"My parents were the kind folk who raised me as their own, and their daughter was a sister to me. But they discovered me a deserted babe near their cottage, wailing on the green paths of Inglewood. I never knew my blood mother or father. Later, my friends became my kin." He imbued his words with pride. Sadness filtered through. "I loved them all, in different ways."
"I've never loved," said Cal, mimicking Robin's gestures as he broke a twig and tossed it on the hearth. "Don't get me wrong; I had lovers at court. Men who've taught me what goes where, and women who've treated me as their pet, but I've never loved properly. Not like they do in the stories. You know, the ones where the knight longs for the maiden and lays down his life in her service, though he's never even spoken to her—and she's married to somebody else."
Robin snorted. "That's not love. That's foolishness."
"You're right. Those stories made me want to vomit." When Cal snickered, the edges of his lips curved downward in that endearing fashion. Robin laughed too, and then Cal's expression turned grave. "I guess it's better to exchange a few words of greeting, at least. To see what your loved one looks like in the cold light of dawn."
"Ah, Cal, there's more to it than even that. It's about grinding through a dozen cold winters together and still smiling when spring gets later each year. It's about arguing till you lock horns like rutting stags, then slapping each other's backs and forgetting it ever happened. Most of all…"
He trailed off. He'd made the right decision in turning down the Elfaene. He'd find new men to stand beside like those he'd lost. He'd live again, and he'd defy the years. He still felt young.
"Most of all?" Cal's smooth voice cut across Robin's meanderings.
"It's about fighting together with your backs to the wall," he said. "It's about knowing if you fall, he'll catch you, and that you'd willingly face the edge of a blade to save him too."
A lump clogged his throat, and his focus misted. He'd learned who his truest comrades were time and time again in the chaos of a fight. When he'd been bleeding and staggering, bereft of a weapon, men had jumped between him and a swinging axe and stopped the blow with sword, staff…or body. Tears pricked as he recalled Fulk Fitzgerald lying on a cobbled track, his lifeblood ebbing from him.
And Daniel.
Oh Goddess. He'd not thought of Daniel much these late years, mayhap because his reminiscences of Daniel were most painful of all. He and Daniel had found enjoyment in each other's arms, a casual affair that had smouldered, then died without malice one Sherwood spring. The image of Daniel that had branded itself in Robin's memory ripped him up inside.
Seven nights Robin had been chained in Odo's chamber, though he'd not been in any condition to know how much time passed. The baron had whipped and tortured him, visited every depravity on his body. He'd dreamed of the forest, the place where he'd been safe and strong, and the forest, bless the spirits, had come to him. The man made of wood—the one Robin had come to think of as the guardian of his dreams—had wandered through his fitful slumbers, wrapping limbs of oak about him and bringing comfort when hope had gone.
Then one morning, everything changed. When Odo had leaped from his repose, his marble countenance had turned haggard, his mocking looks replaced with something that resembled fear. He must have tired of Robin, because he'd never touched him again. Odo had thrown him to a dungeon and left him to die. Yet somehow, by the grace of the Goddess, Little John had come, stealing into the keep in disguise and bringing Daniel with him.
Daniel never left Odo's fortress. When Robin last saw his friend, he'd been on his knees, blood pouring through his fingers from a wound in his side, a guard lying dead beside him. Though barely able to walk, Robin had tugged at John's sleeve.
"We must go back," Robin had said to his friend.
John had shaken his head, his grey-green eyes leaden, and urged Robin onward. The act had driven a wedge between him and John that had taken seasons to heal. Robin's guilt over Daniel had haunted him again at the friar's deathbed the previous winter.
"About Daniel," the old man had wheezed. "John never said—"
Then death had silenced the friar forever.
Now Robin screwed a fist so tight he felt blunted nails gouge his palm. "Love," he said at last, "is about nursing a man through his last illness and never leaving his side till he breathes no more. And I suppose it's about forgiveness and letting people go. We all fall short in the end."
Had Daniel died hating him? Robin felt numb inside.
Cal touched his knee. "I didn't mean to bring back bad memories."
Robin couldn't help but take comfort in Cal's presence. It had been too long since he'd sat and talked with another man like this.
