Falling

The sheriff of Nottingham was in his chambers, recumbent in a cushioned, high-backed chair before the fire. He sighed contentedly, basking in the warmth like a lion in the sun. It was luxurious, and he liked it. Robert de Rainault liked nice things, generally speaking. He liked the goblet of wine in his hand. He liked the fire. He liked his well-decorated chambers and castle in Nottingham. He liked the heavy weight of his sheriff’s chain of office on his chest. He liked fine clothing, power, and well-bred horses. And he liked young Guy of Gisburne.

He didn’t trust Guy, of course, but he could trust that Guy would never devise any truly dastardly plots on his own, and that was all de Rainault needed to feel safe. And, for all that the blonde knight champed at his bit, de Rainault suspected that deep down (very deep down, probably) Guy knew that without the sheriff’s cunning, he would be lost adrift in the sea of intrigue that was the upper echelons of Plantagenet England. And so they stayed, year after year – dancing out an elaborate estampie of his jibes and Guy’s tantrums, neither really gaining nor losing ground in their interpersonal power struggle.

De Rainault wanted more from his steward than obedience and fear, however. He wanted the things he saw in the occasional baths they shared – those times when he could ask Gisburne to wash his back or towel him down. The sheriff was his liege lord, so it was within his rights and excited no gossip. But it made the blunt, tactless soldier uncomfortable, which rather heightened de Rainault’s enjoyment of the experience. It made Gisburne more desirable, he thought, when the knight did his best to avert his eyes, turning his fair head like some blushing maid. A normal man would have nothing to blush about, but Guy did. And because Robert had seen that Guy was ashamed, he had an extra measure of power over his steward. With that look, Rainault could tell that, for whatever reason, Sir Guy of Gisburne harboured feelings towards him.

A log settled on the fire with a soft thump and a cloud of sparks. De Rainault shifted deeper into his seat, his eyes closed and a lazy smile upon his face. And all those years of elaborate sparring – courtship, perhaps? – had thus far led to nothing. It was funny, really. With his good looks and position, Guy could have any wench in Nottingham (and probably had), but it never seemed to last. He’d chase after the fillies, catch them, dally with them, and then throw them away in the end. The sheriff was not the kind to feel jealous of affection; he didn’t buy that “love” truck that troubadours warbled about, but he did feel possessiveness. And at the end of the day, he was smugly pleased when Gisburne came away from his latest fling, dissatisfied and frustrated. From high-born dames to slatternly peasant girls, Gisburne had probably fucked his way right across Nottinghamshire and most of England, but all without getting what he really wanted.

The sheriff grinned, remembering one evening where a particularly drunken Guy had confided in slurred tones that “the stupid bitches don’t appreciate a man’s touch”, which (he was able to deduce by context), meant that Gisburne played a little rough in the sack. And God’s blood, but de Rainault could appreciate how obnoxious women were, what with all their wailing and snivelling. He recalled the face of that sixteen-year old creature he’d almost wed (what was her name? Melanie? Millicent?) and chuckled before taking another sip of wine. That had really been something of a lucky break. He should’ve written a letter of thanks to that wolfshead and his band for saving him from an untimely state of matrimony.

The marriage had also allowed him to see just how much he had Gisburne wrapped around his finger. Gisburne was ready to jump at his call like a spaniel; a tall, strong, spaniel, but a spaniel just the same. And Guy hated his servitude, but for all his bravado he craved approbation from his master’s hand – probably the result of growing up as Edmund of Gisburne’s son. God’s blood, if half the stories about Edmund were true, then it would certainly explain the complexities of Guy: that anger and frustration had to come from somewhere.

Some of that anger was directed inwards because, as Robert de Rainault well knew, Guy hated himself for having feelings for the sheriff. Every now and then, de Rainault would catch Gisburne gazing at him and, before the defences were raised again behind those pretty blue eyes, he saw turmoil – turmoil caused by love, of all things.

Without torture, the knight would never admit that he loved the sheriff, but Robert de Rainault knew it anyway. After all, Gisburne was not exactly skilled at deception. Most delightfully, it added another weapon to the sheriff’s arsenal in their dealings: he could hurt Gisburne because the young fool loved him. For his own part, de Rainault thought, he simply enjoyed the power of possession. That was why Guy’s quick defection to Philip Mark had been so nettling. It was not merely that de Rainault had lost his position, but that he lost Gisburne. Oh, de Rainault had been wise to Mark’s game. He knew what kind of looks a powerful man might give an underling, and Mark had made no efforts to disguise his interest. “Find a use” for him, indeed!

