Tender Loving Care, Part 2
+++++
“Hood!” Guy shouted, propelling himself out of bed. Pain shot through his shoulder, slowing him down. The shadowy figure leaped to the door, fumbling with the latch, and Guy staggered towards him. “Edward! Marion!”
He didn’t have time to shout “Wake up!” The figure spun around and kicked out with one leg, lifting it high and slamming his foot hard into Guy’s wounded shoulder. The force of the kick sent Guy staggering backwards, where he bumped against the bed and collapsed backwards onto it. For several terrible seconds, all he could do was lay there and scream inarticulately.
“Sir Guy!” That was Edward’s voice from the doorway.
“Locksley!” Guy shouted, struggling to sit up. “Catch him!”
“Where?”
“Down the stairs!” Guy listened to Edward make his way down the steps and then, after what seemed like an eternity, come back up. He had lit a candle and was carrying it carefully up the stairs; the light preceded him and showed his face when he finally arrived.
“There’s no one here,” he reported. “Perhaps you were dreaming?”
“He was here! Robin Hood was here!” Guy shouted. Then he realized something. “Where’s Marion?”
Edward glanced around in dismay and called out as well. “Marion!”
There was an answer from downstairs, and then the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. “Father? Sir Guy? What’s wrong?”
“Sir Guy claims Robin was here,” Edward explained.
“Where were you?” Guy demanded. “Did you sneak out to meet him?”
“I was in the privy,” Marion stated. “And I saw and heard no one. You must have been dreaming, Sir Guy.”
“I saw him!” Guy cried. “I saw Locksley!”
“Have you taken a fever already?” Marion came into the room and laid her hand on his forehead. Her fingers were soft and surprisingly warm. He wanted to grab her hand and kiss it, but she took it away too quickly.
“You do not feel hot,” she stated.
“I saw Hood,” Guy said. “He kicked me. And look! The window is open! It was not open when I fell asleep.”
Edward looked surprised, then angry.
“I opened it when I went to the privy,” Marion said blithely. “I looked in to make sure you were all right, and it stank of wine in here.”
Edward sniffed. “I cannot smell any wine.”
“That is because I opened the window,” Marion explained slowly, as though speaking to a particularly stupid child. She and her father exchanged the same set of stares that they had done earlier that evening, one hard, the other defiant.
“You had a nightmare,” Edward finally said. He went to the window and looked out, then fastened the shutters. “There are still a few hours until dawn. Let us all go back to sleep.”
Grudgingly, Guy arranged himself under the covers again. He had not been dreaming. The pain in his shoulder had been too real, even for a nightmare. Someone had been there. It took a long time for him to fall asleep, and when he woke up again, he felt distinctly bleary-eyed and short-tempered.
There was a tap at the door. “Sir Guy, are you awake?”
Marion! Guy sat up, moving his left arm without thinking, and let out a yelp of pain. Marion must have taken the sound as an invitation, because she opened the door and entered.
“Good morning, Sir Guy,” she said, then stopped and bent down to pick something off the floor. “I was about to bring you downstairs for breakfast, but I see I should not have bothered.”
“What?” he asked. “Why?”
“You did have a visitor last night, but it was not Robin.” She held up a small pie. “It was the Nightwatchman.”
“The Nightwatchman!” Guy felt anger surge through him. “Here?”
“He must have heard that you had been injured,” Marion said brightly, tossing the pie into Guy’s lap, then made a show of scanning the floor more carefully. “Is there a ha’penny here, too? Then we will know that he wanted to make sure you could still pay your taxes and have enough to eat, too.”
Feeling mocked, Guy picked the pie up and hurled it into the wall, where it smashed most satisfyingly and slid to the floor in a glorious mess.
“I am not poor and I am not an invalid!” he shouted. “I do not need the Nightwatchman to bring food or money to my bedside!”
Marion stared at him in consternation, then said quietly, “You’ve been bleeding again.”
Guy glanced down at his shoulder, where there was a huge dark spot on the bandage. Marion came over and lifted the corner of the cloth for a peek. The blood had dried, and she had to tug a little to reveal the wound. “This stitch has ripped completely through.”
“The Nightwatchman,” Guy growled. “He kicked me right there, as though he knew exactly where I was wounded!”
