The Dragon of Throxenby, Part 6
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Striding into the stables, Guy called loudly for his horse to be saddled. One of the youngest stable boys popped up out of an empty box where he'd been napping, and fumbled with the tack as Guy glared impatiently at him. At last the horse was ready, and Guy rode out, not really caring where he went. He was just glad to get away, to let the pain in his heart subside, to be on his own for a while and not have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing around Quenilda.
Quenilda! For one incredible moment, he'd been back in that village in the Holy Land and none of it had ever happened. His sword had missed, and his beloved hadn't been killed, only surprised. And he'd sheathed his weapon and had kissed her – and it hadn't been Marian at all. It had been Quenilda.
But the kiss had been sweet, sweeter than any kiss of Marian's, he realized. Or was the comparison unfair because the memory of Marian's kisses was now irrevocably tainted with the memory of her betrayal and the revelation of her lies to him? Quenilda had been surprised, and obviously innocent in the art of kissing, and Guy found himself hoping that those were the only reasons she'd tried to shake him off. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if she found him revolting, or wanted to distract him, or because she was in love with someone else. Then he wondered what it would be like if he kissed her again. Would she enjoy it? Would she be willing to kiss him back, him, Sir Guy of Gisborne, who was notorious throughout England because he was the enemy of Robin Hood and had killed the woman they both had loved?
No. Ridiculous. He shouldn't even be dreaming of it. Thinking of Marian reminded Guy of what he was capable of doing, and he felt a shiver run through him. He'd already hurt Quenilda once by accident, and if he had not killed her just now, then it was nothing short of a miracle that had kept his sword from going right through her. She'd been stupid to get between two men who were fighting, but at least she'd only been trying to protect her grandfather. She hadn't been spouting words that included love for another man and making him desperate to stop those words. No. He didn't want to think about that – he never wanted to remember Marian's confession or her declaration of her feelings for Robin Hood again.
Turning his thoughts back to Quenilda, which was surprisingly easy, Guy determined that he was not going to love her, or Isolda, or anybody else. He certainly wasn't going to give himself the chance to hurt her again, or, he hastily added to himself, any other member of her family. It was bad enough having Hood after his blood, he didn't want the Earl chasing him down as well. Anyway, he already had so much guilt on his shoulders that he felt as though he were staggering under its weight; even the slightest hurt to Quenilda would be enough to crush him. Knowing that he could not take even the least little bit more, Guy decided he had better leave, quickly, before anything else happened, accident or no.
Without noticing, Guy had come to the place where the dragon had been killed. Its corpse hulked there still, stinking and blackened with fire and decay. No one had been able to move it, though to judge from the remains of daggers, knives, axes, and even a sword on the ground nearby, more than one person had tried to cut it up. Ignoring the way his horse danced uneasily beneath him, eager to be away from the stench, Guy walked him around the dragon to its head and sat there, staring down at it.
He'd killed it. He, Guy of Gisborne, had slain the dragon that nobody else had been able to vanquish, and not only that, he'd done it alone, with no help from anybody else. Here was the proof that, no matter what the Sheriff of Nottingham said, he was not incompetent. Now, at long last, he was a force to be reckoned with, the hero of songs, no longer the idiot and laughingstock of Sherwood Forest. And speaking of Sherwood, there was a dragon there that needed to be slain, too, a dragon without wings, by the name of Hood. Suddenly, Guy felt as though hunting him down and killing him would be as easy as snapping his fingers, and he smirked to himself.
Guy's horse snorted uneasily, interrupting Guy's fantasy, and he gave the dragon one last look before turning his horse and letting it walk back the way they'd come. He'd ask Thurstan about Hood before he left; the man had prophesied that he'd be able to kill the dragon, after all, maybe he could prophesy the same about Guy slaying Hood. Maybe "sacrificing" a maiden in the forest would attract Hood's attention and bring him out where Guy could kill him. Guy smirked again. Hood would definitely want to save an innocent maiden from the evil Guy of Gisborne.
