My contribution to Guy's Christmas Crackers, created by @jadey36 for a bit of RH festive fun!
With Christmas approaching, Guy had to decide what to buy Marian. They were betrothed, so it had to be something special. He remembered how much she'd loved the horse, and wished he hadn't shot quite so high so soon; that one would be hard to top.
He racked his brain for days. Discarded idea after idea. But it was simple, really, once it came to him. Marian wouldn't be impressed by anything fancy, or expensive. So, he would just tell her how he felt. But unlike his other clumsy attempts, this one he would put in writing.
A pity the execution wasn't as easy. There were definite problems.
But, fortune smiled on him: there was snow on the ground, and the night was clear and calm, with enough moonlight to see by. Guy couldn't believe his luck. He went to work outside Marian's window, with twigs, and branches, and dead vines for the curvy bits of the letters. When it was done, Guy stood back admiring it:
Bright star,
You are my heart
He quelled a sudden surge of doubt. Women liked to be told that sort of thing, didn't they? Wiping sweat away from his brow, Guy mounted and returned to Locksley.
He was back on Knighton's threshold as early as was decent.
"Well?" he asked, somewhat shyly. "Did you see it?"
He knew immediately, from Marian's expression, that something was wrong. She was trying not to laugh. Hurt, Guy turned to leave.
"No, don't go," Marian said, and she caught his arm. "You'd better come and see."
She escorted him up the stairs to her bedroom, where he looked in horror at what somebody - Hood, no doubt - had done to his carefully crafted message.
Bright arse
You are my tart
....Guy's face went hot. He broke out in a sweat, too embarrassed to turn and look at Marian.
"I'm not sure that's the way to win a lady's heart, Guy." Laughter in Marian's voice.
"Marian – I....."
Mortified, without another word Guy strode past Marian and down the stairs. Flinging himself onto his horse, he rode at speed back to Locksley, imagining the outlaw's face squashed beneath its hooves.
If he'd had any doubt who was responsible, it would have been erased by the arrow he found in his door, with this message wound around the shaft:
Bright tart, starry arse.
Growling in frustration, Guy ripped the arrow out, and snapped it in half across his knee. He hated Hood.
More, even, than he hated Christmas.
