“Marian,” he said above her, and she closed her eyes and waited for him to drag her back to Blackstock’s filthy grasp.
He extended his hand to her. Ever fearful, she took it, afraid of what he might do if she refused. He pulled her to her feet. She was shivering as much from fear as from the frosty breeze.
“You’re shivering,” he commented, pulling his cloak off and laying it over her shoulders.
Marian said nothing. She waited for the inevitable.
“Marian...” he started to say.
“I want to go home,” she interrupted him.
“Yes, of course,” Gisborne said, snapping his fingers.
A stable boy who was standing nearby jumped into action. A moment later, Gisborne’s white stallion was being led around the corner. Gisborne mounted the horse and then pulled her on behind him. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his waist. With a cluck of his tongue, the horse broke into a gallop. The gates creaked open for him, and he left the castle grounds and turned toward her home.
They rode in silence. Gisborne’s cloak was thick and warm, and it trailed along behind them as the horse flew along the road. As the horse sauntered up to her gate, Gisborne slid down and offered his hands, and she took them. She slid down, landing immediately in front of him.
“Marian,” he said, and her eyes turned upward. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
His eyes drifted over her torn bodice, and his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it and quickly closed it. Her fingers reached up to unfasten his cloak, and his hand closed over them.
“Keep it,” he told her. “I’ve seen your shawl. It hardly looks adequate for the coming winter.”
“Oh, no, I can’t,” she said, unfastening the cloak and sliding it off her shoulders. She attempted to hand it to him, but he refused.
Gisborne mounted his horse. For a moment, he lingered, the horse stamping at the ground, eager to go. His hair fluttered lightly around his face as he watched her, and then he clucked his tongue and rode away.
Marian looked down at the cloak, which lay neatly across her arm. She was more confused than ever. What was he doing? Was he trying to win her favor for some nefarious purpose? Inside the house, she tucked the cloak into a chest and closed the lid.
“Did I hear a horse?” her father asked.
“Yes, Father.”
“Whose was it? Robin’s?”
“No, Father. Robin’s out of town, remember? It was Lord Gisborne’s.”
“Him again,” her father growled. “No good son of a pig f...”
“Father!” she gasped. “It’s not like you to criticize the Lords so boldly!”
“Gisborne isnot a Lord,” he reminded her. “Besides, he’s nothing but low-down, filthy trash!”
“Well, I agree with you there,” she concurred heartily, stirring porridge over the hearth.
When the porridge was done, she handed her father a steaming bowl and then quickly gobbled down her share. Slipping behind a curtain, she changed into her tunic and leggings and slipped out to meet Will.
“Gisborne brought you home, eh?” Will asked upon seeing her.
“How did you know?” Marian asked.
“Saw him,” he said. “And did he give you his cloak?”
“He did.”
“That’s a bit strange, isn’t it?”
“It’s scary, if you ask me. He must be up to something.”
“Why’d you take it?”
“What was I to do? Refuse a gift from someone of his stature? I tried politely to refuse, but he insisted. So I tossed it in a chest.”
Will laughed heartily.
“Ah, well. Let’s hurry. It’s already quite late, and we’ve lots to do!” he said.
Marian tried to smile, but it didn’t quite appear natural. She couldn’t get the picture of Blackstock’s claws pawing at her, and his putrid breath wafting up her nose as his disgusting lips smashed against hers.
CHAPTER TEN
“Oh, Marian,” Mirabelle said as soon as Marian appeared in the kitchen. “Good, you’re here. Your presence is requested in Lord Blackstock’s study.”
“M-me? What for?”
“Honey, I don’t ask questions. I just pass along orders. Get moving.”
Marian’s whole body was wracked with trembling. Was he set to punish her for running out on him? He’d told her to leave, but maybe he hadn’t meant it? Maybe he was hoping for a repeat performance. She wished she hadn’t eaten, for now she felt as if her food might make another appearance at any moment.
She stood outside the door with her hand raised hesitantly. She took a deep breath, and then knocked gingerly.
“Enter,” called Lord Blackstock.
The door creaked as she opened it, and she timidly peeked inside. Blackstock’s bony hand motioned for her to come in, and she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The red carpet that stretched before her leading to Blackstock’s desk seemed impossibly long as she crept forward.
Gisborne stood behind Lord Blackstock. His hands were clasped neatly in front of him, his feet planted shoulder width apart. A black cloak hung down his back. His face was expressionless, almost stony.
“Marian, please, have a seat,” Lord Blackstock beckoned, motioning toward a high wingback chair with his gaunt hand.
