Everything is a Choice

Chapter 6

Previously...

“Marian,” I croak.

“Shush, Master.  Don’t try to speak.”

Another voice, not English, joins Jehal and Much’s.  Someone is holding my legs down, another my good arm and head, pinning me to the bed. Something cold touches my injured arm. I cry out, jerk violently.

“He should be unconscious,” Gisborne growls.

I hear a scuffling of boots, and Much saying, “Keep away. You just keep away from him.”  I try to tell Much not to interfere, but all that escapes my lips is another agonised cry as someone’s fingers probe my damaged flesh. 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Gisborne utters. 

I turn my head and open my eyes, in time to see his fist heading for my face a second time.

Chapter 6

I open my eyes, quickly shut them again. No, I’m not ready. I don’t want to know.

“Master! You’re awake! Shall I get you water, food, anything?”

He leaves me little choice. One eye at a time, I bring the cabin, and Much’s concerned face, into focus. It is not our cupboard of a cabin, I see, but a much larger one, quite possibly the captain’s judging by the furnishings.

Ignoring Much’s question, I ask, “What happened?”  I try to push up on my left elbow and fall back down again, weak as water.

“Don’t you remember?”

I can taste blood in my mouth and a residue of the fiery liquid Jehal forced down my throat. My jaw aches. “Gisborne punched me,” I say.

“The boat was attacked,” Much says. “You were injured.”

I glance down at the thin sheet covering me. “My...arm?” I have to force the words out because the thought I may never hold a bow again is both a sad and frightening one.

“I don’t know.”  Much shakes his head.  “It was a bit of a mess, but Salim seemed to know what he was doing.”

“Salim?”

“The cook.”

Great, I think, trying hard not to imagine what he might have used to sew me up with.

“How long?” I ask. 

“How long what?”

“How long have I been here?”

“Two days.”

“Two days!”

“Salim gave you something to keep you unconscious. He thought it best. You’d lost a lot of blood.”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath. “Allan and John?”

“They’re fine, unscathed. Well...a little scathed...as am I, but fine. We’re all fine.”

I exhale a long and thankful sigh, say, “I’ll have that water now.”

Much moves to fetch a jug and cup and my eyes alight on the empty bed on the other side of the cabin.

“When Gisborne carried me in here,” I say, “I thought I saw someone else, on the other bed.”

Much helps me sit and hands me a cup of water. “It was the sheriff,” he says.