Enemy of My Enemy

Chapter Twenty-One - Strings

Even here, thousands of miles from Nottingham, the urge to flee was strong. To just leave it all behind, to forget about Vaisey and Hood and the king, to leave them to their stupid games while he took ship and disappeared. Robin was relying on him though – Robin, and the King of England. Guy snorted. It was stupid of them. No one relied on him; no one should rely on him. Not even Meg.

Especially not Meg. He could only fail her.

Guy slumped down, staring out into the courtyard, where the day's heat shimmered whitely across cracked tiles. Sweet Meg. Where was she now? Had Vaisey even kept her alive? Robin had had no success in locating her. She could be anywhere, in any dim, dark cellar, tucked away in any Saracen abode...Vaisey had allies here, plenty of options.

Of course, Vaisey had offered him the solution: succeed in his mission, kill the king, and she would be restored to him. Only Guy knew better. If Vaisey had his way, he would be dead, and Meg superfluous. He couldn't save her by following Vaisey's instructions; nor could he save her by failing to do so.

He dropped his head into his hands, fighting back the tide of helplessness. Vaisey, in all his diabolical cleverness, had found a perfect weapon to wield – a woman who had been willing to make her life with him....with him...despite all the things he had done, despite the depths to which he had sunk. One who was prepared to do it with grace and an affection that acknowledged she was willing to wait for his heart, if ever he was prepared to offer it.

And was he?

In the past, Marian had consumed him. Wanting to be with her had almost driven him mad, at times. Not to mention the woman herself. You must be the least easily-won woman in all of England. Never had he spoken truer words.

He couldn't remember a time when thoughts of Marian had given him peace. Even when they'd been betrothed, when it seemed that finally she was to be within his grasp...even then, it had been as if he lived on a precipice, with the possibility of his future happiness balanced so precariously that the slightest shift might topple it. Even so, he couldn't have predicted how spectacularly it would fall in the end.

But Meg....somehow, he had earned her affections. Her pity, more like, he thought sourly, remembering the first time they'd met: him, pathetic, bedraggled, half-drowned; her, fresh-faced and lovely, herself damp from the rescue, with the stink of dung wafting up from her hem.

It had been ungallant of him, he realised, smirking a little, to point it out, when after all she had just saved his life.

When they met again, in the dungeon, she'd borne no grudge; had clung to his reluctantly-offered comfort. And since Vaisey's decree that they wed, she had seemed to slip naturally into his life, when he'd never expected a woman to do so.

He couldn't imagine a more unsuccessful courtship than his attempts to win Marian. He knew why now. Not just his own awkwardness – sometimes tongue-tied as a green lad, he still reddened to recall it – but she had been Robin's all along. He'd never stood a chance. Marian had only agreed to marry him under duress; Guy felt ashamed, now, of the threats he'd used to coerce her. In fact, he felt ashamed of the whole sorry mess: of the tangle of lies and manipulation their relationship had become, of the intense way in which he'd pursued her.

In some strange way, he felt freer now. He was glad of it.

And he was glad of Meg. She'd become....what, exactly? An ear to listen to his concerns, a voice to soothe them; a welcoming body that cleaved to his in the middle of the night, with moans of pleasure and murmurs which, if not of love – to an ear attuned to hear them – at least whispered to him of its possibility.