The Tempest: A Guy of Gisborne Story

by Charlotte Hawkins

  That point of curiosity satisfied, he now found another matter creeping into his thoughts…one of a much more personal nature. As before, he knew he should not ask it. And as before, he did so all the same.

  “Did you love him?”

  She turned to him, wide-eyed with surprise at his question. He looked into those eyes of hers…so dark, so beautiful.

  And so lonely.

  Why had he not seen it before? Maybe he’d been too busy trying to find fault with her. Or perhaps he’d simply refused to let himself see deeper into her soul. But now that he knew this secret she had kept, everything changed all at once. A young, beautiful woman such as she…it was ridiculous to have thought her unwed at her age. Or widowed, as the case was. To his question, she gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders.

  “He was my husband. And in the short time we had together, he was kind and generous. So yes, I loved him.”

  There was something in her answer that he did not like. It would have been more tolerable if she’d spoken ill of her late husband. If she had told a story of a cold, cruel man who cared little for his mate, it would have given him to use as leverage. He could have told her how she was better off without such a man. And if only she’d been regretful of her lost mate, perhaps the feeling of resentment growing in his heart would not be as strong. Silently he muttered to himself.

  You are such a fool, Gisborne. What right have you to envy a man you never knew?

  But then he thought of her soft little hands touching someone else…her sweet voice whispering in someone else’s ear. These last weeks, he’d grown so accustomed to her. At times he’d wondered what had first possessed him to ever wish her away. Now as he sat watching her, he imagined her gentle attentions being bestowed on another…and it sent a fierce wave of jealousy through him.

  Another man had already claimed her, when he’d been toying with the notion of keeping her for himself. It brought a deep scowl to his expression...and directed his questioning along a more inappropriate path.

  “Did he please you?”

  If she had leapt up and slapped him for such a question, it wouldn’t have surprised him. But his jealousy was stirred, and he had to know.

  What did he manage to do for you, Cassia, in just a fortnight?

  His eyes held hers, urging her to tell him what he wanted to know. But she turned her back to him. Her reply was cool.

  “That is hardly something to discuss with a man not my husband.”

  Husband. Just the mention of the word made him burn with envy. But in that same moment of spite, a sense of opportunity arose.

  A lovely, vulnerable woman like Cassia, left alone for all these years. It seemed so very improper. What she needed was companionship. And a little smirk rose in the corner of his mouth as he imagined what kind of companionship it was he could give her.

  Perhaps it was better that she was no simpering virgin. They were more trouble than he cared to tolerate. He’d occasionally thought about making her his own…and now that he knew there was no need to school her in matters of the flesh, the idea of having her was more enticing than ever.

  She would probably be more than willing. He recalled how he’d once imagined her submitting in fear to him. But now, that thought was almost laughable. She wouldn’t tremble with fear. Not her.

  She would tremble with a feeling much more profound and pleasurable. And if he had anything to do with it, she would soon lose any lingering memories she had of another man. He would be the only man she would think of from this day on.

  Chapter 7

  She knew he was watching her, for she could feel the burn of his gaze.

  Lord, why must he look at me that way?

  It was so much easier to tolerate his evil glares, his looks of contempt. This heated stare she felt directed at her, his suddenly soft way of speaking, was almost too much to take. She could guess what he was thinking, the way he leering at her now. Knowing the look of lust in a man’s eyes, she couldn’t let it go on without interruption. Without turning to him she spoke as firmly as she could, despite the feeling of her heart beating fast.

  “You examine me, Sir Guy. Do you suddenly find something interesting in this lowly peasant?”

  There was a slight lingering moment before he replied. And when he spoke, the deep rumble of his voice was unnerving.

  “Perhaps I do.”

  She could sense his eyes looking her over. For a moment, she was incapable of forming a response, only able to wonder what he would say next.

  “But then again,” he added. “There is little else for me to occupy my mind with.”

  Any physical response, any warmth she’d started to feel was glazed over with a frost, turned cold by his discourteous reply. She sighed, stung by his words. And yet, when he was being his typical boorish self, at least conversing with him was not so difficult. Still keeping her eyes averted from him, her tone was cold.

  “Just when I think you capable of civility, you give another stick of the knife. I should cease any attempts of kindness on my part.”

  His response sounded odd, almost as if he were offended.

  “I am capable of civility. But such a weakness is not suited to a Master at Arms. What would you have me do when I arrest criminals, or collect taxes from delinquent villagers? Shake their hands and ask them to share in a cup of tea?”

  he shrugged. “I care not what you do when you go about your duties to the Sheriff. It is of little consequence to me. But when you are in this house, you might make less of an attempt to bite the hand that feeds you.”

  He scoffed, giving a sort of laugh. “You speak of how I give you a ‘stick of the knife’ as you like to call it. But I dare say you are not so innocent. You wound me in much the same way when it pleases you.”

  “It does not please me, my lord. It is merely done in self-defense.”

  His words became dark, serious.

  “You are fortunate I do not correct you properly for such wickedness.”

