The Tempest: A Guy of Gisborne Story Read online

  Right away she noticed his disheveled state. His clothes were covered in mud and who knew what else, judging from the horrid smell. His face was drawn and weary, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his brow. And yet he denied the seriousness of it.

  “I am quite well. Do not fuss.”

  She led him inside, demanding answers as they went.

  “What happened to you? And do not tell me it is nothing, when clearly it is something.”

  He sighed, a defeated sound. “I was in a tourney, in honor of Prince John’s birthday. I was not the victor. And the Sheriff had banned me from his sight for three days, due to my failure.”

  She began to ask another question…but a look down at his arm let her see the long gash that had torn through his sleeve…and the blood that was congealing there. She gasped in horror.

  “My God, you’re bleeding!”

  “Tis’ but a scratch,” he muttered. “My opponent’s sword broke through my mail. But it needs no attention.”

  She wanted to strangle him for saying such a foolish thing. “Are you daft?” she cried. “It must be cared for at once! Sit down this instant.”

  He seemed too exhausted to give much of an argument as she led him to a chair. Once he was settled, she looked around frantically, trying to think. She was sure she had sewing materials…she had always carried a little leather purse for emergencies, and it had been on her person the day Guy took her from home. But going to it now, she found her spool of thread was almost bare…not nearly enough to sew up such a wound as his. Then an idea came to her. Rushing outside, she went to Guy’s horse and yanked a long hair from his tail. The beast didn’t seem to mind, and she swore she’d soon reward him with apples for his generosity.

  Hurrying back in, she set the thread aside as she pulled at Guy’s tunic and undershirt. He was silent as she removed his garments, giving only a slight grunt of pain. Taking the offensive clothing outside, she dropped them on the stoop and fetched a bucket of water from the well. When she came back in, Guy was slumped forward in the chair, but still she set about cleaning the arm. Using some of the oils she’d extracted, she rubbed the area with it. Then she took to preparing her needle and thread, and Guy watched her as she worked.

  “It will heal on its own. It does not need binding.”

  “Don’t be so foolish!” she scolded him. “Now be as still as you can…this will be unpleasant.”

  She pierced his skin and began carefully weaving the needle in and out, but not once did he complain or flinch. When she’d finished, she forced him to stand again, and this time she walked him to the waiting bathtub. When she told him to remove the rest of his clothes, he muttered a protest…which she ignored.

  “You shall sleep better if you are clean. Now stop being so quarrelsome and do as I say.”

  He hardly seemed aware of what he was doing, even as he finished undressing and stood there, naked as the day he was born. Her thoughts weren’t lascivious as she helped him in. He was more like a child she was taking care of, and the moment he sat down his head fell back against the rim. Diligently she washed him, including his matted hair. Despite his initial protest, he made contented little sounds as she worked, and occasionally he opened his eyes to look at her.

  “You have blessed hands, Cassia.”

  She smiled slightly. “Have I?” She ran fingers through his soapy hair, scrubbing his scalp.

  “I do not know what I would have done without you when I was ailing.”

  Making him lean forward, she gently rinsed the soap from his head, thinking of those days when they’d first known each other.

  “I could not have in good conscience let you suffer. You were in such a state at the time. I did what I felt was needed…despite the occasional abuse I endured for my efforts.”

  She had hoped to be lighthearted in the conversation. But after a long moment of silence, he turned his eyes to her…and the sadness there was so deep, it was nearly her undoing.

  “You cannot know how I regret my actions. Words are incapable of expressing how it makes me feel to recall them.”

  He turned his head away again, this time lowering it in shame.

  “How can you love such a man as I? I am two and thirty years of age, and all of my life has been a useless waste. All of the world seems to see what you do not.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to sound strong for him.

  “And what, pray tell, do you think they see?”

  He muttered darkly. “A degenerated wretch of a man, full of ugliness both outside and in. My sins too numerous to count. Their hatred and scorn is a punishment I deserve.”

  To see him this way, so full of pain and bitterness…it cut her heart to the quick. Leaning in, she put her arms around him, resting her cheek against his temple. She spoke soothingly to him.

  “It is fortunate, then, that I do not see the world through the eyes of others, but through my own.”

  He said nothing to this, but it did not matter to her. Caring for him was her main concern, and making him rise from the tub, she saw that he was patted down with a towel and that his hair was as dry as she could get it. It would not do for him to sleep with a damp head and catch the ague. With his arm around her for support she helped him to bed, not bothering to try and get him in a nightdress. He would sleep more comfortably with the coolness of the sheets on his bare skin. When she let go of him, being sure that his injured arm was not the one he was resting on, he was already deep in slumber.

  She went around to the other side of the bed, crawling under the sheets with him. Snuggling against his warm back, she soon fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of his breathing.

