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

by Alanis Knight

  Marian jumped and stumbled backward. Her foot caught on a rock, and she landed sharply on her bottom. Pain surged through her, and her hand instinctively lifted to cover the wound where the arrow had penetrated.

  “Marian.”

  His voice was soft now. He’d bridged the distance between them in an instant, and he was kneeling beside her.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  Her eyes lifted to meet his, and a quiver of a smile flickered across her lips.

  “Now why would a monster care if I were hurt?” she asked him.

  He sighed heavily, and sat back on his haunches, staring at the ground. He shook his head.

  “You should go,” he said.

  There was a gust of wind, and a flutter, and suddenly Marian was alone. She gasped and looked around her, but Gisborne was gone.

  “What the…” she muttered. “Guy? Guy!”

  There was no response. She grunted as the discomfort spread through her chest when she rose to her feet. The wound throbbed viciously and took her breath. She tried to call after him again, but she only coughed and had to lean against the wall to steady herself.

  “Guy…” she said weakly, but it was no use, and she knew it.

  She had no choice but to take the long walk back to the cottage in the dark, frigid night. The guards let her out the front gate, and she limped slowly along the lane. At moments, she was certain she heard a noise behind her, but every time she turned to look, there was nothing there but the road and the moonlight.

  As she walked, her mood changed. She began to feel confused, then upset, and then angry.

  Why would he be so cold to her when she only wanted to help him? He left her to walk home alone in the cold, in the night, without so much as an escort. He’d spoken to her so harshly. Was she wrong about him?

  By the time she reached the cottage, she was so upset that she tore off Gisborne’s cloak and threw it into a chest.

  She was done trying to help him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

  Marian gently placed her bowl of stew on the table and padded across the floor. Upon opening the door, a gust of frigid wind swept into the room, and her teeth began to chatter.

  “Marian, may I enter?” Gisborne asked.

  For a moment, she paused, hesitant. Then curiosity got the better of her.

  “Of course. Come in.”

  Gisborne stepped across the threshold and removed his hat. Marian quickly closed the door, but the heat in the room was already gone. She took the cloak Robin had given her from its hook by the door and wrapped it around her shivering body.

  “I see you are wearing his cloak and not mine,” Gisborne commented.

  “What do you want, Guy?”

  “Marian, there is something I’ve come to ask you, and I do hope you will at least consider it before you offer a rejection,” he said.

  “Alright, go on.”

  He bent his knee and sank to the floor. Taking her hand carefully between his own, his icy eyes turned upward and he spoke.

  “Marian, I am truly sorry for my behavior last night.”

  She said nothing, but she didn’t remove her hand from his.

  “Marian, I was waiting for the right time to do this… to…” he paused, looking for the right words. “I wanted to plan it. I wanted it to be… right. But…”

  “Spit it out, Guy,” Marian said flatly.

  “Marry me.”

  Her lips parted, and her eyes darted back and forth across his face.

  “Guy, I...”

  “Before you say anything, you should know that I do not intend to hold you to the betrothal Blackstock forced you into,” he said. “This is entirely your choice.”

  For one long, painful moment, she was speechless. Then a look of sorrow spread across her face.

  “I’m sorry, Guy, but I cannot accept.”

  He dropped her hand and bowed his head, his chin touching his chest. He sat there, frozen, motionless, hunched on bended knee on the floor.

  “Guy...” she touched his shoulder gently, but he recoiled.

  “It’s because of him, isn’t it?” Gisborne spat contemptuously.

  “Robin has nothing to do with this, Guy. I...”

  “Don’t lie to me!” he raged, his body tense, his face purple. “I should have known. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!”

  Gisborne turned and twisted about the room as if looking for something. He snatched a crock from the shelf nearby and hurled it at the wall. It shattered, and shards of it scattered across the cold, wooden floor. His arms swept across the surface of the table upon which many of their meager belongings were stored, sending them crashing to the floor with a great clatter that rattled Marian to the depths of her soul.

  “Guy! Stop!” Marian shouted.

  “Leave this house at once!” her father chastised from his chair as sternly as he could manage.

  He gripped the edge of the table with an iron grasp, curling his fingers around it as his chest heaved wildly. With each breath, he snarled viciously. His body was shaking. With a great roar of agony, he flipped the table against the wall, and it broke into pieces and clattered to the floor.

  “Stop!” she screamed, covering her face with her hands and sobbing.

  Gisborne turned to face her, and upon seeing her hiding her face, he softened slightly. He stepped over to her and reached out to touch her arm, but she jerked away from him. His face grew cold again, his eyes narrowing to slits.

  “You would not draw away from him,” Gisborne snapped, taking the edge of Robin’s cloak between his fingers and running the cloth between them.