Thinking of maidens as a lure, Guy remembered what they'd said about the dragon. Did it really only eat maidens, as Thurstan had implied? Or had there been another reason why only maidens could be sacrified to it? He recalled hearing Quenilda's scream and thinking it was Marian – he knew he wouldn't have reacted if he'd heard a man shouting. He'd have ignored it and kept riding, not expecting an attack from the air, and the dragon would have flamed him and his horse to death before he'd even known of its existence. Just imagining it made Guy break out into a cold sweat.
Surprised by his own reaction, Guy wondered when he had changed from welcoming death to enjoying life again. There had been a time, only a few weeks ago, when the idea of being killed, even by a dragon, wouldn’t have bothered him at all. But when he returned to Throxenby and saw Quenilda, standing on the steps of the keep, he knew. And she was smiling as though she'd missed him and had been watching eagerly for his return.
Guy's first reaction was to return her broad smile, but then the memory of his sword slicing much too close to her clothing came to mind, and he looked away.
"Sir Guy, you came back," Quenilda said as Guy dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy. "I was worried that you might have set out for Nottingham already and been set upon by those robbers."
"What robbers?" Guy asked.
"The ones in my dream," she said. "The ones who wanted to take you to Robin Hood for the bounty."
"That was only a dream," Guy told her roughly, even though he was certain there was an entire kingdom of men outside of Throxenby who would do exactly that, and for less money as well.
Giving him another soft smile, which made Guy clench his fists against the temptation of grabbing and kissing her again, Quenilda said, "Come inside and warm up now, Sir Guy, it will be time to eat soon."
Although there was actually more than enough time before the evening meal, Guy did not have the opportunity to talk to the Earl that he'd hoped would arise. And even after the food was served, the topics of conversation did not at first allow him to raise the subject that weighed heavily in his thoughts. Although he was seated between the Earl himself and Thurstan, Guy scarcely got a chance to speak, as the older man was busy relating, with Quenilda's help, their versions of what had happened at the healing spring. At last, however, the Earl turned his attention to Guy and remarked, "You must be feeling very much recovered, Sir Guy, if you can walk and fight and ride on the same day."
"It was scarcely a fight," Guy snorted, "but yes, my lord, I am recovered."
"What do you say, my daughter?" the Earl asked, glancing over at Quenilda.
"Physically, my lord, he is quite recovered," Quenilda replied. She was at the far end of the high table; Guy saw her lean forward and beam happily at him.
"Well," the Earl said, looking at his daughter and then at Guy, his eyes twinkling. Too late, Guy remembered the Earl's injunction about when they would discuss marriage again, and groaned inwardly. He looked away, and caught sight of Isolda's frightened face peeping around her mother's shoulder, her obvious dread making Guy want to roll his eyes. She couldn't seriously be worried that he would choose her, could she? No, he wasn't going to be taken in by a pretty face again. Quenilda might not be as beautiful, but at least she could stand being in his presence, and talk normally with him and even send genuine smiles in his direction. Nor had he seen any signs yet that her heart yearned for somebody else; in fact, her gentle way and all of her smiles made it seem as though she actually liked him. Even the Sheriff would have to concede that she was much less of a leper than any other woman he'd ever met. She'd make him a good wife – if he wanted a wife. Which, he reminded himself very sternly, he did not.
"I'm definitely recovered enough to go back to Nottingham," Guy announced more gruffly than he'd intended. "And with your permission, my lord, I'll say my good-byes this evening and leave early in the morning."
"Before I give my permission, Sir Guy, I must ask you one last time if you have considered my offer carefully," the Earl said.
"I have, my lord," Guy replied. He didn't look at Quenilda. Certain that he'd cause her harm sooner or later, and knowing that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did, Guy strengthened his resolve. "I cannot accept."
He hesitated, then heard himself say, "My lord, you – and your family – have saved my life. That's more than enough reward for killing the dragon."
"And you've spared my life by keeping my daughters alive," the Earl said. "I suppose that means we're even."
He turned slightly in his seat and extended his hand, and after a moment of surprise, Guy took it. They shook solemnly.
"Right, then," the Earl said, and went back to eating. Guy heard Isolda sigh in relief, but didn't look in her direction. Nor did he want to see Quenilda's expression, as he was sure it would be hurt, disappointed, and perhaps even reproachful as well.
