Chapter Text
Lulled by the rocking motion, Meg dozed, her head pillowed on the cushion she’d placed between her head and the side of the carriage.
She hadn’t had much sleep.
Two new suitors in the past week. One at last night’s meal, foisted on her without warning by her father and her uncle. They’d no doubt feared she might have skipped off somewhere and avoided the introduction, if she’d known; they were probably right.
This one, Sir Lionel something-or-other, had been more interested in the contents of his goblet than in her. Which didn’t bother her at all, not after the efforts of the younger one presented to her earlier in the week. Clean-shaven, with an angular face, Sir Sebastian had spent the entire evening trying to impress her with his talk of what was happening across the Channel. He was full of wild tales and bad poetry, which he said was all the rage at the Angevin court. The kindest interpretation she could put on this was that it was second-hand, received from a friend recently returned. She didn’t know why he bothered with his suit. It was clear from the way he spoke that he wished he could take himself off to foreign courts himself. Parental pressure, no doubt. She’d felt some sympathy for him, but not enough to make her like him. By the end of the evening, she’d asked to be excused. She’d struggled with an evening in his company; the thought of a lifetime had been daunting.
Her father hadn’t been pleased, and had considered staying another day. But Meg had had enough, both of suitors and of her cousins’ teasing. She was more than ready to be home. She would accept her father’s tirades, or his bouts of silent disapproval, as the price of some relative peace and quiet.
“Ouch….”
The cushion slipped then, and Meg’s head butted sharply against the edge of the window as the carriage jolted to a halt. Huffing, she tossed the cushion aside and sat up.
“What’s going on?” she asked, hearing shouts, and the clang of striking blades.
“Pull to the side,” Meg heard her father command.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Her maid pulled the curtain aside, and Meg climbed out onto the step…this was Locksley. Her father had said it would be quicker this way, but instead the road was blocked by a group of archers, who had their bows trained on the sheriff’s guards. Beyond this, Meg saw the oddest sight: a man, covered head to foot in metal, in full combat with another. The fight surged across road and yard, the two men mauling, shoving, swinging with vicious sweeps any makeshift weapon they could lay their hands on.
The taller one, the one in metal….surely the sheriff’s lieutenant, Guy of Gisborne? Which meant the other….
“Who’s that, do you think?” she asked.
Esther shrugged. Meg dropped lightly down, asking the man who stood nearest.
“Robin Hood, of course. And Guy of Gisborne. To your right!” he shouted, pressing forward to see better.
The villagers here blocked Meg’s view. She tried to push through, but stood in a pile left by a horse that coated her ankle. The smell was appalling. She ran back to the carriage, counting on the fight to keep everyone’s attention focused. Behind the carriage, Meg peeled off her hose, and looked around, unsure what to do with them.
Shouts then, and roars of laughter: Meg could smell the distinctive odour of lit pitch.
“Tell your men to withdraw, Sheriff!” she heard the outlaw yell.
Desperate now to see what was going on, Meg dropped her hose on the ground and in bare feet pushed and shoved her way to the front.
“My lord! Please!” she heard.
She finally saw what was happening; it was indeed Guy of Gisborne, his head being submerged in a trough of water. The outlaw gave no sign of showing mercy.
“You, er, seem to have overestimated Gisborne’s importance to me,” replied the sheriff.
Crucial seconds passed. No one was doing anything. Meg watched as the sheriff’s master-at-arms struggled beneath the surface. Eventually, Hood let him up for air. Pity leapt in Meg’s heart. She knew this man was the sheriff’s lackey, hated and feared, but to face such humiliation? Was there no one who would speak for him?
“Not even you would let him die,” the outlaw challenged.
“Erm, I have everything I could want.” Vaisey gestured at a bag held by the man next to him.
Provoked, the outlaw shoved Gisborne under again. Meg couldn’t stand it; he would drown, if this went on much longer. Could no one see that?
Apparently, one person could.
“Let him live.” The Lady Marian had slipped quietly from her place on the side-lines, and held a dagger up against a burly Moor. Meg had no idea why; from his apron, he must be the blacksmith.
“Who?” said the sheriff.
“Guy.”
“Marian, what are you doing?” asked the sheriff, his tone genuinely perplexed.
Meg stopped listening, too preoccupied with how long Gisborne was being held under water. Finally, he was allowed up for air.
“Oh! My Lord! Please!”
Meg saw the expression of lazy disinterest in the sheriff’s eye.
“Let him die.”
Under again. The sheriff and Marian, back to bargaining.
Enough was enough.
Ignoring the sharp prick of stones on her bare feet, Meg sprinted. With no thought for her dignity, she clambered onto the edge of the tub and aimed a kick at the outlaw. Caught by surprise, he went down. Meg overbalanced, falling backwards into the dirt. Water splashed over her as Gisborne clambered out and fell, coughing and moaning.
Before Meg knew what was happening, the outlaw had leapt up. He ran to where the Lady Marian held the smith hostage.
“I’ll take that,” she heard him say.
Meg was dimly aware of negotiations continuing between Vaisey and Hood. But she was more concerned with the man still sputtering water beside her. He hauled himself up and lurched away; Meg, who couldn’t care less about rocks and smiths and whatever else they were discussing, trailed the master-at-arms, expecting her father to come for her at any moment. But she didn’t care. Gisborne’s piteous condition tugged at her heart.
He stumbled into the manor’s courtyard, where two servants began helping him remove the wet armour. Gisborne’s eyes were red-rimmed and defeated, and his hair hung down in wet, stringy strands. Meg stopped by the entrance, uncertain now what to do. She had no business here.
“Wait, girl.” Meg stopped, and turned back, but she didn’t enter the courtyard. “You saved my life. I’m grateful.”
His voice rasped from coughing up water. Meg, emboldened, walked into the courtyard.
“Well, it seemed like everyone else had too many agendas,” Meg observed. “I thought you needed someone to….”
“What’s that smell?” Gisborne interrupted, his nose wrinkling.
Meg looked down, as did he; mortified, Meg remembered her bare feet, and she saw now that the muck hadn’t only reached her hose. It was spattered across the hem of her skirt as well.
“Perhaps you should have gone in the tub instead of me,” the master-at-arms said gruffly.
Meg glanced up; was he making a joke, at a time like this? She had no time to consider this further, because then the Lady Marian arrived, and his attention was diverted. Whilst she would have listened to their conversation her father also arrived at that moment, hauling her away by one arm.
As they went out, Meg glanced back over her shoulder at the neat, poised figure of Lady Marian, while here she was making an ignominious exit, odour and all. Her face heated with embarrassment. Gisborne, still peeling off his damp armour, glanced over at her. Blue eyes met blue. A small smirk lifted one corner of his mouth.
Fine. How to make an impression.
But she found, as Lord Bennett half-dragged her along, making noises about behaving like a hoyden and her general lack of propriety, that she didn’t really mind.
I’m glad to entertain him. Perhaps it will make him feel better, if someone else is humiliated too.
Or so she told herself. To be honest she did wish, as her father bundled her back into the carriage, that the hem of her skirt hadn’t smelled quite so bad, and that she hadn't looked quite so foolish. She was nineteen years old, for heaven's sake; she wasn't a child, as the parade of her suitors made abundantly clear.
For not a single one of them would she have cared how she looked. But she found that, for this one time, she did.