And for all Guy loved Robert de Rainault, he hated him, too. And that was fine with the sheriff. Every now and again, Gisburne would panic and try to escape Robert, as in the affair with that Jewess. Guy had seized on the prettiest thing nearby (again) and bolted, or tried to do so. But it didn’t matter how far Guy ran, or how much he hated de Rainault for his snide comments or jeers and his heartlessness – the lad could never seem to escape the hold that de Rainault had on him. He could run, but he always ended up back where he started: at the sheriff’s side.

De Rainault was jerked abruptly from his thoughts by a knocking at the door. Cursing under his breath at the disruption of his otherwise pleasant evening, he bellowed “Come in!” and, speak of the devil, in came Sir Guy of Gisburne.

“Well, Gisburne?” the sheriff demanded, “Come in for a bedtime story, perhaps?”

Guy ignored the remark and strode up to the fire, the light of the flames casting his blue tunic into shadow.

“My lord, I must speak with you,” the young man said, not turning to face de Rainault but leaning his head on his hands upon the high mantelpiece. De Rainault might’ve been a little offended at the man’s lack of the courtesy, but he was in a magnanimous mood.

“You are speaking with me, Gisburne, or had you not noticed?” He took a sip of his wine and complacently studied Gisburne’s figure from his comfortable viewpoint. Guy said nothing, but continued to stare into the fire in moody silence, his pleasing (if unreadable) back to the sheriff.

“Oh, very well. Out with it. What’s happened now?”

“It’s one of the men, my lord. One of the guards.”

A pause.

“Yes?” Robert prompted. What was the problem this time?

“I believe he’s a sodomite, my lord.”

The sheriff sat up slightly, watching Guy with a bit more interest now.

“And what makes you think that?”

Another pregnant pause.

“He tried to accost me, my lord.”

So much for a peaceful evening, thought de Rainault.

“I would like permission to execute him at once, my lord,” Guy continued.

“At once, Gisburne?” the sheriff drawled, enjoying Gisburne’s barely-controlled agitation.

“Tonight, if possible, my lord. I already have him detained in the dungeon.”

“Isn’t that a little expeditious, even for you? And tonight? What about the traditional public execution? It’d be good for morale.”

“With your permission, my lord, I’d like him killed at once.”

At once? What on earth had provoked this particularly vicious ire? God’s teeth, had the soldier actually tried to rape him? De Rainault studied Gisburne as he stood, silhouetted against the fire. No, that was unlikely. No castle guard, no matter how inbred and brain-rattled from battle, would attempt such a thing with a nobleman, let alone one as young and strong as Gisburne. It had to be the other way around – like the “witch” of Elsdon, this pathetic soldier had probably spurned Guy’s advances and would soon reap the benefits.

The sheriff looked at Gisburne with new curiosity. He was certain that Guy had never actually indulged any of his inclinations towards his own sex. But the young man was, apparently, expanding his range to include the battle-grizzled men of the castle guard. The sheriff was slightly offended that his steward would stoop to such rough fare, but mainly intrigued at what drove Guy to so debase himself in the first place.

“Rejected you, did he, Gisburne? Like that pretty thing from Elsdon? I’m surprised you didn’t use the same excuse as before. Witchcraft is such a useful catchall accusation.”

Guy spun from the fire to face the sheriff, his cheeks red from the hot fire and his own flush of anger.

“My lord, I – !”

“Shut up, Gisburne,” the sheriff said wearily.

“My lord, you must hear me,” the young knight plunged on, gesturing violently, “I did no such thing! I would never do such a foul, depraved – ”

“Wouldn’t you, Gisburne?” the sheriff asked pointedly, taking another sip of wine and raising one dark, supercilious eyebrow as he watched the tall knight over the goblet’s brim.

“My lord, such an insinuation – ”

“Really, Guy. I couldn’t care less.”

That shut him up for a second.

“Still, my lord, even if it were true, I’m sure I would never –”

“Stop your snivelling for a moment and listen to me, Guy. I’ve a proposal for you.”

Guy stayed properly quiet this time.

Robert de Rainault’s mind had been whirling with this new information, trying to deduce how he could use it to his advantage, and he had come up with an idea. De Rainault had the impression that Guy was finally realising that no woman could give him what he wanted. He’d had his fun about Nottingham, but now Guy of Gisburne had let his lust off its leash a little too close to home and it had bitten him.

