Everything I Do: a Robin Hood romance (Rosa Fitzwalter Book 1) (3 page)

Those few stolen moments, when they all sat laughing around the fire in Robin’s merry camp and the men took turns relating to her the humiliation of the Sheriff’s men, were the best of Rosa’s life. She had come to know most of the men, now. She knew all of their names, some strange-sounding and hinting at great adventures behind them, and longed to get to know each and every one of them better.

There was Will Scarlet, a handsome man of Robin’s age, who also seemed to be like a brother to him, and Will Stutely, a mature man who had once been wealthy but had lost everything when he and his family had been branded traitors to the crown. Then Gilbert of the White Hand, a fun-loving lad of twenty, Alan-a-Dale, who also played the harp, and Paul the Healer. Both the Miller’s sons: Matt, who was often Robin’s right-hand man in the absence of Little John and Much, the youngest of the company. And of course that bear of a man, Little John, who never once left his beloved Master’s side. He was nearing forty and his hair was peppered with white, but his step had an elastic spring to it and his strength was second to none. He never spoke of the family he’d left behind when he couldn’t come up with the monies to pay the Sheriff’s taxes, but he went alone from time to time to see his wife and three children, and to bring them meat, a luxury for which he blessed Robin daily.

They all called their leader by his name, and a few called him Chief, or such. But Rosa could never bring herself to call him anything but ‘sir’. He seemed to her much more of a noble gentleman than the men who frequented her father’s home. Indeed he was a prince compared to every other man.

There were many more men, of course, for the band of outlaws Robin Hood had gathered in the forest superseded five and thirty. These were men who had lost their lands and homes to the Sheriff’s taxes, and had been rescued from prison or the noose to hide until England was restored to some form of justice by its rightful king. Robin kept them clothed and fed and free, and they lived in his camp in small tents or wooden cabins they had built with their own hands, for there were not only old men, but young and capable ones as well.

The band of warriors Robin took with him on dangerous expeditions consisted of no more than eight men, including himself, and he was happy to keep it this way, for his trusted robbers were strong, swift and well-trained in the arts of archery and swordsmanship. The rest were considered outlaws as well, but they were the ones to protect and care for, and that’s what Robin did.

There was a friar among the company, a middle-aged but youngish looking man of rather plump stature, whom Robin seemed to respect and revere almost as a father. They called him Father Tuck, and he still wore his monk’s habit, although he appeared to be mostly in charge of the delicious meals. His small, laughing eyes looked at her sharply only once when she had first met him, but Rosa knew that that one glance had taken her full measure, for nothing escaped his intelligent gaze.

She was sure Robin trusted his opinion for good reasons, and soon enough she saw that he was both pious and fun-loving in equal measure, and the men loved him to death, almost second to their chief.

Rosa enjoyed her time at the forest more and more every time she went there, but always came back before they had eaten and always Robin rode with her until the castle came in sight and no further.

It seemed to her in those days that she was living two lives -and  definitely the one she lived as Stuart of the Castle was the better of the two. For as Stuart she could walk beside Robin Hood, listen to his incredible tales, watch his eyes sadden as he heard of the peril his men ran into daily, drink in his whole-hearted laugh and be of very small and yet significant help to him.

Every time she entered the small clearing the smoke of the small fires all around the camp met her nose, and the busy sounds of men lounging on sturdy moss-covered logs that served as seats for their meal greeted her ears, and she felt that this was a true palace fit for kings, and a lump rose in her throat to think of the cold, hard castle walls that awaited her. This hidden kingdom of green leaves and clear skies, this was a gift beyond the touch of her father’s ill-begotten gold, and it calmed her spirit merely to be in the presence of such beauty.

Then, as soon as the meal was over, Alan whipped out his lyre and they twirled in merry dance under the watchful eye of the moon, spitting in the face of their enemies who imagined them cowering in fear and misery.

Rosa didn’t worry about her secret becoming known to the band of outlaws, for she never stayed long enough in their camp. She constantly told herself not to become careless, however, as familiarity with them took the place of her former awkwardness. She knew she would lose all of this if they ever found out she was a woman.

And Robin’s fragile trust in her would surely vanish forever if it became known she was the daughter of his worst enemy.

…

Rosa turned on her side and covered herself carefully with the coarse, woolen blanket. She had no idea sleeping on the ground was so wonderful. The grass smelled so fresh forming the softest pillow beneath her head.

She had somehow managed to settle down a little further from the sleeping men, although in her identity as ‘Stuart’ there really wasn’t a good excuse for it, except perhaps that she was unaccustomed and scared of their strange ways. So that’s what she pretended to be. She hated that Robin should think her timid, but it was safer for her like this.

She still didn’t know how she had managed to get herself in this situation.

Getting attacked by two burly thieves on her way to Robin’s camp and having to exchange blows with them was not exactly in keeping with her need to remain inconspicuous. She was thankful that two of Robin’s men had rescued her from her attackers just as they were about to overpower her, although she had held them at bay for more than half an hour.

However she was badly bruised and barely conscious by the time they brought her to Robin, and he flatly refused to let her go until he had seen with his own eyes that ‘Stuart’ was unharmed. This seemed a bit strange to her, seeing that in Robin Hood’s eyes she was just a ‘green boy’, as he himself had called her on their first encounter. Why did he take such trouble over a mere youth?

Secretly, of course, she was glad for the opportunity to prolong her delicious adventure until morning. It was of course uncomfortable to go to sleep without even having washed her face first, but she wouldn’t do anything that might expose her, the risk was simply not worth it. Anyway, as soon as she lay down and opened her eyes to the star-studded canopy of dark heavens above her, she forgot all about her dirty clothes.

