The Tempest (11 page)

He pressed his lips to the base of her throat, trying to draw out one last moment of pleasure. When she tried again to withdraw from his arms, he let her go, though he could not help scowling at the loss of her sweet flesh.

Reluctantly he reached for his own clothes. Pulling them on, he looked at her as she tied the laces of her dress and bound her sash around her waist. He was transfixed as he watched her running her fingers through her hair, picking out the stray pieces of straw. There was something intoxicating about the sight. Perhaps it was the thought of how glorious that soft mane of hair felt in his hands, or the remembrance of how her touch could so easily ignite the fire in him. As she stepped towards the doorway he reached out for her, pulling her back into his arms, bringing his mouth down to hers to kiss her fiercely. She clung tigt to him and kissed him back, her mouth as demanding as his, and in moments they were breathless, struggling to remain upright. He didn’t know how she had the strength to do so, but she managed to pull away. They were both breathing hectically, and his words were heavy with lust.

“When will I have you again?”

She shook her head, and her own voice was thick.

“Soon, I pray. But not here.”

There was a certain sadness in her tone that made him almost fearful. He dreaded now to hear what she would say.

“You cannot remain here. Not after this.”
He shook his head in denial. “Why must I go?” The thought of leaving her now, after what had just occurred, was too much to comprehend. He held fast to her, his nose buried against the softness of her neck. But she was insistent.

“I cannot risk discovery. And if you were to stay, we would surely be found out. To remain so close, yet knowing we cannot be together…it is a chance I cannot take.”

She suddenly rose on the tips of her toes so she might reach him better, her fingers rough against his scalp as she kissed him feverishly. Then she parted from him, her voice soft and breathless.

“You must go. Before my father wakes.”
He leaned his head against hers, wondering how he would ever manage to depart. Now that he’d had a taste of her, he hungered for so much more. She felt so warm, so inviting. His body tensed in frustration when she said, almost in a sad way…

“I will bring your things to you now. Tis’ wiser if you do not go in.”

He saw how she lowered her eyes as she spoke…as if the notion of his leaving was deeply painful to her. Then she was gone from his arms, headed back into the house to fetch his things…to send him away.

He found his horse in the stall and brought him out. As he saddled the stallion, he paused several times…rage and frustration taking over him. To be denied, especially in this way, was something he was not accustomed to. For as long as he could remember, he’d demanded things and had his wishes met. With the exception of Marian, he’d never had to bide his time when it came to having what he wanted.

And he wanted Cassia.

The notion of going felt like a noose tightening around his neck. For some time now, as he’d gradually improved in health, the notion of his departure had been a growing thought in his mind. But he’d kept pushing the thought aside, thinking that behind the end of each day was another day. He’d convinced himself that he would have sufficient time to adjust, and when the moment came to return to his old life, he would be ready.

But how could he have known it would be this way? So abrupt…and so unwelcome.

He suddenly thought of the great transition he would now have ake, being thrust back into his former existence. And the thought of it was punctuated by one great burning question…

What was there to return to?

As Cassia had once reminded him…the Sheriff saw no real value in him. Briwere would likely use the return of his Master at Arms to his own advantage. There would be no warm welcome…not from Briwere, not from soldiers or servants, and certainly not from anyone else in the village. There was but one person in the world who gave a damn about him.

And here he was, being forced to walk away from her. It was painfully unjust…and it made him angry.

He wanted to refuse. What was there to keep him from having his way? The answer came fast upon him.

Cassia.

She had succumbed to him this once. But she was so strong of mind and spirit that if she chose to, she could make herself be ice and rock to him. When it came to her father, she was fiercely loyal…so much so that in order to protect him, she would deny herself what she wanted. And she would not give herself willingly again…not unless she had her sense of security about her.

They had made a bargain, and she would not let him renege on it. And to keep his vow, he would have to return to Nottingham right away. He would have to reclaim his place with the Sheriff…take back his own wealth and power. Only then could he give Cassia what she desired…and only then could he have her completely for his own.

Leading his horse from the barn, he looked up to see her coming, carrying all of his possessions. She came to him in silence, and neither of them spoke as he was prepared for his departure. She fastened the cloak around his shoulders, and adjusted his sword belt around his waist. She helped to ease his feet into his boots, being careful with his ankle that was still in need of attention. He saw how she avoided looking at him, and he knew what she was feeling…what she was thinking. She did not want him to go. She was pained by the thought of his leaving. And the idea that someone would long for him…that he would be missed…was a powerful and overwhelming realization. He reached out and pulled her close, taking her face in his hands. He placed a hot kiss on her lips, speaking in a deep, ragged breath.