She glanced at Gisborne, but he continued to stare straight ahead. She lowered herself cautiously into the chair.
“Marian, I suppose you know that Lord Gisborne is my most trusted friend and advisor,” said Lord Blackstock.
“Yes, my Lord.”
“And it has come to my attention that perhaps it is time for him to have a manor of his own as a reward for his years of faithful service.”
Her brow furrowed deeply.
“My Lord? I… I don’t think I understand. What has this to do with me?”
“I have given Lord Gisborne a rather prominent manor on my estate,” Blackstock explained. “And it is his wish to have a wife to assist him in the proper care of his manor.”
Marian, still confused, was silent.
“Given his choice of all the fine ladies of noble birth in the land, Lord Gisborne has inexplicably spurned each and every one of them in favor of you, it would seem,” Blackstock continued. “Though I cannot begin to imagine why, he has deemed that you are to be his bride.”
Her stomach twisted into a knot, and her throat swelled shut. Sparkling pink and green spots began to dance before her eyes, and she rocked to and fro in the chair, terrified she might faint at any moment.
“What?” she gasped, her eyes flitting toward Gisborne, who still refused to look at her. “Is this true? Well, is it?”
“Watch your tongue,” Blackstock spat. “You’re speaking to a Lord!”
Her head dropped demurely and she said, “Yes, my Lord.”
“You will continue with your normal duties until such time as Lord Gisborne deems the wedding will take place, at which time you will move with him to his manor,” Blackstock said.
“Excuse me, my Lord, but... what about my father?” she asked.
“Your father will be taken care of,” Blackstock said dismissively.
“What does that mean? M-my Lord,” she added quickly.
“Lord Gisborne will ensure your father is taken care of. That is all. You are dismissed,” Blackstock said, waving her away.
Her hands fiercely gripped the arms of her chair as she pushed herself upward on shaking legs. She stared at Gisborne, waiting for a response of any kind, but he was silent, his eyes still glued to some phantom spot near the door.
She made her way back to the kitchen before she collapsed onto the floor, sobbing intensely. Mirabelle kneeled beside her and took her into her thick arms.
“Lord, what is wrong with you, girl?” Mirabelle demanded.
“I’ve... I’ve just been betrothed!” Marian moaned into Mirabelle’s shoulder.
“
What? To whom?”
“Gisborne!” she wailed, clinging with two fists to Mirabelle’s dress.
“Oh, Lord,” Mirabelle groaned. “Lord help you now, girl.”
Mirabelle was uncharacteristically gentle with Marian the rest of the day. She had her clean the chambers, despite the fact that they’d already been thoroughly cleaned the day before. Mirabelle herself took the hardest jobs.
Marian was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor in Gisborne’s chamber when he opened the door. Spotting her, he immediately turned to leave.
“Wait!” she shouted, running over and jerking the door open.
Gisborne rolled his eyes and then closed them, taking a deep breath.
“What was that all about?” Marian demanded, forgetting all about propriety.
“Keep your voice down,” Gisborne snarled, pushing her back into his chamber and closing the door behind them.
“Tell me!” Marian demanded. “What is going on?”
“Marian, are you ready to calm down before someone hears you?”
“I will calm down when you tell me what’s happening!” she shouted.
“Fine!” he hissed. “Look, Lord Blackstock offered to give me the manor, and I offhandedly mentioned not having a wife to care for such an estate, and he took it upon himself to start bringing all these noblewomen to the castle. I told him I wasn’t interested in any of them, and demanded to know why... so I told him.”
“And?” she demanded.
“And... I told him I wanted you.”
“Me? Why did you tell him a thing like that?”
“I don’t know! Because you’re the only woman I can stand to be around without wanting to hurl myself off the guard tower?” he whispered.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” she groaned. “So you’d have me throw my life away and marry you just because I don’t make you want to turn yourself into a bloody mess on the ground outside the castle?”
“It’s better than the alternative,” he said. “Those women were so dainty and proper.”
“And what am I? Fat and obnoxious?” she hurled at him.
“I didn’t say that, Marian.”
“Then what exactly did you mean?”
“I simply meant that they are so dull and boring. I just couldn’t imagine myself being in the same room with them for more than five minutes.”
“Yet you could imagine yourself being in a room with me for that long?”
“Well, somehow I’m managing it right now, though only just,” he groaned.
“Fine, then get out,” she spat.
“This actually is my chamber,” he pointed out.
“Fine, then I’ll go. I’m finished, anyway.”
