Here is the last chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read, voted, or commented. I appreciate it.
Previously...
"Tomorrow," I tell him, "we will go to Locksley. For tonight, the gang, such as it is, will have to put up and shut up."
The temptation to unfasten his leather breeches and show him just how much I want him is so overpowering that it's all I can do to turn around and walk back to the camp, trusting Guy is following.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow we will be alone, behind closed doors. Not Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne, but simply Robin and Guy, our longings satisfied; an exciting, frightening, life changing journey ahead of us.
Slowing my pace, Guy catches me up. I offer him my hand and he takes it.
I wish it were tomorrow already.
Epilogue
My fingernails fill with earth as I scrape away the rock-hard soil, digging a hole in which to bury Marian's ring.
It is time to say goodbye, to let go of her. I have made my choice. I have turned my back on the freely offered love and affection of a young girl who, in many ways, reminded me of Marian, in spirit if not in looks. I have chosen, instead, to lie with a man: Guy of Gisborne. My friends don't understand, cannot accept it. I don't believe Marian's shade will understand or accept it any better. After all, Guy professed to love her and then murdered her, albeit in a fury-filled moment of madness. The best I can hope for is that she will find it in her eternal heart to forgive me, forgive us.
I glance up at the spread of branches above my head. I am kneeling among the gnarled roots of The Kissing Tree, as I used to call it and still do. Our tree; Marian's and mine. The one we used to meet under, flirt under, kiss and fight under. The tree beside which I said my brusque and inadequate goodbye to her before I headed off to the Holy Land, battle-hungry and filled with vain dreams of glory, to help King Richard reclaim Jerusalem.
My eyes travel from the upper branches, their winter leaves tearing off and whirling away in the stiff breeze, to the thick, fissured trunk. Our names, Robin and Marian, are still visible in the bark of the oak, cut by my blade in my carefree youth, when the only things I was concerned with were escaping chores, playing with my bow and pursuing pretty maidens, Marian especially.
For a moment, I picture her, laughing and tossing back her dark curls, when she surprises me at my labour. I can still make out the uneven letter R in her name where my knife slipped when she poked me in the ribs, catching me unawares. I remember being annoyed with her; I'd meant the carving to be a surprise. I had told her not to come to the forest until I sent her word. As ever, she had wilfully ignored my request. I recall I thought about carving the letter Y after the R in order to pay her back. I didn't, though, because she kissed me and promised to let me have a peek under her skirt at her un-stockinged legs in exchange for me letting her practise with my bow.
I hadn't planned on this being a tearful farewell, but memories, both good and bad, have a way of breaking down my defences; it's why I try never to look back.
I let my tears fall; warm tracks on my freezing face. It seems only fitting. I'd been too shocked and angry, still reeling with disbelief, to weep over her grave in the Holy Land, only able to let go afterwards in my solitary room on Acre's harbour-front. I am certain Marian's shade followed me back to England, to Sherwood, so she might roam through the forest, a place she loved dearly when alive. This, as far as I am concerned, is her true resting place; my tears should fall here for her.
The ground is hard after last night's heavy frost. I unsheathe the dagger hanging from my belt. Jabbing the point of the blade into the earth, I dig a hole that would accommodate a medium-sized goblet, putting off the moment when I must drop the ring into it and say a final goodbye to the woman who was my wife, albeit only for a heartbreakingly short space of time.
When I can put off the moment no longer, my legs aching from crouching, my fingers numb from the cold, I loop the thin leather strap holding Marian's ring over my head, snap the knot apart and hold the delicate ring between my soil-smeared thumb and fingers.
As my hand hovers over the dug hole, a sudden gust of icy wind blows across me, stinging my wet cheeks, sending a few more winter-browned leaves to the ground.
I whip my head around, half-expecting to see a vision of her, wearing the white dress she died in, devoid of the crimson circle of blood that fanned out across the bodice shortly after she pulled Guy's sword from her body. I see nothing but trees and shafts of early morning sunlight casting bright pools on the forest floor.
I turn around and drop the ring into the hole.
"I will always love you," I say, scraping the loose earth over the ring, filling in the hole. As I pat the earth down, I stare at the heavily embossed silver ring encircling my middle finger; the ring Guy asked me to wear. "We will always love you," I say, correcting myself.
The wind gusts again and a snapped-off branch smacks into my ribs. I smile. Perhaps her shade is here after all.
Last evening, I had expected Allan's smutty innuendo and Much's dark scowls and unhappy mutterings to continue after Guy and I walked back into the camp. To my surprise, they hadn't.
