The Shepherd - zeesmuse - Robin Hood (BBC 2006) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: The Lord...

Chapter Text

Late August 2014
London, England.

The bedroom in the townhouse was in upheaval. The last of the boxes were packed, taped up tightly. The closets stood open, emptied of their contents, as were the drawers in the chest. Two large suitcases, along with an over-sized carry-on, lay open on the bed.

“My Lord, is there anything else you need?”

Guy looked up from his carry-on, his shaving kit in his hands. He surveyed the room.
“I think that's everything.” His eyes settled on the boxes. Strange, what few things he deemed necessary to take with him to Georgia. The next time he stepped into this home, he prayed he would be carrying a bride over the threshold.

A bride he had married over 800 years ago. But who was counting?

“Are you sure there is room in Mother's garage for the car?”

Jeffrey, his mother's driver, exhaled. The man was mired in pomp and ceremony and proper etiquette. His sons were another matter. “My Lord, if Madam says there is room in the garage for your car, then there is room. Even if we must build another garage.”

The kit went into the carry-on. For not the first time, Guy checked the satchel again. His laptop, the computer power cord, his phone's power cord, two books. Tooth brush, tooth paste, deodorant, toiletries...

The first time Guy had traveled, there had been snow and he had been stranded for two days in an airport with nothing but an original hand held Gameboy, whose batteries had died in three hours.

Ah! Batteries! Do I need batteries? NO! Power charger...

He found the 3DS tucked in the pocket, relieved he had remembered the power charger and it was wrapped around the small gaming system.

Ipad... power cord...clean underwear... fresh shirt...

Yes, he had learned his lesson very well.

“Has Timothy arrived?” Timothy was Guy's man – driver, butler, late night card partner and drinking buddy. He was also one of Jeffrey's son. They looked alike, but had very different temperaments.

Just as his name was mentioned, the man showed up in the doorway. “Sir Guy?” He nodded to the boxes. “I'll put these in the trunk of the car and take them to the post after I drop you off at the airport.” He picked up the top two. “Are you sure these will reach the correct address?”

Everything was in order. “I have been assured the U.S. Postal Service will leave notes at the flat I've rented and will hold the boxes for several weeks until I retrieve them.” He had rented a small one bedroom apartment in Smyrna, an area he understood was a northwest suburb of Atlanta. “As we sent most of the things this morning, I should arrive before they do.” His mother's servant nodded before picking up the other two boxes and headed down the stairs, leaving Guy alone in his bedroom.

He looked around one last time. The room had a genuinely masculine feel, dark and broody. There was not a touch of feminine influence anywhere. That would change when he returned with Genevieve. She would want to put her personal touch on the room, the entire abode.

If she returned with him.

For not the first time, he harbored doubts, wondered if she would welcome him. If she would want him. Everything had to be timed perfectly. The accident would occur in less than a month. For not the first time, he squelched the desire to reach out to her, warn her...

And for not the first time, Val's voice echoed in his brain, hissing still from that last conversation he had had with the angel.

'She will not know you, will not remember you. She will have no memories of your time together in Nottingham. Not until after the wreck. You must bide your time. Right now, she thinks she is in love with Robencourt. He must break her heart. She must go through that intersection. Only then can you approach her.'

Guy zipped up his suitcases, saving the carry-on for last. He had been in talks with George for some weeks. His wife's cancer had reached a critical point; there was nothing left for her. They met twice, a quiet agreement reached and agreed on. Guy had contacts stateside; impressive contacts. Many of his London clients owned various businesses, interests in the States. Guy had purposely cultivated clientele with such interests. He would bring much to this partnership. In time, the practices would merge, making it an international firm. Genevieve's contract was in his carry-on. That bit was taken care of; had been taken care of for some time.

“Gui?”

“Yes, mother?”

“Êtes-vous sûr?”

How many times had she asked him this? From his earliest memory, when he spoke of Genevieve, so positive, so sure, neither his father or mother questioned his memories, his determination. When he was 15, when he showed his mother the hidden niche behind the fireplace in the Master Bedroom of the old hunting lodge in Gisborne and the papers, the copies of the contract, that were within-

“How many times will you ask? I am sure.”

“And if she does not remember you?”

This he had thought of many times. “If she does not remember and simply thinks of me as her attorney, then that is how it will be. I will save her company. That will not change.” His eyes turned dark. “And then I will recapture her interest and her heart.” His attention turned back to his luggage. “I know what she desires.” The locks and combinations were secure. “I know what she needs.”

Before he could pick up the suitcases, Guy was caught in a maternal hug. “If she breaks your heart-”

He kissed Elyana's forehead. “She won't. I know her. She belongs to me, whether she knows it or not.”

She grabbed him tighter. “You should have been married by now. When I was your age, you and your brother were half grown.”

“And you were a widow and you have refused to look at another man.” His voice dropped. “I love her just a deeply. Would you deny me the love you had for Father?” The shake of her head against him was his answer.

He turned his mother loose and grabbing his carry-on, he left the room, ready to begin yet another chapter in his lives.

Chapter 2: Chapter 02 - is my Shepherd

Chapter Text

September 2013

Where r u?

Guy stared at his cellphone, looking at the screen.

Wot? Jesu, the mangling this culture has done to my language.

Shaking himself, he texted back. The carpark. Standing behind her car.

His cell rang. “Stay put!”

Guy hung up, making a face several of his mothers would recognize as one of sheer mocking petulance. He slid the evil thing back into the clip attached to his belt and checked his watch.

An hour. 90 minutes? In an hour and thirty minutes, everything he'd worked for, everything he accomplished, every woman he had made love to, had loved, had hated, every vile thing he'd done, every good thing he'd done, every child he'd sired...

The man he'd hidden. The things he stole. The artifacts he'd appropriated and moved twice? Three times?

...culminated in this. The education, the traveling, the planning...

There are those who would claim he was a stalker. So what? He was. Admitted it and would admit it to Her, when she asked.

Her senior year in high school, she pitched for her school's softball team. They won the state championship and she could hurl a softball with deadly accuracy. He knew. He was there. He watched the game, up in the stands, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. The woman next to him gushed and gushed. That's my girl! That's my Gen! Isn't she amazing?

'Yes,' Guy responded. 'She's quite amazing!'

He made sure he was long gone and away from the field and the town within minutes after the game was over and prayed Genevieve's grandmother would forget who she sat next to.

He was in the stadium when she graduated high school. Watched from afar as she posed for pictures with her friends, her then-boyfriend, John.

A healthy relationship.

She was offered several athletic scholarships. She accepted the one at the university with the best architectural department. The scholarship wasn't much, but it helped. It moved her out of state, away from the loving arms of her grandmother and strained and eventually pulled apart that healthy relationship that wasn't meant to be.

She took a summer internship with Fairburn, Hatfield and Smithton Architects. At the end of the summer, Thad Fairburn called her into his office and personally told her to be prepared to return the following summer. She was...impressive.

She summered with the large firm each summer, doing her final year long internship with them her senior year and was immediately hired by them.

Only to find herself stifled, her ideas attributed to others...so she struck out on her own.

Guy was in the auditorium when she graduated that second time. He was still just as proud of her as he was the first time. Grace was there, taking pictures, different friends this time around.

Guy turned loose for some years. Allowed her to grow, make her mistakes. He tried not to think about Lamar Robencourt, tried not to think about what was going on during those last three years. She was now in Val's very capable hands, under her very wings; Val who had guided him for eight centuries. She was also guarded by Douma, the Angel of Death.

Douma made him quake. The few times he had dealings with her, he was grateful his bladder wasn't full. He surely would have pissed himself.

He made sure his mother bought up more and more stock in Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte Architects. He was 17 and he insisted. Told her if she didn't invest in the company, he would. She also invested in Fairburn's company. Just in case. All were waiting for Genevieve's stock to go quietly public. If his mother thought he was insane, she never let on, simply allowed him to make the call.

Ficklebutte was not going to win. Not on Guy's time, not on Guy's anything.

“What are you doing?” Val's heels echoed eerily through the parking deck. “Don't tell me you're having second thoughts.”

“No.”

The angel stopped in front of him. Immediately, Guy felt calm, peace, serenity. “You have been quiet this week.”

“I have been busy this week.” He shoved both hands in his pockets. “George's wife passed this morning. Considering what she has been through, it was peaceful.”

“Douma said it was an easy passing.”

Guy exhaled. “Of course, you already knew.”

“How many times have you seen her?”

Her. No need to ask which 'her'. Guy stared off into the skyline. He'd traveled much over the centuries. Skylines changed, as had this one. One of the first things he'd done upon arriving two weeks ago was take a day and climb Stone Mountain. The city had changed from that view. The last time he'd seen it, Atlanta was on fire. Sherman was thorough.

Southerners were tough. They'd rebuilt it. They rebuilt it and adapted it. Made it a jewel. “Twice.” He now looked at the angel. “Do you want to know?”

Val shrugged.

“There was a Center of Puppetry Arts event two days after I arrived. Funny,” Guy mused, “how quickly word spreads that someone has money is in town. I was called personally to attend.” The side of his mouth quirked. “The last person I expected to see was her on Robencourt's arm,” he snarled.

“That's not true, Guy. George invited you.”

“I did not stay long.” True. He hadn't stayed. The minute he realized Genevieve was there with Robencourt, he slipped out the door as quickly as he could without looking like he was looking for somewhere to vomit.

“What did you think?”

Guy's mind drifted back. He was split between beating the spit out of the man who was barely paying attention to the beautiful woman at his side, and becoming the Neanderthal Genevieve often claimed he was, throwing her over his shoulder, taking her to the penthouse of the Marriott and making love to her all night. “It is clear he does not love her.”

“It is not clear to her.”

“It will be clear to her!” Guy snapped, oblivious that his voice echoed through not only that deck, but the ones above and below as well. It was obvious to Guy, in the extremely brief encounter, Robencourt would dump her and Guy would pick up the pieces, protect her, protect her company, keep her safe. With his protection and guidance, she would grow, her company would continue to grow. She would thrive in ways she never imagined. “Back in Nottingham, in Hood's time, I had a steward I had much respect for. Thornton was a wise man, a decent man and he gave me sage advice.”

Val smiled. “And what advice about love did he give you?”

“He told me once that love is a blind whor* with mental disease and no sense of humor.”

This caused the angel to bark in laughter.

There was a noise; another person leaving for the weekend. The woman wasn't paying attention to the mild altercation at the other end of the parking deck. The car tweeted as she unlocked the door and climbed into her vehicle. “I saw her Wednesday. I sat two tables from her at the Legal Bagel. He stood her up. Did not even have the decency to call.” Val just listened to her charge vent. “She took the croutons into the park to feed the birds. I ask you, Val, what sort of woman sits so quietly through lunch, calm as still water, when the man who supposedly loves her, treats her like nothing? She feeds the birds!”

“She cares, Guy,” Val shrugged again. “It's who Genevieve is.”

There was a tweet and buzz. Val pulled a cellphone from her jacket pocket. Guy recognized it, even though he had not laid eyes on it in centuries. “Genevieve's.”

Val was staring at it. “She left it on her desk. I was going to put it in her car.” The thing was buzzing madly.

“'Tis him. And his gorgon of a mother.” He knew what was being said on the other side. Had heard it years and lives long ago.

Val was shaking his head. “No. It's George's secretary.”

Guy snickered. “Ah, the old battle ax. She thinks I'm a client, not her new boss.” He was again looking off into the city. “I will have to deal with her next week, on top of...” He nodded towards the iPhone in Val's hand.

“She's been unusually absent-minded this week.”

“She has much on her mind.”

“She is distracted.” Val ducked her head and looking around to make sure it was just the two of them on the floor, she waved her hand over the passenger front door, the lock clicking. She opened the door and dropping the iPhone next to the seat, she relocked it and shut the door. She stood up straight to see Guy, yet again, staring off towards Kennesaw Mountain.

“This city has changed, Angel.” Val could tell he was locked in an old memory, far, far away. “It has changed, grown. I almost do not recognize it. Her people, however, have not changed a bit.” He turned to Genevieve's office manager, eyes sad and beseeching. “Must she go through this? Can I not warn her? Delay her?”

Over the many centuries, the two of them had had this conversation. “Guy, we've talked about this-”

“I would save her from this.”

Val exhaled. He was pleading. Never had she heard him, seen him plead. “Certainly, you can halt her, delay her. Introduce yourself as her new attorney. Tell her of George's wife's death. This will be news to her, shocking. She might think you mad, for a short time. It would frighten her.

“So you delay her and she doesn't go through the intersection, she doesn't run the red light, she isn't injured. If that accident does not happen, she will not go to Nottingham, she will not meet you, she will not return the crucifix to you. You might complete your task in Nottingham, but you will die and you will be judged. Roland will remain with his father and become a blacksmith. His sons and his sons sons will remain and not become who you are. Eastbrooke Financiers will not exist, the winery will not exist, your current estates will not become FitzGisborne property and all will fall in disrepair. What was hidden in France will burn with the chateau and what was hidden from Henry VIII will also burn in the name of England. Your body will not be retrieved, but left to rot in the cellars of Nottingham Castle. Your bones will become crushed dust beneath the foundations, nothing recognizable save a portion of your unknown skull. Everything you accomplished as Roland, William Edward, all of them, will not be. None of your wives...” her voice trailed off. “You will not be here to rescue her, the sale of her company will go through and she will realize that she is broker than she ever was and her company dismantled before her eyes. She will return to Kentucky, marry her grandmother's neighbor and will feel empty for the rest of her life and she will not know why.” With much regret, she hammered in the final nail. “You will be judged and sentenced by the Almighty. It will not go well with you. You will not be offered another chance.” Tenderly, she reached out and touched his hand. “She will not die. I promise. She will hurt, be in great pain, but she will not die and you will be here to rescue her and protect her and her company. She will remember you. Her first thought upon waking will be you! She will remember everything about you and your time together. Everything you have worked for and accomplished will bear fruit.”

“What if she does not want me?” It was a strained whisper.

“Ah Gui,” this was not the angel's voice, but that of his first mother. Ghislaine. “Vous avez si peu foi en vous-même? Elle vous aime tellement.”

She watched him brace himself, that resolve in him she recognized for so many, many years and lifetimes. “You will not tell her who I am. Not until I am ready to reveal myself.”

When he looked at her, Val saw what Genevieve would tell her from her hospital bed in weeks to come.

He had eyes like the sky, like stone, like glass. But mostly, like the sky.

“If you hurry, you can get to the intersection and be prepared. Go rescue my chickie-poo.”

With a rueful grin, Guy turned and headed towards the street.

tbc

Ah, Gui. Vous avez si peu foi en vous-même? Elle vous aime tellement. - Ah Guy. Have you so little faith in yourself? She loves you so.

Chapter 3: Chapter 03 - I shall not want

Chapter Text

George looked good.

He had color and was smiling, as he held his hands out. “Genevieve! How is my favorite client?”

Genevieve smiled as she rose from behind her desk. “George! You look good. Rested!” She came around her desk and found herself grabbed in a bear hug, one that was welcome. Pleasantries and greetings exchanged, the two made their way to Genevieve's private conference table.

“FitzGisborne is treating you fairly?”

“I'm marrying him, George. You've got the prenuptial. You tell me if he's treating me fairly.” She didn't tell him Lamar had already gone through it with her. Granted, it was only a cursory over view, but...

George set his briefcase on the table and opened it. “Have you attempted to look at this?”

“Aw George, you know me. Lawyerese is a foreign language.”

He removed a folder and opened it on the table. “This shouldn't take long. As extensive as it looks, it's rather straight forward. In short,” he removed his glasses from his jacket and put them on. “He's giving you the farm. I want to know what you did in such a short time to cause an English Earl who has been, by all reports, a confirmed bachelor with no attachments ever, to propose marriage within months?”

Genevieve blushed and scratched her ear. “We met a long time ago. I spent a few weeks in England when I was younger and met him. It was a whirlwind courtship, but we lost touch soon after I returned. It was...” she struggled for words, trying to tell as much of the truth as possible, “a shock when he showed up that Monday, all raring to go to battle for me!” She picked up the prenuptial. “The entire farm, eh?”

George nodded. “You are getting ready to become a very wealthy lady, Genevieve,” he began. “And if the two of you divorce, you will retain much of the farm. If the two of you have children, even better. Even if you don't have children, it's still great for you.”

Genevieve's mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. “Start from the top and make it simple.”

George took a deep breath. “I felt terrible dropping the ball like I did when this entire sale almost happened. You would have been fleeced and it would have been my fault.”

“George-”

“Don't.” He smiled sadly. “I have had my new partner thoroughly investigated. I don't want to see you in that same position ever again. So, I traced that man's background and ancestry back seven centuries, clear back to one William Edward FitzGisborne who lived in the 14th century. I suspect Cris,” Genevieve blinked at the unfamiliar name, “can go further and I imagine he might have a fascinating tale or two to tell about his forebearers.” He picked up the stack of papers and thumping them on the table, began to recite.

“Lady Locksley, Lady Eastbrook, Lady Harridston, Countess de – that would French for 'of' – Aigues-Mortes, duch*ess of Nîmes, Baroness Torksey, and Lady FitzGisborne for starters. For starters! Your husband has lands and titles in both England and France and from what I can tell, they have been in the family for centuries. The FitzGisborne's,” he grinned wryly, “have been among few families that have retained what they gained over the centuries and not lost it, despite wars and uprisings, and churlish kings. Like many of the women who married into the family, his mother brought a few titles to the family as well, however, in my discussions with Cris, it seems she would like to see those go to her younger son, Archer, so he won't feel so left out.”

Genevieve adored her future brother-in-law, rapscallion that he was. “I wouldn't deny Archer anything the family wishes for him.” She looked from her copy of the prenuptial. “Besides, I think I lost count of how many 'ladies' I am. He will also be granted the Harridston title and property as a Christmas gift this year. Don't tell.”

“It's really unheard of,” George continued. “I was able to trace the Locksley title the furthest. Locksley as in Robin Hood! Locksley, Eastbrook, Harridston, Torksey and FitzGisborne are English titles and estates. While the Locksley, Eastbrook and Harridston titles and properties are the more prestigious, the family has a preference for the FitzGisborne title.”

