The Secret of Gisborne: A BBW Shifter Paranormal Romance (House of Gisborne Book 1)

by Alanis Knight

  “Lord Gisborne,” Mirabelle corrected her quickly. “Goodness knows what will happen to you if he hears you referring to him without his title. So get on with it. What did he want with you?”

  “I... er... he was asking me some questions about the banquet preparations. I told him he should ask you, Miss, but he didn’t listen.”

  “Hmm. Stubborn as his father was,” she muttered. “Fine. Get to work!”

  “Yes, Miss!” Marian said.

  Mirabelle left Marian to take care of the Banquet Hall. As soon as she left, Marian pulled the bow and quiver from beneath her skirt and tossed the quiver over her shoulder. She carefully peeked out the massive arched window, noting that the guests had not yet arrived. For this, she was grateful, for Robin would have no chance of escaping once the procession arrived. Every guard would be on high alert the minute they showed up.

  She knew she had only minutes before Robin would be attempting his escape. Hurriedly, she dashed about, doing her best to finish the cleaning of the Banquet Hall, which Mirabelle had started. She wiped the massive table, lit the candles in the chandelier, and swept the floor, including the long, red carpet that ran underneath the table. She pulled back the heavy red curtains, and her stomach twisted into knots. The front gate was down, and the procession was moving into the courtyard.

  “Oh, no!” she gasped.

  She pushed the massive doors open and peeked carefully into an empty hallway. She edged her way around the corner toward the storeroom in the back of the castle. As she arrived, Robin and the others were chuckling as they carried out a heavy chest. Robin’s smile faded the moment he saw Marian.

  “Marian, what are you doing?” he asked.

  “They’re here. The procession is here. You’ll never make it out,” Marian gasped.

  “They’re not supposed to be here for another two hours, at least!” Robin said.

  “I know, but they’re here!” she said. “You’ve got to go out the back way.”

  “There’s a back way?” Robin asked.

  “Oh, for... of course there’s a back way,” Marian said. “I thought you said you planned this carefully!”

  “We did,” Robin insisted. “How was I supposed to know there was a back way? You refused to help, remember?”

  “Just come on,” Marian said. “We’re wasting time!”

  Marian led them down a dark, unlit hallway. She stopped abruptly, hearing footsteps in the distance. She turned around, but footsteps were echoing down the hallway in the other direction. They were trapped.

  “I’m sorry, Robin,” she whispered.

  “For what?” he asked.

  Marian closed her eyes and drew back her fist, punching Robin solidly in the nose. He slumped to the ground, dropping his end of the chest, as she held her throbbing hand, cradling it carefully.

  “For that,” she whispered.

  Then she quickly drew back her bow and aimed it at Will.

  “Help!” Marian shouted down the hallway. “Guards!”

  The footsteps increased their pace, and light drew in on them from both sides. Two guards closed in on them from one direction, and the light of another lantern came in from the other.

  “Marian, are you all right?” Gisborne asked her.

  “I’m fine,” she answered, still pointing an arrow at Will’s head. “I caught these men attempting to make off with Lord Blackstock’s gold.”

  “How did you...” Gisborne attempted to say.

  “I knocked this one out and took his bow,” Marian explained. “It wasn’t difficult. They didn’t see me in the darkness.”

  “Well done,” Gisborne commented, thoroughly impressed. “Guards, take these men to the dungeon.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” they said in unison.

  “Here, give me this,” Gisborne said, gently taking the bow from Marian’s trembling hands. She reluctantly released it. “What were you doing down here, anyway?”

  “The guards were all busy with the procession, and when I saw them sneaking through the halls, I followed them. I knew their only hope of escape was through the back way with the procession coming through the front, so I hid and waited to ambush them in the dark. There was simply no time to summon a guard. They would have escaped.”

  Gisborne’s eyes narrowed, and he studied her face. She squared her jaw and looked back at him confidently, though her insides were churning horribly.

  “Good thinking, though rather dangerous, don’t you think? You could have been hurt,” he said.

  She released a held breath with relief.

  “Yes, my Lord. You’re right. I just... I didn’t think.”

  “Well, it’s all been taken care of,” he said. “Next time, find me or a guard and let us handle it, won’t you?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” she said, bowing deeply. “If you’ll excuse me, I must finish the preparations for the Banquet Hall.”

  “Of course,” he said, nodding.

  She hurried away, relieved that Gisborne had believed her. He had a reputation for being cold and distrusting, and she couldn’t help but feel like she’d just averted a major disaster. Still, now she had to worry about the fate of Robin and his cohorts.

