The Tempest: A Guy of Gisborne Story Page 11

  “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.

  “My lord, is there anything you require this evening?”

  He heard the familiar sound of an invite in her voice, and for a moment he considered her. Perhaps a mindless encounter with a willing female was what he needed to ease his frustration. Perhaps he could close his eyes and pretend it was the woman he wanted, and not just some convenient piece of flesh. Cassia would not have to know about it…not that he required permission to do as he pleased. Without turning to look at the maid, he called her overfont>

  “Come here, wench.”

  He listened to the sound of the door closing…the sound of her slight footsteps as she slowly approached him from behind. A moment later he felt her hands upon his shoulders, gently massaging them. Then she came around his chair to face him, and she wasted no time in undoing the laces of her gown, exposing her ample breasts. Moving herself close she placed herself in his lap. She brought her lips to his ear and softly nibbled his lobe, while reaching down with an eager hand to fondle him. Her lips were full and moist, and she tried to bring them to meet his…but he turned his head away. Kissing was much too personal, too intimate for this. He wanted no emotions between them. He didn’t even wish to know her name. She was here to slake his lust, and nothing more.

  But even with her fingers stroking him, and her mouth dropping hot, wet kisses on his chest, he found himself responding with only the slightest twinge of excitement. She was lacking in several ways that were making him lose interest quickly. Her hair was much too light…not the rich chestnut tresses that felt like silk when running through his fingers. The face was a bit too round, the eyes an uninspiring shade of hazel. He wanted to behold a pair of eyes that were dark and deep in their color, glittering like two onyx jewels. Staring at the inadequate form before him, with her eyes now meeting his, he saw how her lips were parted slightly in anticipation. Using her free hand, she linked her fingers with his and guided his palm to her breast. She began thrusting against his hand…and he found both the feeling of her body and the expression in her eyes to be repulsive.

  What he saw was pure, selfish lust. No real feeling. He could have been any man…any nobleman, particularly…and it would not have made a difference. How many other men had she spread her legs for, all in the hopes of seeking some kind of personal gain? Her lewdness was appalling...and he’d had enough of her.

  “Get out,” he growled at her.

  She blinked in response, confused by his sudden demand. He pulled his hand from hers. He gripped her roughly by the shoulders, shaking her.

  “I said get out! Now!”

  Her face turned quite red, and she fumbled with the ties of her dress as she slid from his lap. When she was gone from the room he went and slammed the door, bolting it, lest there be any others who would try their hand at tempting him. He wanted none of them. He turned instead to the bottle of wine on the table. Partaking of wine wouldn’t solve his problem. But perhaps if he got roaring drunk, he might pass out and find some measure of peace.

  *****

  It had been more than a month since his return, and in that time he had not forgotten the bargain made between he and Cassia. The incident with the maid had not been without benefit. It had served to erase his doubts on one particular point…that he wanted Cassia back, more so than he’d realized before. He needed her back. He would not be satisfied otherwise. He had vow***

  Forcefully he gathered several villagers together, giving them the task of making the necessary repairs to the house in the glen…and threatening them with punishment if they dared tell anyone what they were working on.

  According to the carpenter he’d found to assess the property, it would take some time to dig a new well and rebuild parts of the house that had fallen in, as well as to clean and refurbish it. At hearing of such an impediment to his plans, he growled with impatience and anger.

  “Find a way to get it done, or you shall find yourself on the executioner’s block.”

  His frustration was reaching its breaking point, particularly after a long night raiding and half a day of being ordered about by Briwere. He would fall into his bed exhausted, only to find that his rest disturbed by vibrant imaginings. Those few hours he’d spent with her…he relived each delicious moment, only to wake and find himself alone in his empty bed. It was a torment the likes of which he’d never known, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

  He had to be with her again. Being without her was almost a form of starvation, slowly wearing away at him until the hunger became unbearable. Perhaps it was foolish…even unmanly…to be in such great need of someone, particularly a woman. But his obsession had a hold of him. Whether or not it was foolish, he did not care. He would have her again, one way or another.

  But how could he go to her? To simply appear at her door would be ridiculous. He gave thought to sneaking in to see her during the dark of night, and for a moment the salacious thought brought a little grin to his face. He imagined himself moving about in the night like a prowler, crawling through a window…sneaking into her bed.