“It's the oldest,” Genevieve murmured.

George looked up at her over his glasses. “I see Cris has regaled you with some of his family history already?” Genevieve nodded. “Family historians claim they are the illegitimate branch of the legendary and mercenary Sir Guy of Gisborne. At some point, they married into the Eastbrook title, the Harridston title, as well as the Torksey title. While the family maintains the Locksley and Gisborne Estates in Nottingham, their main seat of power is located on the Eastbrook Estates in Lincoln. The Harridston Estate was absorbed into the Eastbrook Estate sometime in the 14th century. It has been used as dower property a few times, but it manages to be absorbed back into FitzGisborne hands.”

Genevieve started to tell him that the Harridstons were besieged with daughters, daughters that weren't very fruitful, but she bit her tongue.

“If you don't know about the Gisborne property, you might find it scandalously amusing!” George loved telling stories, and this was the most animated he'd been in ages, so Genevieve allowed him to continue. “Apparently the current home, which is actually small compared to the Eastbrook Estate, was built for one of the ancestor's mistresses.” He was flipping through his notes. “Ah. William Edward. He seems to only have had the one and he fathered three daughters with the woman. Dowered them well with property, homes, and money. All three married barons, rather well-off, to be honest.” For a moment, the man's face fell. “He seems to have been a rather shady one. Retired his wife to a convent soon after their last child was born...” his voice trailed off.

Genevieve bit her lip to keep from saying anything aloud. From Guy's description, that wife had either been bi-polar or simply insane. He'd tried to divorce her quietly, but neither of the Edwards would allow it. Well, Edward II would have allowed it, but at such a great cost...

And he did eventually marry his mistress, Vivienne. Against Edward III's wishes and in secret.

“The Aigues-Mortes and Nîmes properties are in France and not just anywhere in France, but down on the Mediterranean Sea, just west of the French Riviera. It is wine country and your husband's ancestors have made quite a bit of their wealth from the wine pressed on those estates. A FitzGisborne married into those titles as well.”

Roland. Guy's first reincarnation...

George was unaware his client was drifting off. “During the French Revolution, both chateaus in Aigues-Mortes and in Nîmes were burned and it was rumored the locals stayed drunk for a month from the stolen bottles of wine, however Napoleon restored the family titles and properties and the FitzGisborne's rebuilt and reestablished the winery.”

“At least the peasants left the grapes alone.”

George was nodding. “They weren't completely insane. Well!” he continued, “you have your choices of titles to go by! Have you decided what will go on the top of your stationary?” He was smiling now. “Lady Locksley? duch*ess of Nîmes? Countess? Baroness?”

Genevieve was reaching for her pen and flipping to the last page. “Anything in here I should renegotiate?”

George settled back in his chair, watching her closely. “Not a damn thing, Genevieve. You'll have more homes and property and stock than you'll know what to do with. Money, a generous allowance and settlement if the worst happens. You'll have so many homes you can sell, it's not funny. He's paying off your condo on Ashford-Dunwoody, paying and maintaining the home in mid-town. Homes in New York, elsewhere...” He took his reading glasses from his nose and set them on the table. “The older, family properties, he does wants want back, but not until you're ready to give them back. Otherwise, the majority of it is yours, should this not work out. Including the titles.”

“Titles, titles.” She signed her name with a flourish at the bottom. “Of all of these titles, I think I like 'Mrs. FitzGisborne' the best.”

Chapter 4: 3B - I shall not want - Addendum Une

Chapter Text

Guy rolled over and immediately woke up.

No Genevieve.

Thinking she was in the bathroom, he started to nod back into sleep, before realizing he was hearing nothing from there.

“Genevieve?”

Silence.

He looked at the clock.

3:13

And that would be in the A.M.

Guy kicked the covers back and swung long legs from the bed. Leaving the bedroom, he stepped into the hallway and heard talking from the family room.

She is watching television at this hour?

Their first babe was due in four weeks and still extremely active. Genevieve's obstetrician was threatening to send her home and put her on bed rest for the duration if the swelling in her feet didn't go down. Guy decided that if the doctor didn't send her home, he himself, as her husband and her Dom, was going to do so. He had no problem invoking and enforcing Master privilege, even if she refused to refer to him as such! Her next appointment was in two days and Guy made sure his calendar was open so he could go with her and ensure his voice was heard and heard clearly. She was uncomfortable and not sleeping well and was now wandering the floors at all hours of the night.

He went down the stairs and into the family room, where yes, Genevieve was on the couch, very swollen ankles propped up on the ottoman and she was watching...

“What is this?”

“Kung Fu Theater.” She blew her nose and dabbed her eyes. “This is so sad.”

Guy stood behind her, arms crossed, watching the screen. “Of course it is sad. It's dubbed and dubbed badly!”

“NO!” Genevieve gestured to the television, where several men and a woman with a scarred face were flying through the air, kicking, flipping and landing karate chops. “It's like a Chinese Romeo and Juliet!” She pointed to someone in slow-motion. “He is heir to a big family and was attacked by a rival family and left for dead on the road. She-” she was now using the remote to point to the only woman on the screen, who was giving better than she was getting, “rescued him. She lives in the woods and took him to her place when she found him on the road all beat up. While tending his injuries, she discovered who he is. She's in love with him, but won't tell him because she's from the rival family and she was their family assassin before she chucked it and moved into the woods to hide. Besides, he's contracted to marry her sister to bring peace to the families and he's too honorable to break the contract, so she's not very nice to him.” Genevieve pulled a tissue from the box. “She doesn't know he's in love with her and he thinks she hates him. He has no idea who she is.”

Guy pinched his nose. “Sounds confusing.”

Guy stood behind her, behind the couch. From his view point, he could see her belly, bouncing in the glow of the television. He leaned over and placed his hands firmly to the sides, the babe immediately sensing his father's presence. “Roger William, you are to cease this playing immediately, so your mother may rest. She will need all of her strength to bring you into this world.”

The babe responded with a single hard kick.

“I cannot sleep without her by my side, so if you do not mind-” The babe responded with a hard elbow against Guy's other hand. “My Lady, your son is as stubborn as you are.”

“I think he or she gets it from you, my lord.” It was quiet for a few moments, Guy's hands on his wife's protruding stomach, and her hands covering his, the two of them marveling at the life held within. “Does this ever get old for you?” She looked up to see his puzzled expression. “Babies. You've fathered how many over the centuries? Does it ever get old?” Guy continued to stare at her. “I mean, I would think this would be boring or old hat.”

“No,” he shook his head. “It is never boring or... old hat.” Truth was he loved seeing his progeny running around, getting in other people's way. But he could not stand their ill-bred brats!

“Oh crap.” She pointed to the television, remote in hand, where the credits were rolling in Chinese. “I missed the end.”

“He leaves and returns to his family and she is left crying in the doorway.” Guy leaned over and took the remote from her, turning off the television. “Come to bed.”

“I can't,” she whined. “Obviously, there is a disco ball in the top of my uterus and this child is listening to the soundtrack of Saturday Night Fever!”

“BeeGees abound. Stayin' alive, stayin' alive,” he smirked.

“And,” her hand was on her left side, massaging, “he has his foot in my ribs and using my bladder as a trampoline!” Before he could help her, she rolled over and off the couch, and waddled towards the bathroom. “And I'm hungry.”

Guy studied the floor, the pattern in the carpet. “Should I whip up a batch of 'Eggs ala Gisborne? Pancakes?”

“NO!” Her voice echoed from the bathroom. “I want donuts!” There was silence in the bathroom. “Ah, baby, sweetie, please! Mama needs to pee!”

“Genevieve,” Guy's voice was cajoling. “It is 3:30 in the morning...”

“Krispy Kremes! Not Dunkin' Donuts!”

“Genevieve-”

“Fine!” She waddled from the bathroom and limped up the stairs. “I'll just starve.” She disappeared around the corner.

Guy rolled his eyes. His wife was a drama queen and under normal circ*mstances, such an attitude would result in discipline.

But compared to Millisande, who was probably bi-polar or some 21st century psycho-babble, Genevieve was simply...

pregnant.

Guy trudged up the stairs, finding Gen on her side of the bed, on her back, with her hands folded demurely on her belly and staring angrily at the ceiling. Snatching the extra pillows, he tucked them under her feet and kissed her. “I'll be right back.”

He grabbed his jeans and sliding into them, headed barefoot to the garage, wallet and keys in hand.

“Not! Dunkin' Donuts!”

He opened the garage door and stepped onto the concrete. It was frigid cold.

He stepped back into the warm home, snarling. Pulling out his phone, he clicked the information center. “Krispy. Kreme.” It took three phone calls, Guy not paying attention to the locale, before one answered.

“Krispy Kreme!” The girl sounded to be around the age of twelve.

“Yes. I would like to order a dozen glazed donuts, fresh from the oven, and two powdered whipped cream filled donuts and a pint of low-fat milk.”

“Alright! We have those! Just pulled the glazed out of the fryer! ”

“Good. They are fresh! I would like them delivered to-”

“Delivered?” There was a nervous giggle. “Sir, we don't deliver.”

“I will pay you one thousand of your American dollars to deliver those donuts to my home.”

“Sir?” She was laughing out loud. “I'll bet you're my boss, fakin' an accent. Y'all have a nice night.”

And there was the obvious 'click' where the girl hung up, Guy staring at his phone in anger and disbelief.

Note to self: Buy the Krispy Kreme. Fire the chit!

He suddenly remembered his brother was supposed to fly into town at 2:45 AM and Frederick was at the airport, waiting for him with the family limo.

He dialed the preset on his phone, waiting for his brother to pick up.

“Up late to see if I made it in safely, brother?” Guy could hear Archer smirking on the other line. “By the way, thank your lovely wife for the use of the condo while I'm working on this new system for my employers and thank you for the fancy ride.” Archer was tweaking the Georgia State Capitol's, as well as several Federal Buildings security systems. They were antiquated and would require a lot of tender care, according to his brother. It would take a long time, so Archer planned to be at the hospital when his nephew arrived.

“You may thank her yourself. Where are you?”

“I am... Frederick, where are we?” Guy heard talking in the background, “We are leaving Hartsfield International. Getting on I-85.”

“I am sending Frederick the coordinates and address for a 24 hour Krispy Kreme. Pick up a dozen fresh out of the oven glazed, not cake donuts, two powdered whipped crème-filled and a pint of 2% milk and bring them to the house. There is a bed in the third bedroom you may use tonight, if you wish.”

There was a low whistle over the phone. “Brother mine, you're going to lose your fine, trim waistline, and that lovely arse your wife loves so much will become as wide as a draft horse, if you eat like that all the time. So what if I say, no?”

Guy rolled his eyes. “It is not for me. Genevieve has a craving. If you say no, I'll have Frederick make a stop anyway to get them, and then have him change the locks on the condo.” Guy slowly started up the stairs.

“Ah, for the lovely Genevieve!” Archer was quite jovial and perky. “I think I can swing by the donut shop for her.”

“Pipe Frederick in.” He waited for the audible click into the sound system. “Put the fear of God into the chit at the shoppe. I offered her $1000.00 to deliver and she refused. What better thing does she have to do at four in the morning?”

“Yes, my lord.” Frederick was all business and stoniness. “We will arrive in half an hour.”

“Tell me you did not wake up Frederick! You don't pay him enough to run around for my cravings!”

“Oh, I heard that!” Archer adored his sister-in-law and thought she kept his irascible brother in line. “Tell her her knight in shining armor is on his way!” There was then an audible click in Guy's ear.

Guy came around the corner, into their bedroom. “No. I remembered Archer arrived at the airport about forty-five minutes ago and he will stop by Krispy Kreme for you.” Genevieve now lay on her side, a contour tummy pillow supporting her baby bump. Getting comfortable was not happening for his wife tonight. “No need for me to freeze my balls off if he is already out in it. He will spend the night in the third bedroom.”

“But you would have called Frederick, wouldn't you?”

Guy slid onto the bed behind her. “Yes. I pay him well and he knows that he will be called at all hours if necessary. It is part of the job requirement.”

“But still-”

“But still nothing. His family has served my family since Roland FitzGisborne and loyalty has been bred into him. If I call him at 3:30 in the morning and tell him to get donuts for my wife, he will get up and get donuts for my wife. Besides, he is driving Archer, so he was already awake and there. What part of your back is hurting?”

“Here.” She pointed to the small of her back. “It never stops hurting anymore.” As Guy splayed his long fingers across her back, he could feel the tightness, weary pull in the muscles. “I'm sorry I'm whiny.”

“You are a brat. But you are my brat and I understand.” It was quiet for some time as Guy ministered to his wife's aching muscles.

“Guy?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I'm going to start cutting back to half days next week.”

“I know you are going to stop working next week.”

“I think you're being a Neanderthal.”

“I know I am being a concerned and loving husband and Master.”

“I know you're being a complete Neanderthal.”

“That, my lady, is why you married me.”

Headlights splayed across the wall, as someone pulled into the driveway. Guy kissed her shoulder. “Stay put. Archer is here.”

“Couldn't move if I wanted to. Yay. Krispy Kremes!”

It was a quick trip down the stairs, greeting his brother. Both Archer and Frederick were in black business suits and sunglasses.

“You are cruel,” Archer muttered, handing the bag over to a rather under-dressed Guy. “She thought we were with British Intelligence and these donuts were for the Queen.”

“I believe she or someone will deliver, next time you call and ask.” Frederick responded coolly.

“Good.” Guy began to dig and grabbed one creme-filled and one glazed donut, along with the pint of milk.

“What's for breakfast in the morning, boss?” Frederick smiled. For all of the formality, Frederick was considered a good friend to both of the FitzGisborne brothers.

“Donuts! Or there is an International House of Pancakes between here and downtown.” He then returned back up the stairs, leaving his Archer and Frederick in his wake. He strode into the master bedroom, like a conquering swain.

Only to find his wife asleep.

tbc

Chapter 5: 04a - He Maketh Me...

Chapter Text

Guy awoke to the sound of the shower running. He yawned once, rolled over, to find her side of the bed empty.

No. If I am in the bed, she is here with me. We rise together, we lay together.

He opened one eye and peered at the clock.

6:42 AM

And it was blinking.

Damn digital things of this time period.

He squinted to see the day.

Saturday.

Guy scowled. Saturday was for lolling about in bed at least until 9 AM. Saturday was the morning they didn't have to be anywhere, the morning they didn't make plans, had nowhere special to be. Saturday was the morning of slow, sensual, take-your-time making love.

But Genevieve was up and showering.

Something was wrong...

Guy rolled out of the bed and padded into the bathroom. Sure enough, Genevieve was in the shower, the temperature in the small room ten degrees warmer than it was in the bedroom and steam filling the room. He reached over and flipped the switch for the fan, only to hear it fizzle, sputter, and stop.

Great. Something else the contractors got wrong. Yet another DIY project in the honey-do jar. Honey-do. Honey-do! What a ridiculous name...

His ancient, neanderthal voice was screaming...

DIY? Peasants 'DIY'! Not Gisbornes!

Well, it was still Saturday morning and there was still time to salvage Saturday morning sweet sex. Guy lifted the toilet lid to take care of morning business, his eyes wandering and falling to the small trashcan next to the commode.

His brow furrowed, as he bent over and picked up the opened box. He then dug through the tissue, found the pregnancy test stick. Just as he picked it up, he heard a soft sound that was being drowned out by the shower.

A hiccup.

She was crying.

He already knew what he would see when he turned the stick over.

Negative.

He quietly dropped the test back into the trashcan, already formulating facts and reassurances in his mind.

She had been on constant birth control for how many years? It's only been a month? It takes time for a woman's body to re-adapt back to that which it was created to do. Alise had used herbs and women's lore and it still took them some months to become pregnant after they crossed the English Channel. Once she had the first one, however, there had been seven more not-so-little FitzGisborne's; six that survived and grew to adulthood...Vivienne had used women's lore to keep from conceiving, as well. For some years, she and William... he thought of his past lives by his given name in that time... watched the moon, trying to keep from having children. They still had three beautiful daughters... cherished...

But he knew Genevieve. Genevieve would take this as a set back, a personal affront, a failure.

He turned to the shower. Quietly, he opened the shower door, stepping into the heat. For not the first time, his mind wandered backwards, remembering the time,she was there at his home in Locksley and tried to explain modern plumbing, hot and cold running water to him. All of her modern 'conveniences' and yet, she wanted to stay with him.

What had he done to deserve her love? To deserve her?

His arms snaked around her, his chin resting on her head. “Why are you crying?”

“I'm not crying.”

He popped her once on the hip, causing her to yelp. “That's ten. Care to go for twenty?”

She turned in his arms. “No.”

“Well then,” his voice was like smooth chocolate, as he caressed the offended hip. “shall I repeat the question?”

“Our pregnancy test was negative.”

Ours. Something else that was new in this New World of hers. She wasn't the only one expecting a child, the only one who was pregnant: they both were. Somehow, he liked that. But, if they both were, then they both were not.

“Ah.” He re-tucked her under his chin and kissed the top of her head. “I suppose this means we have to try again and again this month.” He sighed dramatically. “Such a difficult task, making love to you, morning, noon, and night.”

Genevieve's head jerked up. “Now you're getting the spanking.”

Guy laughed, his hands gently rapping a rhythm only he heard in his mind on her rear-end. “Oh, that is not negotiable, my lady. I think-” he cut off her building tirade, “that in addition to our morning and evening sessions, I should make time – nine, ten – to come to your office, or you to mine, I do have that lovely comfortable couch, after all, for lunch or afternoon appointments! We could christen your desk? I have dreamed of stretching you out on your conference table.” He looked down at her, his eyes sparkling like the water. “Be patient, my lady. Now, turn around. I wish to lather you up as I wish to take you back to the bed and get you vile, filthy dirty. Hmm?”

Guy awoke with a jerk, music blaring in the bathroom. He couldn't understand the words, didn't want to understand the words, and whatever the words were, his wife – who quite frankly could not carry a tune to save her life – was singing along with it. He kicked over the side of the bed – it was Saturday and Saturday morning was love-making morning, she knew that – and stomped naked into the bathroom.