  *****

  In his sleep, Guy tossed and turned, his heart thudding with fear as a dream tormented him…

  On the horizon a soldier appeared, mounted on a fine white stallion. At first Guy did not pay him much attention, for he sat under a tree with Cassia, her head resting lovingly on his shoulder as he held her in his arms. But the soldier soon drew closer. And when Cassia turned to look, seeing the mysterious man, her eyes grew wide with recognition. Guy said her name, hoping to draw her back to his arms. But her look of love was no longer for him. Suddenly she ran to the side of the mysterious soldier, who reached out his hand to her…and without looking back, she put her hand in his, letting him pull her onto his horse.

  “My Lord Husband,” she said through tears. “You have come home to me at last.”

  Guy gave a strangled cry, reaching out in an attempt to take her back. But the soldier gave his horse the heel, riding away with Cassia in tow. Guy called for her again and again, but the figures grew smaller and smaller on the horizon, until at last they were gone from view…and Guy fell to his knees and wept.

  He woke with a gasp, his eyes damp. He looked around in desperate confusion, unsure if he was in reality or some mad continuation of his nightmare.

  Quite soon his senses returned to a calmer state. But still shaken, he lay his head back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling…deep in troubled thought.

  He couldn’t fathom the idea of losing Cassia, to anyone or any circumstance. This situation he’d allowed them both to be entangled in…living here, she being his mistress…was more precarious than he’d realized. The dream he’d had served as a reminder of how easily lost his happiness could be.

  They couldn’t go on like this, wondering if some misfortune would befall them. Sooner or later, someone was bound to catch on. Briwere was suspicious enough already, and Guy would not have found it surprising to learn that the Sheriff was having him followed. Neither would it have been far-fetched to imagine that Briwere had planted a spy at Chenivier. It was that concern that had made him steal Cassia away during the night. The “evidence” he had given to the Sheriff…a tattered dress splattered with animal blood…had produced a proper reaction of disgust, and there had been nothing further said about the matter. As to whether or not Briwere had truly been convinced, Guy was not absolutely certain, a
s the celebration of Prince John’s birthday had been foremost in the Sheriff’s mind. He was engrossed in impressing his betters, so for several more days at least, he wouldn’t be giving much attention to his Master-at-Arms.

  But what would happen when Briwere turned his thoughts back in their original direction?

  The risk was too great. And if something were to happen to Cassia…if he were to lose her…there would be nothing left for him. She was fast becoming the sole focus of his life, and there was but one way to be certain of his future with her…only one way to be sure that she would always be his, and his alone.

  Judging by the sunlight and position of shadows, it was late afternoon. He had not slept for so long in quite some time, and as he turned to sit up, his aching body gave him a good reminder of why it would be more comfortable to stay in bed. In the joust of yesterday, having been thrown from his horse, the impact of hitting the ground had been quite harsh. Then there had been the counter attack he’d had to defend himself from, which had ended with his lacerated arm and a sword tip poised at his throat. It had been pure humiliation and pain, and he’d actually been glad to be dismissed from Briwere’s sight. Though it had not been easy to accept an unmanly defeat…and he’d been quite ashamed to return to Cassia in such disgrace…in the end, none of it had mattered. He’d come home to her, and she’d showered him with all of her love and kindness. How blessed he felt to have such a woman, one who could make him forget his woes so easily. Even now, there were little signs of her devotion around him.

  Looking around, he saw that his clothes had been cleaned and were folded over the back of a chair. His boots were there too, sitting just so on the floor, the mud and filth washed away. On the table beside the bed was a small tray of fruit, a jug of wine, and a goblet. And then there were his weapons, resting neatly on top of the dresser. Looking at his sword-belt, he wondered if she’d seen the little silver chain and cross wrapped around it…her gift to him, which he’d kept on his person since that day at the lake. He’d not thought of it at the time, but that simple bit of jewelry had probably been the only valuable thing she’d ever owned.

  She shall have so much more than that, he said to himself. And soon…very soon.

  Forcing himself from the bed…and groaning from his aches…he went to the wash basin to clean himself up. His stomach growled from hunger, but food was not his main concern at the moment. Pulling on his trousers, he was just reaching for his shirt when he heard the sound of Cassia’s footsteps approaching. He turned, and saw her pause just at the doorway. He watched, seeing the way her eyes examined him in his state of half-dress…and his senses reacted quite well to such a look. The tension in the room became quite heavy, their eyes meeting in a long and heated exchange.

  Then he moved his arm just so, and the pain of his wound broke the tension quickly. He saw the change in her expression. It went from longing to concern in an instant as she rushed to his side to look at his injury.

  “It has not opened, has it?”

  She ran her fingers over the stitching, and he wondered if she knew just what her touch was doing to him at that moment. It was all he could do to keep from grasping her by the arms, tumbling her down to the bed and releasing his passions on her. It had been much too long since they’d been together in that way.

  But temptation would have to be held back for just a bit more time. He had a mission in mind, and he intended to see it through quickly.

  “It is quite well, I assure you,” he said of his arm. He stepped away from her to finish dressing, and all the while she was watching him, probably wondering why he was leaving again so soon. But he was quick to reassure her. “I must go to Locksley for a short while, to see to some matters of importance. I shall return soon.”

  She followed him as he went out, a slight hint of amusement in her voice as she spoke.