  But then his smile faded away, for the fact still remained that her father would be there…and as much as he and Cassia longed for each other, it wasn’t likely they could keep their activities quiet. It seemed that until the cottage was built, he would just have to wait.

  *****

  Spring was changing into summer, and with the change came a blessing that seemed to come from somewhere up above. Briwere was plagued by a stomach ailment and fever, leaving him confined to his bed. Guy was now in temporary control of Nottingham…and he used it to his advantage. Rather than carrying out orders he now gave them, putting the burden of work on the rest of Briwere’s men. And in doing so, he now had a bit of time to do as he pleased.

  He would go to see her. The only trouble was finding a way to encounter her when she was alone, to avoid trouble with her father. He stood before his window one morning, trying to think of a way…when inspiration suddenly came to him from one of the servants. She tapped on his door, and in a grumbling voice he bid her to enter. Her voice was small, fearful.

  “Would you like a bath, my lord?”

  He started to refuse…to throw something at her and shout at her to leave. But then he changed his mind. Without turning to look at her he answered. “Yes I would indeed. And make haste with it.”

  As the tub was dragged in and pitchers of hot water poured to fill it, he recalled overhearing a conversation between Cassia and that old witch, Sophie.

  I miss my Saturday bathing in the lake. How I long for the warmth of summer and the feeling of water all around me…

  Tomorrow was Saturday. And the weather had been quite warm of late. She might very well be making a journey to the lakeside. And perhaps he would be there waiting for her.

  It seemed a perfect situation. He had no worries about being missed in town. Briwere was still abed with his illness, so there was little fear of repercussions if he went away for a little while. As he sank into his steaming bathwater, his scowl changed to a little smirk…full of anticipation of the day to come.

  Chapter 12

  The June day was warm and bright, the birds making merry noise in the trees above. But Cassia only paid it all a small amount of attention. Her mind was on Guy, of course…as it had been for nearly six weeks. It had been that long since she’d seen him.

  He’d vowed to come back for her. The intensity in his expression, the fire in his eyes, had made her sure that he’d meant it. He’d certainly not wanted to go, and it had taken every ounce of willpower she’d had to send him away. Nothing in her life had ever felt as incredible as being in his arms, feeling the heat of his kisses and the thrilling strength of his body. Every night she drea
med of him, and every day she secretly listened for the sound of hoof beats that might signal his approach. She watched the path that came from Nottingham, hoping that at any moment he would appear, sitting astride his dark horse in all of his imposing and beautiful glory.

  But even while she longed for him, she wondered how they could be together as they wanted to be, and yet keep the world from intruding on their happiness. She was quite aware how the world would see their relationship. She, a simple peasant girl, and Sir Guy of Gisborne, a high-born nobleman…people from two completely different worlds. They were not meant to be together in this way. In the eyes of society, a woman of her low birth held only two places for a man like Guy. She was either his obedient servant, or she was his whore. There was no middle ground to stand on.

  It was impossible that there should be any sort of feelings between them, for it was not only scorned upon, but it could be very dangerous. If someone in a higher social standing…the Sheriff for one…discovered their amour, they could threaten her with any means of punishment for disrupting the strict moral code. If they wished, they could even strip Guy of his title and his lands, leaving him with nothing. They both played with fire by giving in to their desires.

  But her heart was winning over all that her head was warning her about. She was certain he did not love her…and perhaps he never would. Perhaps his heart had been stripped of the ability to love. But she loved him now more than ever, and at the very least, he desired her. Compared to the notion of having his heart, it was a small substitute…but in a cruel and unjust world, she felt fortunate to have any measure of happiness at all.

  But it had been six weeks since she’d last seen him. And in that time, while she waited and dreamed of him, she had heard rumors about the goings on in Nottingham. One of the rumors she knew to be ridiculous…that Guy of Gisborne was a demon risen from the grave. To that she had simply shaken her head in disbelief. But what she did find troubling was how quickly he had fallen back into his old ways, terrorizing villagers and following Briwere around like a loyal dog. Had the months under her care done nothing to change him, even in the smallest way? And if he was reverting back to those behaviors, was he falling into other old routines as well…routines that involved chamber maids and other kinds of female company?