  Marian trembled, afraid to move away from him as he fingered the cloth. His hand curled around it, grasping a fistful. Marian whimpered as he yanked hard, the fabric tearing and the leaf-shaped clasp coming undone. Gisborne wadded the cloak into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace, and the room filled with choking black smoke.

  “There,” Gisborne growled. “Now maybe you’ll wear mine!”

  “Get out!” she screamed, stamping her foot and pointing toward the door. “Leave my house and never return! Leave at once!”

  “I will go, Marian, but this isn’t over!” Gisborne shouted.

  Gisborne yanked the door open, sending another icy blast of air swirling into the room followed by a scattering of dry leaves. He slammed it behind him so forcefully that the thin walls of the cottage rattled and items on the wall shelf overturned and slid onto the floor.

  Marian turned slowly about, surveying the damage. Broken pieces of crockery and wood littered the floor. She coughed and her eyes watered from the black smoke that coiled about the room, and she watched the remains of Robin’s gift smoldering on the hearth.

  “I hate him,” she muttered. “I HATE HIM!”

  “Thank goodness,” he father mumbled. “Maybe you’ve finally broken free over whatever evil enchantment he put on you!”

  Marian snatched the broom from the corner and began to sweep the floor. She would never speak to him again. She would die first.

  The pre-dawn air was so frigid it chilled her to the core, sending burning-cold tendrils down her lungs with every breath. Despite this, she wore only her thin, threadbare shawl, refusing to touch Gisborne’s cloaks that were languishing in her chest.

  “Let’s hope I still have a job,” she muttered as her teeth rattled together on her way to the castle.

  By the time she entered the steaming-hot kitchen, her toes were numb. In the heat, they began to burn and throb painfully.

  “Good Lord, girl!” Mirabelle gasped, noting the blue tinge of her lips and fingers. “What happened to your cloaks?”

  “Lord Gisborne took it upon himself to burn one, and the others I refuse to touch!” she said, not caring whether or not word got back to him that she was sharing their personal affairs with other servants.

  Mirabelle clucked her tongue and shook her head.

  “Pride goeth before a fall,” Mirabelle said.
“And if you don’t suck in your pride and wear a cloak, you may just fall face down in the snow!”

  “Oh, no, don’t tell me it’s going to snow!” Marian groaned.

  “It certainly smells like it,” Mirabelle said. “I’d bet it’s going to start by noon.”

  “Lovely,” Marian commented.

  “Get to work,” Mirabelle said. “That’ll warm you up faster than anything else. Start with the chambers and then do the study.”

  “Yes, Miss,” Marian said.

  Her muscles were wracked with tension as she crept down the chilly castle corridors, and her wound still ached. But she had to work. At least she hadn’t been fired or arrested upon arrival.

  She knocked on Gisborne’s door with a lump in her throat, and she exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding when no answer was forthcoming. She pushed the door open.

  The room was as he’d left it, but no fire burned in the hearth. Just being in the room made her feel ill, so she quickly cleaned it and moved on.

  Now there was nothing but he study left to clean. She supposed Gisborne would be there waiting, having not been in any of the chambers. Her hand hovered in the air, but she found herself unable to knock. She took a deep, cleansing breath and tried again, but her hand refused to touch the door.

  “He ain’t in there, Miss,” someone whispered.

  Marian turned around to see one of the scullery maids standing behind her with a covered pot in her hands.

  “Are you certain?” Marian asked quietly.

  “Yes, Miss,” she answered. “He left before dawn this morning, and we ain’t seen him since.”

  “Thank you,” Marian said, and the young girl nodded and continued down the corridor.

  Marian knocked, and receiving no response, she hurried inside, cleaned the room rapidly, and left before Gisborne had a chance to show up.

  “You all done?” Mirabelle asked.

  “Yes, Miss,” Marian said. “I’m eager to get home before it gets dark and the temperature drops further.”

  “Go then,” Mirabelle said. “And for heaven’s sake, girl, swallow your pride and wear a cloak tomorrow!”

  Marian nodded, but she had no intention of doing so.

  The ground in the courtyard was already blanketed in a light dusting of snow, with tiny slivers of green and yellow grass peeking out hither and thither. Her thin shoes sank into the snow, which tumbled in over the top of her shoes and melted. Her toes were numb before she even made it out of the courtyard.

  She ran all the way home, desperate for the warmth the exercise provided. She slid through the front gate and slammed against the door of the cottage, breathless and exhausted.

  When she opened the door, she noticed the room was as cold as it had been outside. The fire in the hearth had long since faded away, and her father lay motionless in his chair.

  “Father!” she gasped. “Why did you let the fire go out? Are you not well?”