"But does devotion play no part?" asked Cal. "That connection between two souls when their eyes meet and their bodies touch. When they make love and know there can never be another."
Robin gave no answer, because he had none. He'd never formed such an unbreakable bond, and he must end this charade now.
Instead he remained still as a statue, his throat dry. He stared into Cal's eyes, striving to read more than the flicker of reflected firelight, and discerned no more or less than the reflection of his soul. A furnace of loneliness, pain, and desire blazed there. Hope tugged at his heart.
Could this be real? After so long alone, could my endless prayers for someone to hold have been answered?
He reached for Cal, tentative as if he were a sprite of moonbeams that would disintegrate beneath his touch. Swift as a pouncing wolf, Cal took Robin's face in his hands and pressed his mouth to Robin's.
Hot flesh brushed flesh, the contact gentle and moist and sending a bolt of fire straight to Robin's cock. Caution shouted in the back of his brain but proved no use. Cal tasted of warm chestnuts, soft and sublime. Cal licked the seam of Robin's mouth, and madness seized him. He parted his lips, grabbed Cal's silky hair, and intensified the kiss. Cal moaned into Robin's throat and drifted a hand up his thigh, setting his skin aflame and his prick stiffening.
In truth, Robin had rarely kissed before, not like this. With his men, he'd fumble and joke, then see straight to the business of their needy cocks. Now he enfolded Cal in his arms, pulling him closer, mindful of Cal's injury. Cal worked his mouth slickly and sweetly, unleashing waves of feral passion that washed through Robin like a flood. He revelled in the union of flesh against flesh, the rising heat in his shaft, which Cal stroked so roughly it wept. Cal straddled him, scrubbing his burgeoning erection against the bared flesh of Robin's thigh. Damn, Robin wanted to fuck him.
And he'd fall straight into a forester's honeyed trap.
He broke the kiss and pushed Cal away. Cal whined, lust steeping his snatched breaths.
"That," said Robin, "is not love either. For my part, it's a lonely man being a fool. For your part…" He neither knew what accusation to make nor truly wished to say it.
"Does love matter?" Cal's voice broke, and his face coloured. "Or even friendship! You want me, so why don't you just take your pleasure? Believe me, I want it too."
Cal trained his features into a heavy-lidded mask, unclasped his cloak and cast it aside. He slowly peeled off his tunic. Firelight rippled over the contours of his slender body, across the stark lines of his shoulders and hips. Flaxen hair dusted his chest and about his dusky brown nipples and formed a barley-coloured trail down to the nest of curls where his cock jutted erect.
Leaning forward, Cal smoothed his swollen lips. Robin mustered his full inner strength to resist. He adored the hard maleness of Cal's body, while his vulnerability shouted to Robin's instinct to nurture and protect. With that bandaged shoulder and silky, mussed hair, Cal looked like a fallen angel. He acted…like a whore.
That mirror of his soul in Cal's eyes was just another lie.
"You must let me thank you for helping me," said Cal. Robin lifted a brow, letting the lad stroke his aching length one last time. "I could suck you, take you in my mouth. I'm very skilled at that, so men say."
; "No, thank you, lad." Pity as much as anger fuelled him as he pushed Cal off.
He rose, adjusted his clothing, and went outside to cool down.
*~*~*
Cal cringed and pulled his tunic back on, then his cloak. He lay down with his head on Robin's pack. For the first time in a while, his shoulder hurt like hell. His belly grumbled because chestnuts could not fill it and… Oh, curse it!
He used to be smooth and subtle, skilled enough to seduce a Persian envoy and wean the most damning secrets. Tonight he'd been as discreet as a battering ram.
Pressing his palm to his brow, he marshalled his thoughts. He'd lost the battle, not the war. Robin had no doubt gone to jerk himself to satisfaction, and Cal would wager a copper coin that Robin wasn't thinking about those Sherwood lovers.
He smiled, though the notion didn't pacify him, and he struggled with juvenile pangs. It saddened him that Robin had never experienced true love, and that he, Cal, couldn't heal his anguish. The ache in his heart grew unbearable, exacerbated by a twist of mortal fear that had him snarling back tears.