  She finished preparations on the Banquet Hall just seconds before the guests were escorted through its doors. She flattened herself against the wall in an attempt to become invisible in front of the stately gentry as the hall filled with the din of cheerful guests as they took seats at the massive table. As soon as everyone was seated, she slipped out the door.

  She found Mirabelle in the kitchen.

  “Excuse me, Miss,” Marian said.

  “Did you get that Hall done in time?” Mirabelle growled.

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “Good. Then you can go finish up the...”

  “Um, sorry, Miss. I’ve been asked to deliver food to the new prisoners.”

  “New prisoners? What new prisoners?”

  “They were caught trying to steal Lord Blackstock’s gold, Miss.”

  “Oh, my!” Mirabelle gasped. “When did this happen?”

  “A few minutes ago. I’m to take them some hard bread and water.”

  “Too good for the scoundrels if you ask me,” Mirabelle muttered. “But do as you were told.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Marian gathered the dishes used for the prisoners and packed a basket with hard brown bread and a wineskin full of water. Carefully making her way through the halls, she slipped down the dimly lit stairs into the dank dungeon.

  “What business have you?” asked the guard at the door.

  “Food for the prisoners,” she said, lifting the white cloth that covered the basket.

  The guard tilted his head to examine the contents of the basket, and then he nodded. The keys jingled in the lock, and the heavy door creaked open. It clanged shut behind her as the entered, and then she hurried down the hallway.

  “Robin!” she hissed. “Where are you?”

  “Here!” his voice called.

  She followed his voice down the long row of cells and stopped outside a door.

  “I’ve brought you food,” she whispered through the door.

  Taking each item out one by one, she slowly passed the dishes, water, and chunks of bread through the small grate at the top of the door. Then she did the same for the nearby cells.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

  “It’s all right,” Robin said, rubbing his jaw. “You’ve got a wicked punch, though.”

  She winced. “I’m really sorry. I’ll get you out of here somehow.”

  “Don’t!” he gasped. “Don’t risk it. Just send word. Let John know.”

  “I will, but I got you in here, so I’ll have to...”

  “No!” Robin said firmly. “You’ve already risked enough, Marian. Just leave us. Forget you know me.”

  “I can’t do that, Robin,” she said quietly.

  “You must,” he said sadly.

 
Tears welled in Marian’s eyes, stinging them viciously. She gritted her jaw and blinked them away, dabbing the lone escapee with the cloth from the basket.

  “I have to go, Robin,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’ll come for you.”

  “No!” he gasped. Then he called after her, “Marian. Marian!”

  His whispers were lost through the thick door as Marian’s footsteps echoed on the cold, stone floor. She rapped sharply on the gate, and the guard let her through. She nodded politely to him and headed back to the kitchen.

  “Oh, good, you’re back,” Mirabelle said as she replaced the basket in the pantry. “You better get up there and finish those guest chambers. The reception is nearly finished!”

  “Oh, no!” Marian gasped, breaking into a run.

  She had barely finished the last guest room when the noise of guests chattering merrily began to float down the hallway. A glance out the window let her know that the sun had already sunk behind the horizon. Dusk had come.

  “May I go, now, Miss?” Marian asked Mirabelle after locating her cleaning up in the Banquet Hall.

  “Yes, yes,” Mirabelle said quickly. “You’d better hurry. It’ll be dark soon.”

  “It already is,” Marian groaned.

  Mirabelle cast a cursory glance over her shoulder and clucked her tongue.

  “I wish you’d finished sooner,” Mirabelle said. “Why don’t you just stay here tonight?”

  “No, you know I can’t leave Father alone,” Marian said. “I have to go make him dinner.”

  “Well, good luck,” Mirabelle said. “Hurry home quickly.”

  “Thank you, Miss.”

  With her shawl clutched tightly around her, as much out of anxiety as warmth, she flew down the road as fast as her legs would carry her.

  No sooner had she left the castle grounds than the pounding of horse’s hooves thundered behind her. They grew louder and louder, sending her heart into fits. There was nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Nothing but vast, open emptiness for miles.

  “Marian?” called a familiar voice.

  She paused and turned around. Gisborne’s white stallion slowed to a gallop, then a trot, and it finally cantered toward her and stopped, whinnying and pawing at the ground.

  “My Lord?”

  “What are you doing out here so late?” he asked.

  “I just finished my work, my Lord,” she said. “I’m going home.”

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone this late,” he said.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Won’t you allow me to escort you home safely?” he asked.

