Enemy of My Enemy

Chapter Seventeen - Preparations

"Oh....this is marvellous..." cooed Vaisey. "Gisborne, do you know what this means? Anything the Black Knights ratify, I can now make Hood a party to as well! He won't be so keen to turn up proof if it brands him a traitor as well."

Vaisey turned the seal over in his hands. He paused, brushing a fingertip across one of the indentations, and Guy felt sweat bead on his brow. Despite having examined the fake seal himself when Allan had brought it to him - and the workmanship was of fine quality – Guy had to resist the urge now to lean in and check that he hadn't missed something, some tell-tale sign that would alert Vaisey to their subterfuge.

"Right." Vaisey tapped the seal against the back of his hand. "Very good. Your boy is of some use after all."

He placed the seal in a small casket on the desk; locking it, he pocketed the key.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the sheriff drawled, taking his seat.

"M'lord?"

"Your lady wife....you've done the job I set you both, so she's free to leave now. Let's just hope that she's learned her lesson. Next time, I won't be so...accommodating."

Relieved, Guy strode to the door; paused there, when Vaisey cleared his throat.

"You know that I need you back here?"

"M'lord?"

"M'lord," mimicked Vaisey. "Could you not vary your speech just a little, Gisborne? I need you back here, so just get her sent home. And you'll need this."

Vaisey lifted a key from the draw and waved it at him.

Outside the door, Guy debated briefly whether to send Meg straight back to Locksley or have her wait in his room. But the sooner she was out of the castle, the better; he was confident Meg would feel the same.

Perversely, Vaisey made sure it was little shy of midnight before he was free to leave. Guy rode the darkened road to Locksley just a little faster than usual, mindful of the fact he already had one mount out of action. When he neared the estate, Guy reined in; the horse stamped and blew, flecks of spittle blowing back on him. He could see no lamp-light seeping from cracks or seams of shutters, either upstairs or down. Guy told himself it was late, that Meg wouldn't have waited up. But he couldn't contain the frisson of alarm which had him dig spurs into the animal's flank and hurtle the final half mile home, afraid that she could have fallen prey to some mischance.

Or worse, if Vaisey was of a mind for games.

The house was quiet. Guy strode upstairs, spurs clanking, half-hoping – although this was selfish – to wake Meg, so that they could talk. A wry smile crossed his face; only a few weeks earlier, he'd accused Meg of endless chatter. Yet these past days of her imprisonment, he'd missed her company.

Their room was empty, the bedclothes undisturbed. Guy clattered back down the stairs, about to holler for Thornton when he saw a sliver of candlelight beneath the door of the lower room. He pushed it open and saw Meg asleep there. She was propped awkwardly against the wall, with the estate ledger, of all things, wedged up against her leg. A smile twitched Guy's lips. He crossed to the bed and was about to begin rearranging skirts, legs and ledger when Meg's eyes opened. She looked up at him, blearily.

"Bedtime reading?" Guy inquired, tapping the ledger. "Why down here.....?"

"Too awkward to lug upstairs," mumbled Meg.

She sat up, rolling her shoulder; she winced, rubbing it.

"Turn around," Guy said gruffly.

Meg complied, and he set to work, easing out the tension in her neck and shoulders. As she relaxed beneath his hands, he judged it as good a time as any to raise the decision which these past few days had driven him to.