The Tempest (2 page)

His boots pounded along the stones of the castle tower. His expression was dark, his mouth drawn in a deep frown as he made his way through the dimness, his path illuminated by the dancing light of a torch. As he neared the door to her room, he spoke silently to himself.

He
would
take her as his wife.

Her consent was not required. He could take her, bound and gagged if necessary, and force her to kneel before a priest. There was no other way to keep her from execution…and he did not care if she despised him. He would not allow her to hang…not when he could save her.

At the cell door, he held the torch aloft as the guard turned the key in the lock. Ducking into the dark room, he held the torch up as he searched the chamber. There she lay on the narrow bed, on her stomach, her long waves of black hair splayed down her back. He wondered why she did not stir. Surely she did not sleep well on the night before her execution. Going to the bed, he kicked the side of it to shake her out of her slumber.

“Marian, wake up.”

She lay still. Too still for his liking. He called her name again, feeling a nervous knot forming in his belly. Something was not right. He could sense it, and drawing closer, he reached down to shake her shoulder. His voice grew more demanding.

“Marian, wake!”

Nothing. No sound, no response. Shoving the torch into a holder on the wall, he reached down to grasp her shoulders, turning her over…and he saw before him her blank stare. Her green eyes, once so sparkling and beautiful, were dull and lifeless. He grasped her with both his hands, shaking her in a desperate attempt to see some sign of life. He shouted her name, the sound an agonized wail tearing out of his soul.

“Marian! Marian!” He held her in his arms, refusing to believe she was dead. When the door burst open and the guard rushed in, he shouted in agonized fury.

“Fetch a physician! Now!”

The guard only stared dumbly…as if he wondered what the concern was for a woman already condemned. Guy leapt to his feet and struck the man across the face.

“DO AS I SAY!”

With a petrified look, and a quick bow, the guard rushed out…and Guy turned back to Marian. With one arm he held her body. With the other he cradled her head, mad with the hope that somehow, she would respond when he called her name…

*****

With the coming of the daylight, the cause of Marian’s death was found in a corner of the room. It was there that a maid, sweeping out the now unoccupied chamber, found an empty vial. Poison had been her instrument of suicide.

Marian of Leaford was dead…and with her had gone all hope of redemption for the fearsome nobleman she’d left behind.

Late February,
1194

The thunder of horse’s hooves trampled over the virgin snow. Leading his “men” once again…and he used the term loosely…Guy felt the cold in his very bones, despite the heavy cloak that covered him. He pulled the fur collar closer around his neck, but it did little to provide him warmth…and nothing to calm his temper.

Briwere be damned
, he thought.
Sending me out on another chase.

All he wanted was to stay hidden in his bedchamber at home, numbing himself with darkness and drink. But Robin of Locksley had thwarted the law once again. And once again, the one giving chase would be the Master at Arms, not the Sheriff. He could picture his fair-haired master sitting before a blazing fire,pping spiced wine as maidens tended to his every need. There was no need for him to brave the cold when he could send his right-hand man out to do his bidding. And this search would likely end as all the others had…in failure.

Despite the bare trees that left virtually no place to hide, it would be just like Hood and his gang to go to ground like the filthy animals that they were. The outlaws would slip through his fingers again…slinking, slippery little ferrets that they were. And he, Sir Guy, would go crawling back to Nottingham with his tail between his legs. Humiliated in defeat, and then to be made a fool of by a lord to whom he was irrevocably bound, who saw nothing of value in him…who found great joy in his sorrow and humiliation. It was enough to drive any man to madness. How many times had he lain awake at night, asking himself why he didn’t just end it all?

Only his mad desire for self-punishment kept him alive. He knew he deserved this fate…this living purgatory. For all the evil things he’d done, he wanted to be punished. And if death came to claim him in the meantime, he would accept it. The fiery pits of hell were where he deserved to be, for he had destroyed something pure, something innocent…he had destroyed the only woman he’d ever loved. And an eternity of punishment would never be enough to right such a wrong.

In the distance, a movement caught his eye. Two figures were hunched over the carcass of a deer, preparing to hoist it onto the back of a horse. He knew the men before him. One was a tall, grizzled beast of a man. The other was slender and sandy-haired, garbed in dark green with a quiver of arrows across his back. The two of them paused for a moment, looking up.

Hood
. Guy’s eyes narrowed dangerously at recognizing his enemy…and he shouted the command forward.

“Seize them!” Giving his horse the spur, he charged forward with his men close behind. The two criminals abandoned their kill, mounting the horse together and fleeing fast.

Guy led his men in a mad dash across an open meadow, keeping the outlaws in sight. He was almost upon them when there came a dreadful sound from behind him. Slowing his mount, he turned his head to look…and saw the sickening sight of his men, one by one, sinking into the ground that wasn’t ground at all.