“I will come back for you, Cassia. You are mine now, and I will have you again.”

He turned away, unable to remain a moment more without giving in to the temptation of her. With some trouble he mounted his horse, the pain in his ankle now throbbing with the pressure from his boot. But no longer would there be someone to tend to it…at least, not anyone he wanted. He was certain there would be some servant he could command, but there would not be the special touch of gentleness that Cassia possessed. He would have to endure without her…and he knew it was just one of many troubles he would have to face in the days ahead.

He rode towards Nottingham. Several times he brought his horse to a pause, turning to look back over his shoulder…only to force himself to turn around and go on. And as he went, he could not help but long for everything he had let behind.

*****

Her father still slept. It was her one consolation as she stood within the silent house…the silent, empty house. Tears filled her eyes as she wandered into Guy’s room. Even on the bad days…days when he had been the worst of devils…she had always come into this room with the anticipation of seeing him. His presence, however dark, had given her a purpose in life. In all the times she had wished him away, she had not meant it truly. And now that he was really gone, it felt as if a part of her was missing.

Going to the empty bed, she brushed her fingers over the pillow that had cradled his head…the blanket that had covered him. Both were still warm, if only slightly. Soon they would grow cold. His scent would fade away as well, leaving her with only her memories of him…of what they had shared, and of what he had promised her. And she could only hope that he would be a man of his word.

“Well, well. Tis’ not yuletide, and yet it seems we have a miracle before us. Welcome back, Gisborne.”

Guy was silent, his head bowed in obedience as he stood before the Sheriff. Briwere, still in his night robe, walked back and forth in front on the fire in his chamber hearth.

“So,” he said. “You did not perish with your men, after all? You have taken leave these last two months, have you?”

Guy shok his head. “No, my lord. I was incapacitated. But due to the efforts of Samaritans, I am able to return now to my duty.”

The Sheriff looked at him with great interest. “So, that drunken fool of a guard was not mistaken, then. He did see his former master in the flesh. I suppose I dispatched him a bit too quickly.”

Despite his words, there was no hint of regret was in his tone. He stopped suddenly, looking at Guy with a curious expression.

“Samaritans, Gisborne? Who were they?”

There was a long moment as Guy thought of how to respond. And knowing Briwere as he did, he chose his answer carefully.

“No one of consequence.”

There would be no further explanation…at least none that he would give willingly. Cassia and Robert might have been lowly peasants, but they had given him his life. And he would not endanger theirs now by revealing their existence. It was his hope that Briwere would ask no further questions of how he came to be here…and that, as it turned out, was just what happened.

“Well then, Sir Guy,” he said with a bit of glee, tapping his fingers together as the wheels turned in his head. “It seems you may finally be of real use to me. I have just had the most brilliant of thoughts. When the brainless peasants of this village see you have returned, they will no doubt believe that the devil has risen to haunt them. We must make the most of their superstitious ignorance.”

Guy gave him a curious look. “My lord?”

Briwere chuckled. “When you were believed dead, your home was in my hands of course, to do with as I wished. I fully intended to install a new tenant there. But it remains unoccupied…and the reason for that? There was a great belief that your ghost roamed the corridors.”

Guy shook his head slightly, not seeing the point. “I am afraid I do not understand, my lord.”

Briwere waved a hand, rambling on and continuing to speak as if Guy were not even there. It seemed he was quite enjoying the vocalization of his strange train of thought…and while the Sheriff’s back was turned for a moment, Guy gave an irritated shift of his eyes.

“Oh you shall have your home back, Gisborne. You will need new servants, but that is for you to see to. What I am interested in is the fear your presence shall bring. Because you see, fear keeps the ignorant in their place. And that is what these people need…to always be reminded of their lowliness, and of who their masters are.”

As if they are not well aware of it
, Guy thought. But feeling that it was not his place to question why, he said nothing. In truth, whatever ridiculous plotting Briwere had in mind, Guy knew his own opinion of it did not matter. He was back in the hands of his lord and master.

A pawn in a mad game.

He recalled those words so clearly. She had been so apt in her description, one that spelled out in bold letters just what he was to his betters.

And there was nothing he could do to change it.