Marion shook her head. “Surely it was accidental. Oh, I wish I had never opened that window!”
She sounded so fierce and so concerned about him that Guy’s heart melted a little, but he was still angry. He wondered if the man who had shot him in the first place was actually the Nightwatchman, and decided it was a good possibility. Who else knew where the arrow had gone in? Maybe the man had tried to sneak in and finish him off, and had dropped the pie in the struggle. Yes, it had to be. Only the pain in Guy’s shoulder had saved him from being stabbed in his sleep. “When I meet that Nightwatchman, I will kill him.”
Instead of gazing approvingly into his eyes, as he’d half-hoped, Marion kept her head down and said only, “I will have to stitch that again. Come downstairs.”
Guy was not as shaky that morning as he had been the night before, and made it downstairs under his own power. Edward was sitting at the head of the table, but relinquished his place to Guy and took a seat on the bench instead. Turning the chair so that it would better catch the light from the window, Marion motioned for Guy to sit down. Then she carefully undid the strips that held the bandage in place, and Guy closed his eyes to better enjoy the feeling of her fingertips on his skin. The splash of cold water made him jump in surprise.
“Sorry,” Marion said, ducking the rag into the bucket again. “I should have warned you.”
Marion finished washing the blood from Guy’s chest, then cut a length of thread and picked up the needle. Guy watched her hands until they stilled suddenly, then glanced up to find her looking at him. He smiled hesitantly, hopefully, but Marion didn’t smile back. Frowning in concentration, she bored the needle into his skin until he thought she must mean for it to come out his back. He couldn’t help making a sound of protest.
“Do not be so clumsy, Marion,” Edward chided her.
“This would be easier with a curved needle,” Marion muttered as she continued to push. The tip of the needle finally emerged on the other side of the wound and she pulled it through, then gently tied a knot in the thread and cut the ends short. “If I am to do this more often, I will have to ask the blacksmith if he could make some for me.”
Guy wondered if he should get to the blacksmith first and commission curved needles as a gift. Not that he intended to get shot again, but now that Robin Hood and this Nightwatchman both seemed to have arrows reserved for him, it was probably best to be prepared. And Marion’s ministrations were so much more tender than those of the physician.
Marion laid a pad of clean cloth over the wound and used fresh strips to tie the bandage in place. When she’d finished with that, she stepped to the end of the table and returned with a folded shirt. “I’ve washed the blood from your clothes and hung them up.”
“We will bring them to Locksley when they are dry,” Edward put in. “In the meantime, I have sent a message to the castle for your sergeant to send a coach.”
Guy nodded acknowledgement.
“You can wear this for now.” Marion held out a men’s shirt. Assuming that it was one of Edward’s, Guy allowed her to dress him in it, starting with his left arm, then pulling the collar and the right sleeve down at the same time. She was careful, but he still had cause to hiss once or twice with pain. When she’d finished, she said, “I will make a sling for your arm.”
She picked up a familiar looking roll of gauzy material, and as she shook it out, Guy recognized the shawl she’d wanted to gag him with the night before.
“Do you value my present so little, that you would use it for this?” Guy growled as Marion arranged it around his arm.
Marion flushed and looked away. “On – on the contrary, Sir Guy. Is it not the custom for a lady to give her knight a token of her appreciation … when he has expressed an interest in her?”
“Oh,” he said, feeling stupid and pleased at the same time. “I apologize. I – I know little of such customs.”
Her knight! She’d called him her knight!
Forgivig him with a quick smile, Marion leaned forward and knotted the ends of the shawl around his neck. “All done. Would you like some porridge now?”
Guy leaned back, smiling as well and thinking, This is what it would be like if we were married. Aloud, he said, “Thank you.”
As Marion went off to the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. Edward went to open it, then stepped back to let Guy’s sergeant enter.
“Sir Guy,” the sergeant said. “The coach is here.”
“My horse is in the stables,” Guy told him. “See to him.”
“I’ll show you,” Edward volunteered, and they both went out. Guy realized that the breeze from the open door was chilling his bare feet, and lifted his voice. “Marion! I need my boots!”
