The agreement

Chapter 2

The next few weeks Emma slowly became accustomed to the hall, the castle and even the ways of her uncle. He stormed, shouted and threw things at the heads of anyone foolish enough to get too close during his drunken rages, but she had lost any fear of him that she may have had at the start. He was vicious of course, but only those lower in status than him, with her he didn't bother with the usual curtsey due her station, but for the most part he left her alone. That suited her fine.

The castle was thronged with servants and men at arms, who stared at her and kept their distance. Emma had tried a friendly smile with the girls who came to help her dress in the morning, but perhaps because of her family ties or their general mistrust she had not found anyone to talk to. That hadn't stopped her from slowly picking up the castle gossip whispered in stairways and darkened corners. They all spoke of the outlaw Robin Hood and how he had turned from his noble family and found love with another wealthy renegade, Marion, who had been betrothed to Guy before running off to live in the woods with her lover.

One morning she rose early and started down the curving stairs to the main hall when voices ahead caused her to pause.

"Christ's bones but he's like a bear with a broken head these days since you know who did you know what" whispered a young girlish voice.

"I'f he came calling though I'd be more than happy to make him feel better" giggled another voice.

"Edith! And you walking out with Alfred the stable boy!" Emma heard more giggling and was about to continue down the stairs when she heard her name.

"What about the Lady Emma though? Think he would fancy her, bit of posh totty"

She held her breathe, for some reason very interested in Edith's friend's opinion on Guy's possible feelings.

"Her? I know he likes horses but that doesn't mean he wants his women built like one, and after the way her uncle has treated him these years then he wouldn't want to touch a Vaisey with a very long stick" Emma coloured, and ran lightly back to her chamber and slammed the door, her fists balling up the fabric of her skirts in anger.

Horse? She was taller than many women that was true, but that was only because they were undersized, underfed ninnies with the bosoms of a five year old boy. She glanced down at her bosom that was still heaving in indignation. Oh God, why do I care what they, or Guy thinks? It's not like I'm going to be here long, just until I think of some way of getting away. And that of course was the problem, her plans so far consisted of avoiding being married to any of her uncle's cronies over the age of 50 and waiting for Sir Lancelot to come riding through the gates or running off to a nunnery. The idea of being a nun wasn't very attractive, Lancelot wasn't very likely and the chance of her uncle finding her anyone half decent to marry was slim to non existent. Each day she was waiting for the axe to fall and to announce that he had managed to sell her off like a prize heifer. What was a surety though was that Sir Guy of Gisborne played no part in her plans, or her future. So why was she feeling so annoyed?

Emma sat at supper one evening, appraising Guy as he picked through the unappetising greasy platter in front of him. He had a certain something, she decided, his features were regular and could have been called handsome if he had smiled more. He kept himself to himself mainly, being polite to her when required but not at all like the young men she had had around her at her father's court - full of laughter and flirting banter. Maybe she could understand why though, if he had loved this Marion girl. For all his grim humours, there was something about him, something that made him more interesting than most men who were as simple to read a tree. Speaking of trees, she thought with a smile, why anyone would want to live in the cold, dark dirty woods was a complete mystery. Not a simpering girl by any shade, Emma had a certain attraction for clean sheets and warm water and she suspected Marion was lacking on both fronts. I wonder what she looks like, she pondered, probably small and like an elf. A small, grubby, cold elf she concluded laughing a little to herself.