She slowly raised her hand and the chains glowed red at his wrists. He cried out and she lowered her hand, saying, "Is your memory so very short my lord? You suspected the truth the very day we met, why is it now so hard to believe what your eyes can see, and your heart knows to be the truth?"
He looked at his wrists and seemed surprised to find he was relatively unscathed, but though his face tightened, he tried desperately not to show the terror he felt.
"My lord, my mother was a witch, and I am a witch, hard as that may be for you to believe. Are you not aware of how far you have travelled, not in distance, but through the very fabric of time? I see you doubt me, but I brought you on this journey, and now here you are, centuries before your time, in the Kingdom of Camelot and King Uther Pendragon and if you wish to return home, you would do well to heed my wishes."
He stood there looking at her, his thoughts in turmoil, as he became aware that she was speaking the truth and taking pity on him, she leaned towards him and with a firm grip she turned his face to hers, "A kiss my lord before I leave you?"
"I will make love to no witch", he said, turning away from her, barely concealing his disgust, so she lowered her hand to his leather-clad manhood, holding him and stroking him gently through his clothing and she smiled as his body betrayed him.
"Ah, but you will my lord," she said, "you will, and methinks I shall have no need of magic".
Then she walked slowly away, her auburn hair lifting in the slight breeze from the cave entrance, the scent of it reaching him in his fear and despair, and she smiled at her triumph.
She went back later with bread, meat and ale, but found him sleeping. She felt his brow, but there was no fever, though she was concerned that the injuries he had acquired as a result of his rescue of the child back in Nottingham, may be troubling him still, but he was cool to the touch. She knelt before him and gazed at him, this man who had captured her emotions and who was even now, her only heart's desire, despite his fear and hatred of her. His perfect male form was stretched out upon the straw before her and she could not look away. She knew his naked body as well as she knew her own, having taken care of him and bathed him daily until his manservant Allan had arrived from Nottingham after the rescue of the child.
The candlelight was reflected in his dark hair and over the contours of his face. Though closed in sleep, she knew that the colour of his eyes had been stolen from a summer sky and she looked at his nose, so elegantly placed beneath perfectly arched brows, then tore her eyes away from his lips, remembering the taste of him. She still wanted him in all the ways a woman can desire a man, but the days ahead would be hard, and she needed to put all thoughts of love and desire behind her.
YOU ARE READING
There and back again, a journey to love.
Fanfiction"Here is the first part of my short(ish) story about the wonderful Sir Guy of Gisborne. I have written it because I always felt he was a bit shortchanged by the storylines, and the ladies, in the BBC Series, and I wanted to try to redress the balanc...
