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

by Alanis Knight

  Gisborne, who’d been standing at attention near the door, slid down the wall and sat on the cold floor with one knee up, his arm dangling across it. His dark hair fell around his face, hiding his emotions.

  “Marian, might I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  “Do you think... that is... I mean to say... would it ever be possible...”

  “What is it, Lord Gisborne?”

  “Do you think that there is even the remotest possibly that you would ever willingly marry me?”

  She stopped scrubbing, frozen and staring down at her brush. She glanced up at him, and he was eyeing some unseen spot on the floor across the room.

  “I would not rule out any possibility,” she said, continuing her scrubbing.

  “That’s quite a long way away from calling me a monster and telling me you despise me,” he noted.

  “That it is,” she said.

  “That’s progress.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Marian.”

  “Yes, my Lord?”

  “I told you once I wished to marry you simply to have a wife to care for my manor.”

  “Yes.”

  “That was... a lie.”

  She stopped scrubbing again. She lifted her head to look at him, blowing an errant strand of hair out of her eye.

  “Was it?”

  “The truth is, it would not be altogether unpleasant to have you by my side in life.”

  “I see.”

  She went back to scrubbing.

  Gisborne was silent and contemplative. He continued to stare into the distance until she finished her work, and then he escorted her back to the kitchen to receive her next instructions from Mirabelle.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The day of the festival had come at last. Marian was one of the few castle servants who had the day off, and she took the opportunity to lie in bed until well after the sun had risen, enjoying the lazy morning despite what she knew was coming in the evening.

  She’d been squirreling away food for weeks, and now the shelves of the tiny cottage were full of delicious treats she could take to the festival. Ordinarily, such treats would be purchased by the villagers and the proceeds donated to the church, but in lieu of the extreme poverty which the village… indeed the entire country… was facing, everyone would be free to taste the tempting delicacies at their leisure. This was certain to be the merriest festival Locksley had ever known, as though they were spitting in the very faces of those who had created this poverty.

  Marian quickly fed her chickens, gave her father breakfast, and gathered her treats in baskets. Some of the village women would soon be by to help her carry the baskets to the village to be placed on the long rows of wooden tables that would be erected for the festival.

  The blanket that still covered the opening where their door had once stood fluttered, and a sharp breeze blew into the cottage, sending flames dancing in the fireplace and sparks scurrying dangerously close to her father. Marian shivered as the chill crept through her threadbare clothing.

  In the distance, she could hear the rumble of hooves and the rattling creak of a carriage. The sound grew louder and louder until she pulled the blanket aside and watched in idle curiosity as a horse drawn carriage rolled to a stop outside the cottage, followed by a wagon driven by two rather surly looking men.

  The two men dismounted the wagon and approached Marian. One bowed politely and said, “We’ve been sent to repair your door, milady. And the carriage awaits to carry you to the festival.”

  “Lord Gisborne, I assume?” she muttered.

  “Aye, milady,” he answered. “We’ll have your door fixed in no time.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She hesitated to accept Gisborne’s assistance, but what else could she do? Not only did she feel unable to turn it down, but by all rights the door was his responsibility to repair. After all, it was he who destroyed it in the first place.

  She refrained from making any ill comments and simply gathered her baskets and placed them in the carriage. It would do no good to refuse his help, anyway, and these men were only following orders. Besides, she had no other way to get all this food to the festival for the villagers to enjoy.

  The repair of the door took very little time, and Marian arrived at the festival before noon. Dozens of villagers had already arrived, and long tables had been assembled from bales of hay and scraps of lumber. Some were already filled with plates and bowls of food. Despite the desperate hunger dwelling within the eyes of the villagers, no one dared begin eating until the feast officially began.

  It should have been Robin, Master of Locksley Manor, who began the proceedings, as he had every year before he left for the Crusades. And now that he was back, he was… an outlaw. He couldn’t risk being seen in the village. It was unlikely any of the villagers would turn him in. No. They’d likely still be loyal to him. But if any of Blackstock’s men saw him there, they whole village would be at risk. Blackstock would hang them all for harboring an outlaw.

  In his absence, Marian had been the one who take over the task. She’d hoped Robin would be able to take over upon his return, but as an outlaw, it simply wasn’t possible. So she would have to do as she had done for years.

  The crowd had already gathered around the makeshift stage as Marian ascended the steps. Each year before, she had made a speech—something to give the villagers hope for the year to come. This year, she could see nothing but the eager faces, the hollow cheeks, the sunken eyes. Men, women, children—all starving.