“Guy, come here,” the sheriff ordered.

Gisburne shuffled awkwardly forward, stopping a foot or so from the seat where the sheriff was comfortably sprawled.

“My lord?”

“What would you be willing to do to ensure that this man meets his maker? How far would you be willing to go?” the sheriff asked lazily, studying the carved detail on his goblet.

“I’d do anything, my lord,” said Gisburne, though he sounded unsure.

“Really? How interesting,” Robert said, studying the blonde man, thoroughly enjoying the situation, “Well, I’m sure my proposal will suit you, then.”

“My lord?” The tone was just as unsure and uncomfortable as before.

“How about bedding with me, Gisburne?” the sheriff said casually, taking another sip of wine.

It was fortunate, the sheriff reflected, that he had good control of his emotions. The look on Guy’s face might have caused him to choke on his wine with laughter. But the comical expression of shock on the knight’s face quickly transitioned to something that looked more like comprehension, then went back to shock, then comprehension, and finally, to de Rainault’s own surprise and gratification, something that looked very much like lust.

“My lord,” the young man started, “I…”

“Oh come now, Gisburne! I’ll let you kill your soldier in the morning, of course. And compared to that pock-marked clap-ridden soldier, I think you’d be coming rather well out of the deal. And,” the sheriff added, looking Gisburne up and down from head to toe with a satisfied, predatory grin, “I’d be getting a rather good deal myself.”

Ah, there it was: that flustered, exquisite, virginal blush that made Gisburne look so eminently desirable.

“My lord,” Gisburne began again, a slight tremor of emotion discernable as he spoke, “It is a sin.”

“So they say. They also say that the Wild Hunt hunts down the souls of the unshriven dead and that Robin Hood can turn invisible. ‘They’ are imbeciles, you see. And,” he added, “you’ve certainly enjoyed enough dalliances to find yourself well outside of the church’s good books, so what do you have to lose?”

Guy looked confused, but what resistance the man was putting up was probably perfunctory rather than stemming from true piety.

“Now,” Robert said commandingly, “come here.”

Gisburne hesitated.

“Mother of God, Gisburne, are you willing or not?”

The young man studied his liege lord, still looking confused. Dear Lord, he really was impossible sometimes. What was eating at him now?

“Speak up, man! I don’t want to spend my entire evening waiting for you to make up your mind!”

“Why me, my lord?” Sir Guy finally asked, staring intensely at the sheriff. De Rainault found this rather puzzling.

“What, why would I want to sleep with you?” Robert didn’t even need to hear the answer: it was now clearly written on Guy’s face. Gisburne thinks quite poorly of himself, he realised, storing the knowledge away for future reference.

“Iesu Maria, do I have to spell it out for you?” The sheriff stared unblinkingly into Guy’s blue eyes, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I can’t stand women. And you, Gisburne, are eminently delectable. I’ve been rather cherishing the idea of sharing my bed with you for some time now, in fact. And you want me, do you not?”

Gisburne jumped at those last words as though his lord had snapped a whip at him. He stared appalled at Robert, who simply laughed.

“Did you really think you were all that subtle, Gisburne?” The young man continued to stare at him, mutely aghast. “No, you’re not quite clever enough for that, are you? I can tell you want me, but you don’t want to want me, do you Gisburne?” The sheriff grinned rather cruelly as Guy turned his head away, determinedly looking at anything that wasn’t Robert de Rainault. “It must be very miserable for you.”

By now, Gisburne had surely realised that, for all he craved his lord’s love, his feelings were not returned in like kind. The sheriff could see the hurt that knowledge brought him, but Guy’s confused emotions were keeping him bound to the course before him with a strange, determined air of self-destruction. So slowly, carefully, Guy took one tentative step towards de Rainault’s chair. The usual defences were down, and the sheriff could see the raw emotion in those eyes: love, hurt, desire, and anger. The sheriff felt a flicker of lustful fire leap up in his belly in response. This was good – he’d prefer bedding a fierce Gisburne who could fight back to some milk-sop sad boy in love.

Then Guy stopped, biting his lip.

“What if someone finds out?” He said, looking over his shoulder at the closed door as if the Pope might break it down and excommunicate them both any minute.

“They won’t,” Robert snapped, rising impatiently from his chair, “And if they do, it won’t exactly be challenging to quiet them.” The sheriff had been admiring the curve of Guy’s neck as the younger man faced the door. He liked Guy from a distance but now, standing with Gisburne before him, he was done with waiting. “Now come here, Gisburne!”