Perhaps somewhere between me shoving the dead rabbit into Much's hands and my running after Guy, they had come to the conclusion that nothing they said or did was going to change my mind over this matter and they could either accept that and get on with it, or tell me to get lost.
Upon entering the camp, Guy went over to our water barrel to wash his hands and dab at his cut cheek. I picked up my bow and quiver, still lying on the ground where he had flung them down earlier, and laid them on my bed, returning to the outer camp a moment later, feeling as if I were about to step into battle.
But rather than having a further go at me, Much contented himself with cleaning and cooking the rabbit, while Allan retrieved a couple of skins hanging from the saddle of the horse he'd ridden to Nottingham on and proceeded to find cups in which to pour a crimson wine, doubtless wheedled out of the buxom Betsy.
With a mumbled, "Here's your supper," Much handed out bits of cooked rabbit that burned our fingers.
I glanced across at Guy, sitting on a tree stump directly opposite me, intending to shoot him a warning look about commenting on our lack of serving plates or accompaniments to go with the meat. He caught my eye, grinned and then continued gnawing on his piece of meat, licking his lips as he did so.
"My word, that was excellent," he said, tossing a bone into the trees and giving Much one of his rare smiles.
I stared at Guy. When he smiled his whole face lit up, came alive. If he had smiled this way at Marian, it was no wonder he stirred her, as I once accused.
"I...er...you're...er...welcome," Much stuttered, clearly not expecting to receive such seemingly heartfelt praise from Guy.
While Much was busy picking at the remains of the carcass, I nodded my thanks. Whatever it took, Guy was going to try to win my friends over. To please me.
Allan poured us all some wine. Raising his overflowing cup, he said, "To...er..."
I saw him flick a nervous glance between Guy and me.
"To friendship," Guy said, raising his own cup, coming to Allan's rescue. "And to England."
"To England," we echoed.
Guy asked how we usually did things. I explained about the village drops and the handing out of coin to Nottingham's poor. He listened intently, asking questions as they arose. Meanwhile, Much and Allan sat quietly, drinking their wine. From the expression on their faces, I could tell it was gradually dawning on them that Guy wanted to be more than just my bedmate. He wanted to help us. He wanted to be part of our lives, to join our small band of outlaws, to be one himself if that's what it would take to keep me from turning him out of my bed and my life.
"Are you sure?" I asked, after I finished explaining about the risks we would be taking. "The new sheriff, at least according to Rowena, is something of a tyrant, possibly no better than Vaisey, possibly even worse."
"I cannot believe," Guy said, "that there is anyone on this earth worse than black-hearted piece of shit."
I noticed he shivered as he spoke of the dead sheriff. It made me wonder just how much, and what, he had suffered at that man's hands.
"There is also Prince John," I told him. "No one has seen him for a while, but there are rumours that he's holed up in the castle. You know as well as anyone what he thinks of us. Now that he knows we're back in Nottingham, I'm sure he will do his utmost to destroy us. Unlike Vaisey, I believe John has no desire to make a showpiece of our deaths."
Much downed a huge mouthful of wine and choked.
Allan slapped him on the back. "Not too much to worry about, then," he said, laughing.
Guy told me he was sure. We finished our wine and then it was time for bed.
With a mumbled, "Night gents," Allan was the first to head to our curtained-off sleeping area, quickly followed by Much.
I looked across at Guy, his eyes fixed on the dying campfire. With Much and Allan out of the way, I thought it might be possible for us to talk, to share an intimate moment even, but as I stood, intending to join him, he lifted his head, yawned and bid me goodnight.
Allan and Much were already asleep by the time I pulled off my boots and finished unbuckling my various belts.
I slipped under my blankets hoping sleep would come quickly so that today would come quickly and Guy and I could be on our way to Locksley. It was not to be.
I tossed and turned, worrying about what the future might hold for us. How would I explain our living together in the manor house to my peasants should they ask? How would we manage the house and estate without servants? Did we even want any, risking the possibility of them stumbling over our shameful secret?
These questions and more churned around in my head, while Allan rattled off unintelligible sentences in his sleep and Much snuffled and snored.
There was no question of us staying in the camp: we would find little privacy, and I could not contemplate bedding Guy under the noses of Allan and Much. Nor could I contemplate living anywhere other than Locksley Manor. True, the house held many memories for me, a number of which I'd rather not revisit; but I always believed that, one day, with Vaisey gone and King Richard returned to England, my outlaw status revoked, I would finally settle there and call it home. Of course, it was with Marian that I thought to live, not a man, and certainly not Guy, but that doesn't change the fact that I want to spend what is left of my life living on the estate my father intended me to have.
