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

by M. C. Frank

  “Just waiting for you, old man,” Robin said, trying to conceal his expression from the friar’s piercing gaze.

  “You’re early today,” Tuck observed as he bent down with difficulty to start the fire.

  “My empty stomach woke me,” Robin answered waving him away, and tending to that task himself.

  “Your girl won’t be here for a good while yet,” Tuck said as soon as the flames rose.

  “How do you know?” Robin asked, choosing to ignore the reference to ‘his girl’.

  “She’s having her lesson now, that’s how.”

  “What lesson? What on earth are you talking about, Tuck?”

  “Her fencing lesson, of course.”

  Father Tuck glanced over, his wide, good-natured face creaking into an amused smile at Robin’s incredulous expression.

  “Are you still dreaming, old man?” Robin said. “Maybe you need your sleep like a babe.”

  “’Tis not me who is sleeping, lad,” father Tuck chuckled. “I am not the one who doesn’t know what is going on in my own camp.”

  Robin looked at him, blinking.

  “What?” he said again.

  This time the friar burst out laughing.

  “Go see for yourself,” he said at last, pointing at the direction of the cluster of trees the men had created to conceal their sports ground while they practiced at fencing, wrestling, and archery.

  “Although I guess,” he went on, “that it might ruin their sport, but you seem to-” His words trailed into silence as he realized suddenly that he was alone.

  Rosa was delivering a series of delicate but direct strikes to her opponent, Matt, with her wooden sword, slicing the wind with graceful movements and trying to simultaneously pay attention to Matt’s constant comments, such as: “good, see? Now you have me” or “no, not that way, move your feet, there, no sideways, no, yes, that’s better” and so on, when a voice coming from the bushes made her almost jump from her skin.

  “You are never going to master the art of sword-fighting practicing with that oaf,” the familiar voice said, carrying a mixture of humor and sternness.

  They both turned to face him.

  Robin Hood appeared to be oddly out of breath, as if he had run the whole distance from the camp, and his black eyes were gleaming like embers.

  “Hey there, chief,” Matt said cheerfully, pushing his sweat-drenched hair away from his forehead, “good morrow.”

  “Nothing good about it, thank you,” Robin said.

  Rosa said nothing, she just stood there, wooden sword in hand, watching him staring at her in anger and trying to catch her breath.

  “Something wrong, chief?” Matt asked suddenly anxious.

  “No more than stumbling into the worst lesson of sword-fight in history, I guess,” Robin answered coolly.

  “Oh,” Matt said, turning crimson.

  An awkward silence followed. “So what was I doing wrong?” Matt burst out finally. Robin laughed harshly.

  “Where is your sword?” he said. “Not that,” he continued when Matt proffered his wooden one, “that’s a toy.”

  “I couldn’t fight with a lady with a steel one,” Matt said lowering his voice as if Rosa wasn’t standing right next to him. “Would be too dangerous,” he finished, feeling like a fool.

  Rosa began to chuckle.

  “I wouldn’t do her the insult of even thinking that,” Robin said indignantly, “let alone saying it to her face.”

  “Oh,” Matt said again, at which point Rosa sat down laughing.

  “I’ll take over,” Robin said with a finality in his voice that brooked no objection. “Right after breakfast,” he added, remembering his hunger and reaching out his hand to help Rosa up.

  She took it, feeling the sparks fly between them even at the mere touch of his hand. She got up, he towering a good head above her, but he didn’t let go. They stood there for a moment, her hand in his, their eyes locked and their breaths coming short as, all around them, the morning light chased the shadows away.

  Rosa felt as if a minute longer and she would be forever lost in his eyes and the depth of feeling she saw there. But a fraction of a second later he let go of her hand and said:

  “Come on.”

  So they went to eat. They returned a half an hour later, Robin holding two real swords in one hand and a dozen arrows in the other. On his back was strapped his beloved longbow, reaching almost to the ground, and next to it a smaller one, the one Little John had taught Rosa to make. Rosa’s heart beat wildly.

  …

  “I can’t,” Rosa said finally, after taking some time to debate whether there was a way she could pretend she knew what she was doing with the bow and arrow she had in her hands. But no, there was no way around it. She couldn’t, and so she told him.

  Robin’s brow furrowed.

  “I have tired you,” he said, examining her face with concern.

  They had spent no more than half an hour fencing before Robin was satisfied they could move on to his favorite sport. He had given her some time to rest, but now he was wondering whether he had already pressed her too far.

  He passed her the flask of water they’d carried from the camp and she drank thirstily, realizing that her lips were suddenly dry.

  “No,” she said slowly and put the cap back on the flask.

  “No?” Robin repeated stupidly, for he could think nothing more at that second than the tantalizing way a few droplets of water still hung from her red lips. He shook himself out of his trance abruptly.

  “I just can’t do it,” Rosa said again.

  “You can’t bend the bow? Is it too… Let me see.”

  She gave it to him with a rueful smile.

  “Oh, I imagine I can bend it all right,” she said. “The problem is, I don’t know which way to bend it so that the arrow doesn’t land in my foot.”

