Everything I Do: a Robin Hood romance (Rosa Fitzwalter Book 1) (9 page)

He moved his thigh against hers and curled his left leg round hers to support her there, as he moaned softly against her lips. The coarse fabric of his hood brushed against her forehead as he bent down low to reach her lips and he lightly encircled her wrist with his fingers, sliding his hand up the length of her arm tantalizingly.

She thought she heard him whisper her name, as he turned his head to deepen the kiss, cupping her chin with shaking fingers, but she wasn’t sure.

Forever passed and they were still there, intertwined.

Then, as suddenly as they had come together, they broke apart, gasping for breath as if they had been underwater.

Robin’s chest was heaving and for a moment he leaned his forehead against hers. She felt his weight on her, as though he needed her support to steady himself.

Rosa finally opened her eyes and lifted them to his face, trying to discern his expression, but his eyes were closed and he was still panting. His breath caressed her forehead, her cheeks, her hair and as she breathed in his presence, time seemed to come to a standstill.

Then, without a word or a glance he turned and left, as abruptly as he had come, leaving her swaying in the sudden cold of his absence.

She fingered her swollen lips with reverence and suddenly she sank to the ground.

CHAPTER
4

THE PRINCESS

Rosa didn’t even think of going back to the castle after Robin Hood and his choicest companions left to confront the Sheriff’s men. For one thing, there would be such a to-do there, what with her father’s temper and waiting for news from the guards that no one would notice her missing. And for another, she knew Sir Hugh would realize how dangerous it would be for her to venture alone into the forest at a time like this. If however he should decide to come searching for her, let him come. He surely would not be more lethal than the iron-clad men combing the forest at the moment.

She tried to be calm and to not think about the horrible fate that awaited any of the green-hooded men, should they fall into the Sheriff’s men’s hands. Instead, she set about to find some work and was surprised at how many things needed to be done around the camp.

Time flew while she worked and busied herself, constantly berating herself for her soft hands and her pampered body, that were was unused to such hard labor. She gritted her teeth and determined never to show how much her back hurt or that her fingers were already bleeding. The sun began to lose its splendor and she found out she could no longer see clearly to sew the heavy woolen cloak she was mending, so she put it aside and glanced around her.

The shadows had lengthened in the camp, and men were hurrying about, getting ready to prepare the day’s meal. But something was different. There were no joyous shouts, nor gentle melodies from Alan’s harp. A conspicuous silence accompanied the clatter of knives and pots and even though there were not many men absent, the place had a look of desertedness.

Rosa got up from her seat on the bark of the central oak tree painstakingly and approached the man who was usually in charge of the preparation of dinner. Today, however, Friar Tuck, contrary to his usual energetic movements around the camp, was seated in the same place she had seen him hours before, fingering his rosary, his eyes shut and his lips moving. She touched him gently on the shoulder and he opened his eyes. She wanted to ask if there was any news, but one glance at his sad countenance silenced her.

“I don’t think I will quit my post just yet, my dear,” he told her in his deep, serene voice.

“They do need your prayers, good father,” she replied, her heart tightening with fear. She tried to drive it away.

“And yours, too, fair maiden; and yours too.”

Rosa looked at him, bewildered. It hadn’t entered her mind, with all the worrying she did, that she could add her prayers to that of the good friar’s. Praying was reserved for priests; or at least for when one was inside the church. Wasn’t it?

“Anyone can pray to the good Lord, Rose. And He hears,” the good friar insisted, as if he had read her mind.

“What words must I say, father?” she asked.

“Those that are in your heart,” he answered simply.

So she tried it. Someone sent her to fill a pail of water and she picked it up and carried it easily to the stream. And as she walked, she prayed.

“Please keep them from harm. Please make them safe. Please let no one be injured, or worse… Please, bring Robin back.”

She tried to direct her thoughts to God, but she didn’t know how. She tried to close her eyes and imagine she was sitting in the confessional, beside a priest, but it didn’t help. Then she looked up in the sky, and that felt more right. She didn’t know who to address her prayer to, but she tried to peek through the thick foliage of trees and think that Someone was looking down on her, Someone strong and good, who heard her prayers and would see to it that they were answered.

Soon she reached the water, and all thoughts of prayer flew from her mind as she concentrated on trying to fill the pail. It was harder than she had thought possible, for as soon as she lowered it into the gently flowing stream, its weight became unbearable for her slender arms, and she had to turn it sideways, or she would drop it. Thus, she didn’t collect more than three inches of water. She bent down and tried to summon all her strength, and by the third effort she managed to stagger upright with the pail full of water. Now she had to carry it, though. She took a deep breath and, lifting it with all her might, she tried to take a step. And then another.

Walking like a drunkard, swinging this way and that under the great weight, she’d made little progress, when she felt the weight lifted off her shoulder and a strong hand supporting her as she stumbled and almost fell. She turned around in surprise and her heart leaped inside her. It was him.