With those words, whatever last barrier was holding Gisburne back snapped. The blonde knight nimbly leapt forward and kicked aside the footstool de Rainault’s feet had been resting on, standing before the shorter man. Taking a deep breath, Guy slowly extended one hand to place it upon the sheriff’s shoulder. The sheriff did nothing, comfortable in his control: Gisburne could do nothing without his approval. It didn’t matter that Guy had the advantages of youth and strength – the true power was de Rainault’s, and they both knew it.

Guy stared at his hand as though he couldn’t believe that it was truly on the sheriff’s shoulder; as though he couldn’t believe that any of this was real. Touching, perhaps, but the sheriff had other things on his mind. Enjoying the heavy scent of the man-at-arms wafting about him, the sheriff reached up and pulled Gisburne’s fair head down and kissed him hard on the mouth. There was a moment of unresponsive uncertainty, and then the younger man returned the kiss with a hunger that matched de Rainault’s in its fierceness. Neither man was the kind to indulge in the petting and pecking those chicken-brained women wanted – this was all scratching stubble, heavy panting breaths, and the click of teeth as their mouths collided.

Gisburne’s sword-callused hand had snaked its way up to the back of the sheriff’s neck where it held his head as the young man deepened the kiss, his tongue flickering out to meet de Rainault’s. Robert’s own hands took their time in slowly exploring the younger man’s battle-hardened body, tracing the lines of his hips and the curve of his arms.

This was good, de Rainault thought, quite as good as any of the fantasies he’d entertained. God (well, maybe some Greek one) willing, he’d be able to do more than entertain them in future. At any rate, he was done with embraces. He broke the kiss, pushing Guy back and smiling like a cat to see the shocked and bereft look on the young man’s face.

“My lord?”

“No, I’m not sending you away, you young fool. My bed, Guy. Now.”

Guy swallowed, breathing hard. His face was deliciously flushed, and his lips had been kissed to a bright red. For a seasoned soldier, Guy still managed to look as sweet and fresh-faced as if he’d never seen the cruelties of war and the world. There couldn’t be any real innocence left, de Rainault thought, but he thought he’d try a little debauchery on his own account for form’s sake.

“My lord, I… please. A moment.” Robert narrowed his eyes. Guy had that particular look of confusion about him that usually signified that things were moving a bit too fast for him to follow. It might well be the case – he’d spent years pining after his master, but now things were moving quickly in directions he might never have foreseen.

“Oh, Guy,” the sheriff purred softly, closing the space between them and raising one hand gently to caress the taller man’s face. Gisburne closed his eyes, an expression of almost painful longing on his face as he leaned his head against Robert’s hand. He looked quite angelic in the flickering firelight, the sheriff thought. Then he raised his hand and struck Guy violently upside the head with the back of his hand. Caught unawares, the knight cried out and staggered backwards, hunched forward with his hand over his smarting face.

“You should know by now that I expect a certain amount of obedience from you, Gisburne,” the sheriff continued in the same level tones. Guy straightened, his hand still on the red mark where Robert had hit him, hate burning in his eyes. Yet surely not all of that hate was directed externally – de Rainault could see self-loathing in those brilliant blue eyes as, with a deep shuddering breath, Gisburne walked stiffly towards the sheriff’s four-poster bed.

De Rainault followed him, undoing his belt and discarding it as he came. Gisburne turned as he reached the bed, eyeing him warily.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” Robert chided him, gently reaching up and taking the hand Gisburne had on his cheek and kissing it. Gisburne gasped at the sudden tenderness but still held himself rigidly still, unsure what to do and on edge from the unexpected blow.

“Truly, Gisburne,” the sheriff said in soft murmur, raising his other hand and placing it behind Guy’s neck. Then, with gentle but persistent pressure, Robert guided Guy’s fair head down and captured his mouth in a long, slow kiss. With a moan Guy abruptly abandoned his caution and melted against de Rainault’s body and mouth, his strong arms reaching out and pressing the shorter man even closer to him. Robert bent his head and began to lick and suck at Guy’s neck, enjoying the pathetic, needy whimper that escaped Guy’s lips as his blonde head fell back, exposing more of his neck to the sheriff’s further ministrations.

“My lord!” he exclaimed in a whisper as de Rainault’s teeth scraped across the smooth skin of his neck.

“Yes, Gisburne?” Robert murmured, flicking his tongue across Guy’s ear, “Did you have something – ” he reached around and grabbed his steward’s arse, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the man, “ – you wanted to say?”