  There was little she could do to give these people hope. Robin wasn’t coming home as she had promised all those times before. The king was not going to return and make everything better. There was no hope.

  All she could do now was begin the ceremony so they could have one day of celebration to fill their bellies and forget their troubles. One day when everything was alright. And tomorrow, it wouldn’t be alright again.

  “Everyone! Everyone! Thank you for coming!” Marian shouted, and the chatter of the crowd began to hush. “I know you’re expecting a speech. Every year I give you one. But this year…” a lump caught in her throat and halted her speech momentarily, and she swallowed hard to clear it. “This year I believe we all deserve to get right to the festivities. What say you? Shall we begin?”

  A great cheer rose from the crowd, and everyone quickly spread toward the tables, descending on the food a starving horde of smiling faces. Marian smiled as children grabbed handfuls of the delicate cakes she’d worked so hard to make, and their parents had their fill of the stews and breads and cheeses brought by the villagers who all shared whatever they could spare.

  The minstrels began to play a merry tune, and for one, beautiful, sweet day, the village was happy again. No tears, no hunger, no strife… just pure, unadulterated joy.

  But Marian could not enjoy the day, for she knew what awaited her when the sun began to set.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The orange orb of the sun had sunk slowly behind the trees. Evening had come, and the time of dancing was upon them. The minstrels included Alan-a-Dale, Robin’s confidant, in disguise and standing by should trouble arise. Their voices and instruments rose through the night air and spread across the village, enchanting the revelers.

  Marian stood by the great oak tree outside Locksley Manor. Her hands delicately fingered the edge of her shawl, and her hair fluttered lightly on the evening breeze.

  “You came.”

  His deep, gravelly voice surprised her, and she turned to face him. Gone was the horsehide armor Gisborne was so rarely seen without. He was dressed in black breeches and a black shirt with wide sleeves. He still wore a cloak, though this one was undoubtedly new, as his old one was still in Marian’s possession.

  “Of course, my Lord,” she said.

  “I was afraid you would not be here,” he said, removing his cloak and laying it across the bench underneath the tree.

  “’Twas
I who asked you to accompany me,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, but I doubted the sincerity of your request. For that I must apologize.”

  “No need for apologizes, my Lord,” Marian insisted.

  “Might I have the honor of this dance, milady?” he asked, extending his upturned hand toward her.

  A shy smile played upon her blushing lips, and she slid her hand into his. He clasped it gently and led her away from the tree. He stopped on a bare patch of earth and bowed to her. She dipped toward the ground, holding her skirt in her hand, and then he lifted her hand and placed his other alongside her waist. Her free hand rested lightly on his bicep, and she felt the muscle twitch beneath his shirt.

  The music was gay and rousing, and Gisborne began to move her across the lawn, twirling and sliding their way among the dancing villagers. His stolid expression slowly faded, and it was soon replaced by a glowing smile that lit up his entire face, pushing his cheeks up so high they partially obscured his pale eyes.

  Marian, too, began to smile. She was dizzy from the excitement and the whirling as they spun to the music, and she began to laugh aloud. It had been many moons since she’d been able to truly enjoy living.

  The daily toils of her labor at the castle had taken its toll on not only her body, but her spirit. She’d long ago been broken, reduced to an empty shadow of her former self. But tonight, she felt like Lady Marian of Locksley once more.

  The stars were bright overhead, winking merrily. The crescent moon hung in the sky. Torches cast their golden light on the revelers, and not a frown was in sight. For one lone day, everyone forgot taxes and poverty and starvation and only knew joy.

  The music stopped and the minstrels took their leave for a moment’s respite and a drink of ale. Gisborne kept their dancing pose for a moment longer than was necessary, and then he reluctantly released her and stepped back.

  “Shall we walk?” he asked.

  “All right,” she agreed.

  Gisborne gathered his cloak from the bench and threw it over his shoulders. Then, with his elbow at her arm as if guarding her from some unknown evil, they strolled along the lane under the silver-blue moonlight.

  “Marian, may I speak freely?” Gisborne asked.

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  “You are quite unusual for a maidservant.’

  She was silent.

  “I am sorry,” Gisborne said. “I did not mean to offend you.”

  “I am not offended, my Lord,” she said. “I am simply thinking how best to explain my situation.”

  “I understand. Please, take your time.”

  For a while they walked in silence, and then she finally began to speak again.

  “I am noble born,” she explained.