"My lord, you must send a guard with him," Quenilda said suddenly, and everybody at the table turned to look at her. "Two would be better."
"I don't need a guard," Guy objected, but the Earl held up one hand to cut him off. "Is this just a precaution because of the rumour, my daughter?"
"I dreamed that Sir Guy left Throxenby alone and was attacked by robbers," Quenilda said, and Guy recalled her saying the same thing to him earlier. "They wanted to take him to Robin Hood for the reward."
"Did they succeed?" the Earl asked, and Quenilda frowned. "My dream ended there, my lord. I cannot say."
The Earl frowned as well. "Two guards, then." He motioned to his steward, who came up behind him so that the Earl could give him the appropriate instructions.
"You're sending two guards with me because of a dream, my lord?" Guy asked as the steward bowed and went to do the Earl's bidding.
"It's not just any dream, Sir Guy!"
At first, Guy didn't recognize the voice, and glanced down the table to see who had spoken. To his great surprise, it was Isolda, who had swiftly overcome her fear of him now that she was certain to remain safely in her father's household, and was even daring to glare in his direction. Guy raised his eyebrows as Isolda went on, "She's got the second sight, just like Grandfather Thurstan! She was the one who saw the dragon coming, and if she says you're going to be attacked by robbers, Sir Guy, then you will be, and you should be grateful for the warning!"
From the firmness in the tone of her voice, Guy half expected her to reveal that she was glad that it was going to happen, and maybe even add that Guy deserved to be trussed up and delivered to Hood despite having slain the dragon and saved her life. But Isolda's courage ended there, her face turned red, and she ducked away again out of sight, even before her mother could hiss her name in rebuke.
"Izzy!" Quenilda exclaimed with an exaggeratedly quiet voice that Guy could hear nonetheless. "I didn't want him to know about the second sight!"
"Why not?" Isolda replied in the same tone. "Everybody else does!"
Quenilda might have said more, but the Earl broke in. "Well. Yes. After a little trial and error when they first started, we've all learned to pay attention to Quenilda's dreams since then."
"Really," Guy said, intrigued. "What else have you dreamed, Lady Quenilda?"
"Nothing about Robin Hood," Quenilda replied rapidly.
"Then how did you know that was what I was going to ask, my lady?" Guy shot back, and Quenilda said, "I didn't, but at the moment, there are only two things that everybody wants to know, and since you've already told us you won't be marrying ..."
She let her voice trail off because the conclusion was logical, and smiled a little. By this time, the atmosphere around the table was positively jovial, and Guy found himself smiling back as well. Before he could stop himself, he'd asked, "Did you already dream about that too, then?"
Quenilda shook her head. "No, Sir Guy. The only dream I've had about you is the one I told you about, with the robbers. But perhaps my grandfather … ?"
Everybody at the table turned their heads to look beyond Guy to Thurstan, and Guy twisted around to face the man as well. Looking directly into his face in that disconcerting way that made Guy think he could see well enough after all, Thurstan said, "I dreamed about the way that Osbert the guard attacked you, Sir Guy."
Guy waited for a moment, but when no other details were forthcoming, he asked, "That's all?"
"That's all," Thurstan agreed. "I wish I'd seen more – I would have liked to have known when to duck, so that Osbert didn't half-break my nose!"
Guy smiled politely, and when the others had finished laughing, he asked, "So how do you know if it's the second sight, or merely a dream?"
"Because usually I'm awake when they come," Thurstan said, then smiled a little. "I only call them dreams. Sometimes they're as strange as dreams, other times they're as clear as life. And sometimes it's only a feeling."
"Sometimes it's like remembering something I didn't know I knew," Quenilda put in, and Thurstan nodded slowly in agreement.
"Can you make the dreams come?" Guy asked. "Can you tell me who will kill Robin Hood and when, for instance?"
"No," Thurstan replied firmly. "I've been trying my entire life, but I can't control the dreams, any more than a man can control the rain or the sunshine."
