Everything I Do: a Robin Hood romance (Rosa Fitzwalter Book 1) (15 page)

“Then how do you explain this?” John said, stretching his arms in the sunshine.

The deserted camp looked friendlier and calmer than ever and overhead the birds were chirping undisturbed. Robin didn’t know how to answer him.

…

Sometime in the darkness Rosa awoke to a cool cloth pressed against her throbbing temples. She didn’t know whether it was morning, noon or night. All she knew was the darkness. She tried to lift her eyelids open, but it was too painful, so she gave up.

“Wake up, mistress, open your eyes,” a hearty voice said, a voice that brought to mind sunlight and mouth-watering aromas and warmth in the kitchen hearth; but everything around it was obscure and diluted and it was too much trouble to concentrate.

“Come on, miss,” the voice went on, persistent. “You can’t let them win. We
won’t
let them win. Open your eyes, ‘tis I, Martha, the kitchen maid.”

“And Helena,” another, even more familiar voice said.

“And Jo,” added the stable boy.

“You would not let us die this winter, mistress, and neither will we now.” Martha seemed to be the bravest of the three, so they let her do all the talking.

Rosa felt something pressed against her lips and opened them obediently. The light broth she swallowed was so warm and beneficial to her aching body, that she almost forgot the pain. She opened her eyes with difficulty and looked at the kind faces that were bent over hers anxiously. She found out that she was laying on the ground as before, but it was no longer cold and unbearably hard to her tortured body. She was covered with a thick blanket that hadn’t been there before, her wounds tended to roughly, and she wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“Thank-” she started to say, but the wooden cup was once more pressed to her bruised lips.

“You keep your strength, miss, and ‘tis thanks enough to us to see you awake,” Martha said. “Now listen carefully while you sip the broth, it will do you good; you’ll have to be able to stand to escape this tomb. We can help you a little, but you will have to do a lot by yourself.”

Rosa looked at them questioningly.

“It was that yellow-haired witch that did it, that Eloise,” Jo said hurriedly. “She had you followed in the forest, she paid one of those poor beggar-boys to do her dirty work for her. I swear I kept your secret, I told no one, mistress. Helen here says the wench was jealous of you, miss, but I don’t know how she could not love you, like we all do.”

“Never mind that,” Martha said impatiently, “we have more important things to deal with right now.”

“As soon as you have finished we will help you get out,” Helena said excitedly. “The guards let us in and they will let us out again, but we can’t follow you into the forest, or we will all be discovered. We’ll give you food and clothes, and our prayers, to protect you, miss.”

“You can walk, can’t you?” Martha asked anxiously.

“Mayhap your friends in the forest can take you in,” Jo added hopefully.

Rosa really doubted that her legs could carry her at all and she knew that Robin and his men would hardly welcome her with anything else than open hostility or even deadly arrows. And yet she was so stunned by these people’s devotion and love that she could not crush their hopes, so she tried to smile although tears of weakness and emotion welled up in her eyes at the mere thought of their great kindness.

“There now,” Martha said in a motherly way, wiping her cheeks with rough but gentle fingers. “Let’s get you up and dressed.”

She didn’t think it was at all possible, but some painful minutes later she was walking alone in the dark road that led among the looming trees. Her mind was fuzzy from the pain, so she wasn’t sure of exactly how it had been contrived, but here she was, alive, walking -crawling her way to freedom.

Soon she knew that several of her fresh wounds had started to bleed again and her mind alternated between complete darkness and lucidity, but she pressed on. She fell, she got up, she lost consciousness and she regained it by sheer force of will again and again, all the while feeling her strength failing, he limbs ceasing to support her, her vision darkening. Her whole body had become a wound, the only thing she could feel was pain, but still she managed to drag herself a bit further, and then a bit further than that.

The dawn had started to break, or maybe it was because she was nearing death, but she thought the darkness had receded when she reached the waterfall that led to the secret cove of Robin Hood’s merry men. That was what she had strived for; this was the exact place that she had chosen to die.

