Love Is A Wound

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The chapters that follow were written as a result of watching the BBC Robin Hood series. The Guy of Gisborne character created by the writers and brought to life by Richard Armitage, sparked my interest.  I started to think about creating my own storylines with him, rather than Robin Hood, as the central character.

So, this fan fiction wouldn't have happened without the BBC series and I've used some of the characters as my starting point. I am not claiming them or the settings as my own, but I do hope you enjoy it.

It originally appeared on the C19 website and dreamerfiction and is my second fan fiction. I wanted to tell the story of a beautiful woman who does not use her looks to get herself anything but who finds herself fighting to survive in an environment where men had all the power. 

The title 'Love is a Wound' is from a poem written by Marie de France who wrote around 1170-80 and spent some time in England. It goes  'Love is a wound within the body that has no outward sign'. The relevance of this will become obvious as the story progresses. Hopefully.

Chapter 1

It was quite a large target when looked at from this angle. Quite large and very, very tempting.

In fact, one well-aimed kick to that fat backside could send Vasey toppling down the bank and into the river. Guy allowed himself to think about that bullish, grizzled head slowly disappearing beneath the water before casting the whole pleasant daydream aside and addressing the Sheriff. 

'Is she lame?' he asked.

Vasey stopped holding the horse’s leg and placed the hoof gently down on to the ground. He straightened up and wiped his hands down his cloak.

'Yes, damn the stupid *****, ******.'

The horse, as if to prove it couldn’t give a damn about Vasey’s opinion, chose that particular moment to lift its tail and deposit a pile of steaming manure, some of which spattered over Vasey’s boots. 

Sometimes, sometimes it’s the little things that make a day bearable.

Guy fought the urge to smile and instead waited with his gaze fixed upon the ground while Vasey ran through his usual repertoire of oaths. The Sheriff was rapidly coming to the boil and Guy and the other soldiers knew that one of them was going to get it in the neck at some point very soon.

Guy decided it might as well be him. 

'What do you want to do now?' he asked wearily.

'Ooh, I don’t know Gisborne,' Vasey said, 'how about, how about we ride really fast over the fields and jump a few hedges as we gallop in the general direction of Nottingham? On my lame ******* horse.'

A couple of the men shifted uncomfortably. They were all cold through to the bone; tired and miserable from riding for the best part of the day. Suddenly Vasey was launching himself at one of the soldiers, pulling him from his horse.

'Piss off and cosy up with someone else,' he ordered and swung himself up into the empty saddle. The horse moved uneasily beneath him and its former rider picked himself up, brushed himself down and looked around to see who would have him. No one laughed at his predicament; it could so easily have been any of them standing in his place.

Guy leaned down to catch hold of the reins of Vasey’s lame horse and the humiliated soldier swung himself up behind one of his comrades. All now right in Vasey's world, he looked around. His smile was the usual smug one. A lift of his hand. 'Right, onwards.'

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