Quickly finishing up her linen wrapping…and binding it a bit tighter than usual…she did the very same thing she’d done that night. Leaving the room in silence, she was gone for quite a long time. He waited, wondering where she was and what she was doing. A slight feeling of regret came over him…but he pushed it away.
Hadn’t he spent enough time wallowing in guilt over a woman? And what had it gotten him other than months of living in hell? Crossing his arms over his chest, he was damned determined not to give in to his remorse…even as the feeling grew stronger with the passing of one hour, then another. But in the end, he found he couldn’t tolerate the silence nor the empty room a moment more. He opened his mouth to call her name. But he hesitated briefly.
I will not cry out for her like a fool. I don’t feel that remorseful at hurting her feelings.
“Cassia!” It wasn’t a furious shout, but neither was it kind. He hoped he didn’t sound either too demanding or too soft. Somewhere in the middle was what suited his current mood. And would she answer at all? Would she pull one of her little tricks and say nothing, leaving him stranded? It would be just like her, the little hardhead that she was, to teach him a lesson in obedience that he didn’t want to learn. With each passing moment, he was becoming more frustrated that she didn’t come back, or even bother to see what he needed. Growing angry, he was about to call out and demand her presence…but she suddenly appeared in the doorway. And she had brought something with her.
“These are for you to use. A woodcarver made them for us to serve patients.” She brought him a pair of crutches, and at the sight of them, he scoffed.
“You will have me hobbling around like a cripple?”
“You will use them or you will be a cripple!”
As before, her sudden rise of voice took him by surprise. But this time, there was no soft apology afterwards. With her brow stern, she came to his side and yanked away the blanket that covered him. Tossing it aside, she took firm hold of his arm.
“I have let you lay about long enough. Your muscles will soon suffer from ill use.”
With a strength he’d never seen in a woman, especially one of her slight stature, she hefted him to a sitting position. Her manner was almost rough, as was her way of speaking. It was the first time he’d seen her so unkind, and it left him at a loss. He looked perplexed as she ranted, yanking his arm around her shoulders to support him.
“The sooner you are up, the faster you shall heal. And then you can return to your precious Sheriff and your vile treatment of the whole human race. The only gratitude my father and I request is that you never make us lay eyes on you again. Now put your foot on the floor and stand up!”
Forceful as she was, he found himself doing exactly what she said, and without argument. He was too stunned to fight her. And in a moment he found the crutches under his arms. His one good foot was on the floor…his bad foot was lifted instinctively. The poles supported his weight. And he was standing on his own, for the first time in more than a month. He could feel his leg wavering slightly, his arms shaking a bit as his body adjusted to the strange distribution of weight.
“Now you will walk.” She spoke firmly. And he gave her an look. She’d forced him to stand, and he’d managed. But now she was demanding that he walk as well?
“How in the name of all that is Holy am I suppose to do that?”
She grumbled impatiently. But she showed him just what to do, how to lean just so and move properly. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, hopping around on one leg like a fool. But he was moving, and the accomplishment outweighed mere pride. Besides, who was there to see it? Robert was asleep in the next room. And as for Cassia…
He examined her, having a strange desire to see a look of pride in her expression…pride at how far she’d brought her patient in his healing. He cursed himself for his thoughts, his pride not quite willing to relinquish the smallest amount of thankfulness to her. Gratitude had never been one of his strong points. Hell, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d given anyone the least bit of praise.
But despite himself, he could not help what he felt…the need to acknowledge her in some way. And he found he did not like that look on her face. That air of contempt. Though he’d caught it on occasion, it was not the softer, more gentle look he’d grown quite accustomed to. He wanted to bring the softness back to her features. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to thank her up front. He tried to keep an edge to his voice.
“You are kinder than you should be. Even when you scowl in that way, it fails to hide your generous nature.”
She didn’t look up, but he heard her give a little huff, as if she doubted his sincerity.
“Take care, my lord. You are not given to compliments, and you might strain yourself with the effort.”
Despite his best effort against it, a tiny smirk broke on his face. “You are a sharp-tongued little witch, aren’t you?”
She sighed. “Only when the occasion calls for it. And forgive my manner of speaking, my lord. But with you, the occasion is called for more often than not.”
A bubble of laughter came up in his throat, but he swallowed it down before she could hear it. It was difficult to recall the last time he’d truly been amused by something. But in her strange way of managing things, Cassia had managed to bless him with a few moments of joy. Once, he’d seen fear in her eyes and had enjoyed beholding it. But now, it was becoming clear that she wasn’t afraid anymore. And strangely enough, he was pleased by the fact. There was something to be said about a woman who carried herself bravely.
A sudden thought of Marian came to him. She had possessed spirit and courage, just like Cassia. They even shared a familiar stubbornness in their loyalties. But Marian’s loyalty had been to her King, her country…and to Robin Hood. The man she had loved all along.
You are despicable, Guy of Gisborne.
Even after all this time, it still tortured him to think of those words. And looking over at Cassia, he wondered if she would soon turn on him as well. Was he a fool to think there was such a thing as a truly noble woman?