Relieved, she lay down on the hard ground, the sound of the falling water soothing her senses and calming her like a distant lullaby. She felt almost happy here. Finally, she could close her eyes and rest.

Behind her, a coiled trail of blood had followed her to her deathbed, surrounding her silently as she lay her burning cheek on the scattered dry leaves, like a veil of precious, delicate lace.

…

Robin had awoken earlier than usual, still unable to completely relax. The others, even John, agreed that after three days had gone by without any sign of an intruder in their camp or indeed anywhere else in the forest they could return to their beloved oak tree and gather around the fire. Robin had insisted on doubling the guards while they slept and even during the day, but he seemed to be the only one left to worry.

However it seemed that finally his suspicions were being justified, because only a few hours after sunup, someone was heard shouting urgently through the morning peace of the forest. Robin jumped up, his heart beating wildly; because it wasn’t only urgency he had heard in that cry. It was also terror, pure, naked fear.

“A corpse! There’s a corpse!” young Much was shouting, his eyes huge and round with fear and surprise, his legs swallowing the distance to Robin.

“Where? Who is it? One of the Sheriff’s men?” Robin asked, all in one breath.

“No, a woman, I think,” the boy answered -for that was what Much was still, at sixteen years of age: a tall, lanky youth with curly hair the color of wheat. “She’s wearing a dress, but I couldn’t make anything else out very well. She looks like a beggar, in rags…”

Much showed the way and the men followed, Robin being the swiftest of them all, quickly gaining ground on everyone and reaching the waterfall first.

He knew her as soon as he saw her, even though she was lying in a pool of blood and her face was dirty with mud, dried blood and ugly bruises.

Even as she lay there broken and covered in filth, his breath was caught at her beauty.

He fell on his knees beside her and frantically searched for her pulse. His hands were shaking so badly that it took him a few moments to realize whether he was feeling anything or not. Then he felt a faint fluttering beneath his fingers and the world stopped threatening to swallow him.

Soon, however, he despaired again, for he found out that she wasn’t breathing. Without thinking, he brushed her wet hair away from her face and placed his lips on hers, trying to give her his air to breathe, willing her to survive. He placed his hands on her chest, feeling the bones protruding painfully beneath his calloused fingers, and pumped. Then he gave her his lips again.

As he looked up briefly to gasp in some air, he felt her breath on his cheek, shallow and weak, but definitely real.

Tears of thankfulness stung his eyes and he looked towards heaven, his heart so full he couldn’t bear it.

Then, swiftly, as the others were reaching the scene -for everything had happened with unbelievable speed, even though it had seemed to him to last ages- he cradled her in his arms and stood up. He fought down the panic that threatened to overcome him as he realized how light she was, lighter even than a child, and he held her carefully so as not to further hurt her, as her blood seeped through his clothing to his heart.

The five men who had rushed after him were staring in shock; maybe they were wondering whether their chief had turned mad, but he didn’t care. All thoughts of betrayal and danger to himself were gone, and all that mattered was she.

He forgot that he didn’t know her real name any more.

All he knew was that he wanted to save her -he
had
to save her.

For if she didn’t survive, he wasn’t sure that he would either.

…

Rosa wavered between life and death for days.

Paul the healer, a lean, ascetic-looking, serious man nearing his thirtieth year, tried his best to bind her wounds and try to nourish her as she slept, but she had lost a lot of blood and was made too weak by torture, some of her bones broken, others seriously bruised. Although young, Paul was quite experienced in the craft of the physician. Indeed he had saved many a life and nursed many a man back to health during their most daring escapades ever since the company of the forest had existed, and Robin had no qualms about trusting him with her care.

He would have sent for a physician from town without a moment’s hesitation, if Paul had happened to be away, as he sometimes was, in search of new herbs and remedies. But now, with him constantly by her side, all that could be done for her would be done, Robin was sure of it.