Only to see his wife, equally naked, dancing, her butt jiggling to whatever music she was listening to – something about all about that bass. She turned, both arms stretched up, seeing him scowling in the doorway. Her grin was huge. It was then that he saw the small, white stick in her hand.

“Good morning, Daddy!”

Chapter 6: 4B ... to lie down...

Chapter Text

Guy crawled from the car, vaguely aware of the garage door behind him screeching to a close. He leaned against the top, willing, demanding his headache go away. As he pushed backwards from the vehicle, the thought went through his mind...

I am never ill! Perhaps some of Genevieve's Ty-le-nol would do the trick.

He started coughing the moment he stepped into the house.

Genevieve knew the second she laid eyes on him, their planned evening was not going to happen. Meh! That $1000.00 a plate dinner would be boring anyway.

“You don't feel well.”

Guy began to pull at his necktie. “A couple of aspirin, I'll be fine.” He was aware of her cool hands cupping his face.

“Fever. Clammy skin. Nope. We're not going anywhere.”

At first, he covered her hands with his, enjoying her gentle touch, before pulling them free. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was in her slip, her stomach, their baby, just beginning to show. Her waist was quickly disappearing; at this rate and seeing how tightly her clothes were now fitting, he knew she was going to have to shop for maternity clothes that weekend.

He hated shopping. He especially hated clothes shopping. It was something he never got used to. He wondered if Val or Cecily would be willing to take his place.

He'd pay them well, if he had to.

“You are partially dressed already. Aspirin. Alka Seltzer. I'll be fine-”

“You'll do nothing of the sort!” Her finger went up and he recognized Boardroom, Head-of-the-Company Genevieve Robinson-FitzGisborne. Guy knew he was now in trouble. “And do not start your Master Dom voice thing.” Her finger now swirled on the floor. “This is my territory, buster!”

“And what territory is that?”

Genevieve's voice softened. “It's where I take care of you, my lord.” She pointed her chin at the stairs. “Get undressed and start the shower. Hot as you can stand it. Let the room get steamy.” As Guy trudged up the stairs, Genevieve grabbed her cellphone. First, as she headed to the kitchen, she called Cecily to find out the protocol for exchanging dinner tickets. She removed a package of chicken from the freezer and put it in the microwave to thaw. Getting the answer she wanted to hear, she then called Bradley. She balanced the cellphone between her chin and her shoulder, as she then made her way towards the back patio and entered the greenhouse, grabbing a pail and a pair of clippers. “Bradley!” She snipped several stems from one of the eucalyptus plants and pulled the leaves from them, dropping them into the bucket and releasing the scent into the air. “What are you doing tonight?”

Several minutes later, Bradley was on his way to pick up the dinner tickets, and Genevieve had a bucket full of eucalyptus, peppermint, rosemary and thyme leaves. For not the first time, she patted herself on the back for strong-arming Guy into building the greenhouse in the backyard, just off the porch. Her grandmother had believed in natural remedies and raised her granddaughter the same way. This way, fresh ingredients, herbs, and spices, not only for what she was about to make, but also for cooking, were growing year round in their back yard.

She could hear the shower running as she reached the top of the stairs. She grabbed her mesh lingerie laundry bag from the laundry room and headed to the master bedroom suite.

Guy lay on his back on the bed, long legs half over the edge, in a state of half undress. Normally much neater than she, the fact his suit jacket, shirt and tie were dropped carelessly on the floor, shoes kicked off and only one sock along-side the tie, was a clear indication of how lousy he felt. “Really, Genevieve. If you will get me some Tylenol or Alka Seltz-”

She began to strip the leaves from the plants and put them in the lingerie bag. “We have had this discussion. Bradley is coming to get the tickets and he's going to take his lady friend from the soup kitchen he volunteers at.” It had been a relief to find out the reason why Bradley was disappearing for long lunches and running out the door on Friday, was because he was helping out at a neighborhood free kitchen and apparently he was a mite sweet on one of the cooks. The little mesh bag began to fill with greenery, the combined scents rising. She heard the bed squeak, as Guy got up and began to unbuckle his belt. She heard his clothing hit the floor. Finishing the bag, she pulled it closed and handed it to him. “Hang this on the shower head and breathe it in.”

“Dinner-”

“I'm taking care of it. Now get in the shower,-” he glowered at her, “-my lord.” She immediately softened her tone, trying to curry favor with that compassionate part of him he hid so well. The bag still dangled from her fingers. “I don't want to catch it, so I need you well.”

With a snarl, Guy snatched the bag from her and stormed into the bathroom, unaware of her own snarky smile. She heard the door slide back and within a minute, the smell of the eucalyptus exploded in the room. Nodding to herself, Genevieve changed into a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt, the late summer Atlanta heat seeming to be worse and made more humid with this pregnancy. She then picked up Guy's clothing from the floor, neatly laying it across the chair and pulled out a t-shirt (black. I am the Man!) and a pair of jogging shorts and lay them on the bed.

She headed back to the kitchen, removing the chicken from the microwave and quickly cutting it into small bite-sized pieces. By the time she heard the shower turn off, a large pot of chicken soup was boiling merrily on the stove, celery, carrots and as an after-thought, noodles following into the water.

Bradley came, thanked her, and went.

An hour later, Guy was full of chicken noodle soup, stretched out on the bed with his head in Genevieve's lap and the television remote in one hand. Genevieve didn't know why he liked to hold the remote, but it seemed to bring him great comfort. She supposed it was a 'Guy thing' or maybe just a guy thing. He half-heartedly flipped through random channels, not paying attention to anything, just slowly lulling himself to sleep. Genevieve paid no attention. He had the sound turned completely down and she had her Kindle. One finger slowly dragged and tucked dark hair behind his ear, a repetitive, calming motion.

The channel switching stopped. Genevieve looked down to check if her husband was asleep.

He wasn't.

“Genevieve?”

“Hmmm?”

“You're a brat.”

“I'm your brat. You wouldn't have me any other way.”

“True.” Pause. “If I were a harsher master, I would spank you regardless of your condition. I should start keeping a list for when you have healed.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are not my master, remember, my lord?”

Guy cuddled down, getting comfortable in her lap. “Are too.”

Genevieve shook her head and returned to her reading, her fingers continuing to comb and toy with the curls at his nape.

“Baby's moving.”

She put her ereader down. “Are you sure? I thought it was butterfliiiiiiesssssss...” Her hand went to her side. “Oh.”

Guy's hand joined hers, the butterfly within, migrating to his father's palm. “Hello, Roger.”

He then nodded off.

Recipe for herbal sinus inhalant:

A medium to large heat-proof bowl.
6 to 8 cups of boiling water (filtered, so that you aren’t breathing chlorine!).
Herbs
2 cupseucalyptus
1 cuppeppermint
1/2 cuprosemary
1/4 cupthyme
A large towel
Put herbs in a large bowl. Pour boiling water over. Lean over bowl, with towel over head, corralling the steam. Inhale steam.

Chapter 7: 4C - ... in green pastures

Chapter Text

beep

Floating.

The room was dark, silent, save for the-

beep

There was a shadow, tall and lean clinging to the corners of the room. He was passed unseen by the nurses, who came in quietly on soft-soled shoes, checking numbers, vital signs, the person in the bed.

beep

The nurse wrote indecipherable things on her chart, copied them into the computer, and then left, assured her charge still breathed, sleeping in a drug-induced slumber. When the door whispered shut behind her, the shadow peeled itself from the wall and approached the woman. His form became solid, obviously human. He leaned over, mesmerized by the fluttering of her eyes behind closed eyelids.

beep

“She's going to be okay, Guy.”

beep

“So you say.”

“Guy-”

“I was not prepared for that.” His eyes were silver slits reflecting in the moonlight, coming through the window.

“I tried-”

beep

“I know!” he hissed. “All the years I prepared, everything. Nothing could prepare me for that!” He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing the angel could not help. “What day is it? What time is it?”

beep

“It's three in the morning, Saturday morning. When will her grandmother arrive?”

The woman in the bed was shaking, shivering. She lay on her back, her arm and leg elevated. She looked uncomfortable and in pain, despite the heavy painkillers.

Val joined him, looking over her. Her hand brushed Genevieve's brow. “The brook. The glade. The first time you took her.”

beep

“So fast.”

“The doctor will take her off the sedatives Sunday evening. She'll regain consciousness Monday evening, however she won't completely come to until Wednesday.”

“She abided with me six weeks, yet she was gone three days here.”

beep

“Douma is looping time for her.”

“For me.”

Val nodded. “For you. Both of you.”

beep

Floating...

Freezing...

“She is cold. Why is she cold?” Guy sank to the bed, to the right. There was just enough room and he stretched out next to her, lying on his side – mostly off the bed, to be truthful – and cuddled her the best-

Suddenly, there was a warmth, a cocoon of warmth and protection and love and...

...he could.

beep

“Guy?” The voice was whispered, raspy, but it was her voice.

And she called out for him. Him!

beep

“Yes m’lady. I am here.” Raising up on his elbow, he began to kiss-

Butterflies along her brow...

...along her forehead. “Banana, Genevieve?”

Her brow furrowed in pain.

Yesyesyes

“-yesyesyesyesyesbanana. Don't leave me.”

Guy pulled himself in closer. There was an audible click as the painkiller and sedatives were automatically dripped into the IV. “I am not going anywhere, m'lady. Sleep Genevieve.”

beep

Something warm coursed through her veins. Pain fading...

Banana?

Sleep.

Floating...

beep

Chapter 8: Chapter 5 - He leads me beside still waters

Chapter Text

Four years after the Epilogue

New Year's Eve

“Guy! Can you come zip me up?” Genevieve stood in front of the full length mirror, twitching and turning. For not the first time this evening, she decided her one and only New Year's Resolution would be to lose twenty pounds. Three children and suddenly, there was no time to hit the gym a few times a week to pump a stationary bike or walk the treadmill. Well, by golly, if she had to eat yogurt for lunch and spend her lunch hour on one of those nasty things... better yet, she'd just have one put in the employee lunch room! That was the ticket! And a stair stepper! Marquis was putting on weight, the two of them could walk the fire exit stairs together! Bradley as well! Shoot, her entire core staff could stand to loose a few pounds! They could start a club: Robinson's Rotund Runners or Architectural Ass-lift Anonymous or FitzGisborne Fitness Fanatics. Yeah! They could get cute little tee-shirts or something...

“Guy?”

This was most unusual. Typically, he was by her side until she completed dressing. Truth be told, there were times they became side-tracked in the craziness of it. Nine years of marriage the passion was still there. Granted, they played at the club, rather than at home and not as often as they had early in their marriage. God forbid, one of the children should walk in and see her trussed up like a chicken, bent over his lap.

Been awhile since he'd done that. Perhaps, next time they went to the club... hmmmm mmmmmm. Or maybe even a late night at work. It'd been a long time since she'd been a naughty secretary!

“Guy?” Genevieve heard the bedroom door open.

“No, darling.” The mellow cadence of Elyana, Guy's mother, broke the quiet of the room. “He is downstairs where young Grace is attempting to coerce him into doing something she wants.” The older woman spun her finger. “Turn around. You look as if you need buttoned up.”

Genevieve turned obediently. “Thank you for watching the kids tonight.” She scowled. “Are you sure you don't have anything else to do?”

“Stand up straight. Pinch your shoulders back.” Guy's mother began to pull the dress together and fasten the endless buttons. “There is no where else I would rather be. I-” she gave a particularly tough yank, “am looking forward to making a huge blanket tent with my grandchildren and camping in the living room, eating chocolate and ice cream and watching the Peach Drop!”

“You spoil them.” Genevieve's words had no bite.

“'Tis my job.”

“And you're very good at it.”

Two hands gripped the younger woman's shoulders as the two women peered into the mirror. “My son chose well.” A slow smile crept across the woman's features. “Has anyone told you, you resemble your grandmother?”

A knot formed in Gen's throat and she nodded.

“I know you miss her.” Grace Robinson passed away quietly in the night the previous spring. “She loved you so much and was so proud of you. I miss her too.” Genevieve didn't think the statement odd. The two women had become fast friends upon meeting during the planning of Genevieve and Guy's wedding. It was quiet for some moments, while the two women basked in memories of a beloved woman.

“So,” Genevieve's voice broke the silence. She studied her reflection in the mirror. “What is Grace trying to wrangle out of Guy?”

Elyana tapped her lip thoughtfully. “I do believe she desires to go to the party with you.”

His Little Princess tiptoed down the stairs and stared into the family room, where her older siblings lay across the floor, game consoles in hand. With all the ire the three year old could muster, she scowled and continued about the edge of the room, attempting to stay out of her brother and sister's eyesight. Truth be told, they wouldn't notice her anyway, concentrating instead on trying to rescue Princess Buttercup from Bowzer. She started to ask them if they knew where her Prince was, but she knew if she disturbed them, it would be a long evening.

At least Nanna Ellie was staying with them tonight.

A sound off to the side caused her to refocus on her mission. Continuing in the shadows, she followed the noise into her father's study, a dark, masculine room that smelled of leather and paper. It was a smell she associated with him from beyond her memory, something so long ago, she could barely remember it. He had his back to her and was dressed in a tuxedo, his curling hair touching his collar.

She patted down her ballet skirt and cleared her throat.

Guy turned and spied his youngest child staring up at him. He set the folder he was perusing down on the desk and pivoted to face her. This child of his and Genevieve's was, for lack of a better term, other-worldly. There was something about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Wildly creative, with a vivid imagination; dragons were real to her, as were monsters under the bed, and no amount of teasing from Roger and Ghislaine could convince her otherwise. Santa was real, the Tooth Fairy was real, and knights in armor who traveled on flying horses and ladies who rode ponies with single horns...

“You look lovely,” Guy's grin was partial and he bowed in such a way, Edward III would have been jealous.

So would Henry VIII, but Guy didn't think about either one of them.

Grace preened. She turned slowly. “Weally?” Completing her pirouette, she smiled, a single dimple showing in her left cheek. “'Tith my best tutu.” She put her left foot forward. “An' I has new dancing swippers.” She made sure to point her toe, just like Miss Barbara, her ballet teacher, taught her.

Guy took a step forward, towering over the child. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “Have I met the young man who is taking you out dancing tonight?”

Grace bolstered herself. “My prince in shiny shoes is taking me dancing.” She nodded once.

Guy made a moue, in obvious deep thought. “But he did not ask my permission. I do not know if I can allow-”

Grace stomped her dainty foot. “Daddy! You are my prince in shiny shoes. You must take me dancing tonight!”

Guy smothered a smile. “Grace, I am taking your mother dancing tonight.”

“But it's Newly Years!”

“Yes,” her father nodded. “It is New Years and your mother and I have been invited to a party.” Now the smile was complete. “We have been planning this for some weeks. Your Nanna Ellie has come all the way from England to stay with you tonight.”

Grace's bottom lip trembled. “But you hafta take me! You hafta!”

Guy thought for a moment, still looking down at this tiny child from his great height. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped to the calendar. “I just so happen to have Saturday afternoon available. Perhaps you and I can go to Mary Mac's Tea Room for a real date.”

Grace's face was so downtrodden, it caused Guy to worry. She shook her head slowly back and forth. “No. Nononono. Hathst to be tonight. If you don't kiss me at midnight, you'll turn into a frog!”

It crossed Guy's mind to inform his daughter he was already a frog, but he thought better of it. Thinking quickly, he walked around his desk to his bookshelf against the wall. He picked up the clock and reset it to almost midnight. “I suppose we should hurry.” He waggled the clock at her.

“We hafta dance. I hafta sing the song.”

“Dance?”

“De Waltz. We has to do De Waltz.” She held her hands out expectantly.

Guy reached down, gently clasping the tiny fingers. It dawned on him Vaisey would never stop laughing, Robin would be gob-smacked and Marian... who knows what Marian would think. Sir Guy of Gisborne would never allow his child...

But eight centuries changes a man.

As do daughters.

“My new swippers might scwatch your shiny shoes.”

“Take them off.”

Grace divested herself of the ballet slippers quickly, before gently stepping on her father's shoes. Both pairs of hands clasped together, father and daughter began to rock as the child began to sing.

“I saw yoooooou da da da da wonce upon a dweeeeeeeeeeeam....”

At some point, the redirected clock chimed midnight and Guy lifted her into his arms, dancing now velvet to stubbly cheek and a very sweet kiss was shared.

“Daddy?” She had her head on his shoulder, facing the window.

“Yes, Grace?”

“I has a secret.”

“What would that be?”

“Promith not to tell.”

“Promise.”

She whispered in his ear and for a minute, Guy's heart stopped.

“You've been very quiet tonight.” It was going on two in the morning and Fredrick was taking the long way around the perimeter. It was getting harder for the couple to make love in the cabin of the limo, but they still managed. Gen was straddling Guy, her skirts spread around her husband's torso and lap, covering the fact his pants and boxers were down around his ankles. She was unbuttoned and her bodice was down about her waist.

“Tired.”

Genevieve shook her head. “No. This isn't a tired quiet from you. You're gnawing on something.”

Guy was looking out the window. “It was something said in confidence.”

Genevieve drooped. “Ah. Work.”

Again, Guy's head nodded negatively. “No. Grace said something tonight.”

“You can't tell me?”

“It was said in confidence,” Guy reiterated.

“Guy. She's three. How big a secret can a three year old have?”

Guy inhaled, a painful thing. “I did not tell you this...”

“Promith not to tell?”

“Promise.”

She crooked her little finger. “Pinky promith.”

Guy lifted his finger, the two smaller digits hooking together. “Promise.”

Grace leaned over and whispered in Guy's ear. “My name izzn't Grace.”

“It's not?” Guy whispered back. “What should we call you?”

“Grace.”

Guy's smile was one of indulgence. “I thought you said your name was not Grace.”

“Is not.” Her voice deepened and lost its child-like quality. “My name is Cecilia.”

A/N If you've been reading Aside from Heaven, you know exactly what this means.

