Enemy of My Enemy

Chapter Nine - Overtures

The barn at Knighton had mostly escaped damage. There were a few patches of singed thatch, where stray sparks had landed. But the villagers, Guy assumed, must have reacted soon enough to stop it taking hold. He wouldn't know; by then, he'd already led Marian and her father away.

Guy dismounted and tied off his horse, gazing at the manor ruins. He suspected it was a mistake to come here, especially if Hood brought Marian with him. But Hood would never have agreed to meet with him at Locksley, even if Guy dismissed his guards for the evening. And what excuse could he have given? If the sheriff caught even a whiff of what he was doing, plot or no plot he'd be dead before sunrise. Nor was Guy fool enough to suggest a meeting in the forest. Knighton had been the closest thing to neutral territory he could think of.

But of all his crimes, burning Knighton had been one of the worst. He couldn't claim he'd done it on Vaisey's orders; he'd been blinded by rage, and by the desire to hurt Marian as much as she'd hurt him. The power had been almost intoxicating, as he'd wielded that torch; the first lick of flames, caressing wood, fabric, almost mesmerising. But then the whoomph of the flames taking hold, becoming wild, untameable, that had filled him with memory and fear and he'd felt again as he had as a youth, powerless in the face of something he couldn't stop, unable to do anything but hustle Marian out of the house, and unable to reverse the terrible consequences of his actions.

Powerless. Yes. That was how he'd felt since discovering Vaisey's plans for him. It had left him strangely incapable of making decisions, perhaps because whatever course of action he chose seemed as futile as the next. He wasn't even sure this was the right one; he wouldn't be here at all, if it wasn't for Meg's urging. That was another example. It seemed there was no escaping this marriage and Meg had chosen – for reasons he couldn't fathom – to accept it, rather than flee to sanctuary as he'd suggested. So, do I just resign myself to this, or do I take a horse, and some coin, and leave here, head back to Normandy, or elsewhere, and start all over again? On my own.

It might yet come to that.

But for now, Meg had convinced him that Hood could be the answer to his problems. Hard to imagine, that. Would Locksley bring Marian with him tonight? He hoped not. He needed a clear head, and the torrent of emotions that woman always provoked would hardly help him keep his wits about him.

Beside him, Allan tripped in the dark, cursing. Meg had wanted to come with them, but Guy had quashed that idea. This was no business of hers; no, only my idea she'd said tartly, but then had let it drop. Guy was glad to have Allan there. Not because he trusted him yet – he didn't trust anyone – but who better to help broker an alliance with the outlaws?

They reached the barn. The door was ajar, lantern light showing in the gap, and spilling through cracks in the wall. Hood was already there – Hood, and his Saracen. Guy remembered the woman incapacitating him with nothing more than pepper, and knew not to be complacent. His eyes flickered round the barn, assessing possible places of concealment – the stacked hay, the rough piles of implements, the plough still caked with mud. He didn't for a moment think Hood would have kept the terms he proposed; the rest of the gang, even if not inside the barn, would be lurking somewhere within earshot.

"Gisborne, Allan. You're late." A cocky, infuriating grin. "If you want to scout the territory out, best to get here first."

Guy gritted his teeth, determined not to let the outlaw rile him straight away. Forty-five minutes ahead of schedule, yet still not enough to prevent Hood treating him like a fool.

"Have a seat." The outlaw gestured to two milking stools; he and the Saracen were perched on upturned wooden buckets. Guy caught the twitch of Locksley's lips, and suspected he was on the verge of delivering some witticism about milking maids.