  Gisborne’s eyebrow lifted and he said, “Then how is it you have come to your current station?”

  “We didn’t always live in the cottage, you know,” Marian said.

  “Oh?”

  “We once lived in the large house north of the village, beyond Locksley Manor,” she continued. “After my mother died, Father became very ill and he had to give control of the manor to the Sheriff of Nottingham to clear his debts. We bought the cottage and moved there, and I got a job at the castle to support my ailing father.”

  “What happened to your mother?”

  Marian got a faraway look in her eyes, and her vision blurred.

  “The Sheriff had her killed,” Marian croaked. “Mother was a Lady, and Father was a Lord, but the Sheriff had them stripped of their titles, me included, because my father refused to relinquish control of his lands at the Sheriff’s request. The Sheriff warned him that if he tried to fight him, he would regret it, but Father was stubborn and refused to be bullied. So the Sheriff had Mother executed. It was after her death that Father finally relented in order to protect me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gisborne said quietly. Then he added, “Might I ask you something else?”

  “Of course.”

  “How is it you know Robin Hood?”

  “We were friends since childhood,” she explained. “We used to play together in the village as children. We went hunting and fishing together. That was back when his family still resided in Locksley Manor.”

  The music of the minstrels restarted in the distance, and Gisborne extending his elbow and said, “Shall we return?”

  Marian tucked her hand inside his elbow and nodded, and they turned about and returned to the festivities.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

  “Please,” said she.

  Marian returned to her spot under the tree, where she was joined by a few of the women of the village who greeted her politely. It wasn’t long before many of them headed away to dance, leaving only Marian and Annie, the cobbler’s wife.

  “Marian, that man you were dancing with... who is he?” asked Annie.

  “Don’t you know? That’s Lord Gisborne.”

  “Gisborne! No. It can’t be,” Annie whispered.

  “What are you on about, Annie?”

  “He’s the one!” Annie hissed.

  “The one what?”

  “The one who brings the food to the village! I’d recognize him anywhere! Oh, sure, he keeps his hood up and tries to hide, but I’ve seen those boots, that cloak, that hair. It’s him, alright.”

  “Gisborne?” Marian asked, turning her eyes toward him as he waited at the long table, which was laden with food and drink.

  She watched as he bent down to accept a flower from a toddler’s chubby little hand. A smile played on his normally sullen face, and he thanked the little girl politely, smelling the flower and then handing it back to the girl. She placed the flower behind his ear and giggled, and he chuckled along with her.

  Perhaps it wasn’t such a ludicrous idea, after all. He was certainly wealthy enough. But why would he hide his generosity?

  He returned with two goblets of wine, extending one to her, and she took it. She sipped it lightly, and soon the goblet was empty. Gisborne returned their goblets to the table and came back to her.

  “Shall we walk again?” he asked, and she took his proffered elbow.

  “May I ask you something, my Lord?” she asked as they strolled away from the gathering.

  “Please,” he invited. “And would it trouble you to call me by my given name?”

  “My Lord...”

  “Please, Marian, use my name.”

  “As you wish,” she said. “Guy.”

  “What is it you wished to ask?”

  “Are you the one who brings food to the village at night?” she asked bluntly.

  His mouth opened, and a slight grunt came out, but he said nothing.

  “Guy?” Marian urged him.

  “Tell no one,” he said. “I do it not for attention, but because it is necessary. Lord Blackstock would... well, let’s just say he would not be pleased if he knew.”

  “How long have you been doing it?” she asked.

  “Since the day you fell ill during the banquet,” he said. “You were telling the physician and his nurse about the starving villagers, and I knew I had to do something.”

  “I don’t understand something,” Marian said.

  “What don’t you understand?”

  “Well, all the things I’ve heard about you... the things I’ve seen with my own eyes... I just can’t understand why a man who has done such terrible things would take the time to bring food to the poor people of the village.”

  “Marian, the things I’ve done have been at the behest of Lord Blackstock.”

  “So why do them? Why not just leave his service... leave the castle?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Of course it is! If you are not happy about the things he makes you do, then leave!”

  “I know too much, Marian. If I left, he would have me hunted down and executed, because he would feel he could no longer trust me to keep his secrets.”

  “How did you even get tangled up wi
th him, anyway?”

  “When I was a child, perhaps about seven, my parents dropped me off at an orphanage. I remember the day like it was yesterday. I cried, I begged them not to leave me, but they told me I was more trouble than I was worth and they just left me there.”