“Oh… my lord,” Gisburne whispered, eyes shut and a look of conflicting pleasure and distress on his young face.

“Really, is that all you’re going to say?” de Rainault said in a disappointed voice, “Well, what if I try this?” and he reached down and squeezed the bulge of his steward’s now-hard cock. Gisburne’s blue eyes snapped open and he suddenly tried to grind his whole long frame against the sheriff with so much force that the shorter man all but lost his balance. But he kept teasing Gisburne’s cock as the knight’s head fell down onto his shoulder, his breathing heavy in de Rainault’s ear and his eyes staring unseeing into the flickering hearth-fire.

Then, as before, Robert de Rainault stepped abruptly back, leaving Gisburne bewildered and cold without the warmth of the sheriff’s body against him.

“You should disrobe, sir knight,” the sheriff said softly, gazing at him with cool, calculating eyes. Gisburne all but ripped his belt off, yanked off his fine blue tunic and undershirt, kicked off his boots, and pulled down his trousers and braies. In seconds, he was standing bare-skinned on the cold flagstones and rushes of the chamber floor, his hair tousled and his cock erect. The sheriff looked his steward up and down approvingly.

“And now me, Gisburne.”

With a deep breath, Guy stepped up before him and slowly, almost reverentially untied de Rainault’s shoes and clothing, his hands moving skittishly over his lord’s body as though he was afraid of what he was doing. Robert stepped out of his shoes, which brought him right up close next to Gisburne’s hot skin. The young knight bent his head and buried his face in the sheriff’s hair and his hand traced the bone of his shoulder, a look of aroused ecstasy on his face. De Rainault was still puzzled to be the object of so much adoration from his steward, but he wasn’t going to waste his time pondering the mystery of it all; if he hadn’t been rock-hard before, having Guy take those short, shaky breaths in his ear would’ve done it by now.

“Well, Guy? Shall I fuck you, perhaps?” the sheriff asked archly. Gisburne’s only response was yet another whimper as he tried to grind himself into the de Rainault’s hip.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Robert said, “Now get on my bed, Gisburne.”

Licking his lips, Guy clambered onto the bed sheets, the covers already turned down. He was a vision: all long limbs, battle scars, and blonde hair. The sheriff walked quickly across the cold stones of the floor to a cabinet against the wall near the foot of the bed, from which he retrieved a small flask of oil. Returning to the bed, and unstoppering the bottle, he looked down at Gisburne hungrily and slathered himself liberally with the oil, watching Gisburne watching him slick down his cock with his hands. The young man was leaning back on his arms, his chest rising and falling as he watched his lord as if hypnotised, his own cock beginning to drip with precome.

“Turn over, Guy,” the sheriff said softly, though his tone carried enough threat that he might as well have shouted.

Scrambling onto his hands and knees, Guy faced the head of the bed, giving de Rainault a fine view of his arse. With a grunt, the sheriff clambered onto the bed behind Gisburne and manoeuvred himself in between Guy’s legs.

“Now I’ll need you to relax, Gisburne, can you do that for me?”

The golden head turned back to look at him, and though the turmoil of hate and love was still there, Robert could see that Gisburne understood and would obey.

“Good boy.” And with that, he shoved one of his oil-covered fingers into Gisburne’s arse. The man hissed and tensed, but de Rainault reminded him of his duty with a smack to the side of his head. Then he leant over Gisburne to begin to tease his nipples, already erect in the drafty castle chamber, while the other hand worked the man’s arse.

“My lord – ”

“Come on, now Gisburne. Less talk. This is only the thing you’ve fantasised about for years,” he whispered as he slipped another finger into Guy’s arse.

There was a whispered response that Rainault could only just catch: “I hate you.” But that only made him smile as his Gisburne panted under him. With a quick scissoring of his fingers, he quickly changed Guy’s tune to a tense, husky litany of “Please! Oh please, my lord!”

A smile spread on Robert de Rainault’s face that even King John would have found unnerving.

“Well, since you asked so politely, how could I refuse?”

He withdrew his fingers and eased the head of his oil-coated cock in so it touched Guy’s opening, placing one hand firmly on the knight’s slim hips. The young man was taking shallow breaths now, squirming back against de Rainault’s cock. Then, with a grunt, de Rainault drove his length into the hot silk of Gisburne’s arse. The knight’s back arched and he clenched so tight around de Rainault’s shaft that the sheriff thought he might pass out from the feel of it, his hands holding fast to Gisburne’s hips as he tried to anchor himself.

