The Tempest (20 page)

“Stop mewling, Gisborne! Maybe you should have learned your lesson the first time about associating with women! Now you shall have all the time in the world to think about it!”

They forced him into the cell, throwing him against the wall. Just as they were about to chain his feet, a sound of running boots came from down the corridor. A guard came rushing in, nearly out of breath.

“My lord Sheriff! A peasant revolt! Robin Hood and his men are laying siege to the castle!”

The guards nodded, bending down to follow the orders and chain Guy’s hands and feet. They cut the ropes binding his wrists.

Suddenly he rose up, elbowing one guard in the face. He snatched the other by the neck…and looking at the man’s face, he saw that it was the same one who had hit Cassia. Without pause he smashed the man’s head into the iron bars. His rage unchecked, he brought the head back and slammed it again before throwing the man to the ground. The first guard had hardly recovered from the jab to the face when he was thrown against the wall and his arm was jerked behind him, the bone snapping as he screamed in agony. Stealing a knife and a sword from his victims, Guy viciously cut both of their throats, wanting to be sure they were dead. Then he tore from the cell and flew down the corridor…hoping to God he would get to Cassia in time.

He rounded the corner…and saw Briwere being pursued by none other than Hood himself. Seeing Guy, both Robin and the Sheriff froze. Briwere looked back and forth between the two, clearly terrified. Robin and Guy both advanced, one with sword drawn and the other with his arrow at the ready.

“He will face justice from the King, Gisborne. You will not kill him.”

Guy drew a step forward, never taking his eyes from Briwere’s face. “He will die by my hand for what he has done!”

“Your woman lives, Gisborne. Now put down the sword.”

Your woman lives
. Those words registered in only the smallest way, for looking at Briwere, all Guy could see were the years of humiliation and pain, of self-loathing and anguish that had been brought by this vile little being standing before him, cowardly trembling now as he faced his certain end.

From out of nowhere, everything around them shook violently. Without thought for himself or thought of escape, seeing only revenge in his sights, Guy rushed forward and plunged his knife into Briwere’s stomach, hardly satisfied with the blood that soon gurgled from the Sheriff’s mouth. When Briwere hunched over, holding himself, Guy swung his sword in one swift stroke, decapitating his enemy, desecrating his body and silently wishing him to burn in hell.

From close by he thought he heard Hood shouting a denial, but the words were lost when part of the tunnel came crashing down. Guy felt a sudden blow to the head. He could feel himself falling…and then all went black around him.

Dim light glowed against his closed eyes and a soft breeze brushed his face. Fresh air…not the damp, sour smell of the castle dungeons. He blinked, and felt a slight weight over part of his body. Gaining his senses, he saw that part of a wall had fallen over him, leaning against another wall in a way that left him cocooned in the rubble. As his head cleared fully, he realized that most of the corridor where he’d been standing had collapsed, except for the one small space he was in. By some miracle he was alive, and testing his limbs, he found he hadn’t been crushed or mangled. But he didn’t dwell on amazement. Moving carefully, praying that the wall would not collapse, he wriggled out from under the debris. He coughed, the dust in the air choking him. He shook his head…and suddenly remembered everything.

Cassia.
His last sight of her had been of the straw being lit at her feet, of her about to be put to death. But Hood had said she was alive. Had he rescued her? Had he taken her back to his camp? Desperate for answers, he slowly stumbled to his feet and rushed forward…only to be stopped by a startling sight. There, not far from where he stood, was Robin of Locksley, pinned under the heavy weight of stones. Guy went to him, prying away the piles of rock and mortar that covered him. He was alive, but barely. Most of his body had been crushed in the collapse. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, and Guy could hear him gasping. It was a pitiful site, even for his mortal enemy, and he felt a wave of pity come over him. But other matters suddenly flooded his mind, selfish intentions as they might have been, and he took hold of Hood’s shirt.

“Locksley, can you hear me? Where is the girl? What have you done with her?”

Robin wheezed, his voice barely audible. “He is taking her to Marseilles, by way of Portsmouth.”

“He? Who? Who is taking her to Marseilles!” It was a demand, not a simple question, for he could see death taking its hold. Hood gave a gasp. He let out a gurgle, his body shaking…and then nothing. The air slowly escaped his lungs, the light of life fading from his eyes. He was dead, and the answer gone with him.

All around him was chaos, people running to and fro. Hood was dead. The Sheriff was dead…and Cassia was gone.