Chapter 9: 06 - He Restoreth my Soul

Chapter Text

Timeline: Before the wedding.

July was hot, humid. For not the first time, Guy seriously considered demanding Genevieve run her company via Skype and move to England or to the vineyard in France. Or at the very least, summering in one or the other.

However, in light of everything he had learned over the last eight hundred years, he figured he might want to wait a few decades before insisting on that. Besides, it was Tuesday. Tonight would have make up for the entire weekend he would lose with her, when his mother and Genevieve's grandmother would descend on their solitude. Guy typically looked forward to Friday, because on Friday, he spent the entire weekend with Genevieve. It was a compromise they had come to – something else Guy had learned in his previous lives – when she asked him to move in with her.

Oh, he wanted to move in with her; as far as he was concerned, they had already taken holy vows, even if it had been... oh... back in 1196, and yes, they had a date set, and yes, today's society would not have cared less, but he wanted her to have time to plan this party without tugging on him 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

A wedding was a woman's work.

Yes, it was a neanderthal thought, but weddings involved shopping for clothes and Guy despised clothes shopping! Besides, he already owned several tuxedos of various labels, colors, and styles. Over the weekend, Genevieve, his mother, and her grandmother would decide which one he would wear. Why all the fuss?

Tuesday through Friday, he met her in her office building with her morning coffee. Depending on their schedule, they spent a few precious minutes together, planning their week. She had physical therapy on Tuesday and Thursday, so she was crabby. She was working out – moderate treadmill only – on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday afternoons. They had lunch on Wednesday, Friday night was dinner and he stayed at her condo through Monday morning.

Lest anyone think they spent the weekend, lollygagging in bed, they spent the days at what was going to be their marital abode, painting the rooms and inspecting the work that had been done to their home. They shopped and picked out furniture, linens.

Some things, Guy could care less about, but Genevieve cared. Some battles were not worth fighting, so those things were left up to her. Truth be told, he only cared about the functionality of their office, the size and how comfortable their bed would be and his man-cave in the basem*nt.

Which he personally referred to as The Dungeon. He already had plans for that. Yes, indeed.

Oh, and no flowered or pink bed or bath linens. A man had to put his foot down somewhere!

Genevieve's car was parked in front of her condo. Most Friday's, they went out to eat and did a 'date thing' – the museum, the symphony.

Atlanta Braves Baseball.

Guy didn't 'get' baseball. He most certainly did not get the 'Tomahawk Chop' or singing their one-syllable 'war chant'.

The Wave. Vaisey would have a heart attack and John would think it was a party all for him. So would that idiot, Edward II. That one had caused him all sorts of grief.

He didn't think basketball was much better.

Guy preferred contact sports. Rugby. European Football. American Football. Hockey. A little blood didn't hurt anything.

But tonight was not Friday. It was Tuesday. His mother and her grandmother would be in town this weekend and their schedule was disrupted.

Meaning, Guy was grumpy.

Due to the insanity that their lives were becoming, this very evening, Genevieve was cooking one of Guy's favorite dishes – Coq au vin. His day had been quite wretched and the week had been worse, so she decided that rather than go out, they should simply stay in and she would cook.

He had a gift for her. He wanted to see her wearing it. Arriving at her front door, he knocked once before letting himself in.

“Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.”

Guy's brow furrowed in evil humor. She knew how he felt about swearing. Call him old-fashioned -

Neanderthal!

-but swearing was something that had been negotiated in their D/s contract and it was effective the day they both signed it. Swearing was forbidden unless he allowed it and he had not allowed it. Therefore, a spanking was in order. Ah, yes! Something they would both look forward to!

“How could I be sooo stupid? It was on the f*cking list!”

He stopped cold in the foyer. Swearing and denigrating herself! Someone was in for quite the arse-warming!

“sh*t the f*cking hell!” Genevieve stood in the kitchen. She was still in her business suit, her shoes kicked off in the breakfast room. Her sleeves were rolled up and she was opening the cupboard, looking at the canned vegetables, with the refrigerator door left standing open and the vegetable drawer open. “I can't believe I forgot the mushrooms! I could have sworn I got the mushrooms!” She was unaware that Guy was standing just a few feet from her, watching her with ire that quickly turned into concern.

She was exhausted, over-worked, stressed. He could tell by the set of her shoulders.

And she was talking to herself. Out loud. That was never a good sign. And saying things she knew was not allowed. Ever!

She was now looking at the kitchen clock, her back still to him, drumming her fingers on the counter. “I could run to the corner market. I could sauté them, it will be okay.” Just as quickly, she changed her mind. “No, no I can't, it still won't taste right.”

“No. It will not.”

Genevieve spun, her face in horror. “Oh no.”

Guy set the gift-wrapped package down. “I do not recall giving you permission-”

“I forgot the mushrooms. I'm sorry. I wanted it to be perfect, just perfect, but-”

“Your language-”

Her bottom lip began to tremble. At this point, Guy realized she wasn't making excuses, wasn't trying to get out of punishment or discipline covered in their contract. “I don't know what happened. It was on the damn shopping list!” Her hands clenched in white-knuckled fists. “And I know you're going to want to spuh...spuh... spuh...spank me for that, but I missed it an... an... and...”

Guy shook his head. This evening was not going to go as planned. At all. As he stepped forward towards her, inwardly pleased she did not cringe or step away from him, he smelled the tell-tale muskiness that no one else sensed.

Ah. There's the root of it. Damn Eve and her infernal apple!

Smirking inwardly, he held out his hand. “Take it.” With no hesitation, she complied and meekly followed him as he took her through the living room and into her study. She was anxious and exhibiting symptoms of PMS. If her cycle was true, it would start tomorrow. Val mentioned earlier in the week Genevieve was breaking pencils and muttering to herself. Things weren't going as scheduled at work and with the wedding a few weeks away, her office was becoming a pile of sticky notes with bullet lists stuck to the wall and conference table, that were more often than not, misplaced and forgotten about.

So Genevieve needed to be taken in hand, focused, and her needs dealt with. Guy knew exactly what that meant. “Stay here.”

He left her there, the double doors of the study open. His hand went to his tie as he entered her bedroom. It was slung on the chair along with his jacket before he opened her closet and stepped to the back, where his Dom leathers hung.

After all these centuries, he could not get away from the leather. He made quick work of taking down the lace-up trousers, (to this very day, zippers made him cringe) and grabbing the motorcycle boots. Powder was a good thing and he began to change clothes. “What is bothering you?” he called from the bedroom. Lying on her dresser, he saw her data planner. With a sneer, he flipped it open, her life literally becoming an open book to him. What he saw, disheartened him.

While his life was slowing down, his calendar and obligations freeing him up, hers was escalating, becoming more of a jumbled mess. More appointments, more people, more work, more... more of everything. She wasn't slowing down a bit! The dates and times were full, notes to the side arrowed in, sometimes working with barely enough time to get to her physical therapy sessions. He flipped through the pages. Many lunches were being skipped, eaten at her desk while she worked. As he looked about the room while he pulled on his leathers, he saw the packed boxes stacked against the wall. On top of managing her firm, the huge project, and the wedding, she was moving. Although the furniture was staying here, her personal affects were being moved to their joint home in mid-town at the beginning of the coming week, where she would continue planning the wedding and settling in.

And stressing more.

He snapped the planner shut, but not before seeing the one thing he was missing, page after page.

Hearts, hand-drawn in a pink sparkly pen, with his name, her name written in.

Guy-n-Gen

Such an innocent, girlish thing...

“I forgot the mushrooms,” she wailed.

“I believe we have established you have forgotten the mushrooms,” he snapped. Suddenly, Guy felt such guilt. He hadn't been paying attention. So overjoyed they were in the now, in the here, finally together, he realized he wasn't paying attention to her or her needs. He set boundaries and then hadn't supported her, like she needed or deserved. All Lifestyle relationships heavily relied on communication and he hadn't communicated with her. Theirs was a carefully constructed power exchange. His beautiful, strong, independent Genevieve was exhausted and he had allowed it. She was a true submissive; a pleaser. She saw to everyone else's needs and neglected her own. It was his job to see to her needs. She didn't need discipline. She needed understanding and emotional support. She needed her Dom to take charge and to protect her from what was beating her down.

“But it’s not right without the mushrooms!”

He needed to listen.

“Do not worry about the mushrooms.” Guy stepped back into the study. She was standing as he left her. In the middle of the room, staring at the outside wall and her back to him. Setting the bottle of massage oil he grabbed from her bathroom, he stepped around her. “Look at me.”

Genevieve gazed up slowly, taking him in from his boots, his leathers to that bare chest.

She was worn out, worn down.

She looked completely dejected. Guy reached out and began to unbutton her blouse. More than the forgotten mushrooms was bothering her; the mushrooms were only the tip of the iceberg. It was time to communicate. “How is The Project coming? You may swear.” He finished the front and reached for her wrists and began to unroll and unbutton the cuffs.

The Project – the Standring-Coach Project that was Genevieve's first real test in the national market of architecture. It was a crown, a blessing...

A pain in her ass.

“Those... idiots!” It came out of her mouth like a missile. “Some... penny-pinching bastard on their board wants revisions. Extensive revisions. Expensive revisions. They want less green, less 'wasted space', more office, more floors. Bradley says the soil, the ground, can't support it. We'll have to brace deeper, but that might not work because of the water table.”

Genevieve's blouse slid from her shoulders, calloused fingertips stroked her collarbone and neck, the beginnings of an over-due massage. She wasn't aware when Guy stepped behind her, slinging the blouse over the chair. His hands then went to the hooks on her bra.

“Mallory has been out since Friday. Her daughter has strep. To exasperate matters, Marc, the lead architect, has had a family emergency; his mother had a stroke and he's in Kansas. He took his laptop with him and we've been trying to reach him to email us his notes.” Her bra came loose and fell forward. As Guy came around again, he kicked it to the side. “I know it's simply an over-sight! Val went to his place and packed him a carry on while he made flight, car, and hotel arrangements and he flew out directly from the office! His mom is in bad shape, he has enough to worry about! I hate contacting him over business.”

Guy stood in front of her, his hands on the buttons and zipper of her slacks. As they came undone, he slid his hands beneath the band of the trousers, as well as her panties. He knelt down, sliding the garments down to the floor with him. “Step out. What else?”

“Marquis is being a complete pill. He and Antwan have had a 'disagreement'.” She quirked her fingers like quotes. “They'll make up, they always do, but still...” Guy felt her hand on his head as she balanced herself and she stepped out, leaving her clothing in a pile. He repeated it with her ladies trouser socks. “It's always two or three days of aggravation.” Her hand gripped in his thick locks as she braced herself to step out of her hosiery. “They'll make up and Antwan will cook and we'll all eat good and gain weight, but between now and then...” She was starting to cry. “Bradley reached out to his parents a few weeks back. It didn't go well. At all. He's been withdrawn, quiet. And he's been taking long lunches as of late. Sometimes two hours.”

This was concerning. Genevieve stood in the middle of the study, completely naked and crying. “Do you think he's relapsing?” Guy stood up, towering over her.

“I don't know!” A great sob broke out. “I don’t think so! He seems... happy when he come back... but... but... but... not... doped up...and he covers his time...”

Guy held her by the hands. “Kneel. What else is going on? The Matriarchs are coming. How is the move coming?”

It took a few moments, and it wasn't graceful, but finally, she was down in that beautifully submissive pose. Immediately, her hands rested on her thighs, palms up. By now, every pent up little thing was pouring out. “My final fittings for both of my dresses are Friday afternoon. My grandmother and your mother will be here tomorrow morning! Guy, I love your mother, but I wish she would stop trying to help! She's trying to cater in the reception! I've explained over and over Grandma and my church family will feel left out and insulted and Marjorie does everyone's cakes already and she's as good as any baker here in Atlanta... and... and... it's already... tuh... tuh... taken... care of.” Tears were pouring. “Movers are coming Saturday and I'm supposed to muh... muh... muh... mooooove into the house, but the kitchen isn't ready and there's no bathtub and no toilet!” She scrunched her face in thought. “I suppose I could go to Home Depot or Lowe's and get one of those big metal funnels and stick it in the hole to the sewer pipe. Guy?” She looked up at Guy. “Guy? I can't live in a house with no toilet! I just can't!”

It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “You did in Nottingham.”

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” The crying resumed. “I don't wanna sit on a chamber pot! This is the 21st century! We have plumbing!”

Guy shook his head. This was bad. He stepped behind her. Genevieve absolutely did not need discipline. If anyone needed discipline, it was he, for not seeing to her needs, not paying attention. She needed reassurance, caring, the weight taken from her shoulders, and a good, cleansing cry. “Basana position, Genevieve.” Her crying continued, but she obeyed, remaining on her knees, but lying as prone as she could, face to the floor, both hands stretched out before her, together in a point. He listened to her sob for almost a minute, before moving behind her and sinking to his knees. For not the first time, he was aware of how tiny she was compared to him, how she fit so perfectly inside him. He moved up, his legs, inner thighs touching, encasing hers and then he leaned over and down, completely enveloping her, encompassing her, and hiding her from anyone's eye. He bent over further, his cheek resting on hers, her tears saturating his face. Their fingers interlaced. For a time, there was no sound but a keening wail as he let her sob out her pent-up frustrations. The harder she cried, the tighter he held her, the further he pulled her into him.

He was her womb, her safe-place.

Eventually, she went from sobs to hiccups. As she relaxed and calmed, he leaned up, and grabbed the massage oil. He uncorked the bottle, the scent of roses exploding in the room. For the following thirty minutes, he spent precious time touching, caressing scented skin. He focused on her spine, her left hip. At some point, she relaxed, stretched out flat on her stomach, lulled into almost sleep. Guy got up and grabbed his phone, calling for a Chinese delivery and then going into the bathroom. He turned on the water, getting it to a warm temperature, before plugging the bath and pouring a syrup that promised to bubble under the faucet. He then made a second phone call, this one to Val.

“Genevieve has reached a breaking point and can take no more,” he hissed into the phone. He leaned backwards, looking into the study, making sure Genevieve was still in the floor. “Tell Marquis to get a grip on his personal life, find out what is going on with Bradley, why he's staying gone so long for lunch and do whatever angel-y thing you have to do to get Marc's notes, but get them tonight! Genevieve might or might not be in tomorrow. Most likely, not!” He hung up the phone and went to the messaging system.

Our wedding is perfectly planned. Our reception is perfectly planned. Drop it. Leave it be. Not another word. Will see you Thursday.

He then turned the cellphone off. He laid it on the table and went to get Genevieve.

The Chinese food arrived while she was in the tub. If the delivery girl was shocked to have a man wearing leather pants and motorcycle boots answering the door, she didn't show it, but she was grateful for the extra large tip he gave her. Guy set the bags on the table, stripped off and crawled into the tub behind her. He washed her hair, rinsed it, his fingers massaging her scalp, much as he had her body, and bathed every inch of her, his fingers lingering over her skin.

When the water turned cold and the bubbles were gone, Genevieve found herself dried off, and kissed soundly. She then was placed on the bathroom stool, Guy armed with a hair dryer. It didn't matter that her hair wasn't styled; she simply nodded along with the rhythm of the strokes, as he drew his fingers through her hair, separating the strands.

Once her hair was dry, he led her back into the bedroom and informed her under no uncertain terms that he was dealing with the construction workers and if he himself had to personally install the tub, toilet and kitchen sink,

GAAAAAH!

he would do it. And if push came to shove, he would move into the house over the weekend and personally 'ride herd' on the construction workers. In fact, that was exactly what he was going to do. But not tonight.

Tonight, she was ensconced on Guy's lap, wearing nothing but a diamond collar, with matching earrings and bracelet cuffs, along with a red fox tail anal plug, and matching fox ears. He fed her by hand, and fed her ego telling her over and over and over just how beautiful and amazing and wonderful she was and how pleased and honored he felt that she would forgive him everything and still consent to be his wife.

Maleficent stretched across the back of the chair across from them, watching through slitted, glowing yellow eyes, so very not impressed with the Humans.

Chapter 10: 7 -He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake

Chapter Text

December 4th, 2015

The ache in her back went deeper, but that didn't deter her.

I am the owner of this company. This is an important meeting. I am not going to let a little thing like an alien dancing in my uterus stop me from attending this meeting.

The elevator door opened up and forcing a smile on her face, Genevieve looked up and stepped on.

An elderly gentleman she saw on rare occasion – she supposed a retired attorney who still came to work in order to have something to do, (For some odd reason, she thought of George, who Guy said still came in) looked at her over his newspaper with hazel eyes and smiled. “I haven't seen you in a few days, Mrs. FitzGisborne. I thought you had had your baby.”

Another ache pulled on her, but she smiled wanly. “I'm not due for two more weeks.”

“Babies come when they want, not when it is convenient for us. I had five,” he nodded sagely. “None of them came when they were due.” He made a moue, green eyes returning to his paper. “I'm surprised your doctor hasn't sent you home on maternity leave.”

Genevieve's smile stayed plastered on her face. “I'm only doing partial days this week.”

Just long enough for this meeting with Sybil Menatree.

The elevator door opened up and Genevieve stepped off, leaving the grey-eyed man behind, waiting for the door to close behind her and listening for the firestorm getting ready to go off in three... two.... o...

“GENEVIEVE!!!! What are you doing here?” Bradley, along with Marquis and several other employees, were congregated around the reception desk. “Mallory, call-”

“Don't!” Genevieve shook her finger at them. “I am here to meet with Menatree Associates-”

“Val.” Bradley completed with a mutinous expression.

Marc was now standing in front of her. “Genevieve, we have this under control. The doctor put you to bed.”

She stopped and looked up to him. “He did not put me to bed. He sent me home to relax. I have relaxed now for three days. It is one meeting. I will attend it and then go home.”

“Genevieve-”

“My grandmother and mother-in-law will be here this afternoon.” She looked up at her staff. “They will coddle me to death. Please. The meeting starts in thirty minutes, will take less than one hour at best and I will be home before four. ” She focused on her office door and waddled towards it. “By the way, I'm calling dibs on the handicapped stall in the bathroom.”

“You aren't handicapped!” Marquis was sounding rather jovial.