"If they could dream on demand, before you know it, Robin Hood might come here and ask the same thing about Sir Guy," Isolda murmured into her mother's ear, but everybody else heard it as well. Frowning, Guy reached for his goblet of wine. He was only slightly disappointed at Thurstan's answer, but remained determined that he'd get Hood, with or without the help of any dreams.
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The next morning, the weather had changed for the worse, with both rain and wind, and the two guards were already sitting on their horses with the hoods of their cloaks pulled over their heads when Guy approached the stables. Saying good-bye had taken longer than Guy had expected, and he was glad that he could simply get onto his horse and set off; he didn't want to delay any longer. As he rode out, however, he took one last look at the keep and its arrow-slit windows, and felt a pang of sorrow that he could not quite ignore.
They rode in silence. Mindful of Quenilda's dream, Guy was suspicious of everybody they met on the road, but everybody hurried by with scarcely a glance in their direction. Considering the weather, Guy couldn't blame them for keeping their heads bowed, and was also not surprised when, soon enough, they had the road to themselves. Eventually, however, they caught up and overtook a lumbering covered wagon.
"Gotta make a little rain of my own," the guard on Guy's right announced suddenly, guiding his horse to the side of the path where there was a tree and some scraggly bushes. "Anybody else?"
Deciding he might as well take advantage of the stop, Guy followed and dismounted as well. He'd just finished doing up his trousers again when something slammed into the back of his skull, sending him to his hands and knees in the mud. Dazed, his head throbbing, Guy was only vaguely aware of someone pushing him down completely, then pulling at his arms and lashing his wrists together behind his back. They rolled him over, sending an agonizing wave of pain through his cranium, and then someone was sitting on his chest, pulling Guy's mouth open with his fingers. Guy felt something hard against his teeth, and then liquid gushed into his mouth; not rain, but some kind of a sickening herbal concoction. Instinctively, Guy tried to turn his head, to spit it out, but the man gripped his chin with one hand and forced his mouth closed. He pinched Guy's nostrils shut, too, using his other hand. As Guy struggled for breath, he thought he saw, for one single moment of clarity, the face of Osbert the guard appear next to that of the younger guard.
The guard released Guy' face as soon as he'd swallowed down the noxious potion, and Guy gasped for air. His head had cleared enough that he could clearly recognize the man who was still sitting on his chest, and the one kneeling next to him, and he realized he'd seen correctly. It was indeed Osbert, and the other, younger guard who'd attacked him, but in the moment that he recognized them, they got to their feet and pulled him upright as well. Trying to fight back despite his tied hands, Guy lowered his head to butt the younger one in the chest, but Osbert pulled him around by one shoulder and sank his knee hard into Guy's groin. Pain of a dimension that Guy had rarely experienced robbed him of his ability to move, speak, or even breathe, and he was helpless to resist as Osbert bent down slightly and lifted Guy over his shoulder.
Osbert carried him a few steps, then tossed him hard onto the empty bed of a covered wagon. Guy must have blacked out for a few moments, because the next thing he knew, the younger guard was kneeling in the wagon and lashing his ankles round with rope.
"Why do we have to tie 'im up when he'll be asleep soon, anyway?" he was asking.
Groggily, Guy lifted his head. His groin still ached, but at least he could breathe again and even demand, "What're you doing?" at the same time as he rolled onto his side and kicked out with both legs. The young guard dodged and Guy missed.
"That's why!" Osbert exclaimed, laughing at them from his perch on the back of the wagon. From the driver's seat, a different voice ordered, "Luke, tie his ankles to his wrists."
"Hugh, shouldn't that poppy juice have taken effect by now?" Luke grizzled, struggling with Guy for a moment and finally hitting him behind his knees to make his legs bend. He hauled Guy's ankles up and connected them to his wrists with a length of rope, then pulled it taut and knotted it well.
Effectively unable to move, Guy laid his head on the floorboards in defeat, wondering if it were the same covered wagon they'd overtaken just a few hundred yards back. It must be, and yet he was suddenly too tired now to consider the significance of it, or to speculate about what they were doing. The last thing he heard before closing his eyes was Osbert saying, "There's somebody coming – it's Lady Quenilda!"