Then his thoughts drifted to a small while ago, when she’d first come to him with the crutches, her expression furious and almost disgusted. She’d been ready at that moment to wash her hands of him, and she’d told him so. But in that same dark look, he was sure he’d seen a glimpse of pain. Was she truly tired of him, or was that her self-defense against hurt feelings? Did she really care what he thought, or was she just pretending?
It had been many moons since he’d considered how his words and actions affected someone else…except for Marian, of course. He had treated her like the most precious of gems, and in the end it had all been for naught. If he showed Cassia that same kindness…if he opened himself up to her, would she turn out to be an illusion as well?
He thought about each night that she’d spent at his side. When he ranted and raved, she was always there. Even when she left him alone as a means of scolding him, he could always be sure that she would soon return, making sure he was taken care of.
If she is an actress, he thought, She is a damned good one.
Did he dare to hope? Was it truly possible that someone could have real feeling for him? Part of him wanted desperately to believe it. But another side of him still doubted it, fearing that the growing little flame of hope would soon be dashed. He had to know, one way or the other. And the only way was to draw the answer out of her.
Weary from his movements around the room, he made his way back to the bed, sitting on the edge. And he looked at her, his expression suddenly dark.
“Why are you so quick to be rid of me?”
Her eyes grew large at his question, but he didn’t let her wounded look deter him. “Have you no loyalty for your lord and master?”
She opened her mouth a little, but before she could answer, he grasped her collar and yanked her close, his voice dark.
“Does your true heart lie with Robin of Locksley, just like every other vile peasant lu
rking in Sherwood Forest?”
He shook her head slightly. But she didn’t shrink away. I knew you would not back down, Cassia. Now, let your anger show me the truth. He saw her face grow red with fury. She shouted back boldly at him.
“I am servant to no master! Not you, not the Sheriff! Not even Robin Hood and his King!”
He brought his voice down to a low growl. “Why should I believe a little liar like you?”
She yanked her arm away…and then he felt his neck whipped to the side as she slapped him hard across the face. But her reply stung and shocked him more than the blow.
“King Richard killed my brother and my husband!”
Chapter 6
She could have smacked his arrogant face again…not just for turning on her as he was so apt to do, but for uncovering a matter of the heart she’d long buried. Turning away, she intended to flee, not wanting to look at him for another moment. But when he reached out and grasped her wrist, she gave pause. His hold was surprisingly gentle, despite the fact that he’d just been raging at her, accusing her of treachery. She looked into his eyes, and there was something there that was true…something soft that she hadn’t seen before. He seemed to be asking, without words, for her to tell her story. She suddenly found herself confessing all that she felt...and her tone was harsh, filled with the bitterness of old wounds freshly opened.
“My husband and I were wed but a fortnight before he flocked to Richard’s banner, taking my brother along with him. I begged them not to go, but what are the pleas of a wife and a sister? All men do what they intend to, despite the consequences. And they both were lost to me.”
He continued looking at her, his expression losing its harshness, becoming almost tender. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn his look was one of pity. But why did he have to choose this moment to reveal his more gentle nature? It was painful and infuriating all at once, and she pulled her hand from his grasp. Needing something to occupy her hands, giving her reason not to look at him, she pushed him aside, forcing him to hobble out of her way and seek rest in the corner chair. She began pulling the old linens from the bed. There was a long moment before he spoke again, and his voice was surprisingly gentle.
“How do you know they are dead, Cassia? You cannot be certain of it.”
She shook her head furiously. “I have my husband’s wedding ring and my brother’s dagger. Robin of Locksley brought them to me when he returned from the Holy Land. He dared to preach to me that they died with honor…that I should be proud they gave their lives for their King and their country. I should have spit in his face for such a lie.”
Going to a trunk, she took out clean linens and a fresh blanket, setting them aside. Hefting the mattress of straw off its frame, she dared to glance at him, and saw that he was watching her with great interest. If he wanted to know, then she would tell him all and be done with it. Then she could re-bury the past and never bring it back again.
“King Richard has ruined countless lives with his foolish quest. And Robin Hood shares as much of the blame as his precious King. He rallied men to join him on the pilgrimage…an ignorant attempt to force our religion on others. The blood of thousands, including my brother and my husband, are on both of their hands. And your Sheriff is not blameless either. He seized my husband’s home and his property, giving them to nobles who would support him in his mission against the King. And now I have nothing and no one, except my father.”
She heard the own hitch in her voice…felt the slight lump that rose in her throat, but she refused to let him see her brought so low. Putting the old bed linens under her arm, clutching the end of the mattress with her free hand, she quickly took both outside, needing to be away from him as fast as possible.
Out in the yard she draped the sheets and blanket over a fence. They would be washed tomorrow. She would dress the bed with fresh linen…unless she chose to forego giving Gisborne a clean bed. It was a thought…to let him sleep in the chair all night, rather than re-stuffing the mattress and dressing it with fresh linens, all in an effort to make him comfortable, which was something he had no right to demand.