“No, but my butt is wide and I don't fit into the regular stalls at this time.” She was closer to her office door. “I have to back into them. Beep beep beep...”

She didn't see Marquis hand fly up as he did a u-turn. “Oh girl, do tell!”

“Genevieve,” Mallory now spoke up “Does His Majesty know you are here?”

Genevieve remained focused on her door. She realized somewhere between the time she had stepped off the elevator and now, someone had taken her briefcase and she was grateful for it. The low ache was now radiating across the lower portion of her back. This baby was low and large and the additional weight was dragging on her, tiring her out. “If you're going to be formal, it's His Lordship, not Majesty,” she responded. “No need to give him delusions of grandeur,” she mumbled to herself.

Guy had gone into seriously over-protective Daddy Dom mode. She couldn't move, stretch, go to the bathroom, the kitchen, anything without him following her, advising her on her food intake, (with the exception of Krispy Kremes) he ran around elevating her feet, massaging her back...

Okay, somethings were okay for him to do, but dear God in Heaven, she couldn't move without being monitored, watched over. And it would be worse by dinner when her grandmother and his mother arrived.

She was being smothered. She actually yelled at Guy this morning, when he attempted to get in the shower with her to wash her back.

She needed air and she needed to get out of the house. Truthfully, she knew she wasn't needed at this meeting. It was a simple minute last going over of the blueprints, making sure everything was in place. Usually, there were some minor adjustments, but this team was in place, they were put in place with the understanding that she wouldn't be there to lead and she trusted each one of them explicitly.

She was pregnant. Therefore obviously, everyone thought she was incapable and delicate and fragile. And that's what bothered her the most. This company was capable of running itself, had when she had had her wreck, had when she went on her honeymoon, had when she took an extended trip to England, to remarry her husband and walk grounds she had walked almost 800 years before.

Not that she recognized any of it, which distressed her and made her melancholy. Seeing it reminded her of Eleanor, Joffrey, Aedith; all of them were dead. Dead and dust somewhere in the ground... so long ago.

She sniffed. Shaking herself, she focused now on her desk. The last thing she wanted to do was start crying. She had cried through this entire pregnancy. Cried at everything. Guy had taken her to the club last month, had her wear something that showed off her belly. Another dom had said she looked beautiful and he couldn't wait until his beloved submissive was pregnant. Genevieve burst into tears.

“Your husband will be most irate.” Val stood before her, “and I do not blame him.” Genevieve's briefcase found its way in front of her, the latches opened and the lid up.

Genevieve pulled her coat off before taking the folder from its pouch and opened it. It was a painful stretch. “Guy will never know. He has a trial that is going on all day today and afterwards he will be joining Archer at the airport to meet their mother, who arrives at four. My grandmother is on her way here with Guy's driver. It is now 2:00. The meeting is in thirty minutes and will be over by three or three thirty. I will be home before Guy's mother lands and before my grandmother arrives.” She then snarled. “And then everyone can coddle me and treat me like an invalid!” She stood up slowly. “Until then, I am still owner and CEO of this company and I am going to sit in on this meeting. Do we know what changes they want to make?”

And with that, Val called Bradley and Marquis for a quick overview and Mallory was sent for bottled water and a single Krispy Kreme from the small delicatessen in the main lobby. It was quiet work for twenty minutes and it wasn't lost on anyone that Genevieve's hand strayed to massage her back several times.

As the small group was wrapping up and leaving Gen's office to head to the conference room, the sounds of 'God Save the Queen' emitted from Genevieve's phone. All eyes went to it, listening to the sounds of a brass band rise from the small electronic device.

“Answer it!” Marquis hissed.

“I know!” Genevieve hissed and picked it up. She plastered on a fake smile, somehow hoping that would make her sound in a good mood. “Hi, hon. How is court? Are you on break?”

“I am fine.” Funny, Guy didn't sound fine. He sounded... pissed off. “How are you?”

Genevieve slowly sank into her office chair. “My back hurts. What else is new?” She tried to sound jovial, but those who knew her could tell she was hurting and tired.

“Where are you?”

She sat up, eyes wide. Marquis and Bradley looked at each other, somehow knowing that this conversation that they were only hearing half of, was not going well.

Can't lie can't lie...

She could hear noise in the background, so she knew he wasn't at their downtown home. Genevieve leaned back in her chair and struggled to put her feet up on her desk. “Why, I'm just sitting here in my chair, with my feet propped up.”

Whew

“So, when I walk through your office door, I will not find you there?”

At that moment, her door flew open, the doorway filled with a large, well-formed man.

A large, well-formed, angry man.

Using tiny pink flamingo steps, Marquis and Bradley shifted to the side, out of the furious knight's way. Truth was, he didn't notice them or realize they were there.

“Guy! You had court!”

“There was a delay and the judge has granted a postponement until after New Year's! What are you doing here?” It was a hiss, barely registering in the air.

Genevieve pretended that finding her at her desk with her feet up on it was something that happened every day. “There is a meeting with Sybil Menatree-”

Guy's head was down, eyes a dark, menacing stormy blue. He began to circle her desk. “I believe you had your team in place early so you would not have to supervise them.”

His wife looked completely unafraid of him. Or clueless as to how much trouble she was in. “I do, however, this is the fourth office complex we've created and built for them and I have overseen the previous three. I know Sybil. She was my first client! I owe it to her!”

“She would understand!” As he advanced on her, his glare became heated. “You lied to me-”

“I did not!” She knew where this was going. She struggled to get her feet off the top of the desk and wobbled as she stood up. It occurred to Guy to help her, but damn, if she didn't look so... comical. “You asked me where I was and I told you I was sitting here with my feet propped up.” Now standing, she yanked her top down before she raised an equally angry finger at him. “You did not ask where 'here' was!”

Bradley leaned over to whisper to Marquis. “Maybe one of us should go get Val.”

“You go,” Marquis whispered back. “I'm not missing this.” He nodded like a Kewpie doll. “The spit's gonna fly!”

Guy began to go around the desk. “I recall your doctor and I put you on bed rest.”

Genevieve began to back up. “I recall my doctor told me to cut back on work. Go home and relax more.” The chair was now between them and she rested both hands on the back. “I've relaxed for three days! This baby is no longer moving!”

Guy continued to prowl. “That is because he is too large to move! He is settling in preparation for you to go into labor!”

Marquis and Bradley looked at each other in shock.

“Well, I am NOT in labor! I have a meeting in five minutes-”

“Genevieve?” Val stood in the doorway. “Sybil Menatree has arrived for the meeting. Are you coming?”

“I have a meeting now!” Genevieve didn't miss a beat.

“Genevieve?” Sybil looked around Genevieve's office manager, confusion on her face. “Why aren't you home?” She now stepped around Val. “Goodness gracious! You are as big as a barn and you're carrying that baby around your knees. This won't take ten minutes! Just signing things.” Her entourage nodded. “I take this man is your husband?” She now addressed Guy. “I've known your wife for many years and I love her like a sister, but she is a very stubborn woman. Take her home!”

He looked at Genevieve's client from the side of his eyes. “I am trying, thank you.” He returned his focus to his wife. “See? Even your client knows you should be home.”

The group backed out of the door and shut it, not realizing Marquis and Bradley were still there in the corner, watching like two gossipy housewives with nothing better to do.

“Genevieve-”

“I am NOT in labor. I am bored. This is my company.” Guy leaned over and yanked her chair from her and slung it to the side, wheels groaning before it hit the cabinet, making the pictures on the top shake. “I have nothing to do!” She began to back up. “Me being here is not hurting the baby!”

“You being here is wearing you down and you will need your strength to bring my son into the world.”

Genevieve stopped, scowled and started shaking her head. “I am soooo rested!”

Guy began to advance. “You have no idea what the next month will be like!”

Genevieve began to back pedal. “I sleep with you! I think I have an idea!”

Marquis and Bradley did a silent high five.

“Do NOT run from me!” Guy's voice was a soft growl.

“I'm not running!” she yelled back. “In case you haven't noticed, I am the size of a whale and I couldn't run if it was the Zombie Apocalypse!” She put both hands on her hips. “If you will please step aside. I would like to attend this meeting. As Sybil said, it won't take but a few minutes and as I've gone to the trouble of coming into the office, I think I should go!”

Guy advanced on her. “You are in so much trouble. You realize I'm keeping a list of punishments for you until after you heal.”

“Oh, you're just a bunch of hot air!” Genevieve was quite riled up. She had a formidable temper and as Sybil stated, was quite headstrong, as her husband was reminded of. Normally, that bratty, persistent streak was quite endearing and led to some awesome role-playing and sex, but now? “You won't hurt me. You promised! It's in our contract!” Marquis and Bradley's eyes got bigger. “You said you would never lift a finger to me in anger, nor would you ever hurt me.” Now she stepped forward, white-knuckled fists bunched at her side. “I have safe words! I know how to use them!”

“Yes, Banana, I know.” He was now within arm's reach of her. “I cannot wait to tie you up and parade you through the club.”

Genevieve was shaking a finger. “No. No public nudity. In the contract.”

“Oh, there are loops in that contract. I'm an attorney, I know how to get around them,” Guy hissed. “You will be wearing rope. That is technically not naked. Neither is wearing just a collar!”

“OH!” Genevieve gasped loudly. “You... you...”

“Prick,” Guy supplied self-confidently. “I admit it.”

“Prick?” She was now turning red in the face. “Prick? Trust me, Sirrrrrr,” she drew the honorific out painfully, “I've met some pricks in my time, but you are a f-”

“No swearing.”

“fffffFFFFFFf*ckING cactus!” The angry words hung between the battling parents-to-be, still unaware they were being observed.

“Boy, they don't play around. They go for the throat,” Bradley whispered.

“Not my circus, not my monkeys, but damn, it's a fine train wreck! They'll make up,” Marquis was confident. “They have to make up.”

Genevieve inhaled to continue, but suddenly she froze, her face, startled. “Oh?”

Guy wasn't buying it. “Do not think for one minute, you are getting out-”

“Oooooooooooooooh...”

Guy's anger immediately deflated. “Genevieve?” Swiftly, he was at her side, his hand, gently placed on her back. Gone was the angry Dom, now replaced with a concerned husband.

“That felt... odd.”

Guy looked up, now realizing they had an audience. He reached over on the desk and fished Genevieve's keys from her purse. He tossed them to Bradley. “You know what Genevieve's car looks like.” He then fished his own car keys from his pants pocket and tossed them as well. “Mine is the Mercedes to the immediate right. Please move the suitcase and pillow in her trunk into mine.” He then reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. Pressing his speed dial, he called Genevieve's OB-GYN, where he was forced to listen to Musak for a minute. “Genevieve FitzGisborne is in labor. We are leaving for Northside Hospital and will meet you there.” He listened to squawking in the electronic box. “No, I do not know how far apart her contractions are. Trust me, this baby will arrive at sunset. We are on our way!” He clicked off with a scowl.

Val glided into the office. “The contracts are signed, there are no adjustments, everything is set. Marquis,” she handed the file to the young architect, “as you stated, this is not your circus, nor your monkeys. You have more important things to do, so please make the necessary copies and file them. I passed Bradley at the elevator. I've told him to bring the car to the garage elevator and have the heater running. I also told him to make sure the towels in Genevieve's trunk are placed in the passenger seat. We don't want the upholstery leaked on.”

“Guy? I think my water just broke.” She looked up. “Or something broke. What makes you think our baby is going to arrive at sunset?” She shook her head. “This feels weird.”

He now had Genevieve's coat and was helping her into it. “I arrive at sunrise. The children I sire arrive at sunset. Always. Every one of them.” Once she was situated, he herded her through the door and towards the elevator.

“Bye Gen.”

“Not much longer now.”

“Next time we see you, there will be a little FitzGisborne.”

“Go have that baby, Mama Gen.”

He got her into the elevator. She was breathing hard. “This is moving fast.”

“Sunset. Only a few hours.”

It was not quiet going down.

“How did you know I was here?”

“A little bird told me.”

“An angel bird?”

“You could say that.”

Genevieve scowled at her fuzzy reflection in the metal of the elevator. “Sometimes, I wished they'd mind their own business.”

“So true, so true.” The response was mumbled.

“I'm sorry about swearing.”

“I have discovered that pious women in labor swear a blue streak. Not so pious women in labor find God.” He took her hand and squeezed. “Apology accepted. And you may swear until the baby is born.”

Bradley was waiting next to the running car and he watched as Guy helped Genevieve in. Once they were rolling, Guy plugged his phone into the sound system and began to make calls.

“Frederick. Where are you? Just north of Calhoun? Come straight to the hospital. Genevieve is in labor. Traffic is a bear. You might make it in time.

“Archer! Genevieve's in labor. We're heading to the hospital. Can you retrieve mother and bring her to Northside?”

“Finally! Hey Gen! I get to take the little bugger to his first strip club, deal?”

Genevieve was now in full blown labor, the pains coming hard and quick.

“Genevieve cannot speak right now. According to the look on her face, her answer is -”

“Try it and die!”

“I heard that,” the voice came over the car speaker. “She's in pain and will be in a better mood later, after I've done it.”

“Archer!”

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission! I hear a man with a baby can pick up more women! I'm up for babysitting! I'm wrapping up here and heading to the airport.” There was a click as he hung up.

“I want to push.”

“Do not.”

“What happens if we don't make it to the hospital?”

Guy kept his eyes on the road, weaving deftly in and out of traffic. “I delivered three of my daughters. We have time. We'll make it.”

“Oh.”

It was quiet for a moment. “Promise not to tell, but I passed out after I delivered the first one. It was raining and the midwife arrived five minutes after the baby arrived.”

Gen's silence didn't last long. “I'll not tell as long as you don't parade me wearing nothing but rope or a collar at the club. But the minute you do, I'll announce it to the world you caved in the delivery room.”

Guy shook his head. “Devious wench.”

They pulled off the exit ramp, the hospital within view.

“Guy, I'm scared.”

The knight took her hand and kissed the back of it. “You'll be fine. 'Tis the unknown, the fact-”

“No. I”m scared I'll be a horrible mother, make all sorts of mistakes. What have I done?”

Guy was now smiling, while continuing to press kisses to her knuckles. “You are going to be the most awesome of mothers. I promise.”

Traffic was heavy, the early Christmas rush beginning in Atlanta. It was cold when they arrived at the hospital a little before four, the sun dropping low in the sky. As they pulled up to the curb, a receiving nurse came running out of the double doors, wheelchair in hand. She was perky, blonde and had a voice that could cut rock and inflate a hot air balloon.

“Oh look! We're having a baby! Isn't this exciting? Aren't you excited? I'll bet you're thrilled to the bone! Just think, by this time tomorrow, you'll be holding your beautiful baby...”

And on and on she went, stunning both Genevieve and Guy with her rapid fire Gatling Gun Consonants. Finally, she took a breath.

“And what is Mommy's name?”

Another pain was tightening across Genevieve's abdomen. “Epi. Dural.”

And so it went.

Guy's mother and brother, Frederick, and Genevieve's grandmother arrived at five.

Barely in time.

Barely.

Chapter 11: 08 - Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

Chapter Text

Genevieve sat cross-legged on the bed, naked save for the crucifix – her crucifix that Guy had safe-guarded and cherished for so many centuries – which she held in her hands. “I grieved the loss of this.” She shook her head. “I don't understand why it didn't come back to me.”

“I had it.”

Genevieve smirked. “Well, I know that! I just thought... I just thought it would be a reminder.”

“You had my signet.”

Genevieve was still looking at it. “I know. I'm grateful for that.” She sighed softly. “If it wasn't for the signet, I would have thought it was all a dream. It was proof you were... are real.”

Guy came up from the bed and pulled her into his very naked lap. “Had it come back to you, I would have been lost to the Gates of Heaven and not come back. It was a reminder, life after life, that you were waiting for me here, waiting for me to rescue you. I could not do that if,” he tapped her nose, “I were standing at the Gates, begging Saint Peter for admission, which I'm told would not have happened.”

“This is really Val's.”

“It is part of the Holy Raiment of the Angel, Valoel.”

Genevieve shook her head. “She's really an angel.”

Guy nodded.

“How... how did I get it? How did you get it?”

Guy shook his head and pulled her closer. “The question is, how did my father get it? That I can answer.”

The Holy Land – The Year of Our Lord 1177

The stench was wretched.

The angel could choose to be immune to the fulsomeness of the room, could choose to be deaf to the moaning of the dying. Douma told her it would make it easier.

Valoel didn't want this to be any easier. A man, a good man, was dying, leaving a family unprotected in England. For not the first time, she snarled at the thought of war. This man, this knight was her charge. She had been present for his birth, she stood in charge at his wedding, hovered in the rafters during the births of his children. They were her charges as well, and they needed this man, this good knight, more than this war! As she witnessed his first breath, she would witness his last and make this journey as easy for him as she could. It was her right, her duty, her need.

She slid from the ceiling and stepped lightly on the rocky foundation.

The smell was worse on the ground and it took her aback.

Healers, nuns, walked noiselessly, through the alleyway between the beds, the cots, the pads. They walked through the angel, having the strange feeling of calmness and well-being as they did so, a feeling that quickly passed as they continued on their way. Valoel didn't waste time. She knew where she was going.

She stepped next to the pad.

Roger Gisborne lay in a huddle of blankets, a wasted, dying man. His breath was mephitic, his limbs, a scaly, pus-filled wretch. Every breath was labored.

It was time.

The Angel sank down, kneeling over the dying man. “Roger. Roger Gisborne.” The man didn't stir, didn't move, continued to struggle in his breathing. “Roger. Roger deGisborne. Awake. Arise and come to me.”

The knight struggled to open his eyes. Slowly, he rolled to his back, staring emptily into the haze. “Ghislaine?”

Ah. His wife.

“Non. Rogere. Lève-toi et laissez botre douleur. Viens avec moi.”

Arise and leave your pain. Come with me.

He blinked. “Non. Non. Ghislaine. Gui. Isabella...”

