate, this conniving truth uttered from Marian’s full, ruby-red lips.
There was a chance she was lying. That could have explained it—explained how I had not caught on to her spying on me.
Yet her wicked grin told me she was speaking true, and positively relishing the stunned look on my face.
“If you know I haven’t held anything over you, Marian, and that your boy has been freed . . . why the fuck have you been helping me? Why come here at all?”
She shrugged easily again, understanding she held all the power and leverage in this situation.
She is not as weak-willed as I once believed. I am a fool for doubting her.
Her eyes darted from my face to the ground, and a slight flush came to her cheeks. Biting her lip, she smiled coyly—a foreign expression for the fiery woman. “I find your duplicity attractive, Sir Guy, if I’m being honest. Your independent mind. Perhaps it’s our forged toxicity I appreciate. Some part of me felt we could have made a good team, long term.” Her lustful eyes darkened. “If you’d only treated me with respect, as an equal.”
I tilted my head. “Therein lies the rub, woman. We aren’t equals. We never have been.”
My words did not affect her. She was beyond my jabs, it seemed. “Your eyes were never on me, were they?” she asked. “They’ve been on Robin Hood . . . and someone else you don’t want to admit.”
I ground my teeth together, pursing my lips. How dare she. Sighing, I strode to the bars once more, putting us close together—
And my hand lashed out through them before she could react. When I grabbed her chin roughly, she let out a sharp hiss, and I brought her forward, puckering her full lips inches from my face.
“You said it best yourself one time, Madam Marian. I go after the breakable ones. The meek, pliable little mice. But you? You’ve shown that you’re unbreakable.”
With fury behind her eyes, she slapped my hand away and backpedaled, rubbing her jaw. “If you think Robin of Loxley is meek and pliable, I’m afraid you don’t know her at all. Goodbye, Sir Guy.”
With that, she spun around and made for the hall.
I cleared my throat before she reached the tunnel leading out of my room. “Your son is in a good home, Marian.”
She froze. Her body went rigid, back facing me. I heard a sniffle. “Don’t speak of him,” she said in a raspy, low voice. “If you’re being honest and pride yourself on being fond of him, then don’t speak of little Barry any longer.”
“Very well. Then I’ll only say this: Your son is in a good home because I’ve made sure of it. Because I was a bastard too, once.” I let the words linger, then pressed my forehead to the bars. Though she didn’t turn to see the wretched look on my face, I hoped she could hear it in my voice. “Don’t fuck it up by disrupting his life trying to rescue or recover him. It will only cause you more pain. You must let the boy live, because his future is bright . . . without you.”
Maid Marian turned in the doorway, to face me. Her face was scrunched, rosy, and coiled for an attack. Her eyes glistened, yet she fought back the tears while in my presence. I knew they would fall once she was free from this room—free from my invasive presence.
Though I was only telling her the truth as I saw it, I expected a backlash. More fierce words and barbs. Insults, damning me to Hell, cursing me for all my rotten life. I had caused so much turmoil in Marian’s life, I deserved her ire in our closing moments together.
Instead, she reached into her bosom, between her breasts, and pulled something out.
She dropped it onto the uneven stone floor with a clank, then kicked it across the cobblestones.
It landed a foot in front of my bars. Within reach.
By the time I looked up from the object with bemused eyes, Marian was gone from the room.
With a sigh and a small headshake, I crouched.
I stuck my hand through the bars and snatched the key off the floor.
BEFORE EXITING THE jailhouse, I stopped at the front and looked down at the sleeping guard. His snoring was heavy, yet he was alive. Heavily sedated.
I grabbed the keys off his person, walked to the back room, and unlocked the safe. There, I found my sword and scabbard, and belted them to my hip.
Outside the jail was a cool, crisp night. The stars shone brightly without any cloud cover. I walked for a bit, enjoying my newfound freedom, thinking about Maid Marian and her words. Her allegiance, duplicity, and deceitfulness.
She was right. We would have made an excellent team, despite what I’d said in the moment.
I put her behind me, knowing I’d likely never see the woman again. If she’s smart, that is. I was appreciative she’d given me the key to escape my cell, because I hadn’t been looking forward to spending more time there. Her reasoning seemed borne out of personal belief and honor rather than any favor to me.
As a changed woman, she wanted to show she was better than. Better than me—a ruthless, violent bastard. What she did for me was exactly what the Merry Men would have done for one of their own, regardless if they were guilty of the crime they were accused of. Actually, especially if they were guilty of the crime.
Once I was half a mile out of the jailhouse, Marian’s importance in my mind faded. She would either do what I asked of her, or she wouldn’t. Either way, I was finished with her and her illegitimate son.
I had more important things to do.
I came to a crossroads, both metaphorically and literally. One path, to the left, led to Castle Nottingham. The other, to the right, led to the eastern gate of town.
I could have fled the city. Hell, I could have become a Merry Man, most likely. An outlaw, now that I was an escaped fugitive. They would accept me after helping them, and I could start a new life away from the turmoil and treachery of Nottingham’s bureaucracy.
The decision was a difficult one, admittedly.
I stood at that fork in the road for a long time, pondering my options.
THE DOOR FLEW OPEN moments after I knocked on it.
The man’s eyes bulged, flabbergasted. He backpedaled in his room, dressed in little more than a robe and a silly, floppy hat.
“George,” I said with a simple nod.
The Sheriff took one look at my cloak, my black garb, and the sword at my waist, and croaked out, “H-How did you escape your cell?”
“Does it matter? What matters is that I’m here.”
He plopped down on his bed. “Here to . . . kill me?”
I chuckled and took a step into the room. When he went taut and rigid, I frowned. “Of course not, old friend. I am here to serve. As I said before.”
Marian had been correct, and I all but confirmed her accusation by coming here instead of leaving Nottingham to find my freedom.
Marian was correct in this way, which I’d never admit outside my own head: Robin of Loxley was not the only person I was bewitched by. The other—against every fiber of my being, and every logical thought in my mind—sat right before me, dumbstruck at my arrival.
Sheriff George needed me. Without me, he was a lost, pitiful man. He had no one but me to fix him and all his faults.
I supposed, in a way, I needed him, too. That was the part I struggled to admit or justify. We were dependent on one another.
Yet here I was. My decision was clear, and it really was never much of a choice at all. My place was by Sheriff George’s side, whether I liked it or not.
I was nothing if not loyal.
“So,” I said, folding my arms over my chest, “shall we rally the troops, prepare to march on Sherwood Forest, and burn the bandits out of their ramshackle homes, Sheriff?”
In response, George only beamed at me, like a child.
I entered the bedroom and shut the door behind me.