Part 7
Striding into the stables, Guy called loudly for his horse to be saddled. One of the youngest stable boys popped up out of an empty box where he'd been napping, and fumbled with the tack as Guy glared impatiently at him. At last the horse was ready, and Guy rode out, not really caring where he went. He was just glad to get away, to let the pain in his heart subside, to be on his own for a while and not have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing around Quenilda.
Quenilda! For one incredible moment, he'd been back in that village in the Holy Land and none of it had ever happened. His sword had missed, and his beloved hadn't been killed, only surprised. And he'd sheathed his weapon and had kissed her – and it hadn't been Marian at all. It had been Quenilda.
But the kiss had been sweet, sweeter than any kiss of Marian's, he realized. Or was the comparison unfair because the memory of Marian's kisses was now irrevocably tainted with the memory of her betrayal and the revelation of her lies to him? Quenilda had been surprised, and obviously innocent in the art of kissing, and Guy found himself hoping that those were the only reasons she'd tried to shake him off. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if she found him revolting, or wanted to distract him, or because she was in love with someone else. Then he wondered what it would be like if he kissed her again. Would she enjoy it? Would she be willing to kiss him back, him, Sir Guy of Gisborne, who was notorious throughout England because he was the enemy of Robin Hood and had killed the woman they both had loved?
No. Ridiculous. He shouldn't even be dreaming of it. Thinking of Marian reminded Guy of what he was capable of doing, and he felt a shiver run through him. He'd already hurt Quenilda once by accident, and if he had not killed her just now, then it was nothing short of a miracle that had kept his sword from going right through her. She'd been stupid to get between two men who were fighting, but at least she'd only been trying to protect her grandfather. She hadn't been spouting words that included love for another man and making him desperate to stop those words. No. He didn't want to think about that – he never wanted to remember Marian's confession or her declaration of her feelings for Robin Hood again.
Turning his thoughts back to Quenilda, which was surprisingly easy, Guy determined that he was not going to love her, or Isolda, or anybody else. He certainly wasn't going to give himself the chance to hurt her again, or, he hastily added to himself, any other member of her family. It was bad enough having Hood after his blood, he didn't want the Earl chasing him down as well. Anyway, he already had so much guilt on his shoulders that he felt as though he were staggering under its weight; even the slightest hurt to Quenilda would be enough to crush him. Knowing that he could not take even the least little bit more, Guy decided he had better leave, quickly, before anything else happened, accident or no.
Without noticing, Guy had come to the place where the dragon had been killed. Its corpse hulked there still, stinking and blackened with fire and decay. No one had been able to move it, though to judge from the remains of daggers, knives, axes, and even a sword on the ground nearby, more than one person had tried to cut it up. Ignoring the way his horse danced uneasily beneath him, eager to be away from the stench, Guy walked him around the dragon to its head and sat there, staring down at it.
He'd killed it. He, Guy of Gisborne, had slain the dragon that nobody else had been able to vanquish, and not only that, he'd done it alone, with no help from anybody else. Here was the proof that, no matter what the Sheriff of Nottingham said, he was not incompetent. Now, at long last, he was a force to be reckoned with, the hero of songs, no longer the idiot and laughingstock of Sherwood Forest. And speaking of Sherwood, there was a dragon there that needed to be slain, too, a dragon without wings, by the name of Hood. Suddenly, Guy felt as though hunting him down and killing him would be as easy as snapping his fingers, and he smirked to himself.
Guy's horse snorted uneasily, interrupting Guy's fantasy, and he gave the dragon one last look before turning his horse and letting it walk back the way they'd come. He'd ask Thurstan about Hood before he left; the man had prophesied that he'd be able to kill the dragon, after all, maybe he could prophesy the same about Guy slaying Hood. Maybe "sacrificing" a maiden in the forest would attract Hood's attention and bring him out where Guy could kill him. Guy smirked again. Hood would definitely want to save an innocent maiden from the evil Guy of Gisborne.