The Angel squeezed her eyes. Sometimes, the dying weren't ready to die when their time came. They clung to hope and family. As a messenger of God, she was incapable of lying. “You can do no more, Roger. Please. Come with me. Your fight is over.” She leaned over him, to take him in her arms.

Suddenly, his right hand shot out, with unbelievable and unforeseen speed. He grabbed her Holy Crucifix, which had fallen loose from her tunic and was dangling forward. Bandaged fingers curled through the chain and clutched the Cross. It should have burned, blistered the man's skin, but between the gauze wrapped digits and the damaged nerves, he felt nothing, was immune to the scent of burning skin. “Are you Death?”

The Angel tried to pull back, gently pry his fingers from the crucifix. “I am Valoel, your Guardian Angel. Come with me, release this pain.”

Rather than embrace her, take her hand, the man grabbed the chain closer to her neck and yanked her forward. Fetid breath that stank of the crypt blew in the angel's face like a desert wind. “I need-”

“To let go.”

Of this life, of my crucifix...

Again Valoel attempted to pry Roger's fingers from the chain.

“No. My... son...” The desperation in his voice made her pause. Guy de Gisborne was dark, a brooding teenager, more apt to find a corner to snarl in, rather than socialize. Roger shook her. “Make Guy a great man, bring honor to the Gisborne name.” Finally he turned loose and fell back on his pallet, his breathing heavy and his fist curled under his chin.

Valoel leaned back. “Roger, it is ti-” She looked down in horror.

Her crucifix chain was trailing around his arm. Her crucifix was in his fist. Wetting her lips, she reached for it.

“NON!” With sudden life, he clutched it to him. With sudden fervor and an energy only found in hell, he hissed, “Vous accordez-moi une aubaine, si vous voulez que ce retour!”

He would attempt to bargain with an angel? Never in her vast memory had any angel negotiated with man. Never had an angel been put in such a predicament! “What do you want?” If she were lucky, he would expire from exhaustion while he spoke. Sometimes, the dying had something they wished to impart, whether it be to someone or the air.

“I want to see my family.” Where he got the strength, Valoel would never know, but his voice was steady, a rock. “One last time. I will go with you willingly and peacefully if you will allow me that.”

The air froze. Roger froze. The moaning froze.

Everything stopped.

“Douma.” Valoel didn't have to look over her shoulder; she felt her presence. “He is not very cooperative.”

“No, he is not.” Douma sounded almost jovial. “He asks not for life, to be allowed to live. He asks to see his family, one more time.”

“I cannot offer it.”

“I can.”

Valoel turned quickly. “Why? Why would you offer this?”

“He has your crucifix. That is a problem.”

Valoel nodded. “Explaining this to Peter or The Almighty would be embarrassing.”

“Indeed,” Douma agreed solemnly. “There is another problem. His son has a destiny to fulfill. He cannot if he is dead and only Roger can save him.” She nodded to the crucifix, still entangled in the knight's clutches. “Let him keep that as a promise. It will give him hope and he will need it in abundance. You will want to keep a close eye on it. If not, it will be stolen and Guy will die before reaching his goal -”

Time rewound, words mumbled backwards. There was a buzzing...

“If not, it will be stolen and Guy will die before reaching his goal -”

Time rewound, words mumbled backwards. There was a buzzing...

“If not, it will be stolen and Guy will die before reaching his goal -”

Time rewound, words mumbled backwards. There was a buzzing...

“If not, it will be stolen and Guy will die before reaching his goal -”

Time rewound, words mumbled backwards. There was a buzzing...

“If not, it will be stolen and Guy will die before reaching his goal -”

Time rewound, words mumbled backwards. There was a buzzing...

“If not, it will be stolen and Guy will die before reaching his goal -”

Time rewound, words mumbled backwards. There was a buzzing...

“It will be stolen, but Guy will succeed and it will be returned to him.”

“DOUMA!” Valoel hissed, “The Almighty will demand an explanation! We could be demoted, or worse, stripped of our wings and halos!”

The Angel of Death's face fell. “He already knows. He knows all. Gui de Gisborne has a part to play in the fall of Nottingham and he will die in the coming year if his father does not save him from the hangman's noose. It will be an unjust, evil, unfair death, but it will happen if Roger of Gisborne does not arrive home in time. It is not his time to die. And because I have done this, I will pay penance and continue in this office, for a long, long time.” The angel stepped to the side, tucking dark wings inwards. Eyes that never stopped changing turned a bright, unearthly shade of purple. “Roger de Gisborne! Rise! Rise from your bed! Go home! Your family calls for you!”

What was frozen, resumed.

Roger took a deep breath. His eyes opened wide. He'd not been able to breath easily in sometime.

I thought I was dying. I saw the Angel of De-

Something sharp gouged his hand. His hand that was numb with disease...

Wot? I can feel?

He squeezed the sharp object, relishing the pain. With the sudden urge to run, Roger jerked up from the pallet. Nurses, nuns, were busy, tending to the dying. None paid attention to him.

Save one.

She was tall, wrapped in a nun's trappings. She looked...

...familiar.

“You put that on and do not lose it.” She pointed to the crucifix. “Go home. Give it to Gui. Tell him what he needs to know. Why are you looking at me? Go! Your family needs you! You do not have forever.”

Roger didn't need to be told twice. Quickly, he donned his armor and gear, noticing that his wounds had partially healed. He strapped on his sword, checked the hem of his cloak, noting the coins were still sewn in and with no one living noticing, stole away from the dying.

“On his way to us, he wrote letters, one to his wife, one to me, and one to his daughter. I do not know what happened to those he wrote Maman or to Isabella, but mine was put in a box, with the crucifix.”

“I remember that letter.” The room was cooling and Genevieve grabbed the quilt from the bed and pulled it over them. “I remember when you read it.”

“I still have it. I never saw it until the time you were with me.” Guy was shaking his head. “The first time my father arrived, it was too late. I was swinging from a gibbet. Douma warped time the first time at the point. He arrived in time the second time. In the ensuing years. The Angel of Death warped time several more times for me; I remember being hung again, with my half brother and Robin in York. I remember my sister beheading me. I remember John having me killed. I remember jumping over the railings of a ship in the Mediterranean and drowning, weighted down by my armor and leather, after I killed Marian. Each time, Douma rewound and I started again. Afresh.

“That crucifix,” he tapped the piece of jewelry, “was always tucked away in a box, in a chest, safe-guarded by a family who had lived in Gisborne, for generations, before the pieces in it were split up, used, sold. Somehow, Val's crucifix was found by your ancestor on a battlefield in Kentucky during the Civil War.

“And it came to me.”

Guy's smile was one-sided. “Aye. It came to you and it saved me.”

It was quiet for some time, one cherishing the warmth they received from the other.

“Guy?”

“Hmm?”

“If the Almighty knows all, then why-”

“Free will. The Almighty does not wish mindless servants.” Her mouth was covered. “He allows us to fail and make mistakes, to teach a lesson. To empty our hands for something better. Because he sees what the angels do not.” She could feel his breath on her neck, below her ear. “And He saw you for me.”

And with that, he kissed her.

NON! Vous accordez-moi une aubaine, si vous voulez que ce retour! - NO! You will grant me a boon, if you want this back!

Chapter 12: Ravish

Chapter Text

She was waddling and it made him smile.

Of course, with waddling came swollen ankles, poor sleeping habits, going to the toilet at all hours of the day and night. There were the strange cravings, back aches, crying jags – oh dear Jesu, she cried at everything! When she was sad, happy, frustrated. Guy had never seen a human being cry as much as Genevieve did.

He took that back. Vivienne cried with all of her pregnancies. She cried because they weren't married, she cried when they did get married.

But of course, Vivienne was Genevieve.

This was Genevieve's third and final pregnancy. This one had been more difficult than when she was expecting Ghislaine and Ghislaine's birth had been difficult. This C-Section was planned, three weeks away. Guy's vasectomy was planned as well, although Genevieve didn't know it yet. Unlike her first pregnancy, she was willing to hand over the reins of her architectural firm to her office manager, Val Oelle, who, alright fine, was an angel, as in wings and halo angel, and an office staff hand-picked and capable of many things.

Including verbally assaulting a former architect, who attempted a hostile take-over of Genevieve's firm, but who remembered that silly thing?

She had reached the phase of her pregnancy where she was at a low point in her self-esteem. She lumbered, she wasn't feeling very attractive, not realizing or understanding that right now, Guy thought she was most beautiful. She glowed, she... she was gorgeous.

And it was Valentine's Day and he wanted her to know just how much he needed her; how much he desired her, cherished her.

She chose that moment to plod through the family room, with a basket of laundry on her hip.

“We have a maid for that, Genevieve.”

“Yes, I know, but she's left for the day and I didn't want the kids clothes to wrinkle.”

“Roger could care less if his pajamas are wrinkled. Put that down. Come here.”

With a sigh, Genevieve set basket down on the ottoman and waddled over to her husband. “Yes, Master?”

Guy shook his head and patted his lap. “'Tis not very convincing when you roll your eyes, mon petite. Sit.”

“I'll squish things.”

Guy's eyes went stormy gray. “Pray tell, you did not just denigrate yourself.”

With a much put-out huff, she slowly and not so gracefully lowered herself on those long legs of sex. “There. How's that?”

Guy pulled her close, his nose in the crook of her neck. “Where are the children?” he breathed. He found that special spot behind her ear.

“Uhm... they're... they're in the upstairs rumpus room, watching Zootopia.” Genevieve felt him smile against her neck. “Roger thinks Gizelle is … hawt.” His tongue found her earlobe.

“My son has good taste. So, they will be busy for a while?”

“Hmm hmmm. Put your tongue back in my ear. I'll do anything.”

Guy quickly complied. “I am the Dom. You will do what I tell you.” His arm found his way under her maternity top, fingers stroking stretched skin. “Today is Valentine's Day. I am going to ravish you.” His tongue began to do just that to her neck. Her own hands found their way beneath his shirt.

Heated palms on heated skin.

“Okay, Guy. Sounds like a plan.”

Guy's eyes opened. That sounded a bit...not right... too perky, in fact.

“After,” she chirped happily, “we get the kids fed, and I pee, their faces washed, dishes put away, and I pee again, start another load of laundry, then bath time, I pee some more, their teeth brushed, Ghislaine will insist on a sippy cup and then a story-”

The Black Knight took a close look at his wife. She was exhausted, the pregnancy bearing down her. Aye, he wanted to ravish her, but she needed a ravishment of a different sort. “You know,” Guy whispered, his mind whirling, “if we get them to bed, we could watch Zootopia without interruption.”

“You would be drooling all over Gizelle.”

Guy pulled back in mock disgust. “Please. She is hot, but not as hot or as sexy as the woman in my lap,” he stroked her belly, relishing the responding thump to his hand, “who is the most beautiful woman I know, cartoon or real!”

“Even Jessica Rabbit?”

“Especially Jessica Rabbit!”

Her husband was not the most verbal when it came to romance, so Genevieve knew how much the compliment meant. “God invented Cheesie poofs for a reason. Make it 'The Secret Life of Pets' and you're on.”

And so Guy and Genevieve FitzGisborne, spent a ravishing Valentine's evening, after the kids were in bed, cuddled up on the couch, watching kid vids and eating Doritos.

Cool Ranch.

Chapter 13: 8B - I will fear no evil

Chapter Text

Guy wiped his mouth, his mood brightening. He'd seen more future marriages dissolve before the prenuptial was signed. Deposits for caterers and gowns lost, honeymoons given away or worse, taken by usually the groom and a friend – usually female. His prenup with Genevieve was amazingly easy. Of course, he was literally giving her the family jewels if this marriage didn't last! All the more to make sure it worked. “I'm glad we have that settled. Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact!” She placed the prenup folder in the chair next to her and reaching to the other side, plopped another folder next to her plate. It was thinner than the prenuptial, consisting of a few, mostly blank pages. Guy's mouth quirked into a familiar one-sided grin. “About this D/s contract...”

“What of it?” He pushed his chair back and locking his fingers together, placed them at the back of his head. “I believe it is rather clear and concise. None of the formal language that perturbs you so much.”

“Well, I... uhm...” she pulled the bottom sheet from the folder. “This is a check list.”

Guy made a pretense of peering over the table, her laptop and the page in her hand. “It is a check list. Check off what interests you and cross through things you refuse to try. Circle what intrigues you.”

Genevieve scowled as she perused the list. “Do we really need this?” She pushed it to the side. “Can't we just-”

“No. We just 'can't'.” Guy stood up and moved around behind her. “Down near Cheshire Bridge Road is a BDSM club that I wish to take you to. It will be an eye-opening, learning experience for you, a way for you to observe first hand, the many different types of a D/s relationships. We need to discuss your safe word; you use it from everything between 'I am scared' to 'That hurts' to 'I need a breather'. He placed both hands on her shoulders, feeling the tenseness in them. “They will not let you in with me without it.”

Genevieve jerked around in her chair. “Not let me in, even though I'm with you?”

Guy recognized the fury in her features, the green-eyed jealous monster she kept well hidden. “They have a standard contract, however I wish for a thorough-”

“How would you know?” Amazing, how quickly this Southern Belle fired up. “You've been there without me?”

Guy sighed. He had hoped he wouldn't have to lead her about like a newly broken palfrey. “I have searched for a safe and reputable places for us to play and for you to observe and learn.” He tilted his head. “There is a similar club in Nottingham and this contract would suffice there as well.”

Genevieve turned her back to him, allowing him to rest his hands on her shoulders. The back wall had a mirror and he could see the mulish set of her jaw. “You've been there as well without me!”

Her attitude irked him. The last thing he expected to raise its ugly head was irrational jealousy and he told her so. “I am not jealous of Lamar or anyone you've been with before. I fail to understand why you would allow yourself to be jealous of my past.”

With those words, Genevieve sighed heavily. “I know! I don't begrudge any love or pleasure you took in your previous lives, but-”

“Ah!” Guy's tone was sarcastic. “You simply begrudge me taking comfort in this life. I was to come to your bed a forty year old virgin.” His voice now dropped, sending chills down Genevieve's spine, and not the good kind. “I suppose you expected me to come to our bed untried and pining simply for you?”

“No, now I'm worried about some half-grown teenager, showing up on our doorstep saying 'Hi Dad!'”

“Condoms. Lovely, wonderful things.”

He observed the stubborn set of her shoulders. She closed the folder and pushed it away. “I'm tired. This is a bad time to discuss this.”

Guy pressed against her chair and reached over her for the folder, pulling back to its original position. “Now is the perfect time to discuss this. You are simply bein-”

“A bitch. And you're right.” Genevieve took the folder from him and reopened it. “It just... bothers me you went to one of these places without me so close to us...” she waved her hand, “becoming.” She continued to brush the air. “I don't want to argue. Not right now.”

“There is no need to have an argument.” Giving her shoulders a supportive squeeze, Guy returned to the chair next to her. “I do not wish to take you to an unsafe, unsavory club. There are too many in this town, any where. They consist of too many so-called Doms who are really control freaks and too many subs who are abused and do not realize they have been. There are places that do not vet their clientele very well, if at all. As a result, they are filled with voyeurs, tourists who do not know what they're doing.” He reached and took her hand. “As it stands, the club I belong to in Nottingham referred this Dungeon to me. I did not play with anyone. I simply observed and did what I had to do to make sure I found a safe place for us and ensure the proper paperwork for the two of us was in place.”

Genevieve was still scowling. She pushed the contract about, distaste curling her lip. “Hard limits, soft limits, safe words, things I'm curious about, things that will absolutely not happen, things I never knew existed, what we both expect to get out of it...”

The left side of Guy's mouth lifted. “I expect to protect you. All of you, professionally and personally. You are mine. I have had a long time to explore The Lifestyle, as you call it. I have tasted the whip and the flogger and I can weld both. I told you I have seen enough bruises on your body to last a lifetime and I do not intend to inflict them. If you are curious, I am adept at them where you will simply feel the sting, but there will be no welts, no bruises.” He suddenly brightened. “You know, I think a soft hide flogger would do you a world of good.” He began to nod to himself, unaware his future bride was staring at him in shock. “Dealt with a steady, sure hand, the flogger would simulate a massage, loosen the muscles that are still healing.” He tapped his lip in deep thought. “I should have a chat with your physical therapist, see what he thinks.” He looked up to see Genevieve staring at him, wide-eyed, like a deer in the headlights. “Wot?”

“You've. Done. This. Before?” Each word was enunciated.

He began to blink rapidly; something he hadn't done since his early wooing of Marian. “Yes, I told you-”

“Recently?” Genevieve took advantage of his sudden silence. “So, you just went in to this place and watched and decided this club was a safe place. And they gave you a Dom pass, and told you your sub had to have a contract, just like that.”

Guy knew he was in a corner now. No need to lie about it. “There are procedures and certain protocol that must be met-”

“You just told me you didn't play. But it sounds to me like you played. Here!”

That long, lean body rose slowly from his chair. Placing his hands on both sides of the contract, he leaned over, so close, Genevieve could feel the heat from his body. “I did not play.”

“But-”

“Look at me.” He waited until her gaze met his. “To play would mean I enjoyed someone carnally. I did not. There was no sex, no stimulation, no gratification. At no time did my clothing come off, nor was it loosened or opened. I was not touched and I did no touching.” With this, he began to fidget. “You should be thankful that the DungeonMaster of the club in Nottingham contacted the DungeonMaster of this club, or else I would have had to suffer the indignation of having a peeled, raw ginger root, shoved up my arse.”

For a moment there was silence, Genevieve staring openly and Guy, unusually uncomfortable with this admission.

She burst out laughing. “Oh dear! What you've gone through for me!”

Guy exhaled and settled back down in his chair. “Genevieve, I need you to understand what I want in a marriage and I wish to be open with you and pray we are on the same page. I have had eight hundred years to refine my tastes, my likes and dislikes. I have lived eight centuries to prepare for and execute the events of what went down in your office to save your company. And now that those goals have been reached and your place solidified, I want to move forward with us. You are correct in the knowledge we, as a couple, moved very quickly, not knowing each other well, but I am not in a mood to wait. I desire to marry you, I desire children, at least two or three. I want an equal, an intelligent woman by my side, on my arm, one who will converse with me, talk to me, give me her opinion. Sex does not define a relationship and I know there will come a time when it will become less and less important and the ability to communicate and need to talk and share common interests will take precedence. I want to develop that, create that with you. This is your company, not ours, not mine. My investment was to make sure it was not stolen from you and I will continue to invest in it to make sure of that. But that is my only interest in it. Nor do I wish to control you, dictate your every move. I do not wish a slave or a puppet. You are an intelligent, buoyant woman and I love to watch you think.