“A moment, Sir Guy,” she called back. She sounded harassed, and Guy remembered that they didn’t have any servants here at Knighton Hall. Perhaps they could not afford to keep them, now that Edward was no longer sheriff of Nottingham.
Marion emerged from the kitchen with a hunk of bread and a covered tankard, and placed both before Guy. “Bread and beer will be easier for you to eat on the way.”
“I appreciate your kindness,” Guy said, lifting the tankard to toast her. Marion had already turned to flit up the stairs, however, and didn’t see it. She returned quickly with his possessions in her hands. Laying his sword belt carefully on the table, Marion arranged his boots on the floor next to his feet and stepped back. Guy stretched his legs and waited expectantly until she realized he wouldn’t be able to get them on by himself. He loved watching her blush.
Marion knelt down and picked up one boot, but just then, Edward came back in and said, “Marion, let the sergeant do that.”
Groaning inwardly, Guy submitted to having his sergeant wrestle his boots onto his feet and buckle his sword belt around his waist. He waited for the man to jostle his arm so that he would have an excuse to give him an angry shove, but the man was too careful, leaving Guy feeling even more disgruntled. All too soon, it was time to say good-bye. Tucking the bread into his sling, Guy took the tankard in his hand and walked to the door, then turned around.
“My thanks, my lady,” he said. “Edward.”
“Get well soon,” Marion said, and Edward merely nodded.
During the ride, Guy ate and daydreamed of excuses to visit Marion again soon. The stitches would have be taken out, but that would not be for days yet. Perhaps he could complain of fever and ask her to check for signs of infection. He had to return the tankard, anyway. And the shirt. And pick up his clothes once they were dry. Maybe he should do that to-morrow, before they took the opportunity away from him by sending his things to Locksley for one of his servants to deal with. There were so many possibilities that Guy was still smiling when they reached the castle, and did not even bother to hide it when the Sheriff came down the steps to the courtyard.
No doubt the man had come to gloat, to see his lieutenant with his arm in a sling and unable to control his horse. Guy watched the Sheriff’s eyes raking over his borrowed shirt and coming to rest on the very feminine shawl. Then the Sheriff lifted his eyebrows and asked simply, “Love bite?”
The End
written December 2007
“Hood!” Guy shouted, propelling himself out of bed. Pain shot through his shoulder, slowing him down. The shadowy figure leaped to the door, fumbling with the latch, and Guy staggered towards him. “Edward! Marion!”
He didn’t have time to shout “Wake up!” The figure spun around and kicked out with one leg, lifting it high and slamming his foot hard into Guy’s wounded shoulder. The force of the kick sent Guy staggering backwards, where he bumped against the bed and collapsed backwards onto it. For several terrible seconds, all he could do was lay there and scream inarticulately.
“Sir Guy!” That was Edward’s voice from the doorway.
“Locksley!” Guy shouted, struggling to sit up. “Catch him!”
“Where?”
“Down the stairs!” Guy listened to Edward make his way down the steps and then, after what seemed like an eternity, come back up. He had lit a candle and was carrying it carefully up the stairs; the light preceded him and showed his face when he finally arrived.
“There’s no one here,” he reported. “Perhaps you were dreaming?”
“He was here! Robin Hood was here!” Guy shouted. Then he realized something. “Where’s Marion?”
Edward glanced around in dismay and called out as well. “Marion!”
There was an answer from downstairs, and then the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. “Father? Sir Guy? What’s wrong?”
“Sir Guy claims Robin was here,” Edward explained.
“Where were you?” Guy demanded. “Did you sneak out to meet him?”
“I was in the privy,” Marion stated. “And I saw and heard no one. You must have been dreaming, Sir Guy.”
“I saw him!” Guy cried. “I saw Locksley!”
“Have you taken a fever already?” Marion came into the room and laid her hand on his forehead. Her fingers were soft and surprisingly warm. He wanted to grab her hand and kiss it, but she took it away too quickly.
“You do not feel hot,” she stated.
“I saw Hood,” Guy said. “He kicked me. And look! The window is open! It was not open when I fell asleep.”
Edward looked surprised, then angry.
“I opened it when I went to the privy,” Marion said blithely. “I looked in to make sure you were all right, and it stank of wine in here.”
Edward sniffed. “I cannot smell any wine.”