It was ice, hidden by a layer of snow. There was a melee of screaming men and beasts as the entire band collapsed down into the frozen waters, and his eyes looked in horror as the cracks in the ice came zigzagging fast in his direction. He urged his horse to flee, but the frightened animal suddenly reared up violently…and his foot was tangled in the stirrup as he was thrown off. A violent twisting of flesh and bone, his ankle being broken, made him scream in agony. Then the ice gave way beneath him.

All became inky blackness around him, the icy water shocking his heart, sapping the air from his lungs.

Instinct screamed at him…

Breathe! Breathe!

In his head, he knew that if he opened his mouth, it would seal his doom. But the panicked survival instinct was too strong…his lungs burning for air. And he couldn’t keep from gasping.

Ice cold water filled his lungs. Deprived of air, his mind began to grow dim. Only by a slight sense of understanding did he feel it when his horse made a final, desperate lunge for the bank, yanking his body along. On the solid but snowy shore, his foot at last slipped from the stirrup…and his body collapsed in a battered wreck of flesh and bones. Unconsciousness claimed him fast, his injuries and the elements taking their toll as the wind blew through the silent forest.

* * * * *

Cassia dropped the armful of firewood she’d been carrying.

Merciful heavens, what a sound of terror that had passed!

It came from the lake, less than a half-mile away. But what on earth would create such a frightful noise?

There was now a sudden and eerie silence. Whoever…
what
ever had made that sound, it was the sound of terror. Of suffering. And she knew she must do something. Rushing to the house, bursting through the front door, she called out in rushed words.

“Father! Come quickly!”

Robert came from the shadows of the back room, looking curious as to what the commotion was.

“Why are you shouting, daughter?”

Her breath came fast. “Father, Something has happened! I heard a crying out, and then all became silent! I feel something terrible must have happened!”

He held up a steady hand. “Calm thyself child.” Taking his hooded cloak from the hook on the wall, he fastened it securely around his neck. He slipped on his gloves as he led her outside.

“From whence came the commotion?”

“It came from the direction of the lake.” She shook her head, her voice full of fear. “Oh Father, never have I heard such a sound! And if there are injured down there, this cold will surely claim them fast.”

Together, they made their way along the path and down the slight slope that led to the lake…and Cassia gasped in horror as they came upon the sight. Her voice was a whisper.

“Saints preserve us.”

Five men, who looked to be Nottingham soldiers, bobbed lifelessly on the surface of the lake, chunks of broken ice floating all around them. Their horses had escaped the water and were on the opposite shore, but Cassia had to turn her head away from the sight of the dead. She covered her mouth, a tear falling from her cheek as she tried to blot the horrific image from her mind.

That was when she heard the snort of a horse, which came from somewhere nearby. Looking allaround, she at last saw a riderless stallion standing near a great pine tree. The animal was shivering, its breath fogging quickly as it tried to take air into its lungs.

“Oh Father, look.”

She rushed towards the poor beast, while her father searched the area for any signs of possible survivors. As he looked about, his back turned away from her, Cassia managed to get hold of the horse’s reins, and she spoke soothingly to him. There was something rather familiar about the raven-black destrier, though she could not be certain where she’d seen him before. He was a very fine animal. Too fine, in fact, for just any owner, judging from his expensive gear. And destriers were expensive horses that no commoner could afford. His master must certainly have been someone of great importance…certainly of higher rank than a simple soldier. But where was the man in question? She glanced around as if the answer might be close at hand…and there, under the branches of a pine, she saw a soldier’s body. She cried out.

“Father!” Moving the horse, she fell to her knees beside the man. He was too heavy to move on her own, but with her father’s help, she succeeded in turning him over…and she gave a cry of shock at the face before her.

“God Almighty! Father, it is Sir Guy of Gisborne!”

She watched in horror as her father leaned down, pressing his ear against Gisborne’s chest, and then to his mouth.

Please do not let him die,
Cassia pleaded silently.
Lord, have mercy on this man.

Robert rose up quickly.

“His heart beats, but he does not breathe. Cassia, you must give him air, else he will die.”

She nodded, not thinking or hesitating for a moment. Forcing open Sir Guy’s mouth, bending down to place her mouth over his, she forced all the warm air into him that she had to give. Coming up for a moment to refill her lungs, she bent and gave him all her breath again. As she backed away for a moment, a gush of water suddenly spewed from his mouth, followed by a gurgle…and then the blessed sound of violent coughing.

“He breathes,” Robert said. “But we must work quickly. Daughter, rush quickly to the house. Bring the litter, heavy blankets…a flagon of wine. I will check for further injury. Go!”

