36Author's Note- One more story for Guy and Catrine. This story takes place during Catrine's banishment from the castle, and is also consequently the fall before Guy leaves for his mission in the Holy Land in the spring. Thank you to my reviewers who gave me the idea to depict more of a family life for the happy (and steamy) couple.
Please R&R! And enjoy!
The soft, late autumn, morning breeze blew through the bedroom window of Locksley Manor, and Catrine took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. Placing her hands on her lower stomach, she felt the flatness, the emptiness within her, and closed her eyes. She squeezed her legs tighter together and felt slickness between her thighs. Catrine loved that feeling. Maybe, she thought, things would change for her this month if she laid like this for a while.
Guy's footsteps echoed through the bedroom, and the sounds of metal clinking and leather scuffing right above her made Catrine open her eyes once more. With a chuckle, Guy smiled down at her, his leather jacket hanging open on his broad shoulders. "My wife's already tired out before she's even started her day. And only after her morning's dose of love, too," his deep voice chuckled in his chest as he bent down, placing a kiss on Catrine's cheek.
With half a smile, Catrine gently pushed Guy away from her face, "My day, what day? What do I have left to do now that the Sheriff has banished me from the castle? I only have to endure one more month of this exile to Locksley."
Guy began hooking the claps of his jacket, "Surely it's not all that terrible, running the manor on your own, and then," his grey eyes left his jacket and turned to Catrine, mischief gleaming in his look, "welcoming me home with open arms."
Catrine sniffed, "Open legs you mean," she muttered almost inaudibly under her breath. She saw Guy cock his head in confusion and continued quickly, "What infuriates me, Guy, is that the Sheriff knows I have brilliant plans. And now more than ever, the entirety of Nottinghamshire needs a brilliant plan. This is the worst famine to hit these lands, almost all the crops have failed, and if we don't do something now, everyone will be famished for the entire winter to come." She crossed her legs tighter at the knee, "But does the Sheriff see fit to let me help? Of course not."
Folding her arms over her breasts, Catrine felt tears beginning to annoy her eyes, "Instead, he plots to take my husband from me within the year and cast him into the sands of the Holy Land." Her breath caught in her throat, barely allowing her to speak the last two words.
Guy stopped fiddling with his straps and adjusting his belts immediately. He moved beside her on the bed and knelt down at the edge. "Catrine," his deep voice no more than a whisper, "You can't worry about that yet," his hand stroked her soft cheek as he leaned in to kiss her once more. "Even I'm not worried about that yet," he added, but still Catrine looked only up at the bedroom ceiling, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Guy sighed. "I'll tell you what, my love," he began as he gently turned her head to face him, "I will ask the Sheriff today to lift your banishment." Catrine's eyes sprang open wide in shock. "Now, how does that sound?" Guy added, chuckling at his wife's obvious excitement.
Catrine stared at him questioningly, "Do you mean it?" her voice and her gaze suddenly serious.
"Yes," Guy replied. "For your sake, I will ask. But," he said, raising his eyebrow teasingly, "in the mean time, I'd love for my clever wife to try and save Locksley from famine too."
"Of course, my lord," Catrine chuckled, stroking his rough cheek. "Now you'd better go. I don't want the Sheriff to blame me for making you late."
Guy chuckled and pecked Catrine quickly on the lips before standing up. He looked down at his wife, her naked figure outlined beneath one thin white sheet. A mischievous smile began to tug at his lips. "You know, the Sheriff could even go so far as to banish you for one more month if I'm late," he smirked, and sat himself down on the bed beside her, his hands began to pull the sheet away from her smooth, pale shoulders.
"Guy, you wouldn't dare!" Catrine yelled, trying to fend off his hands from her.
Laughing, Guy stood up, "I'll go, I'll go. I don't want to return to an angry wife, now do I?"
"Ha! Not if you expect open… arms," Catrine replied, laying her head back down with a huff.
Guy chuckled and walked to the door, "Goodbye, my love."
"Goodbye," Catrine said as she still looked up towards the ceiling, waving her arm delicately above her head as she heard the door close.
Alone, Catrine lowered her arm behind her head and grabbed the pillow, pulling it out from under her and placing it under her hips. She crossed her legs tighter together, praying that this would be the month. This month, Catrine did not want to get her course of blood; this month, she wanted to create life; and this month, she wanted to give Guy an extra reason to return from the Holy Land. She wanted a child, a little Gisborne, for her own sake and for Guy's. For almost three years, nothing had happened, three years for which Catrine felt biting shame as a wife. Each month when her course would come, she saw the traces of disappointment in Guy's eyes, the same traces of disappointment she knew were in her own as well.
But now, she was determined, convinced that this was her chance, this was her month, to finally become a wife and a mother. Catrine lifted her hips higher on the pillow beneath her, and she could almost feel his liquids running deeper into her. Closing her eyes, Catrine tried to fall back asleep.
After a few moments, sounds of village activity began pouring from the bedroom window. Finally, the noises of horses and carts grew too loud, and Catrine opened her eyes, frustrated at the beginning of her day already.
Women's voice carried through the window on the crisp fall wind, "Sarah! Bring yer cloths over 'ere. I need to lay out me herbs."
"Right away Matilda!" a young voice shouted back.
Catrine jolted where she lay in bed. "Matilda, the midwife?" she spoke softly to herself, her hands clutching tighter on her stomach. Her mind raced at the thought: a midwife could help her, could inspect her, could figure out exactly what was wrong with her. With a sigh, Catrine swung her legs off the side of the bed and stood up, feeling semen trickle down her legs to the floor. She shrugged and grabbed her robe from nearby the bed, walking over to the window to look out at this woman.
Slowly lifting the curtain from the open window, Catrine peered out at the cottages below, the large, dark-haired woman bustling back and forth from her cart into the closest house, her arms laden with baskets and jars. Matilda must be paying a visit to the young couple there. Catrine's hand gripped the wooden bar of the window, her knuckles paling from her tight grasp. She felt her nostrils flare in anger, sneering at the thought of a young peasant bearing a child. But not her.
Catrine tossed her hair with a flick of her head. She was a noble, and she did not need help. No crawling to a strange, mysterious old hag, no unknown herbs and foreign remedies for her. Spinning around towards the closet, Catrine began to dress herself, praying that a baby would soon begin to grow within her.