“That is because I opened the window,” Marion explained slowly, as though speaking to a particularly stupid child. She and her father exchanged the same set of stares that they had done earlier that evening, one hard, the other defiant.
“You had a nightmare,” Edward finally said. He went to the window and looked out, then fastened the shutters. “There are still a few hours until dawn. Let us all go back to sleep.”
Grudgingly, Guy arranged himself under the covers again. He had not been dreaming. The pain in his shoulder had been too real, even for a nightmare. Someone had been there. It took a long time for him to fall asleep, and when he woke up again, he felt distinctly bleary-eyed and short-tempered.
There was a tap at the door. “Sir Guy, are you awake?”
Marion! Guy sat up, moving his left arm without thinking, and let out a yelp of pain. Marion must have taken the sound as an invitation, because she opened the door and entered.
“Good morning, Sir Guy,” she said, then stopped and bent down to pick something off the floor. “I was about to bring you downstairs for breakfast, but I see I should not have bothered.”
“What?” he asked. “Why?”
“You did have a visitor last night, but it was not Robin.” She held up a small pie. “It was the Nightwatchman.”
“The Nightwatchman!” Guy felt anger surge through him. “Here?”
“He must have heard that you had been injured,” Marion said brightly, tossing the pie into Guy’s lap, then made a show of scanning the floor more carefully. “Is there a ha’penny here, too? Then we will know that he wanted to make sure you could still pay your taxes and have enough to eat, too.”
Feeling mocked, Guy picked the pie up and hurled it into the wall, where it smashed most satisfyingly and slid to the floor in a glorious mess.
“I am not poor and I am not an invalid!” he shouted. “I do not need the Nightwatchman to bring food or money to my bedside!”
Marion stared at him in consternation, then said quietly, “You’ve been bleeding again.”
Guy glanced down at his shoulder, where there was a huge dark spot on the bandage. Marion came over and lifted the corner of the cloth for a peek. The blood had dried, and she had to tug a little to reveal the wound. “This stitch has ripped completely through.”
“The Nightwatchman,” Guy growled. “He kicked me right there, as though he knew exactly where I was wounded!”
Marion shook her head. “Surely it was accidental. Oh, I wish I had never opened that window!”
She sounded so fierce and so concerned about him that Guy’s heart melted a little, but he was still angry. He wondered if the man who had shot him in the first place was actually the Nightwatchman, and decided it was a good possibility. Who else knew where the arrow had gone in? Maybe the man had tried to sneak in and finish him off, and had dropped the pie in the struggle. Yes, it had to be. Only the pain in Guy’s shoulder had saved him from being stabbed in his sleep. “When I meet that Nightwatchman, I will kill him.”
Instead of gazing approvingly into his eyes, as he’d half-hoped, Marion kept her head down and said only, “I will have to stitch that again. Come downstairs.”
Guy was not as shaky that morning as he had been the night before, and made it downstairs under his own power. Edward was sitting at the head of the table, but relinquished his place to Guy and took a seat on the bench instead. Turning the chair so that it would better catch the light from the window, Marion motioned for Guy to sit down. Then she carefully undid the strips that held the bandage in place, and Guy closed his eyes to better enjoy the feeling of her fingertips on his skin. The splash of cold water made him jump in surprise.
“Sorry,” Marion said, ducking the rag into the bucket again. “I should have warned you.”
Marion finished washing the blood from Guy’s chest, then cut a length of thread and picked up the needle. Guy watched her hands until they stilled suddenly, then glanced up to find her looking at him. He smiled hesitantly, hopefully, but Marion didn’t smile back. Frowning in concentration, she bored the needle into his skin until he thought she must mean for it to come out his back. He couldn’t help making a sound of protest.
“Do not be so clumsy, Marion,” Edward chided her.
“This would be easier with a curved needle,” Marion muttered as she continued to push. The tip of the needle finally emerged on the other side of the wound and she pulled it through, then gently tied a knot in the thread and cut the ends short. “If I am to do this more often, I will have to ask the blacksmith if he could make some for me.”
Guy wondered if he should get to the blacksmith first and commission curved needles as a gift. Not that he intended to get shot again, but now that Robin Hood and this Nightwatchman both seemed to have arrows reserved for him, it was probably best to be prepared. And Marion’s ministrations were so much more tender than those of the physician.