She snatched the handle of the bucket so quickly that dirty water splashed onto her skirt. As she brushed past him, he grabbed her upper arm and whirled her around so her face was just inches from his.
“I’ll thank you to remember to whom you are speaking,” he growled.
“My memory serves me quite well, my Lord,” she hurled with contempt, then she snatched her arm from his icy grasp, thrust her nose into the air, and breezed from the room.
Her face was flushed and her cheeks burning hot. Her fingers were curled so tightly around the handle of the bucket that her knuckles were blanching ghostly white. She stamped down the hallway to the next room and knocked loudly before storming in and slamming the bucket angrily onto the floor.
“I hate him!” she muttered. “Marry him... hmph! I’d rather die! Marry that monster... of all the nerve!”
It was then that it occurred to her—her insolence actually could lead to her death. To defy someone of such a station could prove dangerous, not only to her, but to her dear father. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she furiously scrubbed the floor.
How could she marry a man whose favorite pastime was rumored to be murder, and whose very presence made her ill? How would she possibly protect her father in the event she tried to refuse him? And why should she have to marry a man who couldn’t possibly love her, anyway? All these things swirled through her head like a raging storm as she scrubbed a single spot on the floor until it was shining.
Startled, she realized she’d been scrubbing that spot for several minutes. Her eyes refocused, and she moved to a different spot, her browed furrowed and her face frowning deeply.
“This simply cannot be happening,” she whispered to herself. “How can I get out of this? Robin, please hurry home!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She was relived to make it home before dark, and she quickly gave her father something to eat and rushed up the hill to meet Will. When she stepped into the trees, she noticed Will was nowhere to be found.
“Will?” she whispered.
“Nope!” came the answer, and Robin stepped smiling from behind a tree.
“Robin!” she shrieked, throwing herself into his arms and clutching him tightly.
“Whoa, hey!” he laughed, his arms wrapping her into his strong embrace. “How are things?”
Her hands grabbed thick wads of his tunic as she pulled him more tightly against her, grateful for the feeling of safety and comfort. She hadn’t felt that way in so long she could hardly remember it.
“Marian, you’re shaking,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, Robin, it’s awful,” she moaned. “Simply awful!”
“Tell me,” he demanded.
She recounted the way Blackstock had torn her bodice in his study, and how Gisborne had inadvertently rescued her. Then she mentioned that Gisborne has insisted on giving her his cloak, and the following morning she was called into Blackstock’s study to be betrothed to none other than Gisborne himself.
“You can’t be serious,” Robin said.
“I’m afraid I am,” she said. “And I don’t think I can get out of this.”
“Why does he want you?” Robin asked.
“How should I know? He had his pick of all these noble-born ladies. He said he can’t stand to be in the room with any of them for five minutes.”
“And he can stand to be around you?”
“That’s what I said! Apparently he can... but ‘only just’ as he put it.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a marriage,” Robin commented.
Marian rolled her eyes and said, “I don’t know how to turn him down. It doesn’t seem like a request. It’s more of an order from Blackstock himself.”
“Well, you’re in luck, because I know how to kill them,” Robin said slyly.
“No! Really?” she gasped, her face suddenly aglow.
“Indeed. Father Clark was most helpful.”
“Do tell.”
“Let’s get to the camp and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Robin broke into a run, and Marian jogged after him. Robin’s feet scarcely made a sound on the leaves, while Marian’s crunched loudly.
“So are you going to tell me about that outfit?” Robin called back to her, referring to the clothing Will had given her.
“Nope!”
“Fine, then you’re not getting your gift!”
“Gift? What gift?” she asked, suddenly smiling.
“Guess you’ll never know, now,” Robin teased as he jumped nimbly over a fallen tree and landed deftly on cat-like feet.
Marian jumped over the tree and landed with a loud crunch.
“Robin!” she called, and he stopped and turned around to face her.
“Alright, here,” he said, pulling a package wrapped in parchment from underneath his cloak.
She sat down on the trunk of the fallen tree and eagerly tore away the paper. Inside was a thick cloak made of soft gray-blue fabric. A silver clasp in the shape of a leaf gleamed merrily at the throat, glittering in the moonlight that filtered through the tree canopy.
“Robin...” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
She ran her hand across the cloth, relishing the supple smoothness.
“So you like it?” he asked.
; “I love it, Robin.”
“Good, then you can give me back my cloak,” he joked.
She shot him an angry look, and then broke into a grin. She eagerly removed his cloak and tossed it to him and replaced it with her own.
The Secret of Gisborne: A BBW Shifter Paranormal Romance (House of Gisborne Book 1) Page 10