She ran with all the speed she could muster, gathering the things from the house. Dragging the litter along, she tied it behind Sir Guy’s horse while her father threw the blankets over Gisborne’s body and forced the wine down his throat to warm him. Together they hefted him onto the litter. Robert led the way, guiding the horse as Cassia walked alongside, never taking her eyes from the sad sight of the unconscious Sir Guy.

Moving as fast as they could they untied the litter and carried it into the house, taking him into the single small bedroom. As they hoisted his heavy body to the narrow bed, Cassia feared the look in her father’s eyes.

“He mery well die yet,” Robert whispered. “And if the Sheriff finds that he has died under our roof, God have mercy on our souls.”

Cassia’s reply was instant, and firm. “Then we must pray to God that he does not die. And he will not, Father. I will not let him.”

There was a long moment of silence between them…and then Robert shook his head, as if to return his focus to the man before him.

“Light, daughter. I must have more light. Bring more candles…a lamp.”

She went out and came back quickly, setting several large beeswax candles on the bed stand. Lighting them with the fire from the lamp, the room quickly grew bright. Her father looked the patient up and down.

“We must remove his garments,” he said. “And quickly.”

At her father’s statement, Cassia felt a slight tremor of shock, and she couldn’t help but imagine what she would see under Guy’s sodden clothing. He was such an imposing figure, wide of shoulders and long of limbs. It was obvious, even hidden under layers of material, that he had a fine physique.

But there wasn’t time to think of such things. Her father quickly removed the heavy cloak from Guy’s shoulders. She helped support the upper body as her father removed the sodden wool coat. He stripped off the wet tunic and the undershirt that was plastered to the skin…and Cassia’s eyes grew a little wider as the upper body was revealed. Strong and superbly toned arms…the arms of a man who hefted a heavy broadsword. A solid, muscular chest and a flat, rippled abdomen. It was difficult to look away from such a sight.

But when it came to the rest of Guy’s garments, her father paused in his actions. He glanced up at her.

“Fetch my shears. Bring water and rags.”

She left to fetch the materials. When she came back, Guy was covered from head to toe with several heavy blankets…his head and feet now the only things exposed. Bringing the things to her father, she came close and examined Guy’s face, which was bloody and battered. Under one eye was a jagged cut, and many blue and black marks were already forming all across his skin. It pained her to see his strong and manly features so marred.

“How do you suppose he sustained the facial injuries?”

Robert shrugged. “I must assume it was the broken ice that damaged him so.” Walking to the end of the bed, he examined the foot that was swelling fast. He pressed his fingers to Guy’s ankle. “Since he was lying near his horse, I believe he must have been dragged to the spot he was in. Perhaps that also explains the ankle. It is certainly broken, judging from the feel of the bones. But we shall see to that later.”

Taking up the shears, moving back to the head of the bed, he began quickly cutting away Guy’s matted hair.

“When I felt his skull before, my fingers came away with blood. My hope ihat the wounds there are only superficial. If there is internal damage, I fear there is nothing we can do for him.”

Cassia held out a small basket to catch the long, dark locks, and she couldn’t help thinking that in a way, she was glad to see the ugly mane removed. Since the death of Marian, Guy had grown into quite the vagabond. Since that day at the church, she had rarely seen him, even at a distance. When she had managed a glimpse of him, it had made her sad to see him so disheveled, so deep in his bitterness that he began looking more like an animal than a man. She was glad, now, to restore him…at least in part…to his former self.

As the hair was cut away, she saw the gruesome wound revealed…a large, bloody gash just at the base of his skull. She watched, anxious, as her father probed the wound. And she sighed with relief when he declared it deep, but not life threatening. There were other small cuts in places, but the large wound was of most concern.

“His skull feels intact. But we shall have to bind the skin. Daughter, fetch me a needle and thread. You will have to support his head while I sew it closed.”

Nodding, she went out again and came back quickly. Handing him the materials, she then took Guy’s head and gently held it against her shoulder. The sight of the bloody wound, of the needle working its way in and out of the flesh, didn’t move her. She’d seen such doings many times before. But it was the thought of Guy enduring such a gruesome procedure that tormented her. Many cases she’d seen had been wide awake during such a process. They’d been given a stick of strong wood to clamp between their teeth, and nothing more. She gave silent thanks to God that Guy was unconscious through all of it.

After her father applied a healing salve over the area, they carefully set their patient back against the pillows. As Robert pressed his hand to Guy’s forehead, his face was grim. While he cleaned the facial wounds and applied salve to them, he turned to her.

“A fever has begun already. Go quickly and boil a tea with willow bark. If we are to save him, we must get his fever under control.”

She hurried away, and when she came back with the steaming cup of tea, she saw how Guy’s figure was starting to shake under the covers. Sickness had a firm hold on him already. As she brought the healing tea to his lips, sending it into his throat, all she could do was pray that he would live through the night.