But she found herself seeing to the chore anyway, disposing of the old straw that was starting to grow ill. Reaching up to her cheek, she brushed away several tears that had spilled free.
Bloody great oaf, she thought. T’would serve him well to lie in a bed riddled with vermin.
Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to carry out such a punishment. Perhaps he was the most ungrateful git she’d ever known. But she refused to stoop to such a level of selfishness. He would be punished someday…when his ungrateful soul was burning in hell. It was that thought that gave her courage as she brought the mattress back into the house.
As she made up the bed in silence, refusing to look at him, she could feel him watching her. Forcing herself to ignore any stirrings of feeling his eyes were creating, she came to him and helped him get back to bed. He was looking at her in that strangely gentle way, and it prompted her to speak of something she’d wanted to say to him for a long time.
“We are both pawns in a mad game, Guy of Gisborne. You are bound in servitude to a master who sees no real worth in you. And I am but a woman. As such, the world has little need for me, except to bring more men into existence. And for me, even that purpose has been stolen.”
He gave no reply. And still he continued with that look…that soft grey gaze of tenderness. Lord above, that soft look was more potent than any look of fury she’d ever witnessed in his expression. It was making her heart beat fast, stealing her breath. She had to turn away to escape from it, unsure of where such intense feelings would lead…and not certain she truly wanted to know.
*****
She had been married.
The notion was still a shock to his brain, so much so that he wasn’t able to respond quickly enough to keep her from leaving his side…and he didn’t want her to go. Not yet. There were too many questions he wanted to ask, and he didn’t intend to sit there in silence. Reaching for the crutches, managing to balance himself, he slowly moved himself into the front room where she had gone. She was sitting in front of the fire, and though she didn’t look up at him, her tone was calm and firm when she spoke to him.
“You should be resting, my lord. Overexertion will not do for your recovery.”
He snorted, and spotting a chair nearby, he moved over to it.
“I cannot remain in that room a moment longer.”
She started to rise and help him, but he shook his head. “I can manage on my own, if you do not mind.” Falling into the chair, he let out an exhausted sigh. She answered him in her quiet way.
“Whatever your prefer, my lord.”
“Stop calling me that!”
Right away he winced at his own tone of voice, knowing he was being harsh but unable to change what had long been a habit. Her look was one of hurt…and frustration. Frustration at him, and the idea that she might be tiring of him was something that didn’t sit well with him. He tried to sound softer when he replied, though he couldn’t quite keep the edge off his tone.
“I call you by your name, so you will call me by mine.”
Her look was one of curiosity. But it was preferable to that wounded expression of hers…and ten times better than her look of anger. One of her little smiles would have been a great gift at that moment, but he didn’t want to push too hard. It was enough for the moment that she wasn’t throwing him out entirely. After the way he’d handled her just a little while ago, he wouldn’t have blamed her. He watched as she turned her attention back to the hearth. And as he looked at her, he found himself enjoying the light of the fire as it glowed on her hair. Her lithe little body looked so soft, bathed in the glow of firelight.
What would she do if he went to her right then, pushed her to the floor and had a taste of her? It had been too long since he’d known the sweetness of a woman’s mouth. He hadn’t properly kissed a woman since Marian, and she had never been truly willing. She�
��d never been soft and yielding when he pressed his lips to hers. He recalled the way she grew tense at the feeling of his hands upon her. He silently cursed himself as he reflected on it. What a fool he had been not to see that her hesitation wasn’t born of girlish naiveté…but of contempt for his touch.
There had been other women since her, but kitchen maids and serving wenches didn’t spend much of their time with kissing. And suddenly he wondered…
How sweet would it be to have a woman like Cassia in his bed?
Watching her, seeing her lean over to stoke the logs in the fire, he felt a fierce wave of heat surge through his blood. Only one thought kept him from going to her…from acting on the impulse to press her down in front of the fire.
She was a widow.
The idea that she was no innocent…that she’d once belonged to a husband…still had a great hold on his mind. The woman before him was truly that…a woman. She was not a simple maiden. There was much more to learn about her…and he intended to satisfy his curiosity.
“What was your husband’s name?”
She paused in her actions, but did not look at him. “Edwin.”
“And what of him? What sort of man was he?”
He knew he had no right to pry, but he was too curious. He wanted to know, and he intended to press for information, even if it made her uncomfortable. He was glad, then, when she answered his question without much hesitation, though she still kept her eyes from him.
“He was a sword maker. The Middleton family were all fine craftsmen of the blade. My brother was apprentice to Edwin’s father.”
A sword maker, he thought. Such men of talent were of great value in society, even though they were without rank. He could now see what a great loss it must have been for Cassia. She had not only lost a husband…a chance for a home and family…but with her husband’s death, she had lost her chance for something better in life. To be a merchant’s wife would have been something of value. Not so high a place as a noble, but not so poor a position as she was in now.
The Tempest: A Guy of Gisborne Story Page 5