She almost threw her arms around him in her joy, but stopped herself just in time. The gentle smile that was hovering in his eyes told her that he must have seen her sudden movement, but underneath his mouth was hard and a deep frown was marring his fine brow.

“Master, you’re back!” she said, almost dreading the news he brought, even in the midst of all her joy.

“Who made you carry this, is what I would like to know,” he said angrily, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Is this now they treat you when my back is turned?”

“No, I wanted to help…” she began to say, surprised at his words. Of all the things she had expected to be on his lips when he returned this was not one. “I would hate it if I were treated like some kind of weakling, or worse, like a lady who-”

“You are not a lady,” he interrupted her, towering above her, his black eyes fixed on hers in a way that made her heart stop beating for a few seconds. “Not a mere lady,” he continued, easily balancing the heavy pail in one hand while he spoke. “You are a princess.”

Fear gripped her at his words, fear that he had found out her secret. Had he met someone in the woods today who had given her away? Was this the reason that the words came out of his lips with so much intensity and anger?

“I am hardly that, master,” she said cautiously, but he spoke again before she was through.

“Yes, you are. In this forest, among Robin Hood’s men, you are a princess.” He swore softly. “Contrary to how
we
may treat you,” and he emphasized the ‘we’, for what reason she did not know, “you are a true lady here, and far above that.”

Relief flooded through her, for even without understanding the exact meaning of his cryptic words, she knew he meant something else than her true status and her birth. Her knees sagged as the panic of discovery passed, and he quickly put the pail down with a loud splash to catch her in his arms, for he mistook her relief for weakness and fatigue.

“Rest awhile,” he said, his voice a gentle whisper close to her ear, as he eased her on the soft grass, “while I refill this accursed pail and then you’ll tell me what these brutes have put you through during my absence.” He took off towards the stream and was back a mere blink of the eyelid later, shaming all of Rosa’s previous efforts to fill the bucket.

She smiled wryly to herself, but her mind was still flooded with questions and worries.

“I would rather know what passed in the forest today,” she said as soon as he had settled on the ground beside her.

He turned his face away from her slightly, not speaking at once, and as he did she saw a slight scar running the length of his jawbone. The blood on it was dried and it did not appear to be deep, but it was fresh and that fact bespoke of a danger close enough that frightened her even though it was, for the moment, passed.

Watching him, she suddenly realized that a tear was trickling down his sun-burnt cheek and his jaw was working, in an effort to keep more from coming. Slowly she placed her fingers on top of his and leaned against his strong arm. To her surprise, he didn’t remove his hand.

Then he finally spoke, in a voice trembling and gruff, and she felt her heart breaking for him.

“They took Will,” was all he managed to say.

Rosa’s heart stopped. That was worse than anyone being injured.

“I fought,” Robin continued, his voice breaking, “I fought as hard as I knew how. But it wasn’t enough. They took him. Alive, of course, I mean. I wish he had been killed.”

“No, don’t say that, master,” she said urgently. “I’m sure you do not wish so, for now there is the hope that you can free him and…”

“You know well there is no hope of that,” he said brusquely. “You of all people, living in the castle, you should have heard of tales about the dungeons, how closely they are guarded. That is nigh on impossible.”

She
had
heard tales about the dungeons, and she had even visited a portion of the famous prison. That’s why she said what she did next.

“It is impossible for most men. But most men are not Robin Hood.”

Robin turned and looked at her, his heart in his eyes. Then he abruptly faced away.

“My girl, you…” he murmured in a choked voice and the rest of what he was going to say was drowned out by a pitiful, muffled sound.

Rosa looked at him in surprise. Suddenly she realized that his shoulders were shaking, and, her heart breaking for him, she put a tentative hand on his sleeve.

He turned to her abruptly and buried his head in her neck, his arms crushing her to him desperately. She held him as he cried in strong, manly sobs that racked his whole body, and felt tears stinging her own eyes at the sound of his almost inhuman pain.

The sudden realization hit her, as she waited for his despair to subside, that he was little more than a lad himself, forced to fight the battles of a thousand men. Hundreds begging to be rescued, everyone expecting of him the impossible and yet he still fearlessly, relentlessly strove for what was right.

Rosa held him tightly, helplessly, but soon he had himself in control again and he got to his feet, after gently holding her against him for a second.

She stood next to him and he retrieved the pail in one easy movement. Then he started walking in measured strides, so that she could follow his pace easily. Suddenly, he turned to face her.

“Rose,” he said and stopped.

“Yes, master?” she asked, still feeling a little shaky from they way they had touched only moments ago.

“You will not leave my side when we go out there, and I’ll have to face them, will you?”

“I won’t,” she answered, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Good,” he said.

Afterwards, he insisted that it would be too dangerous for her to spend another night in the forest and almost forced her on her horse, just as the torches were being lit around the campfire. Rosa did not protest overly, even though she hated to leave him, because she knew the danger of which he spoke was far greater for himself and his men if she stayed.