Sir Guy of Gisborne's Diary

Entry 24

The kilt I'd drunkenly ordered last night duly arrived this morning. My manservant told me that one didn't wear any undergarments under it as a rule. I told him to fuck off. When he'd gone, I tried it on, sans underwear. I did wonder for a moment if it would be long enough to cover my great pendulum of a todger. It came to the tops of my knees, so good enough, though sailing a bit close to the wind. Maybe I should wear undergarments with it after all.

Two hours later, the drink of last night having finally worn off, I cursed myself for my foolishness. No sword-wielding, ring-kissing pretty boy by the name of Carter was going to get me to relocate to Scotland and freeze my balls off. I seriously hoped he'd suffer the same humiliations I'd suffered when trying to deal with Hood and ended up covered in pitch with his arse on fire. Plus pepper in his eyes. Ha ha.

During the midday meal, the sheriff informed me that our attack on the village of Clun had worked. That Robin Hood and his band of outlaws had rushed in to save the villagers and Carter had lent a hand, thus worming his way into Hood's good books. He'd left with Hood and the outlaw may soon be, if he was not already, dead. I complained that we'd lost rather a lot of guards during the skirmish. The sheriff dismissed the matter, as usual. Honestly, the man must think guards grow on trees. I would have to step up our latest recruitment campaign. Clearly burning their families at the stake if they didn't sign up wasn't working as an employment incentive.

Send their families a basket of fruit, the sheriff told me. By the way, Marian sent a message.

What message, I asked, dragging me from my thoughts about whether tying big red bows onto the fruit baskets might be overkill.

I'm not coming back. Get over it. And for God's sake change your clothes once in a while.

I was mortified. I'd bathed only last month. The sheriff kept talking, but I was only half-listening, twisting my neck at an awkward angle, intent on sniffing my armpits. All I could smell was leather, at which I became ever so slightly aroused.

Sit down, the sheriff told me. He leaned in close to my ear, telling me that Marian ran away, that I would do well to forget her. At that moment, all I wanted to forget was my todger on high alert due to the heady mix of my own manliness and warm leather.

The sheriff threatened to kiss me. He called me Gizzy. Of all the names he had for me, Gizzy was the one I hated the most, though Bunnykins came a close second.

Then he left me to stew on my misfortunes.

I raced to my bedchamber, spent the next hour scrubbing at my armpits with a wire brush, a further hour trying to think of an acceptable pet name and failing to come up with anything better than sexy-sausage-knob and three more hours with my nose buried in the crotch of my discarded leathers while playing with said sexy sausage knob. Overall, I've had worse evenings.

***

The next day, Carter, along with an entourage of hooded figures, paraded through the castle courtyard bearing Robin Hood on a cart. Hood, dead as promised, he informed me. I asked a guard if he'd checked that Hood was indeed dead and he said yes. I remained sceptical. Our guards are as stupid as they come. Either that or they are incredibly clever and only act stupid so that Hood and his outlaw band consistently evade us thus making the sheriff look like the stupid one. I decided to make sure Hood was dead. Positioning my sword over his neck, I prepared to make the killing blow. Suddenly Marian appeared, insistent on talking with me, and I forgot all about removing Hood's head from his body and indicated that we should go inside the castle so we could talk privately. Needless to say, I'd just proved that if anyone was stupid around here, it was me.

I guided Marian to an empty room where we could talk undisturbed. She kept telling me that she needed time to grieve for her dead father, but I wasn't listening, insisting that we were meant to be together. I leaned in to kiss her, but blasted Allan a-Dale interrupted us, telling me that they were going to put Robin's head on a spike. Then, as I turned to leave, Marian called me back and kissed me. Honestly, I don't understand women at all! At that moment, though, I didn't care. All I knew was that I had Marian in my arms. I hugged her passionately, nuzzled into her neck and found myself mewling like a kitten whose voice had broken. Then, just as Mr sexy-sausage-knob thought he might be seeing some action tonight, she told me that she had to go back to the convent where she was training to be a nun, that the kiss had been a mistake. I forbade her to go. She ignored me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry even more when I found out that Hood had tricked us and he'd only been playing dead with the help of some of the Saracen's trippy herbs.

I skipped supper with the sheriff knowing he'd be in a foul mood, went to my room and drank heavily. Gone midnight, I crawled under my bed covers, hugging my leather man-bag to my chest. Sometime during the night, I must have dreamed that I was in bed with Marian for when I awoke I found my beloved bag filled with something that definitely wasn't glue.