Thinking of maidens as a lure, Guy remembered what they'd said about the dragon. Did it really only eat maidens, as Thurstan had implied? Or had there been another reason why only maidens could be sacrified to it? He recalled hearing Quenilda's scream and thinking it was Marian – he knew he wouldn't have reacted if he'd heard a man shouting. He'd have ignored it and kept riding, not expecting an attack from the air, and the dragon would have flamed him and his horse to death before he'd even known of its existence. Just imagining it made Guy break out into a cold sweat.
Surprised by his own reaction, Guy wondered when he had changed from welcoming death to enjoying life again. There had been a time, only a few weeks ago, when the idea of being killed, even by a dragon, wouldn’t have bothered him at all. But when he returned to Throxenby and saw Quenilda, standing on the steps of the keep, he knew. And she was smiling as though she'd missed him and had been watching eagerly for his return.
Guy's first reaction was to return her broad smile, but then the memory of his sword slicing much too close to her clothing came to mind, and he looked away.
"Sir Guy, you came back," Quenilda said as Guy dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy. "I was worried that you might have set out for Nottingham already and been set upon by those robbers."
"What robbers?" Guy asked.
"The ones in my dream," she said. "The ones who wanted to take you to Robin Hood for the bounty."
"That was only a dream," Guy told her roughly, even though he was certain there was an entire kingdom of men outside of Throxenby who would do exactly that, and for less money as well.
Giving him another soft smile, which made Guy clench his fists against the temptation of grabbing and kissing her again, Quenilda said, "Come inside and warm up now, Sir Guy, it will be time to eat soon."
Although there was actually more than enough time before the evening meal, Guy did not have the opportunity to talk to the Earl that he'd hoped would arise. And even after the food was served, the topics of conversation did not at first allow him to raise the subject that weighed heavily in his thoughts. Although he was seated between the Earl himself and Thurstan, Guy scarcely got a chance to speak, as the older man was busy relating, with Quenilda's help, their versions of what had happened at the healing spring. At last, however, the Earl turned his attention to Guy and remarked, "You must be feeling very much recovered, Sir Guy, if you can walk and fight and ride on the same day."
"It was scarcely a fight," Guy snorted, "but yes, my lord, I am recovered."
"What do you say, my daughter?" the Earl asked, glancing over at Quenilda.
"Physically, my lord, he is quite recovered," Quenilda replied. She was at the far end of the high table; Guy saw her lean forward and beam happily at him.
"Well," the Earl said, looking at his daughter and then at Guy, his eyes twinkling. Too late, Guy remembered the Earl's injunction about when they would discuss marriage again, and groaned inwardly. He looked away, and caught sight of Isolda's frightened face peeping around her mother's shoulder, her obvious dread making Guy want to roll his eyes. She couldn't seriously be worried that he would choose her, could she? No, he wasn't going to be taken in by a pretty face again. Quenilda might not be as beautiful, but at least she could stand being in his presence, and talk normally with him and even send genuine smiles in his direction. Nor had he seen any signs yet that her heart yearned for somebody else; in fact, her gentle way and all of her smiles made it seem as though she actually liked him. Even the Sheriff would have to concede that she was much less of a leper than any other woman he'd ever met. She'd make him a good wife – if he wanted a wife. Which, he reminded himself very sternly, he did not.
"I'm definitely recovered enough to go back to Nottingham," Guy announced more gruffly than he'd intended. "And with your permission, my lord, I'll say my good-byes this evening and leave early in the morning."
"Before I give my permission, Sir Guy, I must ask you one last time if you have considered my offer carefully," the Earl said.
"I have, my lord," Guy replied. He didn't look at Quenilda. Certain that he'd cause her harm sooner or later, and knowing that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did, Guy strengthened his resolve. "I cannot accept."
He hesitated, then heard himself say, "My lord, you – and your family – have saved my life. That's more than enough reward for killing the dragon."
"And you've spared my life by keeping my daughters alive," the Earl said. "I suppose that means we're even."
He turned slightly in his seat and extended his hand, and after a moment of surprise, Guy took it. They shook solemnly.
"Right, then," the Earl said, and went back to eating. Guy heard Isolda sigh in relief, but didn't look in her direction. Nor did he want to see Quenilda's expression, as he was sure it would be hurt, disappointed, and perhaps even reproachful as well.