He refused to admit he wept for Robin. He cried because he was scared to die, here in this hateful Greenwood, or anytime soon. But Lord, he wearied of life's endless fighting.
When Robin returned, Cal had composed himself and settled in front of the fire with a blanket he'd pulled from Robin's pack draped across his knees. Cal spoke without looking up. "I was a fool. I'm sorry if I offended you."
"You didn't. I'm sorry if I…raised false expectations."
Cal hadn't expected his apology to be returned. He quirked his most charming smile and lifted the end of the blanket so Robin could come under.
"I've been a fool enough in my time." Robin chuckled as he snuggled beneath his half of the cover. When their thighs brushed together, Robin shifted awkwardly. If Robin wanted space, he would have to ask Cal to sleep in the cold. Knowing he wouldn't, Cal bit back a grin. The prospect of having that hard wall of muscle pressed against him through the night cheered him further.
"Tell me," he said. "Have all your dearest friends passed over from this living realm?"
"Not at all. John still lives."
"The one they call Little John?"
"Yes."
Robin's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but he looked less anguished than before.
"Are the stories about you two true?" asked Cal. "Oh, go on. Tell me about him. Please."
"If I must, lad." Robin sighed. "As the world appears to know, when we first met, we fought as bitter enemies, and he bested me. But never had a man possessed a stouter heart. He saved my life more times than I can count. He married seven summers past. His wife, Bess, is a wonderful woman. Last time I visited them, they flourished—four goats, five children, and more than a dozen hogs. And there was Will. He was a very beautiful man."
Affection softened Robin's features, and Cal fought a cold pinch that might have been jealousy. "Does Will Scarlock still live?"
"To my knowledge he does, though sickness robbed his sight the autumn before last. Fortunately he has one who loves him well. As long as Much cares for him, Will has no need to lament."
"Will you ever see them again?"
Robin shrugged. "I don't know. All the original gang who survive escaped the outlaw's life, but for me, there seems no way out. John and Will helped as many poor folk as I, if not more. I've never understood why mine is the most famous name. Why it's me alone the law hunts."
"I know why." Cal laughed softly. "You're the hero. You just are. Even the trees whisper of Robin Hood."
"I wish they wouldn't."
"Are there any Robin Hood ballads that you like?"
Robin smiled sadly. "There might be one or two."
"Which?"
"The few that tell the truth." Robin dragged in a slow breath, and Cal's heart began to race. Robin's deep, lilting voice washed over him like a delicious tide.
Though Robin Hood walks tall and proud
Beneath the greenwood tree,
He ne'er would fight, nor love, nor win
Without friends—loyal, brave, and free.
The tune was a sad one. Cal rested back, peeping from under heavy eyelids as Robin's song floated through the open roof to the stars. When Robin fell silent, Cal wanted to beg for more. Robin lay down beside him, and their shoulders touched.
Cal ought to renew his seduction routine but hadn't the strength. The thought of another rebuff bruised him inside.
So he took comfort in fools' dreams. Cherishing the heat of Robin's body and the echoes of Robin's song, he drifted toward sleep.
You're not alone, Robin. You have me.
*~*~*
Cal's slumbers took him back to Venice six months past, when he was a royal emissary on his first real mission. He had a letter of introduction to the doge in his possession, a purse of gold chinking at his belt. And he'd arrived in a city that felt like paradise.
Dressed head to toe in scarlet velvet, he reclined in a prawn-tailed batela, admiring the sturdy young man who punted him through the canals. His boatman had sleek dark hair and olive skin, which Cal wanted to lick and gently bite, though there was plenty else to distract him. Palaces of white stone towered on either side of the waterways, their panes of coloured Murano glass glittering in the light. Merchants and their families drifted by in painted vessels, wearing silken gowns and brocade finer than any English prince could afford. The whole city shone like a bejewelled crown. Cal sighed toward the southern sunshine.
If anywhere should become his true home, it must be Venice.
A fortnight later, he was begging to be allowed to leave. In a hell all too familiar, where a man must slash and kill to survive, he failed once again to strike his blow. His finery was ripped from him, and he found himself beaten and naked, shivering in a damp hole infested with vermin. Never had his fortunes sunk lower…till Marshal had sent him to the Greenwood.