  She knew his words should have caused her concern. But as used to his temper as she’d become, she knew it was but an empty threat. If he truly meant to hurt her, he would have managed it some way by now. Other than the pot that had crashed near her head, and the few times he had gripped her arm, he hadn’t carried out any real physical violence against her. And somehow, she sensed he was even less capable of it now. She thought to test her assumption. Feeling a bit bolder now, she turned and rose to her feet, folding her arms as she stood before him.

  “What would you do, Sir Guy? Pursue me on one foot, and then beat me about the head with a crutch?”

  He tried to look away, but she caught the little smirk of amusement that came to his mouth. She couldn’t contain her own smile, even when he turned his eyes back to look at her, and the smirk was gone.

  “A good beating would serve you well. You are a hard-headed woman, Cassia.”

  She shrugged, turning back to the fire. “So you have said before.”

  Somehow, the mood in the room had taken a very comfortable turn. He seemed to be, if it was possible, quite amiable. What had brought about such a change, she couldn’t say. But she chose not to question it. It was quite possible that it would not last very long. So she chose to enjoy the rare moment of calm between them.

  Taking up the kettle that had been warming by the fire, she poured some of the contents into two mugs. Taking one for herself, she came to his side and held one out for him to take. He looked up, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “What is it? More of your poison?”

  At first she didn’t answer, keeping her arm extended with the mug she offered to him. After a moment he took it, and as she sat down in the chair nearby she glanced at him. She saw that he was about to sip from the cup. And trying to hide a slight smirk, she blurted out quickly…

  “Eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat, tongue of dog.”

  She saw how he made a face and started to put the cup aside, but she just laughed as he gave her an odd look.

>   “It was only a jest, my lord. It is hot cider, stewed from dried apples. And I promise there is no potion mixed in it. I made it only for the enjoyment of the drink.”

  His look was skeptical. She saw how he tested the smell of the brew before sipping it. But then he took a drink, and his face relaxed as he realized there was indeed no trick.

  “The taste is not unpleasant,” he said.

  She smiled. “I am pleased that you enjoy it.”

  A quietness fell over the room. And for a few moments, it was a comfortable silence as they both sipped their drinks. But after several minutes of lingering quiet, she began to feel his eyes upon her again. A warm flush came to her cheeks. It was impossible not to feel utterly exposed under the intensity of his gaze.

  But how many other woman had he looked at in that same way?

  She thought back to all the times she had watched him from afar, admiring his every move. He was beautiful to her still, even now. His hair had grown a little since it had been cut, and though it was in need of a wash, it was wonderfully alluring the way his dark locks curled in places. Then there were those eyes of his. Those stormy grey eyes which held a power that defied description. At one time, she would have given anything to have those eyes look at her as they were now, with that smoldering intensity. Heaven help her, a part of her wanted to go to him right at that moment, to throw her arms around him and press her mouth to his.

  How many nights had she dreamed of being in his arms? It mattered not that he was a notorious villain. What she saw when she looked at him, even now, was what she had always seen. A lonely and bitter man, one nearly broken by the blows of life.

  But despite all the overwhelming love she felt for him, and despite the fact that he was the most sensuously appealing man she’d ever known…Lord, how he could set her entire being on fire, and with only a look…she knew in her heart that it was all for naught.

  It was true, there was goodness in him, as she’d always suspected. She’d caught little glimpses of it, especially in recent weeks. But was it enough to give him her trust? If she gave him what he wanted…what, in truth, she wanted just as badly…would he discard her as he’d discarded so many other women? He might have had the potential for goodness, but that did not mean he was capable of acting on it. He’d proven that many times over.

  Being there beside him, feeling the sensual tension so heavy between them, she could hardly breathe. Needing fresh air, wanting to gather her senses, she rose to her feet. She did not look at him directly, but she could see from the corner of her eye how his expression had changed slightly. His brow was raised in curiosity, his eye looking her up and down.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She gave a little cough, to clear her throat and reclaim her voice.

  “It will soon be dawn, my lord. I must see to chores before my father wakes. Perhaps it is wise that you return to your bed and rest.”

  She turned away from him. Then she felt a sudden and sharp tug of her hand, and before she could react she was falling backwards. In a moment more she was looking up into his eyes. His nose was but a fraction away from touching hers. And his arms were holding her tightly, pressing her firmly against his muscular chest.

  “You should warm my bed. It would be a better cure than any witch’s brew you could concoct.” His lips were nearly touching hers, the heat from his body intoxicating. She felt her body aching in places…aches of a kind she hadn’t felt in so long. And they were crying out for fulfillment.

  “Did your husband satisfy you, Cassia? Was he capable of giving a woman like you what you truly need?”

  At the mention of her husband, something suddenly went cold within her. What was she doing? Just minutes ago, she had reminded herself how he was with women…how he used and forgot them without regard. If she let this moment linger, she knew she would only become another casualty. Giving his body a hard shove, she pushed him away and came to stand before him, defiant and angry.