“But behind closed doors, you are mine. This,” and with this, he slid from his chair, reached down and cupped her mound, “is mine, it belongs to me.”

Guy found his hand in a small, tight grip. “That is mine and I give it to whom I please.”

Guy didn't miss a beat, covering her hand with his other hand. “That is correct and it would please you to give it to me to pleasure. It was made for my enjoyment and mine only. I am told I did not share as a child; I believe I do not wish or desire to share something precious to me as a man. I have spent the many years studying, researching, experiencing this game you like to play. Every mouth I have kissed prepared me for you. Every body I ever plowed into taught me how to love you.

“I will not harm you or embarrass you. It is not my desire or intention to have you crawling around on the floor on your hands and knees. I fear it will pain you unnecessarily and while there are times I would like you on your knees before me, it will be for other purposes and precautions for your comfort and ability to comply will be taken. Do not cower before me. I have had enough of that as well. I do not wish a little girl, although I admit I would love to see you on our bed wearing naught but a fox tail and fox ears. I want a woman, a woman who trusts me to allow me to be in charge, to take charge, and to ensure her pleasure. I want a woman who is willing to play and discuss her fantasies with me, no matter how perverse she might be afraid they are. I have every intention of spanking that delectable arse... biting it, licking it. I will want to collar you at some point, for while you are not property, you do belong to me, every bit of you...I love you. It will show to every Dom or Domme in the building that you are cherished by me and not on the open floor. I love you for who you are and whoever you are destined to become.

“Know that I will never share you, never allow another to delight in your body or take someone else to enjoy mine. I will not allow anyone to watch us. I will never record us. I do not get this silly need to expose everything on the internet! Such exhibitionism is... ” This bit of indignation caused Genevieve to laugh loudly. “Wot is so funny? I am being serious!”

“My Neanderthal lives! YES!” She turned in his arms and threw hers around his neck. She found herself pressed into the hard back of her chair and thoroughly kissed.

After a few minutes, Guy raised his head and whispered. “I will never hurt you. In everything we do, I will always put you first.” He reached out his hand and tapped on the folder. “Shall we complete this?” There was a pen sitting by her laptop and the Dark Knight picked it up, handing it to her.

“Is this piece of paper really necessary?”

Guy sighed unhappily. “Genevieve, might I remind you – the first night we ever made love, you lied to me about achieving your own pleasure. You were too busy seeing to your partner – me. It is my responsibility as your Dom to push you, prod you, take care of you, protect you. It is my responsibility to make sure you have more org*sms, awesome exploding. In my arms, you are safe to explore, to question, to pretend (as long as it's not faking an org*sm) you may experiment, whatever, without judgment, without fear, without remorse, without shame. Just tell me. I will make it happen.”

Genevieve attempted to stare him down, before taking the pen and turning her attention to the checklist on the table.

?hard limits, +soft limits, XXXnot to be discussed or considered, !yes, ?curious, *let's discuss this. Remember, you have the right to say no.

The first few items were general; bondage, forced org*sms, things they had toyed and played with back in Nottingham. Exclamations and 'yes' were slashed down quickly. And then...

“You are NOT peeing on me!”

“Oh rats.” Guy was standing behind her now, a fist planted on each side of her, his voice full of satire. “I was soooo looking forward to that.” He felt her stiffen up, before he began to laugh. “I jest. Truly, it's not my cup of sensual pleasure, although I've known many couples who enjoyed it.”

Genevieve gave him a black look before she returned to the list.

“Fisting? No.” She continued to tick off the list. Yes, no, maybe, maybe no...

“You will not parade me about naked!” She crossed 'public nudity' from the list.

“Are you sure? I am very adept with rope binding. I would like to show you off.”

She scowled at him, continuing to mark the offending point from the list. “No. Public. Nudity. You can tie me up naked here. Me and you. In private.”

Guy rolled his eyes. “Perhaps, at a later date-”

She ignored his suggestion and continued on. “About the anal beads...”

“Hmmm?”

“Not in public. Ever again.” Their first joint outing was still fresh in her mind and just the thought of trying to keep those over-lubed baubles way up in her tookus still made her wince and squeeze. “I liked when you took them out, that was fun, but, only here at home. Not in public.”

“So many things we can not enjoy at the club. Write it down.”

Which she did.

She continued to peruse the list, checking, circling, crossing out. And then she reached the bottom of the list. She co*cked her head.

“Rainbow kiss? What is a rainbow kiss?”

Guy motioned to the laptop.

Genevieve shrugged and quickly typed in the term. She waited for the definition to come up...

“What? Oh my GAWD!!!” She jumped from the chair, knocking Guy back a few paces, and stormed into her office. Guy stood back, arms crossed and smiling indulgently. Genevieve quickly returned, a black, wide-tripped magic marker in her hand. Stepping around Guy, she slammed back down into her chair and completely obliterated the term off the list with the marker. “No, no, no and HELL to the no!”

“I do not recall giving you permission to swear.”

“I don't recall asking for it!” She shuddered theatrically. “Oh, that's just disgusting!” She threw the marker, still uncapped, from her and put her face in her hands. “Ohmygawdohmygawdohmygawd... that's beyond gross.” Guy let her mind and mouth meander until she sat up, her hand still over her mouth.

“There is more, Genevieve.” He laid a long digit to the bottom of the list.

Genevieve began to berate him, but focused on the tapping finger.

I, Guy Crispin FitzGisborne, hereby referred to as 'Dom' promise to love, cherish, and protect Genevieve Faith Robinson, (soon-to-be FitzGisborne) hereby referred to as 'beloved submissive'. I will honor my beloved submissive's safeword, hold her close and encourage her as we explore new territory and accept and not push past her limits. My beloved submissive promises not to curse unless specifically told to do so, will not denigrate herself, nor will she lie to her Dom. About anything. It is my desire to honor her, cherish her, make her feel honored, cherished, protected. Love her.

“Whoa,” she whispered. “I wasn't expecting that.”

“Wot? You were expecting a list of demands?” The question was soft, almost gentle, but lined in concealed steel. “What do you expect from this?”

Genevieve waited a moment before whispering. “I need to know I matter, I need to be accepted for who I am, what I am. I need you to talk to me, tell me you love me. Don't ignore me or take me for granted. I know you are closed-lipped and you are used to keeping secrets and things close to you and I understand why in the past, you kept certain secrets, you had to. But it hurts to know you had a son you said nothing about. Not until that Friday with Ficklebutte. It angers me you kept yourself hidden from me until you walked into my office and frightened me! I thought I had gone insane, hearing your voice in my office, in my world and my time! Yes, I know we've discussed it and now I understand it, like I understand you needed to prove your abilities as a Dom and you wanted to find us a safe, reputable outlet, but still... I need to know when you've had a bad day, a rough day, a good day. I need to know if you don't like my cooking. If that's the case, you can cook! I don't like to be yelled at, I'll yell back.” She looked up to see him staring at her intently. “What... what do you expect, m'lord?”

Ah. Such an old, antiquated title, one rarely heard, even from the servants in this modern day, yet it slid from her tongue like honey. For some odd reason, he relished it from her lips, wanted to drown in her words.

“Tell me when you like something. Tell me when you do not and why you do not like it. Does it hurt? Does it make you uncomfortable? Does it make you feel awkward, strange? Tell me when you are turned on. Tell me when you want me. Tell me when you need cuddling, are scared, need a hug. Unfettered communication is a demonstration of trust, acceptance, and love. Do not feel ashamed to tell me you wish to try something different, no matter how perverse you think it might be. To fear telling me says you do not trust me. You bear enough responsibility with the running of your company. I need you to trust me enough to lay that weight down when you come home to me and allow me to make the decisions to take care of you.”

“Okay.” She turned and reaching for the pen, signed the contract. She then handed the utensil to him and he signed as well.

“I am pleased we got this taken care of.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. I'm taking you to the club tonight after dinner. I will join you in the shower. This will be quite the education for you.”

And with that, he pulled away from the table, taking the folder with him and leaving her stunned.

And very very nervous.

A/n - I have absolutely no clue if there is a BDSM club on Cheshire Bridge in Atlanta. I'm quite certain there has to be at least one, but I have no clue where it would be.

If you are curious as to what a 'Rainbow Kiss' is, you are welcome to look it up. You were warned.

Chapter 14: 8C - For Thou Art With Me

Chapter Text

“So, do you know who you're going to bid on?” The woman who sat next to her was smartly dressed and quite beautiful. Under normal circ*mstances, she would have been intimidated and put off by the tall beauty, but these days, not so much. Still, she didn't want the woman to get ideas. She opened up her program and pretended to peruse the 'merchandise'.

“No, I'm just here. Something to do on a Saturday night. I might bid on a bachelor,” she shrugged. “I might not.”

Oh yes. She was.

“Oh look!” The woman was really excited. She pointed to the Master of Ceremonies, who had just stepped out from the behind the curtain. “They're getting started!” She stuck her hand out. “I'm Leslie, by the way. I own Permiter Interior Design.”

Genevieve took her hand. She found it over-moisturized and greasy. “Genevieve Robinson. Robinson Architects.”

Leslie scrunched her eyes. There were no lines, so obviously, she botoxed. “I think we're working with some of the offices in the Standring-Coach complex.”

“Yes. You'd be working with Marquis's team.”

“Yes.” Leslie perked up. “Is he single?”

“Uhm, no.” Genevieve's voice dropped to a whisper. “He and his partner, Antwan, have been together for a while.”

“Ah,” she shrugged good-naturedly. “Figures. Oh well.” Leslie turned her attention to the stage and Genevieve rubbed her now-greased hand on her pants.

“Hello ladies! How are we this evening?” The master-of-ceremonies was someone Genevieve recognized, but couldn't recall his name. There was enthusiastic cheering. “Now, this is a reminder of how the game works. You are bidding for an evening with one of Atlanta's eligible bachelors. All moneys raised will be donated to CHOA – Children's Healthcare of Atlanta and the Children's Miracle Network– a wonderful cause indeed. Unlike other national charities, what's raised here, stays here!”

Stewart Marshal. His name is Stewart Marshal. Acquaintance of Lamar... well, Lamar would hear about Guy and myself sooner or later. Might as well be from a friend, rather than the Society Page!

“Your date is up to you and your bachelor, so shall we get this party started?” Again, there was vigorous cheering. “All right! First up, we have-”

And off it went.

Genevieve sat demurely, just watching the show, while her neighbor Leslie, bid on a doctor (lost) as well as an Interior Designer (Lost again) and she laughed because he was a competitor! “I should have kept at it,” she whispered behind her bid-paddle. “Serve him right to take me to dinner after the stunt he pulled trying to get the Standring-Coach contract!”)

Again, Genevieve simply smiled. She knew about back-stabbing and evil people. She was lucky she had angels on her side and yes, an amazing Guy. She checked the schedule. Ah yes!

“Next up, we have Atlanta's newest high profile attorney!”

“Oh boy! He's hot!” Leslie began to fan herself with her bid paddle. “Just like I them; dark haired, blue-eyed, and gorgeous!”

“Ladies, meet Earl - yes, I said Earl as in British Aristocracy Earl of Nottingham, among other titles, Sir Guy Crispin FitzGisborne!”

Guy looked bored, tux-clad arms crossed and hip co*cked to one side. “$1000.00! I bid $1000.00!” That came from the back. and Stewart was aghast.

“He just walks out and immediately I have a bid for $1000.00. $1025.00? Do I hear $1025.00?” Leslie's paddle went up. “I have $1025.00, right here on the right! Do I hear $1050.00?” Genevieve's paddle went up. “$1050.00! $1050.00!”

“$2000.00.”

“$2500.00”

“$3000.00”

Guy's eyebrow arched. None of these bids had come from Genevieve or Leslie.

“This is getting too rich for my blood, too fast!” Leslie murmured.

“$3000.00 American dollars for tall, dark, and impeccably British! This is for a good cause, ladies. Do I hear $3500.00?”

“$4000.00!” The voice was male.

Guy's other eyebrow went up.

“Well,” Leslie sighed. “I'm out.”

“Do I hear $4100.00?” Genevieve's paddle went up. “I have $4100.00 from Miss Genevieve Robinson.”

“$4200.00” The same male voice.

Genevieve looked to the back. Marquis grinned back and waved. Looking over her shoulder at Guy, she turned back to Marquis and slid a finger across her throat.

“Now, now Miss Robinson!” Stewart chided her. “Alls fair in bidding.”

She turned around and grumbled. “Not if he wants a job on Monday!”

For some reason, that made Leslie laugh.

“We have $4200.00 Do I hear $4250.00? Yes, I see $4250.00 to my left. $4300.00? Do I see $4300.00?”

Guy winked.

“$5000.00!” Genevieve yelled.

The room went silent.

Stewart cast a shrewd eye at Genevieve. No doubt Lamar would hear about this before the night was over. “$5000.00 once, $5000.00 twice-”

“$5500.00!”

Guy blinked twice.

“Oh, for Pete's sake!” Genevieve exclaimed. “$10,000!”

The gavel banged on the podium. “SOLD! An evening of delight with Sir Guy of FitzGisborne, sold to Miss Genevieve Robinson for $10,000! That's a record, friends! Miss Robinson, if you'll follow our lovely host-”

Guy jumped, obviously tired of standing on a stage, the center of attention, He joined Genevieve at the bottom of the stairs and escorted her through the door. There was an office area set up down the hall and Genevieve quickly wrote the check for the CMN. Even the lady behind the desk was shocked at the amount. “I hope he's worth it,” she mumbled.

“I am.”

Genevieve waited until they were through the outside door to where a limousine was waiting. It was cold, still February. The chauffeur held the door open.

“Wait a minute!” Genevieve pointed at the man. “You were the one pushing the bids up!”

“Miss Robinson.” He nodded towards the back of the car.

“Get in, Genevieve. I'll explain.”

Genevieve ducked and slid into the car. “Oh, yes you will explain! First, you're gonna pay me back for the ten grand I just spent! You promised!”

The door shut behind them after Guy slid in next to her. “Your hip is hurting. Lay across my lap.”

“Yes! Don't try to finagle out of this!” Even fussing, she laid down, pillowing her head on his thigh.

Guy shook his head and began to kneed the tightened joint. “Perish the thought.” He flashed a beautiful smile. “I set a record!”

“Yes, you set a record! I look like-”

“A woman who loves me very much. And who will marry me this summer.” The grin got bigger. “I set a record!”

“Guuuuuy-”

“My driver's name is Frederick Deglasson. His twin brother is my driver in England. Their father is my mother's driver. I pay them very well to do my bidding. Do you remember Timmy?”

The sudden change in subject made Genevieve's brain stop. “Timmy? Little rascal back in 1197?”

“Yes. That Timmy. I did send him to Sir Roderick for knight training. He did very well. When I earned my title and lands back as Roland, Timmy returned, with his family and offered me – as Roland – his sword. I took it. Every single one of my lead knights, right arms, personal body guards or valets have been a descendant of Timothy de Gisborne. His granddaughter married a de Glasson. That would include Frederick, who followed my orders.”

“But-”

Guy was still grinning. “I set a record! Do not worry. I will make sure you are compensated for your time.” He slid the compartment window open. “Frederick, please take us to dinner.”

“Yes, m'lord.”

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” Stewart again stood at the podium. “Our last bachelor auction was such a success, it was decided another one was in order. This time, it is the ladies turn and charity is for the Children's Puppetry and Arts. Shall we get started?”

Genevieve was one of the last and she was tired when her name was called. Still, she put on her best smile, walked carefully out in her off the shoulder red dress and kitten heels. She made her way to the electrical tape X on the floor and stepped on it.

Stewart cleared his throat. “Genevieve Robinson, owner and CEO of Robinson Architects. Let's start the bidding at-”

“$15,000.”

Stewart banged the gavel, giving no one a chance to raise the bidding. “SOLD to Sir Guy FitzGisborne!” He slammed the gavel down. “I swear! Why do you two even bother! Just make a donation next time!”

Guy was at the top of the stairs and held out his arm. “'Tis more fun this way!”

“He likes setting records,” Genevieve whispered to Stewart, as she went by.

“You realize when the two of you marry, when is it, this July? - that you can't do this anymore!” The audience was laughing and twittering by this time.

“We'll figure out something else then! Good-night, Stewart.”

And the happy couple left the auditorium.

/b>

Chapter 15: 10 - Thou preparest a table

Chapter Text

It was one of those dreary, rainy evenings. Genevieve’s day had been hell; he knew it had been hell. His one text to her from the court room to ask her how her day was going had been responded to with a virtual slap to the head; snippy and pissy. And he wasn’t about to punish her about it because Val warned him what sort of day it had been. Traffic had been hell and it was close to 7 before his wife finally arrived at home with their son.

Also, there was that basketball she was carrying around. The baby was dropping and jumping on her bladder. She wasn’t sleeping. Roger had entered the Terrible Twos, a contract she had been certain her firm would get, didn’t happen, Bradley almost relapsed. Her secretary's daughter was sick, Marquis and his boyfriend were fighting.

He heard Roger screaming before she got out of the car. Guy met her coming up the front walk, her briefcase in one hand, Roger on her hip. The child was screaming for ‘Dot Dogs’ and smacking his mother on her collarbone. Before Guy could say a word, she thrust both child and briefcase at him, snarled something about ‘deal with your son,’ and trudged into the house and up the stairs.

Guy stared hard at the little boy. “Hear ye, hear ye,” he whispered.

Roger immediately went wide-eyed. “God sath th’ Qween!” He inhaled-

“Do not.”

The child ducked his head and stuck his thumb in his mouth. “Dot Dogs!” he whispered.

