A Black Christmas

Gotcha!

Gisborne woke with a start. He might have been in his cups, but he was sharp enough to know that he was not alone.

He'd fallen asleep in a chair in the main hall at Locksley, right next to the open kitchen door. Whoever the intruder was, they wouldn't be able to see him around the corner. Both rooms were in darkness - save for the dying embers of the fire in each - but the faint glow was just enough for the Lord of the Manor to see by.

There! Another sound on the other side of the wall behind him; someone was padding carefully around the kitchen in the blackness. It couldn't have been a maid or Thornton - Guy had sent them all home on Christmas Eve. He was feeling his parents loss more keenly than he had in years, and his unfulfilled desire to build a new Gisborne with Marian left him feeling additionally bitter.  Not even a Vaisey-free Christmas could lift his sour mood; Guy hated this time of year and how adrift it made him feel. So he had dismissed his servants, not wanting an audience while he drank himself senseless.

Thornton hadn't needed telling twice.  He ushered everyone out as his master uncorked a second bottle of his finest claret - or rather Vaisey's finest - the Master at Arms had pilfered several bottles from the castle wine cellars, before high tailing it to Locksley to drink himself under the table.

Barefoot and dressed in black leather britches and a shirt, the dark knight was suitably camouflaged and free of the usual metalwork that would have clanked as he moved.  Soused though he was, Gisborne rose quietly from the chair and side-stepped the upended bottle at his feet, before silently pivoting to face the kitchen.  Seeing the outline of a young lad before him the dark knight launched himself at the figure - a bastard lopsided smirk on his face - confident he'd get his man.

His soldier's training kicked in and the tall man reached the intruder in strides. An intruder who made a distinctly high pitched yelp when grabbed. An intruder who felt slight and soft in his arms. An intruder whose sweetly rounded arse was pressed into his groin, having been pinned face-down over the laden kitchen table. Gisborne had instinctively drawn his curved blade, and it was now pricking his prisoner's throat as he hooked the leg of a nearby chair with his foot and dragged it towards them.

"Up, slowly," he growled as grabbed the back of the 'lad's' collar, twisting it harshly as he pulled his prisoner to sit in the chair. Without looking at his captive's face, he used twine from the table to bind delicate wrists behind the back of the chair, and muddy booted ankles to each front chair leg.

Without a word, Gisborne rose and poked the fire, adding logs to the dying embers. He needed light and a moment to compose himself - his heart was beating at a fierce rate. He had his suspicions about who he was going to see when he turned around and he was both curious and livid in equal measure. He couldn't fathom whether she wanted to be caught or whether she thought him ridiculously dim.

The tall man grabbed a stool and cooly placed it in front of the chair, his bare toes almost touching her boots. Without looking at his prisoner he sat for a moment, head bowed, staring at the curved blade he was toying with in his long fingers; both of them still silent. Eventually Guy looked up, heart racing again as his suspicions were confirmed. He'd been a fool; the sheriff was right, showing humanity was a weakness.  His voice was all silk and honey when he spoke, not wanting to hint at the whisper of fizzing anger that was flooding his veins at her betrayal.

"Does Locksley know you're here?"

*****************

I'm writing this slowly (because it's the only way I can write), so please bear with me my while I update sporadically over the Christmas period. This little ficlet is my contribution to jadey36's Christmas Crackers prompt. Please be kind, it's my first :o)