"My lord, you must send a guard with him," Quenilda said suddenly, and everybody at the table turned to look at her. "Two would be better."
"I don't need a guard," Guy objected, but the Earl held up one hand to cut him off. "Is this just a precaution because of the rumour, my daughter?"
"I dreamed that Sir Guy left Throxenby alone and was attacked by robbers," Quenilda said, and Guy recalled her saying the same thing to him earlier. "They wanted to take him to Robin Hood for the reward."
"Did they succeed?" the Earl asked, and Quenilda frowned. "My dream ended there, my lord. I cannot say."
The Earl frowned as well. "Two guards, then." He motioned to his steward, who came up behind him so that the Earl could give him the appropriate instructions.
"You're sending two guards with me because of a dream, my lord?" Guy asked as the steward bowed and went to do the Earl's bidding.
"It's not just any dream, Sir Guy!"
At first, Guy didn't recognize the voice, and glanced down the table to see who had spoken. To his great surprise, it was Isolda, who had swiftly overcome her fear of him now that she was certain to remain safely in her father's household, and was even daring to glare in his direction. Guy raised his eyebrows as Isolda went on, "She's got the second sight, just like Grandfather Thurstan! She was the one who saw the dragon coming, and if she says you're going to be attacked by robbers, Sir Guy, then you will be, and you should be grateful for the warning!"
From the firmness in the tone of her voice, Guy half expected her to reveal that she was glad that it was going to happen, and maybe even add that Guy deserved to be trussed up and delivered to Hood despite having slain the dragon and saved her life. But Isolda's courage ended there, her face turned red, and she ducked away again out of sight, even before her mother could hiss her name in rebuke.
"Izzy!" Quenilda exclaimed with an exaggeratedly quiet voice that Guy could hear nonetheless. "I didn't want him to know about the second sight!"
"Why not?" Isolda replied in the same tone. "Everybody else does!"
Quenilda might have said more, but the Earl broke in. "Well. Yes. After a little trial and error when they first started, we've all learned to pay attention to Quenilda's dreams since then."
"Really," Guy said, intrigued. "What else have you dreamed, Lady Quenilda?"
"Nothing about Robin Hood," Quenilda replied rapidly.
"Then how did you know that was what I was going to ask, my lady?" Guy shot back, and Quenilda said, "I didn't, but at the moment, there are only two things that everybody wants to know, and since you've already told us you won't be marrying ..."
She let her voice trail off because the conclusion was logical, and smiled a little. By this time, the atmosphere around the table was positively jovial, and Guy found himself smiling back as well. Before he could stop himself, he'd asked, "Did you already dream about that too, then?"
Quenilda shook her head. "No, Sir Guy. The only dream I've had about you is the one I told you about, with the robbers. But perhaps my grandfather … ?"
Everybody at the table turned their heads to look beyond Guy to Thurstan, and Guy twisted around to face the man as well. Looking directly into his face in that disconcerting way that made Guy think he could see well enough after all, Thurstan said, "I dreamed about the way that Osbert the guard attacked you, Sir Guy."
Guy waited for a moment, but when no other details were forthcoming, he asked, "That's all?"
"That's all," Thurstan agreed. "I wish I'd seen more – I would have liked to have known when to duck, so that Osbert didn't half-break my nose!"
Guy smiled politely, and when the others had finished laughing, he asked, "So how do you know if it's the second sight, or merely a dream?"
"Because usually I'm awake when they come," Thurstan said, then smiled a little. "I only call them dreams. Sometimes they're as strange as dreams, other times they're as clear as life. And sometimes it's only a feeling."
"Sometimes it's like remembering something I didn't know I knew," Quenilda put in, and Thurstan nodded slowly in agreement.
"Can you make the dreams come?" Guy asked. "Can you tell me who will kill Robin Hood and when, for instance?"
"No," Thurstan replied firmly. "I've been trying my entire life, but I can't control the dreams, any more than a man can control the rain or the sunshine."