In the doge's dungeon, a rat as long as his forearm prepared to sink its fangs into his chained ankle. He screamed for the pure air of the forest—and for Robin. The loud squawk of a songbird ripped him from his dream world. He panted with relief.
A grinding sense of dread often greeted his awakenings, especially after fitful slumbers. Not today. Daylight revealed remnants of peeling paint on the ruined hall's stonework. Fading yellows and blues paled beside the gold and scarlet leaves that blew in. Mounted on both sides of the entrance and around each narrow window was a variety of stone-carved heads, including the Green Man, a human male with a stag's horns—the devilish Herne the Hunter?—and a gracious woman in a tall hat.
Cal welcomed the sights. The presence of Robin explained the warmth that cocooned him. He and Robin had rolled close in the night. Cal's head was nestled beneath Robin's chin, and Robin had slung an arm over him. Cal looked up at his companion's face, Robin's brow smoothed by sleep. The affection gathering in Cal's heart set him drawing breath swiftly, then holding it till the tension burned.
In his prison in Venice, he'd taken childish comfort in thoughts of rescue, in tales of Robin Hood. Any Englishman of his generation would be guilty of the same. No matter. If his nightmare had taught him anything, it was that he mustn't stay his hand. Robin's aid in escaping the Greenwood spirits could still prove vital, but Cal must think of his future. If Robin wouldn't let him stay, he must find some other way to profit from this encounter. He didn't like the idea of betraying Robin, but…
A wordless murmur from Robin interrupted his racing thoughts. He shifted, wetting his lips. Cal, who'd seen men stirred by desire in slumber before, experienced a buzz of excitement, a powerful urge to quench Robin's carnal thirsts. Snuggling closer, he eased his hand between Robin's legs and traced the length of a rock-hard member.
Triumph arrowed through him, and he pushed caution to the back of his mind. Whether Robin dreamed of him or not, Robin must awake to know that the reward for taking him as his lover, friend, and confidant would be wondrous indeed.
Cal peeled back t
he blanket, nudged Robin's legs apart, and settled between. Robin frowned but slept on. Cal raised Robin's tunic.
Robin's shaft was long and thick, the plum-like head lifting with his desire. Cal's need swelled, his balls tightening and his prick jerking. He dampened his lips and breathed on Robin's cock. It lengthened further, and Robin curled his fingers at his sides.
Slumber on, sweet outlaw, and awake in rapture.
Robin would feel his skill. He'd appreciate Cal's art, his talent. Cal glided his lips over Robin's cockhead and began to work.
He swirled his tongue about Robin's tip, gently sliding back the hood, then teasing the moist slit in the bulb beneath. Robin nudged toward him, silently pleading for more. Cal rewarded him with rougher attention, taking him deeper and tracing the hard ridge beneath the glans. He struggled to hold off from swallowing his victim to the hilt and unleashing too much too soon.
Robin tasted of salt and perspiration, the lushness of a pasture after a spring downpour, and above all, of strength and heat. Cal couldn't get enough of it. He'd endured sucking cock before in the knowledge of the rewards he'd reap. Today he relished the act, snatching raw delight from giving. The man beneath him bucked and moaned, and Cal's member ached.
As Cal pleasured him with hands, lips, and tongue, Robin flexed thick arms, fists grinding into dirt and ash. Cal absorbed the mounting ecstasy on Robin's slumbering countenance, and his desires burgeoned in synch. Yet guilt crept too, trailed by that foolish and now familiar need.
He wanted Robin to open his eyes and cry Cal's name, to do anything to indicate that he wanted this in wakefulness as well as slumber. And if he didn't? Lord, this was terribly wrong.
Cal slipped back and stilled, striving to read Robin's face. A guttural groan rose from Robin's heaving chest. "Come back."
Joy overwhelmed him. Borne on a rush of desire, he drew Robin's shaft to the back of his throat. Robin's cock swelled. Robin rocked his hips to a steady rhythm, filling Cal's mouth, while Cal pleasured him with his tongue. With the smallest contact against his cock, Cal knew he'd peak too. But he daren't move his hand from where he fondled Robin's balls. He wanted to please because it felt good and right.
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