  “Mayhap when you are in the village, you will find food to bring back. Strange, but I found the cupboards to be quite bare.”

  He nodded, silently berating himself for his stupidity in not thinking of something so simple.

  “I shall find provisions. Do not worry.”

  At the front step, he lingered for a moment, looking at her. Unable to resist, needing just a small bit of her affection to appease him, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands.

  “I will not be away for long. I promise.”

  He kissed her lips gently, and it was almost painful to keep it so chaste. But he did, and he broke away from her to go.

  “Safe journey,” she called out to him, waiting on the step and watching as he mounted his horse. Just before he reached the path into the woods, he turned to look at her again. She was still there, her eyes meeting his. They smiled at one another…and then he turned to go, intent on coming back to her as soon as he possibly could.

  Chapter 15

  It was near sunset when he returned with two sacks of goods, along with a few pheasants he’d taken from the smokehouse at Chenivier. They would have a fine meal this night…and God willing, there would be other pleasures that went beyond dining. He’d seen it in her eyes that morning…felt it in her kiss. She wanted him back in her arms again. She would always mourn her father, but she was ready to move ahead with her life…and to be his once more.

  As he came in the house, nearing the kitchen, he could hear her humming a little tune. Taking in the game birds and the small sacks of flour and salt he’d obtained, he approached quietly, putting the goods down in a chair without making a sound. Her back was turned to him, allowing him to watch her as she stood over a small table, cutting apples. He looked at her, seeing her grey woolen dress, thinking of how ill it suited her. She should have been wearing velvets or silk, with jewels around her neck and rings on her fingers…fitted like the very fine lady he knew her to be. There should have been a maid doing this kitchen work, while she saw to more leisurely tasks. It bothered him to see her working this way, though she didn’t seem to be troubled by it. He scowled slightly, and found he could no longer be silent.

  “Cassia, you should not be doing the work of a servant.”

  She jumped slightly, turning to see him there. To his comment, she gave him a curious look, though she smiled.

  “A peasant, a servant. We are one in the same, Guy of Gisborne. We are born for this manner of duty.”

  He wagged his head, frowning. “I should have found a youngster to bring here for you, to work so you should not.”

  Now she laughe approd it was her turn to shake her head. She came to where he stood, seeing the things he had brought.

  “I need no one to manage small tasks here. When you are gone on your business, the work gives me needed occupation. And I see you have brought fresh meat, among other things. These shall make a fine meal, if you will please skewer them and fit them on the turning spit.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “Me?”

  “Of course. What else will you do with yourself while I prepare the meal? Stand about with that scowling face of yours, watching me as you do?”

  Her smile was infectious, causing him to smirk…despite his opposition to the idea of working like a commoner. There would be no arguing with her, at any rate. And in truth, he felt a great need to please her. If doing this one kitchen task made her happy, what would be the harm in trying his hand at it? It wasn’t as though there were a house full of people watching, wondering why he was debasing himself with woman’s work.

  Going to the fire, he picked up the metal spit and stared at it. He looked back and forth between the spit and the pheasants, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do. He felt like a great fool for just standing there, and his pride kept him from asking Cassia for help. But in that way she had of doing things…seeming to sense his confusion…she came and showed him, without patronizing him, how to set things right.

  “Now, just sit there and turn it. And don’t stop, or that meat will burn.”

  Doing as she said, he soon found his arm growing weary…and the heat from th
e fire was almost more than he could bear.

  “This fire is intolerable. I shall be as cooked as the pheasant before all is said and done.”

  She only gave a little laugh, and commanded him to keep turning.

  He did as she said, and all the while he silently spoke to himself.

  Soon there will be other hands doing this, as they were meant to. And Cassia…my Cassia…will never set foot in a kitchen again.

  *****

  “I am not so indecent as a cook, am I?”

  At the table where they sat, he saw her smile as she delicately pulled at slivers of the meat. The birds had roasted to a golden brown and tasted delicious, and he couldn’t help but be proud of the effort he’d made. Along with the fresh bread and goblets of wine, it was a generous and satisfying meal they were both enjoying.

  But soon enough they were finishing the last of it. And as they did, a great tension began to fill the air. Night was upon them. The candles had been lit just at dusk and were now the only illumination, giving off a softly sensual light…and looking at Cassia, Guy knew she felt the tension as much as he did. The time for their reunion had come, and they were both keenly aware of it. Only one question remained…who would make the first gesture?

  She slowly rose to her feet and he watched in anticipation, wondering what she would say or do. He was disappointed when she picked up the plates and took them away. Taking the scraps outside to dispose of them, he sat waiting for her return.

  Reaching into his pocket, he shuffled around for the little object he’d brought from home, along with everything else. He clenched it in his fist, feeling quite nervous at what he was about to do. He recalled the last time he had made such an attempt…and how it had gotten him only heartbreak and humiliation. He took a long drought of wine, gathering his courage as he watched her come back inside. Wiping her hands and face with a towel, she turned to him with a little sigh.

  “It grows late,” she said. “I think a good sleep will be well.”