In the end, I decided that losing sleep over it wouldn't help me find my answers. I would simply have to do what I have always done: improvise and hope for the best.
A decision, of sorts, made, my thoughts turned to Guy, lying just a few feet away from me.
Throwing my blanket aside, I slipped out of bed and padded over to him. I knelt by his bed, my face mere inches from his. His breaths blew warmly across my cheeks and nose. He was asleep. I lightly touched his hair, my heart pounding, my arousal pressing against the edge of the bed. He didn't wake. Then, I guiltily remembered: I'd snatched some sleep in the barn, at Kirklees Abbey, but he'd been up all night, stumbling about in the dark, looking for me. He must have been shattered by the time he tumbled into bed.
I crept back to my bed, pulled the blankets over me and, reluctantly, saw to myself. Shortly after that, I fell asleep.
"Goodbye, my love, my wife," I whisper, standing and wiping my dirt-caked hands on my breeches.
A leaf flutters past our carved names and lands on top of the freshly dug earth. I lightly kiss Marian's name, the bark rough under my lips, and walk away.
As I near the camp, I hear Allan laughing and Guy cursing the camp and everything in it.
I jog the final few yards and emerge from the trees to find Guy standing near an overturned water barrel, his face, leathers and hair dripping wet.
"What's going on?" I ask.
Allan can't speak for laughing, so Much says, "Guy was trying to stick his head into the water barrel to wash his hair, but he lost his footing and...and..." Much's lips twitch and I can see that he's trying not to laugh himself, the sword at Guy's hip doubtless giving him pause.
"I think I can guess the rest," I say. I turn to Guy, ask, "Are you all right?"
Guy bunches a clump of long wet hair in his hands and wrings it out. "I did say I wanted a bath, I just wasn't counting on it being quite so painful." He looks to be on the point of smiling himself and I guess that he has chosen to be amused rather than angered over this particular piece of misfortune.
I see that, along with the cut on his cheek, there is a nasty gash on his temple.
"We seriously need to go to Locksley now, Robin," he says. "This forest has it in for me."
"We'll go right away," I tell him. "I just need to gather a few things."
"Here," Much says, throwing a sack at my feet. "I packed for you."
"Thank you," I say, uncertain whether he'd done it out of habit, or whether he was just trying to speed up my leaving.
"I've saddled the horses," Guy says, tucking his dripping hair behind his ears and shifting uncomfortably in his wet clothing.
I shake my head. "No, we'll walk."
"Why?"
"Because I want Much and Allan to have the horses in case they need them."
"But there are still two horses left," Guy says. "One for each of us."
"One is John's horse," I tell him. "And we might set tongues wagging if we are seen sharing a horse."
"I hate to say this, Robin," Allan says, his merriment quickly fading at the mention of our missing gang member, "but we don't know that John is coming back."
"Give him time," I say, inwardly praying that time is all it takes for John to calm down and decide to return to us, to help with our cause if nothing else.
Guy eyes the leaf-strewn ground. "I don't like walking."
"Well get used to it, along with running," I tell him, "because outlaws tend to have to do a lot of it."
Guy's eyes narrow and his gloveless fingers curl and uncurl as he struggles to bite back an angry retort to my barely-concealed spite.
I'm instantly sorry. He's doing his best to accommodate me and I'm having a go at him at every turn all because my friends are giving me a hard time over my revelation about the two of us, none of which should come as any surprise.
"We can easily get ourselves more horses once we are in Locksley," I say, trying to make amends.
I pick up my belongings. Much looks as though he's about to cry.
"No need for that," I say, dropping the sack and swiftly giving him a hug. "This is not goodbye, my friend. You know that. Give me a day or two and then come to Locksley. Find John if you can. Tell him..."
"Tell him what?" Much asks, sniffing.
"Tell him not to hate me for this. Tell him we need him. I need him."
Much nods and wipes his tear-filled eyes. "Be careful," he says, glancing past my arm at Guy.
"I will, don't worry."
I pick up the sack again and beckon Guy over. "Let's go to Locksley," I say. "Let's go home."
I hold out my ringed hand and he takes it.
Much groans. Allan mutters something about black being the wrong colour for a bride.
I make a rude hand gesture with my free hand and turn towards the track that will take us to Locksley.
As we walk through the sunlit forest, frost-hardened leaves crunching under our boots, I glance across at Guy.
Everything is a choice, everything we do.
I still have my doubts; still don't know if this will prove to be my undoing. But looking at Guy, a smile on his face, a bounce in his step, I think I made the right choice in the end.
I guess only time will tell.
~ fin ~
Author's Note: sequel to follow. Well, you didn't think I'd leave it there, did you?!