He rose to his feet, rushing away from the scene, done with Nottingham and all the misery it had ever brought him. Only Cassia mattered to him nw. He rushed towards the castle stables, needing to find a horse, and fast. He was shocked to find the building intact, and even more shocked to see his own familiar horse among the pack. Briwere had probably kept the animal with the intent of selling him, but had never gotten the chance. But it didn’t matter now. Rushing in, he saddled the horse fast and jumped on its back.

He arrived at Chenivier in barely five minutes, leaping from his mount and barreling through the front doors of the house. He flew past the shocked servants in a rush for his bedchamber, where he emptied a jeweled box of its contents. Dumping the gems and gold coins into a velvet purse, he rushed back out again and leapt upon his horse. Bone weary, battered and disheveled…crazed with intent…he started to ride hard towards the coast.

*****

As he went, a stark realization came over him. Whoever had taken her was well on the road ahead. In the time he’d lain senseless under the castle remains, they’d had many hours to travel…and in his condition, he might kill himself with the effort of trying to catch up. Portsmouth was at least two days away, and not even the fastest horse in the world would make it in much less time. For hours he rode on, fighting against the realities of the situation and the desperation to get to her. But the realities eventually won out. He’d not slept properly in days. He’d hardly eaten. From the abuse he’d endured at the hands of his captors, and the collapse of the castle walls, he was battered and bleeding. He was in no shape to go much further, and he knew he must see to himself.

It was dark when he came to a small village, where he at last consented to stopping for the night. His horse was tired, and it wouldn’t do to kill the animal who had brought him this far on his journey. Staggering to a nearby inn, he dug into his purse and found a coin, which he flipped to a stable boy who saw to his horse. He wandered into the establishment to order a room. At first the innkeeper looked at him suspiciously, wondering who this bedraggled, beaten man was and what his intentions were. But when Guy emptied a handful of coins on the table, the innkeeper’s eyes lit up.

“At your service, my lord. There is a room at the left of the stairs. I’ll send a servant up right away.”

Guy’s voice was ragged.

“Find clean garments for me. Bring wine and a meal. And have a hot bath prepared.”
The innkeeper nodded, scurrying away, and Guy dragged himself up the stairs.

*****

He sat in the steaming hot water, his elbows braced on his knees, his weary head in his hands.

He was clean for the first time in days, having viciously scrubbed the filth and stench of the prison room off his body. His belly was full…his nerves slightly dulled from the wine. By all accounts, he should have been falling into a deep slumber.

But his mind was too haunted to be claimed by sleep.

Was she well? What if she was in the hands of someone who meant her harm? Imagining her at the hands of some brute, he trembled with rage.

If anyone dares harm her, I will sever their cowardly limbs from their bodies.

Had the fire touched her in any way? Hood had said she was alive. But what of it? Had she been burned by flame or poisoned by smoke?

How much damage had been done before she’d been saved? Did she know he was alive? Would she still be in Marseilles when he got there? It was maddening to think of travelling so far, only to find her gone.

No,
he thought, shaking his head wildly
. She must be there
.

He feared for the loss of his sanity at the idea of her being gone. But he would not rest until he found her again. She was his life, and nothing mattered to him but having her back.

With fierce determination he rose from the bath, drying himself thoroughly before slipping under the clean sheets. As soon as dawn came he would go after her. He would have her back, and that was all there was to it. For a few short hours, he slipped into a deep sleep.

But late in the night, he suddenly came awake. He tossed and turned, wavering between despair, hope, and rage, as his mind went wild with a terrifying thought.

What if her husband was alive?

He sat up in bed, breathing fast with fear. His hands came up to cup his mouth.

What if Edwin Middleton had returned to claim what was rightfully his? Thoughts of his previous dream…of the man on the white horse, taking her away…tore at his mind and ravaged his heart, and he found himself fighting back a lump in his throat.

It was unthinkable. Cassia…his woman, his life…with someone else. Being held. Being kissed. Being…

He shook his head. Incensed…horrified at the thought of her with lying with another man, he rose up from the bed in a mad dash of movement. He prowled the floor, coming to stand before the window. Placing his hands upon the casement, he hung his head…letting out a shuddering sigh.

His pain was sharp and sickening, a barbed thing that could not be extracted from his chest. His head began to wag in denial.

Oh God, how can I let her go? I cannot give her up…I cannot live without her.

She could not be lost to him. To lose her love would be his end. Already he felt crippled by the silence surrounding him…the empty space. A reminder that he was alone, and that the distance between them was vast.

But he did not care how long it took. He would have her back. And he did not care if her husband had reclaimed her.