  She swept the hearth clean and kneeled down to place more logs in it. She noted her father’s silence, and she abandoned her fire making to check on him. She bent over him and shook him gently. His blanket fell away, and Marian felt an intense agony grasp her throat, choking the air from her lungs.

  “FATHER!” she shrieked.

  She staggered back, clasping her hand over her mouth and stumbling into the fireplace. Her other hand flattened against the rough stone, and her eyes began to sting fiercely.

  Her darling father, the man she’d spent her whole life caring for and protecting, lay white as snow with a massive gash across his throat and blood seeping into his clothing and his blankets. His eyes were open wide with fright, and his mouth hung open. His head lolled to the side at a sickening angle.

  “No...” she whispered. “No... NO!”

  She tore out of the cottage and down the lane as fast as her legs would carry her. Once in the village, she veered down the tiny path toward the small church and burst through the door.

  “Father Michaels!” she screamed, tears streaking her pink-tinged face. “Father!”

  “Father Michaels has gone away on Church business,” said a voice behind her.

  Marian whirled around to see Annie Smith kneeling in prayer at one of the pews.

  “Oh...” Marian sniffled.

  “What’s wrong, Marian?” Annie asked, pulling herself to her feet.

  “My Father’s been murdered!” Marian wailed, sinking to her knees.

  “What? Was it Gisborne?” Annie cried.

  “Gisborne... why would say that?” Marian demanded.

  “Because I saw him leaving your house just before the sun rose this morning,” Annie said. “I’d gone out to feed the chickens and I saw him in the distance.”

  “Are you certain it was him?” Marian asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I don’t know who else it could be. That dark cloak, that huge white horse... who else could it have been?”

  Marian’s pink face turned red with fury, and her eyes narrowed to mere slits. Her fists clenched so tightly that her fingernails dug into her flesh and she began to bleed.

  “I’ll kill him,” she growled. “I’ll kill him!”

  Marian dragged herself to her feet.

  “Where are you going?” Annie demanded.

  “To have a chat with Lord Gisborne,” Marian spat.

  “Marian, no! He’ll kill you!”

  “Then let him kill me!” Marian shouted. “I’ve nothing left to live for! But I will take him down with me!”

  “Marian, it’s freezing out there! You can’t walk that far in this weather. Look at you! Where’s your shawl or your cloak?”

  Marian glanced down, noticing for the first time that her shawl was missing. She must have lost it between the cottage and the church.

  “Take Clive’s horse,” Annie offered. “It’s hitched outside our house.”

  “Thank you, Annie,” Marian said. “I love you. Thank you for everything.”

  Marian wrapped her arms around Annie briefly, and then she rushed out into the snow, which was now coming down so thickly she could hardly see. It stuck to her eyelashes and blurred her vision.

  She found the horse hitched to the fence in front of Annie’s house, and she slid the reins from around the post and pulled herself onto its back. She kicked the horse’s sides, and it reared up and whinnied, darting out onto the lane and driving forward through the snow.

  Faster and faster the horse galloped, kicking up thick clouds of snow behind it. Marian’s eyes were nearly frozen shut with melting snow and tears. She raced into the courtyard and pulled the horse’s reins so abruptly it skidded in the snow and reared up, nearly bucking her off. She slid down the horses back.

  “GISBORNE!” she shouted. “GISBORNE!”

  Spotting her erratic behavior and wild appearance, the guards by the door grabbed her, one by each arm. She struggled, pulling her arms, trying to break free.

  “GISBORNE!” she screamed.

  The front doors flew open, and he stood there with his dark tendrils of hair flying about his face and his cloak billowing behind him.

  “Release her!” Gisborne demanded, and the guards immediately eased their grip.

  Marian jerked her arms away from them and strode up to Gisborne, her palm crashing across his cheek with such force that his head whipped to the side.

  “How dare you!” she shouted, tears flowing freely down her face. “What did he do to you? Answer me!”

  “Marian, what are you...”

  “Don’t you dare lie to me, Gisborne!” she shrieked. “My Father is dead, and you were seen leaving my house this morning!”

  “Marian, I was...”

  “I hate you, Gisborne! I hate you with every breath in my body! I should kill you where you stand!” she screamed.

  The guards twitched, their heavy armor clinking, but Gisborne threw up his hand to hold them at bay.

  “Marian, I don’t know what you’re on about,” he said gently. “Something happened to y
our father?”

  “Don’t pretend you know nothing!” Marian demanded. “You were seen leaving my house! What say you?”

  “I wasn’t even...”

  “If you ever come near me again, I will kill you,” she snarled. “So help me, I will kill you myself! I will hate you until my dying breath, Guy of Gisborne. I was right about you before. You are a monster!”