  Robin looked up in surprise, taking in her meaning. Then he started laughing, his slow, luscious laugh that rang through the trees and seemed to reach the sky. Rosa felt too much self-conscious to join him, but suddenly it occurred to her that she had been rather silly not telling him all this time.

  He stopped laughing and his eyes became serious.

  “That was rather careless of you,” he said.

  “Taking the bow in my hands?”

  “No, neglecting to tell me you couldn’t use it.”

  She hung her head.

  “Look at me,” he commanded but his voice was gentle and quiet. He lifted a finger to her chin. “Look at me, Rosa,” he said again.

  She did.

  “For your safety,” he told her, drinking in the emerald of her eyes. “That’s all I meant. Personally, I wouldn’t give a damn if you couldn’t tell a bow from an arrow. But in this forest, knowing how to use one may well mean the difference between life and death.” He shuddered and his hand moved upwards to cup her cheek. “Please,” he said, “will you let me teach you?”

  She simply nodded, for she couldn’t trust her voice.

  “Good,” he said, releasing her and the sparkle was there in his eyes again.

  He put the bow in her hands and circled her waist to position her fingers lightly over the cord.

  “Caress it,” he whispered in her ear, “run your hand gently as though over the fur of a living thing. Introduce yourself and let your fingers become acquainted with the air breathing through the string.”

  He never knew how he resisted taking her in his arms and kissing her till she had no breath left, but after almost an hour of practice, he was still in control of himself. Barely, but he was.

  Rosa had made great progress with the bow and although she still was far from even hitting the centre of the mark Robin had made for their lesson, she was so pleased with her progress, that she didn’t notice the wounds on her fingers until they made even the simple task of holding the bow impossible.

  Her hands were rougher now than when she had first come to the forest, but still unused to holding the bow, and
the long hour of practice was beginning to show on her tender skin. It was ripped clean and bleeding at some places, while at others it had formed thick blisters, which hurt just as badly, if not worse. The sun overhead was indicating the late hour, but none of them noticed it, enraptured by the fascination of the sport and each other’s proximity.

  Robin had lifted his bow to show her a particular movement, and let go of the arrow slowly. It hit the very centre of the mark with incredible precision. He turned to her.

  “Can you try it?”

  She lifted her bow, but as soon as she tried to position the arrow, she dropped it suddenly with a cry of pain, sinking to the ground.

  Robin was next to her at once, and lifted her white face to examine it with a curse.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Rosa?”

  She couldn’t speak at first, just clutched her hand, and Robin pried her fingers open as gently as he could.

  His felt the wetness of the blood as he touched her, and immediately he withdrew his fingers. Then he saw. He saw the wounds on her hands, her second and third finger saturated with blood and the raw skin of her palm, which was torn in the middle and now also bleeding.

  Without a word, he tore the lower part of his tunic, turning it inside out, and then soaked it in water. He wiped the blood away, glancing at her tense face, but she didn’t make a sound, gritting her teeth and setting her lips. As soon as the wounds were satisfactorily clean, he tore another piece of cloth and formed an impromptu bandage which he skillfully wrapped around her palm, then around each of her injured fingers.

  He did the same with her left hand, which although less injured was also slightly bleeding. Then he simply sat there and watched her, until the silence filled the whole space around them and spread into the trees.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I didn’t think… maybe Matt was right.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” Rosa said quickly, fearing she knew where this conversation was leading and dreading that her practicing hours would become a thing of the past.

  “No, he wasn’t of course,” Robin agreed, surprising her, “not about everything. But about you being a lady and all…”

  She smiled at him and stretched her hose-clad legs in front of her.

  “That bears discussing,” she said and he smiled too. “I was wondering,” she said quickly, wanting to steer the subject away from dangerous waters, “why you shouted so at poor Matt. I mean, really were we doing everything that wrong?”

  “Well, no, you were doing fine as far as I could tell,” he replied nonchalantly.

  “Then why?” Rosa asked, incredulous.

  He didn’t answer at first, just sat there playing with a blade of grass between his long fingers. “I was jealous,” he said simply.

  There was nothing to be said by way of answer to that, so Rosa didn’t speak again for a while.

  “Look,” Robin said finally and then stopped. He got up as if he had changed his mind and walked away, then came back. He took a deep breath. “Look,” he said again, “I’m sorry about your hands, I should have known this would happen.”

  “And I am sorry about your tunic,” Rosa replied in the same tone, though not quite as tormented as his had been, “although I guess I will have to sew you another one, so-” she shrugged. “My hand will mend; your tunic will be mended; all is well.”

  “You will not give up then?” he said, coming to her again, “you will continue with your training?”

  “If I have not disappointed you terribly today, and you still want to be my teacher.”

  He looked at her, a small smile forming on his lips, his eyes shining with intensity.

  “Oh, you have not disappointed me. Quite the contrary, really,” he said. Then he seemed to remember himself and he turned from her. “It’s time to go,” he said abruptly. “Come.”

  To Rosa it seemed like he was suddenly transformed before her very eyes from the merry Robin Hood she had first met, to the stern and aloof chief of the past months. Puzzled and hurt, she got up to follow his receding form among the trees.

