LXVIII

Sir Guy of Gisborne was not a natural when it came to mingling at court.

His tall powerful frame made many nervous. His serious demeanour was off-putting to others. His reserved nature and tendency to give curt answers made conversation with him difficult.

It was fortunate then, that neither he nor his wife cared about any of that.

Indeed, the only time they went to court was to visit old friends who worked there. They didn't set foot in the main hall once.

Lady Natalia Watmough often asked them to accompany her, as did Lady Lydia Belmont, but Lady Francesca Gisborne could not be tempted.

She preferred the tranquility of home. The contentment that came with running her own household. The easy conversation to be had with friends and neighbours: no forced smiles, formal manners or stilted small talk.

Her sister and cousin understood her, of course, but never let the discussion drop without protest. Fortunately, this year, instead of protest, her reason not to go brought great joy to one and all: she was pregnant. Sir Guy was over the moon.

Though married life had done nothing to make him a social butterfly nor what one would call an easy-going type, Sir Guy of Gisborne was a loving husband and a devoted uncle. Lady Catherine Watmough was spoiled rotten in the Gisborne household and things could only get worse now a playmate was on the way.

He also proved to be a patient son-in-law: Lord Cavendish was not a frequent visitor to their home, but when he did deign to visit, he was received with adept forbearance. It seems the years with Vaisey were good for something after all. As it was, the old man had mellowed of late – his tantrums earned him only eye rolls or amused smirks in his daughter's home, and the one time he tried to bully her was the last time – Guy might not bare his teeth much these days, but when it came to his wife, he was the wolf of old when he had to be.

The wolf of old...

His life was so altered that at times, he forgot where he was. He would wake in the night and a terrible confusion would grip him - a dreadful panic that left him blinking helplessly in the dark, his heartbeat crashing loudly in his ears...

but then he would remember, and an incredible surge of relief would wash over him...

Francesca would stir beside him and it was as if even in sleep, she could sense his unease and would nuzzle against him as if to say 'hey, it's alright; I'm here', and he would feel so incredibly grateful that things were the way they were and all was as it should be. In these moments, his happiness would overwhelm him; his chest would tighten and he would feel a lump form in his throat... then he would shake his head, laughing softly and silently berate himself for being so soft.

He would regard his wife - her light, her glorious light that always drew him to her, just as it had that day in the stables all those years ago and he would place a kiss upon her forehead before drawing her into his arms and surrendering to a dreamless sleep.

What would the future hold for them? Well, everything and nothing. There were plans for sure, but who knew if they would ever come to fruition.

Guy spoke of a visit to his sister and Francesca asked him about his son, there were mentions of Locksley and jokes about 'Guy's first wife', wonderings about the people of Nottingham and quips about riding to Wales...

Talk of Gisborne...

of times gone by, of people long gone, of those who had loved them and those who had not...

of the lives they might have lived had one single thing been different... of the gratitude they felt that it had not been the case...

of trying to do the best you can with the hand life has dealt you... of holding on to the person you are, when all around you would have you be someone else...

of trying to understand, of trying to overcome, of trying to carry on when all hope is lost...

.

You see, there is nothing so inevitable as change.

One might think that where one is at, is where one will always be...

It isn't so.

.

The shadow is not eternal.

The shadow moves on.