He himself spent a great part of each night by her side, trying to fathom her story and to divine what lay behind her closed eyelids. Quite a lot seemed to depend upon it -his men’s safety, even his own- however he couldn’t even think of sending her away or withholding his help from her when she was dying there, right before his eyes.

He spoke to her, he begged her, he coaxed, he prayed. Still she did not wake. He even shouted at her once, his frustration and despair overcoming him suddenly. Yet to all of that she remained motionless, completely still, her battered face suspended in a kind of exquisite beauty that moved him as well as frustrated him, oblivious to all his pleas.

He could find no rest, worrying every other moment whether she might have expired already, his appetite for life seemingly having deserted him as he expected the verdict on hers.

On the fourth day, the news came.

Stutely was the one who brought it on his return from the weekly foray into town.

“They say he killed his own daughter now,” he said, shaking his head in despair.

“He what?” Little John exclaimed, stealing a sideways glance at Robin.

“He killed her. Just like that,” Will confirmed, snapping his fingers.

Everyone looked at him, shock widening their eyes.

“Would you tell it from the start?” Robin asked sweetly, trying to mask his sudden temper.

His patience was running thin, for he knew that the daughter of whom Will Stutely spoke was not yet dead, but lay on the bottom of a tiny wooden cabin a few yards away from the camp, fighting for her life. He hadn’t confided in anyone else, except John and Matt -who had witnessed it firsthand- but was now burning with impatience and curiosity.

Will sighed deeply, and sipped from a flask of ale. Robin thought he might throttle him, and laced his hands carefully together to keep them from doing violence.

“He had one of his men read it,” Will said finally, “from a long parchment of paper right there in the middle of the square, for all the world to hear. When I arrived, people were swarming all around the marketplace. They had been forced from their homes to listen to what the swine had to announce.”

Will Stutely stopped and grimaced in disgust, cringing even at the mention of the Sheriff. Robin nodded mechanically, but the villagers’ troubles did not for once interest him -nor did they surprise him.

“So what did the man read?” he prompted him.

“He read about the imprisonment of the lady Rosa. He as good as said everyone knew about it, apparently it took place quite a few days ago. She was working with us, he said, ‘treachery’ he called it, that’s what he said, I swear it. Did you know that Robin? That we had a friend in the person of ‘the lady of the caste’?” he laughed sarcastically. “Now that’s a good joke if I ever heard one!”

The men echoed his laughter nervously.

Each one was wondering however, as their minds were used by now to rapid thinking,
what would the Sheriff gain with this new lie? What was his purpose?

“Go on,” Robin said patiently, and the men noticed he wasn’t laughing.

“Well, anyway, that was apparently old news for everyone but us. What
was
new was that after torturing her, she didn’t speak, didn’t tell them anything about us,  so he thought he would make an example of her. To show everyone that he wouldn’t spare even his own daughter if she proved to be a traitor, he executed her.”

Everyone was silent.

Robin got up abruptly and struck a nearby tree with all his might. It didn’t even hurt him. The men leaped in surprise.

“The… the people were starting to say that she escaped,” Will continued, stuttering a bit, and glanced Robin’s way with alarm. “That’s why he had to make all this fuss, so that he could put the rumors to rest. Although what he will gain by murdering his own daughter, and announcing it to everyone too, I don’t know…”

Robin could bear no more.

He ran to the small wooden cabin and flung the door open. Rosa lay there, exactly as he had left her in the morning, scarcely moving at all. Paul was next to her, looking grave as usual, but he turned abruptly to meet his chief’s gaze, alarmed at the vehemence in his expression.

Robin tried to calm himself. It wouldn’t do to jeopardize her life by his emotion.

“Is all well?” Paul asked.

“You tell me,” Robin replied, indicating with his head he meant the sleeping figure on the mattress.