She glanced a few yards away to where she had seen Robin Hood make his pallet and saw that he was looking in her direction, frowning.

She quickly turned away, wiggling her back to find a comfortable spot on the hard earth. Her body ached almost everywhere, but otherwise she felt better than she had done in her entire life, lying in the soft grass like that, the night sounds of the forest gently lulling her to sleep. It seemed like there had never been a problem in the whole world. Nor would there ever be any in the future.

The next morning she awoke to a feeling of deep contentment.  She was earlier than everybody else, for despite her exhaustion, her ears were unaccustomed to the sound of chirping birds out in the open. She took a quick look around and saw that everyone was indeed sleeping, rather loudly too for that matter, except for the nightly guards.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stay in this dirty state a moment longer.

Even if riding and then sleeping in her clothes hadn’t taken its toll on her, then surely rolling around on the ground when she’d struggled with those dirty villains had left her feeling as though there was actually a layer of dirt
between
her clothes and her skin.

Yesterday Robin had showed her a little stream where the men washed. It ran alongside the camp a short distance from where she had slept and it was conveniently concealed by a thick growth of trees. 

As soon as she reached it, she slipped off her clothes as well as the horrid, itchy cap that concealed her hair and stepped into the cold, clear water. She closed her eyes at the sheer pleasure of the water running from her skin and started washing herself with slow, rhythmical movements, venturing a bit further from the bank, so that she could completely submerge herself, for the feeling was heavenly.

Robin hadn’t slept well. It was disturbing him greatly the way his mind, even his heart, responded to this strange boy. He felt so fiercely protective of the lad, since the very first day he had seen him. Many weeks had passed since then, and he had gotten to know the boy better, only to be further impressed by his honesty and wit.

When they had brought him to the camp yesterday, Robin had taken one look at his limp form and his heart had stopped.

Later, even though it had become clear that the youth was absolutely fine, he had insisted on keeping him nearby to ensure his safety -at least that was what he had said. But the truth was he hoped that the sight of Stuart laughing and eating, hearty and hale, would dispel from his mind the disturbing image of him lying unconscious and beaten while Paul attempted to revive him.

Finally deciding that it was useless to try to reclaim his elusive sleep, Robin got up and headed for the stream to wash himself, as he did infallibly every morning.

He saw her as soon as he stepped clear of the trees.

A girl stood naked in the water, bathing. She was impossibly beautiful, that was his first thought. Her hair was a torrent of golden, copper-colored tresses, rich with water, gleaming down her back as it reached down to the still surface of the stream; her finely-boned form rose tantalizingly out of the water, glowing white in the misty morning light, and her skin appeared exquisite and fragile even from a distance. He couldn’t see her face, as she was turned away from him, but for a minute he thought she must be a nymph of the forest, or a vision come alive from his dreams to haunt him. That was part of the reason that he spoke: to break the spell.

He was so shocked that his lips opened of their own volition, and addressed her before he himself knew what he was about.

“Miss?” he shouted, hardly knowing what he did.

Rosa spun around at the sudden sound of a deep, masculine voice, terrified, and her feet slipped in the bottom of the stream. She fell sideways, and the water covered her head completely. Before she realized what had happened, she had opened her mouth to gasp in a breath, but only water met her lips. She choked on it, and even more came in. She tried to find her footing, but the pebbles were slippery, and she fell again, a blinding pain stealing her breath, as she hit her head on the wet stones.

Then, suddenly, before she had time to give in to panic, she was being lifted out of the water by strong hands. As she coughed out water, trying to catch her breath, she remotely felt grateful that her long, waist-length hair covered most of her nudity.

Robin acted quickly. As soon as he saw the girl go under, he sprinted towards where he had seen her fall, his long legs splashing through the shallow water to reach her. He pulled her out easily with an arm around her waist, her body trembling beneath his strong grasp, and he quickly wrapped his green cloak around her, even as he was lifting her out of the water, not caring that he became drenched in the process.

He carried her to the bank upstream and laid her on the ground carefully, gently cradling her head and trying to steady her until he was sure she was breathing normally.

“Are you well, miss? Please speak to me-” then he stopped short as he looked into her face clearly for the first time.

“Stuart!” he whispered in shock.

Rosa opened her mouth to speak but another cough tore her chest, and Robin lifted her to a sitting position, anxiously brushing her wet hair away from her face. The paroxysm passed and, exhausted, she leaned back against his muscled arm. Her lips were starting to turn purple from the cold and her peachy skin was alarmingly pale at the moment, but Robin found himself angry that he could have ever thought her a boy. Her wet lashes, darkened by the weight of the tiny drops of water that lingered there, lay closed against her velvet cheeks and Robin felt like falling to his knees and worshiping her.

“F-forgive me…” she said in a shaking voice, hoarse from coughing, her eyes full of a new fear.

“Shh, don’t strain yourself. How do you fare?”

“I am fine now. If I could just get to my clothes…” she started to say, through violently chattering teeth.

“Just stay there a bit longer, until you are completely recovered,” Robin commanded, his voice sounding gruff and breathless, as though he had been running at a high speed.

He vigorously rubbed her arms, trying to warm her, while he anxiously studied her pale face. As soon as he saw a little color return to her cheeks he reluctantly got up from her side and retrieved her boy’s clothes.

“I’ll give them to you only if you promise to call me the minute you feel unwell,” he told her and she nodded to him shyly, without looking directly up at him. He was curiously disappointed. “Good. Now I am going behind these trees, to keep watch. Don’t worry, you’re safe,” he tried to reassure her. Somehow he couldn’t bear the look of a frightened doe he saw in her eyes.