  “I am not a whore, Guy of Gisborne. If that is all you seek, you will not find it with me.”

  Snatching up her cloak, she stormed towards the door. Just before she went out, she turned to him, eyes narrowed. He was staring into the fire, but she knew he was listening.

  “Drag yourself back to Nottingham and find a willing wench to serve your needs. And after you are done with your disgusting bit of rutting, I hope she curses you with a pox!”

  With that she slammed the door, the sight of him too much to bear for another moment.

  *****

  If it weren’t for the pain in his foot, he would have followed her. Sitting there, staring into the fire, his mouth curled wickedly as he imagined cornering her in some way, blocking any exit. Approaching her slowly, seeing her anxiety slowly changing to longing and desire. Then he would lean in, his hands at either side of her head, preventing escape. But by now, she wouldn’t want to get away. She would look up at him, those brilliant dark eyes of hers shining with passion. Then he would claim her with a deep kiss, savoring the taste of her.

  Lord! The woman was utterly bewitching, and the deliciously painful ache between his legs seemed to confirm it. She might have been a low-born peasant, but he couldn’t recall ever wanting a woman so badly. And not a woman who feared him, or despised him…as Marian had.

  Why hadn’t he ever listened to that small warning voice, the one warning him of her duplicity? He’d always been suspicious of her actions. And yet, all she had ever needed to do was to smile at him, to reach out her hand to him the slightest touch, and he’d lost all control of his senses.

  But in hindsight, was it really love he’d felt for her? Or had it been nothing more than the thrill of the conquest? He’d relished the thought of possessing a woman that belonged to his enemy. He’d fantasized about taking her to the marriage bed, bringing her to such heights of passion that the image of Locksley would be forever erased from her mind. And he had come so close to attaining his goal.

  Or so he had foolishly believed.

  She’d devoted herself, body and soul, to Robin Hood. Even if he had married her, taken her to himself and made her his own, who would she have seen when she closed her eyes?

  Her image was there in his mind. But suddenly it began to change. Green eyes became almost black. The voluptuous curves became slender, her breasts smaller but no less tempting. Her hair became less black and more brown…lustrous and soft…and he longed to run his fingers through it to know it’s texture. Then there was the one aspect of difference that couldn’t be seen on the surface. The one aspect that kept him from fully merging the image of two women into one.

  Except for her father, Cassia swore loyalty to no one…especially not to Robin of Locksley.

  Good God, it was an exhilarating thought…to imagine having a woman who was nearly his equal. Her station in life was too low to consider her in marriage…at least in the eyes of the law…but she would make a delightful mistress.

  Having her as a mistress would give him all that he craved, without the trappings and expectations of having a wife. Marriage was a permanent binding, most often severed only by death. A mistress was an interim relationship, which he could end whenever he preferred. Although, he couldn’t see himself losing interest in Cassia in any small amount of time. Despite their differences in station, there was much they shared in common. A proud, stubborn nature for one. A shared loathing of certain ideals, for another. Then there was the matter of being alone…a hell of a thing for two people to have in common.

  But there was one point of sharing that was foremost in his mind, and it made his smirk become a full and devilish grin. Folding his hands against his chest, he stretched out his legs and leaned his head back, feeling quite smug as he thought of it.

  She wants me, as much as I want her.

  He knew that look in a woman’s eyes. He’d seen it in the faces of countless women. But Cassia wasn’t some easy piece of flesh to be had. She wanted him, but she wasn’t going to give in easily. Obstinate
little minx. It would take some clever plotting, and maybe a bit of time, to bring her around. But what else did he have besides time?

  Chapter 8

  Over the week that followed, Cassia began to wonder if she’d made a mistake in giving her patient a pair of crutches.

  Now that he had some independence, Guy was not content to be idle. Refusing to wear the long nightdress he referred to as a “wretched garment,” he now wore his own clothes again…and he took advantage of his mobility. He hardly remained in his room, except to sleep. His preferred choice of location seemed to be a chair near the front room fireplace, where he often just sat and observed. And quite often, even when her father was in the same room, she felt Guy staring at her with a certain look. A dark, lustful look. And no matter how she tried to ignore him, he seemed intent on making her uneasy.

  Most troublesome of all was the change in his mood. He was not as dark as before. His scowling became less frequent, usually reserved for his moments of pain. Now he seemed almost relaxed, as if he were making himself at home. Even when making demands, which he still did frequently, he no longer bellowed in rage. Instead, he said what he wanted and sat back with an air of expectancy. Robert wasn’t sure what to make of his strange behavior. But after several days of silently tolerating his new way of being, Cassia felt she must speak to him of it.

  “Do not become so comfortable, Sir Guy. It will not be long before you are able to return to your own life. And when you do, then we shall gladly return to ours.”

  Even as she said it, trying to be stern, there was something about her own words that troubled her. One thing was certain. When Guy left…and as she’d said, it wouldn’t be long now…they would have their lives back.

  But things would never be the same again. And the thought of it became more painful as that time began to draw near.

  *****