The Beekeeper

Chapter 6

October, 1192

Cassia lifted her head. Tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, she listened to the distant sound of the church bells.

The noon church bells, she noted to herself...Wedding bells.

Soon, the wedding would be over. Lady Marian of Leaford would be Lady Marian of Gisborne - Sir Guy's wife.

An involuntary shudder of revulsion passed through her. She looked over at her father, who sat hunched over a bucket as he milked a goat. Age was showing in him. His hair had grown white over the last few years, and both his knees and his hands sometimes troubled him. But he was diligent about his work - and his stalwart manner had not changed with time. He was a good man, and a caring father. But he was not always easy to talk to, especially when his mind was made up on something. Taking in a little breath, she tried to maintain a cool facade, her manner deliberately calm as she broached a subject that she knew was most sensitive.

"It is mid-day," she said. "The wedding ceremony shall commence within the hour. Are you certain we will not attend?"

Lucas shook his head. His tone was firm. "I have no interest in witnessing the nuptials of Sir Guy of Gisborne."

From her basket of freshly washed linens, she took up a sheet - smoothing and pinning it along the laundry rope, and as she worked, she watched her father rise from his milking stool. He had more to say on the matter of the impending wedding. Of that, she was certain. She sensed his approach. Looking up, she saw that his brown eyes - while kind as always - were deeply serious.

"I am much aware of your curiosity, daughter. Your fondness for Guy of Gisborne is no secret to me. It is all innocent, of course. But it has been clear to me for years that you look upon him with admiring eyes – the eyes of girl once rescued from a very great danger."

To that, she blushed – embarrassed at the mention of her name and Sir Guy's set together. But as always, Lucas was kind and understanding – though he remained firm.

"We owe Gisborne a debt for saving your life. But the time has come for you to put him forever out of your thoughts. He belongs to Lady Marian now – and you must honor that union."

She nodded, watching him as he disappeared into the house.

He would be there for some time, occupied with turning the fresh milk into cheese. If she slipped away for a short while, he would not take immediate notice. Neither would he be at all pleased when he found her gone. But she was nearly eighteen years of age. She had a mind and a will of her own, and she had made up her mind that she wanted to be in Nottingham. There was a great event about to take place - and she intended to be there to witness it.

*****

Guy held his hands out in front of him, examining them. He saw them trembling ever so slightly. And he cursed himself for such a show of vulnerability. Did anyone else see it? Glancing down at his valet, who was putting a last shine to his boots, he saw no sign of suspicion there. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to be calm. In just a few short hours, he would be a married man. At last, after so much practiced restraint and civility, he would have what he wanted most – more specifically, whom he wanted most.

Marian would be his wife – whether or not she was prepared to play the part. He was not so great a fool as everyone thought him to be. Despite her declarations to the contrary, he knew that Marian was reluctant to be married to him. She feared him. Being as pious and innocent as she was, it was understandable that she would have her concerns. He had wanted so badly to show her tenderness – to slowly ease her into the ways of physical affection between a man and a woman. But she had rarely permitted it. His first attempt, on the day he had learned of Hadrian's death, had gone so badly. Only once after that had he tried again, but the result was not at all what he had hoped for. He had kissed her as gently as he knew how, and her reaction had disappointed him deeply. Her lips had been cool – her form tense, even when he tried to coax some feeling from her with a touch of her face and neck. Even lesser things, such as trying to hold her hand, seemed to put her off. She could not refuse him outright – that, at least, was some consolation, however small. But even when duty required her to be near him or have some manner of contact, there was always an air of hesitation about it.