They remained in suspended motion like that, both panting like dogs as the sensation inundated their senses. And then, slowly at first, de Rainault began to fuck his steward. As Guy’s gasps and moans drove him on, he picked up the pace, revelling in the utter perfection of Gisburne’s body. As the sheriff moved in and out and in and out of him, Guy’s pretty head hung low and his blonde hair swayed back and forth in time with each push.

“Oh, Christ, Gisburne! How have I not fucked you before?” de Rainault swore as Gisburne let out a small sob, the half-strangled noise going straight to the sheriff's groin and spurring him to a faster pace, “If I’d known you were this good I’d have gotten you up here and fucked you every night ‘til sunup.”

Then, when the head of de Rainault’s cock hit the right spot, it was Gisburne’s turn to blaspheme.

“God!” he cried, automatically fucking himself back onto Robert’s shaft as it found the same nerve over and over again. The feel and the sight of Guy driving himself onto his cock, completely abandoning his principles and feelings in search of a good fuck nearly sent de Rainault right over the edge, but he held on.

“Sweet Mary, just like that, Gisburne,” the sheriff gasped, shifting his hold on the younger man’s hips as sweat made them slick. He leant over and reached one hand around Gisburne’s cock and the young man bucked up against his hand with a cry, throwing his head back, eyes closed and mouth agape in ecstasy.

“My lord!”

With a hungry grin, the de Rainault began to pump his steward’s cock in the same steady rhythm as he was fucking him by.

“My lord... God. I love you!” Gisburne exclaimed brokenly as Robert de Rainault fucked him to the hilt, his whole body shaking with the force of each thrust. Something in that confession angered the sheriff and he started fucking the younger man harder and fisting him rougher as if he could force that emotion out of Gisburne completely. But that only aroused some self-loathing part of Guy that seemed to want to be so roughly used. He lowered his arms and hid his face in them, whimpering “I love you. I love you!” over and over like a vespers prayer as de Rainault fucked him into the mattress. He wanted Guy to stop saying that – to stop reminding Robert that Guy loved him. Romance had no place in his bedchamber, but Gisburne wouldn’t stop saying it.

The sheriff was about to hit the knight and tell him to shut his mouth, but suddenly he felt Gisburne tense up beneath him. Then Guy cried out the name “Robert!” in a voice filled with love and, with a gasp, came in hot spurts in de Rainault’s hand. When the final tremors of his climax left him, Gisburne was still trembling like a skittish beast beneath him.

After Guy yelled his Christian name, Robert de Rainault climaxed almost instantly. He only had time for one final vicious thrust before he came harder than he had in his life, pulling out and collapsing onto the knight’s sweat-shiny back with a cry of “Guy!” that he managed to muffle by biting the soft skin of the knight’s shoulder.

Guy dropped onto the bed under de Rainault’s weight and the two men lay there, skin on skin and sweat on sweat, sticky and panting like dogs. As the Sheriff of Nottingham breathed deep, inhaling the scent of his steward, he wondered about Guy and the way the knight had said “Robert”. That was a privilege reserved for equals, surely, even if they were fucking. He ought to be furious at the liberty the young man had taken. But hearing Guy of Gisburne say his name (with that almost worshipful quality!) made him reach a zenith he could never remember having felt before. Surely he didn’t love the man back? The idea was laughable, but the post-coital haze in his mind wasn’t providing any alternative explanations.

He stayed there, the sweat cooling on his back as he tried to sort through the confused mess of his thoughts, Gisburne warm underneath him. Then with a sigh, the knight broke the silence and shifted beneath Robert so that the sheriff felt obligated to get off him. De Rainault rolled over onto the bed and made to get up but was caught in the younger man’s strong arms. Gisburne pulled his lord close beside him and then grabbed the covers, throwing them over the both of them. Then, with a final contented sigh, Gisburne lay back and rested his chin on the top of de Rainault’s head. For his part, Robert de Rainault could only see the strong outlines of Gisburne’s chest and feel his breaths as they ruffled the hairs on de Rainault’s head. The sheriff should have felt indignant at Guy holding him so close – he didn’t cuddle – but somehow, somewhere after that “Robert” he had lost the upper hand. He would make Gisburne pay for it tomorrow. But for now, he would stay here, breathing slowly and listening to the slow thuh-thump of Gisburne’s heart until they both were asleep.