"If they could dream on demand, before you know it, Robin Hood might come here and ask the same thing about Sir Guy," Isolda murmured into her mother's ear, but everybody else heard it as well. Frowning, Guy reached for his goblet of wine. He was only slightly disappointed at Thurstan's answer, but remained determined that he'd get Hood, with or without the help of any dreams.
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The next morning, the weather had changed for the worse, with both rain and wind, and the two guards were already sitting on their horses with the hoods of their cloaks pulled over their heads when Guy approached the stables. Saying good-bye had taken longer than Guy had expected, and he was glad that he could simply get onto his horse and set off; he didn't want to delay any longer. As he rode out, however, he took one last look at the keep and its arrow-slit windows, and felt a pang of sorrow that he could not quite ignore.
They rode in silence. Mindful of Quenilda's dream, Guy was suspicious of everybody they met on the road, but everybody hurried by with scarcely a glance in their direction. Considering the weather, Guy couldn't blame them for keeping their heads bowed, and was also not surprised when, soon enough, they had the road to themselves. Eventually, however, they caught up and overtook a lumbering covered wagon.
"Gotta make a little rain of my own," the guard on Guy's right announced suddenly, guiding his horse to the side of the path where there was a tree and some scraggly bushes. "Anybody else?"
Deciding he might as well take advantage of the stop, Guy followed and dismounted as well. He'd just finished doing up his trousers again when something slammed into the back of his skull, sending him to his hands and knees in the mud. Dazed, his head throbbing, Guy was only vaguely aware of someone pushing him down completely, then pulling at his arms and lashing his wrists together behind his back. They rolled him over, sending an agonizing wave of pain through his cranium, and then someone was sitting on his chest, pulling Guy's mouth open with his fingers. Guy felt something hard against his teeth, and then liquid gushed into his mouth; not rain, but some kind of a sickening herbal concoction. Instinctively, Guy tried to turn his head, to spit it out, but the man gripped his chin with one hand and forced his mouth closed. He pinched Guy's nostrils shut, too, using his other hand. As Guy struggled for breath, he thought he saw, for one single moment of clarity, the face of Osbert the guard appear next to that of the younger guard.
The guard released Guy' face as soon as he'd swallowed down the noxious potion, and Guy gasped for air. His head had cleared enough that he could clearly recognize the man who was still sitting on his chest, and the one kneeling next to him, and he realized he'd seen correctly. It was indeed Osbert, and the other, younger guard who'd attacked him, but in the moment that he recognized them, they got to their feet and pulled him upright as well. Trying to fight back despite his tied hands, Guy lowered his head to butt the younger one in the chest, but Osbert pulled him around by one shoulder and sank his knee hard into Guy's groin. Pain of a dimension that Guy had rarely experienced robbed him of his ability to move, speak, or even breathe, and he was helpless to resist as Osbert bent down slightly and lifted Guy over his shoulder.
Osbert carried him a few steps, then tossed him hard onto the empty bed of a covered wagon. Guy must have blacked out for a few moments, because the next thing he knew, the younger guard was kneeling in the wagon and lashing his ankles round with rope.
"Why do we have to tie 'im up when he'll be asleep soon, anyway?" he was asking.
Groggily, Guy lifted his head. His groin still ached, but at least he could breathe again and even demand, "What're you doing?" at the same time as he rolled onto his side and kicked out with both legs. The young guard dodged and Guy missed.
"That's why!" Osbert exclaimed, laughing at them from his perch on the back of the wagon. From the driver's seat, a different voice ordered, "Luke, tie his ankles to his wrists."
"Hugh, shouldn't that poppy juice have taken effect by now?" Luke grizzled, struggling with Guy for a moment and finally hitting him behind his knees to make his legs bend. He hauled Guy's ankles up and connected them to his wrists with a length of rope, then pulled it taut and knotted it well.
Effectively unable to move, Guy laid his head on the floorboards in defeat, wondering if it were the same covered wagon they'd overtaken just a few hundred yards back. It must be, and yet he was suddenly too tired now to consider the significance of it, or to speculate about what they were doing. The last thing he heard before closing his eyes was Osbert saying, "There's somebody coming – it's Lady Quenilda!"
Part 7