  “My Lord?”

  “You performed a great service to the castle today,” he explained. “At the very least we owe you safe passage home.”

  “Yes, my Lord. You are too kind. But it is highly improper for an unwed girl to be seen riding alone with a…”

  He extended his gloved hand to her. She hesitated, fearful of the man who towered above her on his massive horse. His hair fluttered in the breeze, highlighted in silver by the glow of the moon overhead.

  What would the villagers say if she were seen on the back of Gisborne’s horse? What would her father say if he found out she’d been riding with him?

  “Come on,” he urged her.

  Seeing no other option, and knowing it would never do to refuse a man with such a reputation, she clasped his hand. He gripped hers tightly and pulled her onto the back of his horse.

  “Hold on,” he demanded, and she wrapped her arms firmly around his waist.

  He whistled, and the white horse broke suddenly into a gallop.

  “Where do you live?” he asked above the clop of the horse’s hooves.

  “Just outside town, down the western lane,” she answered.

  After a brief ride, they approached her house, and she said, “It’s that one.”

  “That cottage over there?” he asked.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  The horse slowed to a trot as it approached the gate. He dismounted and held his hands up to her, and she took them, allowing him to help her off the horse. Then he turned to survey her meager home.

  “You live here?” he asked, his voice laced with disdain.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “With a husband?”

  “No, my Lord. As I said earlier, I am unwed. I live with my father.”

  “I see. What does your father do?”

  “He is not well, my Lord.”

  “I see. So you support him, do you?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  He clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

  “It’s very small,” Gisborne commented with a slight nod toward the tiny cottage.

  “Yes, my Lord. I’m sorry it does not meet with your approval.”

  “It doesn’t. Not at all.”

  “I’m sorry, my Lord,” she apologized again.

  “Hmm,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “If you’ll excuse me, my Lord,” she said coldly.

  “Yes, of course. Good night,” Gisborne said, nodding politely.

  She watched him mount his horse and gallop away, and she muttered, “The nerve of him!”

  She slammed the door behind her, rattling the shelves and sending a few items clattering to the floor. Her father’s head shot up, his eyes wide.

  “What’s going on?” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I’m just so angry right now!” she snapped.

  “What happened?”

  She collapsed into her chair and buried her face in her hands. She gritted her teeth, trying desperately to avoid the inevitable, but she soon burst into tears.

  “Oh, Father!” she wailed. “It’s awful! Robin’s been captured at the castle, and... and that Gisborne!”

  “Gisborne?” her father asked. “What’d he do?”

  “He brought me home and had the nerve to insult me… insult our home!” she cried. “How dare he look down on us? It’s Blackstock’s fault we live like this! Oh, Father, he looked absolutely disgusted when he saw the house. Disgusted!”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

  “And what of Robin?” he asked.

  “They tried to rob the castle,” she said. “There was a problem, and I was trying to help them escape, and...”

  KNOCK-KNOCK!

  Marian gasped, her hand covering her heart. What if it was Gisborne? What if he’d heard her say she had been trying to help Robin escape? With her knees wobbling and barely able to hold her aloft, she crossed the room to the door and opened it. A sigh of relief escaped her lips.

  “John!” she breathed. “Come in!”

  She stepped aside, and John Little ducked under the doorway. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and stood to his full size, hulking above her, his head touching the ceiling.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely, removing his hat and clutching it in his hands.

  “I suppose you heard what happened?” Marian asked.

  “I heard rumblings, yes,” he said. “I saw the procession coming and I high tailed it out of there, but when Robin didn’t show up, I headed into town. Heard they got captured.”

  “It’s all my fault!” she wailed, burying her face into John’s massive chest.

  His thick arms wrapped around her as she sobbed, holding her closely, comforting her. He squeezed her tightly.

  “There, there. What’s this, now?” he asked. “How is it your fault?”

  “I was trying to help them escape, but we were trapped, so I punched Robin in the face and shouted for the guards,” she moaned, her voice muffled by John’s broad chest.

  John was silent. Then he snorted. Then he burst into laughter. Marian’s face reddened, and she backed away and glared up at him. His face was pink, and his head was tilted back as he laughed, tears rolling down his glowing red cheeks.

  “I fail to find the humor in this!” she snapped, crossing her arms defiantly in front of her.

  “Yo
u punched Robin?” he guffawed. “Oh, I can’t wait to rub this one in his face!”

  “John! Robin’s likely to be executed!” Marian shouted. “How can you laugh at a time like this?”