*****

Guy of Gisborne was back from the dead.
That was the news that swept like wildfire through Nottingham, and many villagers truly believed he was a walking demon. According to whispers, he had appeared like a phantom in the night, demanding to see the Sheriff and terrifying all those who came across him.

Guy found himself the leader of nocturnal raids upon the village residents. Barging in with torches in their hands, the guards pulled people from their beds in the dead of night and forced them to kneel before Gisborne, whom they looked upon with absolute terror. Many had taken to wearing small makeshift crosses around their necks in the hopes of warding off his evil presence. Their cries of mercy, pleading for their immortal souls, fell on deaf ears. It was his feeling that if they were ignorant enough to believe in such nonsense, they deserved what they got.

Briwere was quite pleased with his strange game of intimidation. He had his favorite henchman back to do his dirty work, and he reveled in it…although he could not help but notice Guy’s lack of interest.

One afternoon, only a few days after his return, they stood watching an execution, and Briwere saw how Guy turned his head away. At the gallows, a dark-haired young woman and her family were being put to death. Looking from them to Gisborne, Briwere snorted in disgust at Guy’s obvious discomfort.

“What is the matter with you, Gisborne? Does the wench remind you of your deceitful former fiancé? Will you weep like a fool for her for the remainder of your useless life?”

There was no reply. And Briwere had no way of knowing…it wasn’t Marian that Guy was thinking of.

*****

He was home at last.

After several weeks residing in a room at the castle, waiting for the manor to be made ready, he was finally back on his own grounds…back to his own life. Chenivier had been his residence for many years, and he had feared the loss of it as a result of his absence. But for once, his reputation seemed to have been an aide rather than a hinderance.

Dismounting from his horse, handing it off to the groom, he made his way inside. All of the servants…some of them familiar, some of them not…had assembled in greeting. They bowed in obedient submission. But he had no desire to speak to them, except to make an inquiry to his housekeeper.

“Is my bedchamber in order?”

She nodded. “Yes, my lord Gisborne.”

There was a nervous light in her eyes…one that he saw in the faces of nearly all who were around him. But he disregarded their fears, thinking only of his own concerns.

“Do not disturb me. If I require anything I shall call for it. Is that clear to you?”

Again she nodded…and he passed them all by, climbing the stairs to his room.

Walking into his bedchamber, he glanced around at the comfortable surroundings…so different than the Spartan conditions of Nottingham Castle. Except for Briwere’s private chambers and those reserved for important guests, the castle bedrooms were considered as barracks, with the luxuries kept to a minimum. It had been so long since he’d known these comforts, he’d almost forgotten what they were like…and he looked forward to re-familiarizing himself with them.

The large feathered bed was turned down and waiting for him. The candles were lit, the fire burning strong in the hearth. On the bed stand was a flagon of wine and a jeweled goblet. He went to it, pouring himself a full cup and downing it quickly. Filling it a second time, he carried it to the large velvet-cushioned chair before the fire, where he sat down with a weary sigh. Everything was quiet and comfortable. All was as it should have been. But just as it had been in his castle chamber, there was something about the room that struck him cold. There were just too many things that the space around him lacked…and sitting in his chair now, he knew very well just what was missing.

He let out a breath, longing for the soothing smell of lavender. Over the last two months it had become very familiar to him, its essence so calming. But it wasn’t nearly as soothing as the sound of a certain voice. He had come to enjoy hearing those dulcet tones of hers, whether they were speaking gently to him when he was in pain…or cursing him for some foolish thing he had said or done. Even in her angry moments, there was something in her eyes that told him she wanted to be near him…that she desired his presence as much as he desired hers.

It wasn’t the look he was given by the people who surrounded him. Most times, there was fear in their faces, and a clear desire to escape his presence as quickly as possible. Then there were the looks that some of the servant girls gave him. He’d seen those lusty glances before, particularly from the women residing in the castle. Obviously, the rumors of his being some sort of evil being didn’t turn them all away.

But since his return, he had been in no mood for company, even of the female kind. He was too preoccupied with other things, one of them being his old injuries from the accident. The pain of his foot seemed, if possible, worse than ever. It flared at the most inconvenient times, usually as he was walking fast. He was often forced to stop for several minutes until the wave of pain eased. At times he received strange looks from passersby, who wondered why he stood with his head hung as he groaned in misery.