  She had taken only two steps when he turned around abruptly and ran back to her. He stopped a mere third of an inch in front of her, his chest heaving, his mouth trembling.

  “Forgive me for this,” he said and then he placed his hands on her neck, cupping her chin, and closed the remaining distance between their lips.

  They were both shaking when the kiss ended, gasping and holding on to each other as if they were drowning and had gotten hold of the only thing that was steady and reliable in the whole crumbling world around them. His hands were still in her hair, tracing the contours of her head, then her face, then her swollen lips.

  “God,” he said, shutting his eyes for a moment, “I don’t even regret it.”

  …

  “Oh, come on Ju,” Alan was saying that night as they were all gathered around the fire, holding their chilled hands over the flames for warmth. “Give us something, just a tiny bit of glimpse of your past. We know absolutely nothing about you, my good fellow!”

  “What would you want to know?” Julian asked in a rather menacing tone, which however had no effect on Alan.

  “Women for one thing,” Alan answered without hesitation.

  “What about them?”

  “Why do you hate them?”

  Little John snickered audibly. “Careful there, Dale,” he said.

  “I don’t hate them,” Julian said without lifting his eyes.

  There was a roar of laughter. Of course this conversation wouldn’t have taken place if Rosa were there, but for some reason or other she was absent at that particular moment, as Julian had asserted with a glance around as soon as Alan-a-Dale began his prying questions.

  “I despise them,” he went on when the noise abated. “And, what is more,” he continued looking straight at Robin, “I find it very hard to respect any person belonging to the fair sex.”

  Everyone was quiet after this vehement declaration.

  “Obviously you have been betrayed or hurt by some woman,” Robin said dryly after a bit, “but that’s no reason to generalize…”

  “I have been hurt, betrayed and disgusted by every woman I have ever met,” Julian answered matter-of-factly.

  “Except your mother,” Scarlet said, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears at the memory of his own mother’s tragic death.

  Julian turned to face him with slow, deliberate movements. He would be an exceptionally handsome lad, Robin thought fleetingly, if he wasn’t so bitter.

  “My own mother first and foremost,” Julian was saying now.

  Little John scoffed.

  “I don’t believe this lad,” he said. “There can’t have been only bad ones in your entire life. I don’t know what your mother did to you, and it’s none of my business, but at some point, maybe right before that first wench that shattered your whole world, somewhere in your existence, there must have been a good woman.”

  No sound followed his words for a moment, nothing but the loud cracking of the flames, and Robin was nodding to Alan to start a new song on his lyre, when Julian spoke again, slowly and deliberately, as if extricating the words from some place deep inside him where they had long been hidden.

  “You are right, there was,” he began. “There was someone who is the reason why I hate all womankind so passionately. She was at the beginning of everything and at the end. She was everything that was good in my life. And everything that was bad.”

  And then he stopped.

  “That’s a bit cryptic,” Will said after it became obvious Julian wasn’t about to continue.

  “And yet, that’s it,” Julian retorted.

  “At least tell us who she was,” someone shouted impatiently.

  “That’s the funniest part of all,” Julian said after a brief pause. “She wasn’t my lover as you all seem to think. Or my mistress or wife. She wasn’t even a woman, she was only a girl. She didn’t even have a chance to become a woman, although if sh
e had, I mayhap wouldn’t be resentful towards all of them. If she was alive in the world, I somehow know it would be a better place than it is today. But she died when she was a little girl. I was holding her hand one moment and the next she was gone.” He stopped and turned bloodshot eyes to Robin. “She was my little sister,” he said.

  No one knew what to say.

  “I’m sorry, son,” father Tuck said at last, laying a hand on Julian’s shoulder.

  “You’re sorry?” Julian said, sarcastically. “I am sorry. I didn’t have anything to live for as soon as I lost her. I had already lost everything before, home, family, prospects, but I didn’t mind so much. Me and her, we were going to change the world. Only we didn’t. We couldn’t even save ourselves when the time came. Or I couldn’t save her, I guess, since I was the one supposed to protect her.”

  He got up abruptly.

  “Play something, will you Dale?” he said to Alan, who was seated to his left. “I can’t bear these morose thoughts a minute longer, and I’m sure none of you want to see me try.”

  Obediently Alan started one of his tunes, and the men tried their best to make merry, but the melody was one of his more melancholy ones, and no one could shake Julian’s words from their minds. He himself, meanwhile, went and sat next to Robin.

  “I don’t want you to think ill of me, chief,” he said in a low voice, only for Robin’s ears.

  “I don’t think ill of you, Ju,” Robin said. “Showing respect and feeling it may be two different things for you, but I will demand the first, you know that now don’t you? You may do as you like with the second, for all I care.”

  “It’s just…”

  “Yes?”

  “She had red hair, my sister, Joanna,” he said with a quiver in his voice.

  “Joanna was your sister’s name?” Robin said softly.

  He nodded.

  “Red hair. Like rich copper. Somewhat like hers.” He indicated with his head Rosa’s cabin. “That’s why I can’t bear even the sight of her.”

  “I see,” Robin said simply.