Grant What I Wish

Grant What I Wish - Chapter 8 - Promotion

Chapter 8. Promotion

There's a strange frenzy in my head, of birds flying,

each particle circulating on its own,

Is the one I love everywhere?

-Rumi 

Nottingham Castle

1195

Meg hunkered down on the dungeon floor, having found a relatively clean spot to gingerly seat herself. She kept peeping over at the man who sat so silently in the cell next to hers, evidently resigned to his fate. It was difficult for her to believe that this was the same haughty and cruel man who had ridden through her village, exhorting those who lived there to pay their taxes or suffer the consequences. How far he had fallen! Unexpectedly, however, she felt no pleasure in his plight. She felt pity for him-and attraction. Peeping at him from beneath her lashes, she decided that he was every bit as handsome as she had first believed. If only he did not scowl so much! Was it so difficult for him to be pleasant? She would like to see him smile, she thought fleetingly, and blushed at the unbidden thought.

"Are you scared?" she asked suddenly, a hint of fear in her own voice.

Guy looked up at her in surprise, as if he had forgotten her presence. "Of what?" he asked.

"Your date with the executioner," she replied promptly.

He gazed at her, unperturbed. "Do I look scared?"

Meg studied him for a moment, turning her head from side to side like a curious bird. "Actually, no, you don't. Terrible, yeah-I'd give you one out of ten for personal appearance-but no' frightened. I'm almost impressed-it's as if you've got a clear conscience," she said in a teasing tone.

He continued to stare at her, thinking she was a redoubtable girl. She realized that his eyes were not dark, as she first thought, but a piercing shade of blue. 

"Well, why shouldn't I have a clear conscience?" he asked at last. His voice might be bland, but she could detect an underlying note of arrogance, the unrepentant swagger of a man used to danger and willing to bluff his way along.

"Because of all the awful things you've done in your life," she said. "I mean, no one seems actually sorry that you're on your way out, do they? Doesn't that make you feel sad?" she asked with a quiet compassion.

He shrugged his shoulders, ignoring the hollow feeling that her words produced. "I can't help what people think of me-what's done is done, and if I am to die, so be it," he replied. His voice was so devoid of emotion that Meg believed he did not care whether his life was about to end.

She peered at him, incredulous. "Is your life really that empty that you don't care whether you live or die? Oh!" she cried suddenly, throwing down the crust of bread she had picked up from the plate provided by the guard. It was crawling with maggots.

The crust rolled through the prison bars and landed next to Guy. Without comment, he picked it up and began to methodically remove the maggots. Once the bread was clean of vermin, he handed it to her through the bars. When she hesitated, he said softly, "Here, eat this. It will keep your strength up."

Meg stared at him once more, a surprised glow of pleasure suffusing her face. Taking the bread from his hand, she said thoughtfully, "There must be some good in you yet."

He returned to his cot and, lying down, turned his face to the wall. After a time, he replied in an expressionless voice, "You don't know me. Besides, I thought you hated men."