Guy set the briefcase on the table, thinking quickly. He could make it a pizza night, but…

He mounted the stairs, stopping at their bedroom door and reached for the doorknob. “I was thinking, as you are in no mood to cook-”

GRRRRRRRRRRRRWL!

“-and I am in no mood to cook, why don’t I treat you and Roger to The Spaghetti Factory for-”

“DOT DOGS!!!!”

The door finished its swing inward, to show Genevieve standing in nothing but her maternity granny panties and a stretched out t-shirt on her arms that she was pulling over her head. Her stretch marks were an angry red, her nipples were turning that dark brown, signaling the impending birth of their baby. Guy forced himself to look into her eyes.

“Guy?” It was terse and the Black Knight knew this did not bode well.

“Yes, m’lady?”

She gritted her teeth. “My bra is off.” She pulled the t-shirt over swollen breasts.

“But-”

“My Bra Is Off!”

“Understood.” Guy nodded once and turned around, Roger staring at his mother as if she were a two-headed monster, and headed down the stairs. “I’ll call a pizza.”

“You do that!”

“Dot Dooooooooooooooog!”

Guy shook his head. “Sorry, Roger. Perhaps this weekend, you and I will have a FitzGisborne's Man lunch at the Varsity!” He lowered his voice. “And we'll leave your mother at home!”

A forlorn wail rose into the rafters of the home.

Dooooooooooooot Doooooooooooooooooooog!!!!

Chapter 16: 9B - They comfort Me

Chapter Text

The Shepherd

Chapter 9B

They Comfort Me

December 25^th

3:24 AM

Genevieve rolled over, ear automatically tuned to the sound of her son's breathing. Or crying. Automatically, she reached behind her, realization that Guy's familiar body was not spooned against hers. If anything, his side of the bed was cold. Looking over her shoulder, she saw his familiar outline, shadowed against the back window.

He was hugging something, or someone, close to his bare chest.

Roger

She struggled from the bed. It was getting easier to move; the pain of childbirth, now three weeks past. She didn't waddle as much, and the bleeding had slowed to a nasty discharge, but she still had occasional periods of discomfort. It was worth it.

She took her bathrobe from the post and made her way around the bed. “Guy?” Her husband turned her, his sharp profile carving shadow on the wall. “Is he hungry?”

“No.”

“What are you doing?” She tossed the robe about her, struggling to get the sleeves on before belting it.

“Getting to know my son.” He kissed the top of Roger's head, a tiny crown covered with black, inky curls. “Watching the snow.”

With that statement, Genevieve chuckled. “Guy. This is the South! We don't get snow. We get leaves.”

“Hmm mmm.”

“Really, we get le-” she came alongside her husband and her son. “-aves... what the-” her voice trailed off.

In the small, meticulously landscaped (by Bradley, no less) backyard, thousands of brightly twinkling snowflakes danced about the wintering bushes. There was no accumulation, but the moon shone bright and reflected off tiny wings.

“Fairies,” the Lord of Gisborne whispered. “The fairies of Nottingham.”

Genevieve's hand slipped to her husband's elbow. “That can't be fairies,” she hissed. “There are no such thing!”

“Shh. They will hear,” he admonished. “They're quite sensitive.” He looked down at her. “Next you'll tell me there are no such thing as angels.” With this, he tucked the baby under his chin. “They've come a long way to greet the next Earl of Huntington.” He nodded behind him. “Angels have come as well.”

Wide-eyed, Genevieve turned to glance over her own shoulder. “Val?”

Her office manager was dressed in officious long robes, wings tucked behind her, along with several others, before fading and winking out.

A familiar little blue-haired angel giggled, before waving her fingers and disappearing, leaving blue glitter swirling in the air, before flickering out. Without realizing it, Genevieve realized she was waggling hers back. She dropped her hand. “Uhm... Guy?”

Roger snorfled in a way only babies could. Guy repositioned him on his shoulder and inhaled sweet baby scent.

Leather. My children smell of leather.

For a moment, he thought of the merchant's daughter Queen Elizabeth gave him to wive. The young woman brought a thriving business, wealth, and Ripleys into that marriage.

She was also a whor* and attempted to pass off her third child as his, but the girl didn't smell right. At least he did get a legitimate son and daughter out of that union. And with Elizabeth giving him the ruins of Ripleys, marrying the whor* was worth it.

He shook his head. He'd not thought of her in at least two lifetimes.

“Guy?” Roger, even though asleep, had grasped his mother's finger. “He's beautiful.”

“Of course he is,” the man whispered jovially. “He looks like me.”

Even Genevieve snickered.

“Go back to bed.” He nodded toward the the place she just rose from. “He'll be hungry in an hour or two and our home will be busy and noisy soon after that.”

“Our home is already full,” she retorted. This much was true. Her grandmother and Guy's mother had been in residence for three weeks, since Roger's birth. Archer was ensconced at Genevieve's condo, but he and Frederick were due for dinner at noon, a meal she was told not to worry about. Their family room tree was over-burdened with Christmas gifts for Roger, gifts not only from his parents, his grandparents, but from family, Genevieve's friends and employees and Guy's relatives and fellow solicitors in England. There was even one from one Lamar Robencourt. Twice, Guy tried to ease it out and toss it, but Genevieve stopped him both times, wagging that finger he threatened to bite.

Personally, Guy thought it ridiculous to wrap so much under the tree for a three-week old baby.

But Genevieve insisted and she typically got her way.

Badsubbadsub...

He watched her shrug from her bathrobe, hang it on the post, and crawl into bed. As her breathing evened out, he turned back to the view in the back yard, fairies dancing and flitting like fireflies. He buried his nose into soft baby flesh again.

Leather

fini

Chapter 17: 10B Before me

Chapter Text

The Shepherd

Chapter 10B

Before me

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”...

Genevieve groaned and rolled over, only to feel a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I have her. You go back to sleep. Rest.”

Ghislaine was teething and was running a low grade fever, in addition to having a snotty nose. She was allergic to most children's pain relievers and had been fussy all day.

Genevieve had bronchitis; Roger had it as well and probably gave it to his mother. Guy was determined he was too stubborn to become sick! Someone had to be in charge of this sniffling, sneezing, coughing, wheezing, unable to rest cold family.

Guy woke up further with each step from his and Genevieve's bedroom suite to Ghislaine's bedroom. He opened the door to see her standing in her crib, chubby toes stomping on the soft bumper and trying to climb out.

Crying.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadaaaaaaaaaaaa....” The moment she recognized the tall shadow, she put her arms out, fingers reaching.

Guy knew what that meant. She wanted in his and Genevieve's bed.

Nope. Not happening.

This child reminded him of Sibilla, his and Vivienne's first born. She lived in their bed, it was a wonder their second child was conceived.

Truth be told, their second born was probably conceived in the tub. Or the greenhouse. Greenhouse. Definitely the greenhouse!

Guy reached out to the child, putting his arms around her to hold her close. Ghislaine began to march, trying to climb out of the crib. “Non, non, ma chérie. L'heure de dormir.” He picked her up, just enough to raise her feet from the mattress and laid her down.

He patted her behind. “Nuit nuit.”

Ghislaine was back up before he could step back from the crib, again both arms reaching out, chubby fingers stretched. “Daaaaaaaaaaaadaaaaaaaaaaa!” She was crying in earnest now. In the moonlit room, he could see tears and true anguish. She sensed his hesitation and inhaled. “MAAAAAAAAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

Guy's heart seized. “NO!” It was more a forced breath than anything else. He stepped back to the crib and picked her up. “Mama's sick. You can't sleep with us tonight.”

Ghislaine had him in a death grip. She snuggled up to him, black curls tickling his nose. Slowly, he began to sway back and forth. He began to back up towards the rocker, As he was lowering himself, the man realized just in time the rocking chair was not in its normal spot. Rather it was in Roger's room, where Genevieve dragged it while Roger was sick.

Why don't we have another rocking chair? By God, we should have one in every room! Did I not work my arse off for centuries in order to have enough rocking chairs for my children!

And at that moment, despite the agony of his lower back as he slowly raised back up to his full height, he decided tomorrow, he was going to any furniture store that delivered, and buy no less than a dozen rocking chairs! One for every room in the house, as well as his office and Genevieve's!

Ghislaine was asleep on his shoulder, so he crept back to the crib and gently laid her back down on her stomach. He took the blanket and covered her up.

The child went from dead sleep to wide awake, faster than Louis Hamilton could accelerate his racing car on the Grand Prix Circuit!

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODADADADADADADAMAMAMAMAMAMA...."

Yes. This child was Sibilla. God Save Us all.

Back in his arms and on his shoulder she went.

She continued to fuss and fidget, Guy raking his brain on what to do.

Finally, he began to croon...

“Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Uhm... do do do dodododoooo dodododooooo baby of mine...”

Back to sleep.

For many minutes, Guy just stood there, swaying back and forth. No way he could do this all night.

No way.

Many memories of many nights trying to get Sibilla to sleep in her own bed...

The Wolf of Nottingham sighed. There was no other choice. This was going to hurt.

He placed Ghislaine back in her crib. She immediately set to screaming again. Tonight was not the night for tough love. Shushing her, he threw a long leg over the railing and heaved himself into the crib with her. With his head pressed against the frilly bumper pad, his legs spread like a frog's, and his knees reaching almost to the top of the rail, he settled down in the crib, praying the springs held. Sibilla.... no..... Ghislaine immediately crawled on top of his chest and went to sleep.

And there was blessed silence.

After 20 minutes or so, he heard the door creaking open. Genevieve's shadow filled the door. "Is she down?"

"Yes," he sighed. "And I'm not moving her."

Gen nodded to herself and backed out of the doorway.

She returned a minute later carrying his pillow and a lightweight blanket. "Lift up." She tucked the pillow under his head and spread the blanket over him and their sleeping child.

"Dear God, I don't know what I did to deserve you," he whispered. "I love you. Please don't ever leave me."

His wife bent over the railing and kissed him. "Why would I do that? You chased me over the ages and saved my life many times."

With that, she tiptoed from the room and returned to their bed.

Silence.

"No," the word escaped on his breath. "You saved mine."

Begin: 03/18/2021

Fini: 03/20/2021

Non, non, ma chérie. L'heure de dormir – No no darling. Time for sleep

Chapter 18: Thou anoitest my head with oil

Chapter Text

Thou anointest my head with oil.

The man drove hard into the mountains, knuckles, white due to his tight grip on the steering wheel. It was obvious by the glare in his eyes and the tightness of his mouth, that he was not a happy person.

“Ah, c'mon, Guy! So I know where we're going!”

“'Tis supposed to have been a surprise.”

“That almost didn't fly with Fulton County's Finest!”

True. He wanted their destination to be a surprise. Several days of just them and no clothes. Ball gags. Oil. Butt plugs. Ball gags. Anal Beads. Ball gags. Vibrators. 3 sizes.

Ball Gags.

He planned this for some weeks, arranged for his mother to stay with the Terrifying Threesome for several days.

He wanted to surprise her, so he sat her in the car, blind-folded her, and took off up The Connector.

Except some busy body in another car called 9-1-1 to report a kidnapped and blindfolded woman in a black Mercedes...

It hadn't been pretty.

Guy almost demanded if they knew who he was! Luckily, one of the officers recognized him and Genevieve. Recognized them from the BDSM Club and was kind enough to vouch for them and not tell how.

Oh, and Genevieve pulled her blindfold off and began to laugh hysterically. “North Georgia Mountains,” she pointed to the obvious in the distance. “You're taking me to Helen! Huzzah!” She pointed at the officer coming towards the vehicle. “Belle! Is that you?”

“Gen! How are you?” Too late, the officer blushed over her sunglasses. “Robert,” she nodded to her partner. “It's the FitzGisborne's. I think we've interrupted a weekend getaway surprise!”

Robert and Belle were members of the exclusive club Guy and Genevieve played at. Robert leaned over to look in the car. He nodded back to the other officers surrounding them. “I think we can leave these two alone!” He mildly glared at his partner, both in their occupation, as well as the BDSM club they participated in.

“You know these two?” another officer asked.

“Yes, we've been... friends for some time.” Robert nodded to Genevieve. “You okay?”

“I was great until you ruined the surprise! Now I'll have to deal with Lord Grumpy-Pants until we reach our destination!” Genevieve settled back in her seat and smiled serenely. “I love Helen. I've not been... in a long, long time.”

Meaning Lamar had accompanied her. The first return after a breakup was always the hardest and Guy felt this return trip was long overdue! So time to get this out of the way and in a way that insured she would never remember she visited the historic little German town tucked in the Georgia Mountains with that two-faced twit!

Yes, they were friendly at functions they both attended. Yes, she sent a condolence card and flowers to his mother's funeral last year. Yes, they nodded and welcomed him when he showed up two weeks later to the symphony with his new boyfriend by his side.

Yes, to all that. All of it. Genevieve didn't think Guy heard her.

Well, no wonder he really wasn't interested in sex with me!

So they were going to visit the little hamlet for the first time.

Up, up, up into the mountains they went.

Guy was fiddling with the radio, ripping through the stations and grumbling about the inanness of popular music. This made Genevieve smile. Sitting up, she gently brushed his hand aside. “I found this station last week. I hope we're not out of range.” Down to the bottom of the dial she went, by hand, before the sounds of a lute wafted through the speakers.

Guy's brow knit in a furrow over his eyes. “de Machaut?”

“Who?”

“Guillaume de Machaut! One of the better known composers of the 14^th century.” He stabbed at the sound system with his right hand. “That man could drink most anyone under the table!” For the next hour, Guy on occasion humming or singing along, the car powered into the mountains. Genevieve didn't understand a word, but her husband seemed to be enjoying the music.

At some point, she nodded off. The week had been long, too many hours; the kids had been rambunctious and Guy had a big case that kept him in the office late as well.

There was a vacation rental community just above the town. Guy checked in, making sure the condo next to them was unoccupied and prepared to pay extra for it if necessary. Leaving Genevieve in the car, he took in their luggage – which was, not surprisingly, little. He returned to the vehicle and took her to dinner, a very nice restaurant unexpectedly tucked into the little village. Genevieve's favorite – prime rib – was on the menu and her glee knew no bounds.

Several times, she looked up from her plate, prepared to make a statement, a comment, anything, only to be silenced by Guy's deep stare.

“Wot?”

“You look,” she whispered, “as if you want to eat me.”

His grin was lop-sided and slow. “I am the big, bad wolf.”

Genevieve's circular moue was lit by a knowing fire.

It was dark and the temperature dropping when they returned to their condo. It was warm, Guy obviously turning on the heat when he dropped off their things. He steered her past what she thought was the master bedroom and the stairs leading to the second floor, into the living and dining room area.

“Stay here.” His voice took a deepening hue. “Take off your clothes.”

Genevieve grinned at the order. So! It was going to be a naked games week-end! It had been a long time since they had enjoyed one of those. She started to suggest, they could have gone to the club, but closed her mouth, before she could utter a sound. The club meant a few hours. This was going to be at least 2 days.

That is, if the children didn't do something to land one of them in the emergency room. That had happened before, when Roger wrecked on his bicycle and ended up in the emergency room with a broken arm.

Her clothes laid in a pile around her ankles and feet and despite the warm air in the abode, she shivered, her nipples standing firm.

“Do not turn around. Close your eyes.” The smell of leather surrounded her as his arms circled her. “Tip your head.” A drop encasing a cold stone made its way around her neck, dangling gently between her breasts. His breath teased the delicate shell of her ear. “It has been a long time,” he whispered, “since you have submitted to me.” There was a sharp crack as the flat of his hand met her southern-most cheek.

“Wha-”

“I love to watch it jiggle!” He smacked the other one, chuckling softly. “I smell your desire.”

It was now Genevieve's turn to smile. There was no pain, he told her a long time ago he would never hurt her. And he never had. If anything, even when they were having swing from the chandelier monkey sex, he never hurt her.

“Open your eyes.”

She opened them to stare at the back deck curtains, blessedly closed. Her hand went to the cool stone about her neck. She looked down to see a beautiful tear-shaped diamond drop, surrounded by rubies. “Guy. It's beautiful! You spoil me!”

“You are getting ready to see how much I spoil you,” he whispered. “Turn around.”

She did so, discovering the scent of leather wasn't from his Club-Dom leathers. Rather...

“Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “That's what you were wearing when I first met you!” It occurred to her that it had taken time to have it made and probably cost a fortune. From the chain link in the sleeve, to the tooled etching and -

-the lace-up pants...

“You like?”

“Oh, very.”

Her husband took her by the hand and drew her backwards into the downstairs bedroom. “What is your fantasy?”

“Mine?”

“Did I not make myself clear?”

“My fantasy?”

Again, the one side of his mouth turned up into a grin. His knees backed into the bed. “You fulfill my fantasies always. Your turn, your fantasy. What is it?”

He looked rather pleased with himself and Genevieve knew he wanted this weekend uninterrupted just for them.

But he also looked... tired.

“My fantasy?”

Guy nodded.

“Fourteen hours sleep and a breakfast buffet.”

The confusion was obvious.

“Fourteen hour-”

“PSYCH!” Genevieve pounced, knocking him backwards onto the bed. Her hand snacked up one long medievally clad leg and rested on the ties at his groin. “I've always fantasized about this!”

And she lowered her mouth.

~~~...~~~

42 minutes later

Guy collapsed from behind her with a roar, before rolling onto the bed. As he fell on his back, arms outstretched, Genevieve rolled in to them and snuggled into his side. He glanced at the bedside clock. “God, when did we get old?” He yawned.

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Millennium!” Gen was picking at her teeth. “Oh Lord!” she spat. “I believe there are leather bits in my teeth! Phppt! Phppt!”

His chuckle rumbled from his chest, where his wife's head rested. “Serves you right! Unlacing me with your teeth.”

She continued to spit. “Admit it. You liked it!”

He held her tighter. “Aye. I did.” It was quiet for a minute. “Fourteen hours sleep.”

“And a breakfast buffet.”

She could feel him smile. “I think I can manage that.”

And there was peace.

~~~...~~~

fini

~~~...~~~

Start 10/03/2021

Fini 11/01/2021