Marion laid a pad of clean cloth over the wound and used fresh strips to tie the bandage in place. When she’d finished with that, she stepped to the end of the table and returned with a folded shirt. “I’ve washed the blood from your clothes and hung them up.”
“We will bring them to Locksley when they are dry,” Edward put in. “In the meantime, I have sent a message to the castle for your sergeant to send a coach.”
Guy nodded acknowledgement.
“You can wear this for now.” Marion held out a men’s shirt. Assuming that it was one of Edward’s, Guy allowed her to dress him in it, starting with his left arm, then pulling the collar and the right sleeve down at the same time. She was careful, but he still had cause to hiss once or twice with pain. When she’d finished, she said, “I will make a sling for your arm.”
She picked up a familiar looking roll of gauzy material, and as she shook it out, Guy recognized the shawl she’d wanted to gag him with the night before.
“Do you value my present so little, that you would use it for this?” Guy growled as Marion arranged it around his arm.
Marion flushed and looked away. “On – on the contrary, Sir Guy. Is it not the custom for a lady to give her knight a token of her appreciation … when he has expressed an interest in her?”
“Oh,” he said, feeling stupid and pleased at the same time. “I apologize. I – I know little of such customs.”
Her knight! She’d called him her knight!
Forgivig him with a quick smile, Marion leaned forward and knotted the ends of the shawl around his neck. “All done. Would you like some porridge now?”
Guy leaned back, smiling as well and thinking, This is what it would be like if we were married. Aloud, he said, “Thank you.”
As Marion went off to the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. Edward went to open it, then stepped back to let Guy’s sergeant enter.
“Sir Guy,” the sergeant said. “The coach is here.”
“My horse is in the stables,” Guy told him. “See to him.”
“I’ll show you,” Edward volunteered, and they both went out. Guy realized that the breeze from the open door was chilling his bare feet, and lifted his voice. “Marion! I need my boots!”
“A moment, Sir Guy,” she called back. She sounded harassed, and Guy remembered that they didn’t have any servants here at Knighton Hall. Perhaps they could not afford to keep them, now that Edward was no longer sheriff of Nottingham.
Marion emerged from the kitchen with a hunk of bread and a covered tankard, and placed both before Guy. “Bread and beer will be easier for you to eat on the way.”
“I appreciate your kindness,” Guy said, lifting the tankard to toast her. Marion had already turned to flit up the stairs, however, and didn’t see it. She returned quickly with his possessions in her hands. Laying his sword belt carefully on the table, Marion arranged his boots on the floor next to his feet and stepped back. Guy stretched his legs and waited expectantly until she realized he wouldn’t be able to get them on by himself. He loved watching her blush.
Marion knelt down and picked up one boot, but just then, Edward came back in and said, “Marion, let the sergeant do that.”
Groaning inwardly, Guy submitted to having his sergeant wrestle his boots onto his feet and buckle his sword belt around his waist. He waited for the man to jostle his arm so that he would have an excuse to give him an angry shove, but the man was too careful, leaving Guy feeling even more disgruntled. All too soon, it was time to say good-bye. Tucking the bread into his sling, Guy took the tankard in his hand and walked to the door, then turned around.
“My thanks, my lady,” he said. “Edward.”
“Get well soon,” Marion said, and Edward merely nodded.
During the ride, Guy ate and daydreamed of excuses to visit Marion again soon. The stitches would have be taken out, but that would not be for days yet. Perhaps he could complain of fever and ask her to check for signs of infection. He had to return the tankard, anyway. And the shirt. And pick up his clothes once they were dry. Maybe he should do that to-morrow, before they took the opportunity away from him by sending his things to Locksley for one of his servants to deal with. There were so many possibilities that Guy was still smiling when they reached the castle, and did not even bother to hide it when the Sheriff came down the steps to the courtyard.
No doubt the man had come to gloat, to see his lieutenant with his arm in a sling and unable to control his horse. Guy watched the Sheriff’s eyes raking over his borrowed shirt and coming to rest on the very feminine shawl. Then the Sheriff lifted his eyebrows and asked simply, “Love bite?”
The End
written December 2007