As if to mirror his thoughts, he suddenly felt a throbbing of pain in his ankle. Putting his wine goblet aside, he reached down to remove his boots. Pulling a stool close, he elevated his foot on it, and while it helped to have his foot free of the confines of oot, it did little to ease the ache. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the chair…and he thought of what he truly needed. What he truly wanted…

A pair of soft, warm hands. A gentle touch that could ease his body and soul, even on the darkest of days…

*****

Not long after his return home, he found himself being closely watched. He often felt the eyes upon him as he walked through the door, and at various other moments during the day. It was a pretty young maid…blond, buxom, and doe-eyed…who looked at him so closely. At first he ignored her, having too much on his mind to consider her flirtatious movements and her wicked looks. Lusty serving wenches were the last thing on his mind.

He’d tolerated his duties before. But now, he was finding them almost unbearable. While the night-time raids were random in their timing…Briwere wanted to use the element of surprise…the rest of his duties were back to the strict regimen of previous days. His mornings were filled with menial tasks, particularly the endless hours of meetings with Briwere and his council of nobles. Those gatherings were mind-numbingly boring, and each afternoon he had been relieved to escape to the silence of his private chamber. He might have been glad of it…if it weren’t for the fact that rest did not come easy. There was an ache deep inside of him, almost like hunger. But food did not appease him. Neither did wine did not soothe him, though both were in plentiful supply. He tossed and turned in his bed, his rest fitful. Such sleeplessness only made his days worse, especially when Briwere took notice of it. One morning, as the council was assembling, Guy could not stifle his yawning. His eyes were bleary…his hair unkempt and his face unshaven, as he’d been in no mood to tend to such things. Briwere gave him a disgusted look.

“Good God, man. You look wretched. What have you been doing at night…shagging whores like an animal? You might try and control yourself for once and remember your duties.”

Guy gave no answer to the insult. It was enough that he was able to keep his temper in check…instead of sending his fist into his master’s jaw. No doubt that would have been one way to relieve some of his tension…if only for a moment.

*****

As he had on so many nights of late, he sat in his chair before the fire. And as it had become his habit, he sighed in frustration. A bottle of honey mead sat on the table beside him, untouched. He’d reached for it several times only to put it back again, knowing it would not cure his ailment.

It had been nearly ten days since he’d returned home to Chenivier, and three weeks since he’d come back to Nottingham. But time seemed to have stretched into an eternity.

It felt like a lifetime since he’d seen her. And he wanted nothing more than to leap on his horse an ride back to the house in the forest…to throw open the door to her house, toss her over his shoulder and carry her off. It was a Neolithic impulse, but one that was so strong, he almost acted on it. He knew that if he chose, he could do as he pleased. There would be nothing to stop him, for he was a powerful man who was used to having what he wanted. She was just a woman.

But he remembered her words of caution.

To take me that way is to have only my physical being. My heart and soul are mine to give or keep as I choose.

She had meant every word…and it was enough to keep his selfish impulse in check.

He thought of her eyes. In them, he had always seen a softness he could not quite describe. Even when she was angry, that light had not diminished. It struck something deep within him, touching a part of his soul that no one else had ever reached.

It was affection, he had slowly come to realize. She cared for him…truly and deeply. No one had ever looked upon him with such feeling, and somehow he knew that if he forced his hand, that tender light would fade away.

She would surely despise him if he acted so selfishly. And the thought of her turning against him was a notion that was almost painful. After having her…recalling the eagerness of her arms and the intensity of her desire…it was disturbing to imagine her growing cold or hateful towards him. Until she had her sense of security about their relationship…until she was certain they could meet in absolute secrecy…he would have to maintain his distance, no matter how difficult a task it was.

And God help him, it was
beyond
difficult. There were times when he felt the impulse to call out for her, thinking that she would appear from the next room. But then he would remember where he was…that she was no longer near, to come to him whenever he was in need. Each time a servant came to his aide he was overwhelmed with deep disappointment, for there was only one face he wished to see…and for the moment, she was beyond his reach.

Nights were even more unbearable, as his imagination cruelly taunted him with images of what he had to be without. Even now he envisioned her. Those soft lips on his skin…that sweet voice whispering heated endearments in his ear as her arms slipped around his neck…

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock upon the door. He ignored it, silently cursing the disturbance. But it came again…and then the door was squeaking open. A low, throaty female voice spoke from behind him. He knew which of his servants it was. He didn’t have to look.