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

by M. C. Frank

  He turned heavenwards, with his heart if not his eyes, and thanked the Almighty for the mere existence of this girl who had turned his life upside down.

  “Help her,” he thought. He prayed it fervently, and then at the front, Sir Hugh was taking Rosa’s hands in his and looking down at her tenderly, a hint of long-awaited triumph in his eye.

  The priest began the liturgy.

  Neither by look or by a motion had Rosa indicated that she would search for him among the crowd, her eyes trained in front of her at all times, not even lifting to look up at her almost husband. But right then, as the abbot opened his large, gilded book to read the words of the ceremony, she turned her head in his direction, her eyes finding him exactly in the immense crowd, and her eyelashes fluttered once, an almost imperceptible frown marring her alabaster forehead. It wasn’t even a look, it was less than that. Her gaze didn’t linger on him, and she returned her attention to the bridegroom immediately.

  The motion was so swift he wouldn’t have perceived if his entire attention wasn’t focused on her. But it was, and he did.

  His heart leapt within him, and the next moment he was moving towards the window, without wasting a single precious minute. His entire being was radiant, his soul soaring to the heavens with joy, and there was no danger, no other people present. Only she, and her beautiful emerald eyes cutting him through, seeing into his very core.

  Rosa swayed heavily, and Sir Hugh, blanching himself, reached out a hand to steady her. He asked her quietly if she was well, and the abbot ceased to speak for a moment. Rosa nodded with visible effort, and the groom gripped her arm more securely, his façade slipping for once into an expression of worry and fear.

  Robin gritted his teeth and passed his hand along the cold stone wall of the chapel until his fingers found what he was looking for. He gently pulled at a tile he himself had loosened a few hours ago, and the end of a rope, concealed behind it, dropped onto his hand.

  He’d come back with a few of his men the previous night to make preparations for a mad scheme, should Rosa signal that she needed his help, and right now this was his only option: that it would succeed in spite of the odds.

  The plan was simple. A long cord connected to the ceiling would somehow support him as he flung himself out of the window, and then he would run alongside the castle and jump into the moat.

  An ambitious plan to say the least, but he had succeeded in more daring ventures. The difference now was that he was alone, none of his trusted friends with him, and that Rosa’s fate depended upon him entirely. And it was this fact that for the first time made his hands shake and his brow sweat as he threw the rope out the window and then exited the church in a gingerly fashion, shouldering his way through the crowds of children gathered in the yard, clamoring for a glimpse of the bride.

  He walked to the back door of the vestuary and climbed atop the steeple from there, knowing as he did that it was a matter of time before someone noticed his strange behavior and alerted the guards.

  Still, quick as a cat, he climbed up and then dropped onto a sturdy rafter inside the chapel’s ceiling below, his boots echoing to his ears, but barely audible to the crowd below him, where the wedding was taking place. He looked down, and silently moved on the ceiling’s wooden beams until he was standing directly above the bride and groom.

  In his left hand he had grasped the bell-rope and now he twisted it around his right wrist, freeing his fingers, while his eyes were glued on the thin veil that covered Rosa’s red hair, glowing like fire in the dim candlelight. A few lone rose petals had floated down to rest next to her long train, on one of the few clear spaces inside the entire building, and that’s where he planned to land, albeit briefly.

  A choir boy looked up, bored, and caught his eye, mid-yawn. The boy froze, his mouth a perfect circle, and started to take a deep breath, meaning to sound the alarm. Not wasting one breath of a second more, Robin jumped.

  Rosa was having difficulty concentrating on the Latin chanting of the wedding ceremony, her mind wandering to pleasant memories of the forest and Robin’s arms. She had promised herself that she would not cry, which seemed now an easy promise to keep, her eyes dry and burning, her legs trembling and refusing to support her after two sleepless nights and endless pacing in the rain.

  She grit her teeth and thought of her brother.

  She would not have to give him up, at least. She might even persuade Sir Hugh to let him see her from time to time. He would be worth the sacrifice, she thought. He and Matt and Will and Alan, they would stay alive. They would be free. And as for Robin… he would manage to live, somehow. As must she.

  She saw him, briefly, as she was coming in on the arm of one of Sir Hugh’s consulters, a stocky man with bad breath, whose hands were sweaty through the fine silk of her sleeve. She turned back once, and was drawn to Robin’s burning gaze like a butterfly to a flame. She had felt it, from the very first second, burning a hole through the back of her head. As she reached the end of the aisle, she couldn’t resist any longer.

  She had allowed herself that short indulgence, turning back, meeting his fierce eyes fleetingly. Saying goodbye.

  She had feared he might have been caught by Sir Hugh’s men last night, as the man had threatened, although she had known even at the time that it was near impossible. And indeed, she had been right. But look at him now. No fear in his proud eyes, his brow recklessly showing beneath his thrown-back, coarse, peasant’s hood. Foolish man, to endanger himself so.

  The mere thought of it had almost sent her to her knees, but her groom’s firm grasp brought her back to reality with a vengeance.

  She must close her heart to him. She must put her spirit at ease, accepting what must be. Robin had sacrificed his home, his lands, his very life for the sake of others; while she would have every comfort known to man, he would still be hunted in the forest. She must not regret her choice.

  The ceremony was progressing, and she was fighting to stay upright. Not long now.

  Suddenly, she heard a soft thud beside her, and Robin was there, his hands warm, encircling her waist, supporting her, pressing her to him. His lips were brushing her temple, his voice whispering something unintelligible in her ear, and then she was airborne.

  All around them cries and screams erupted, Sir Hugh fumbling with his fine clothes to find a sword, but already Robin was in the air, magically lifted towards the ceiling, taking her with him. It all happened faster than the blink of an eye, and before Rosa could understand his purpose, Robin was balancing her atop the steeple of the chapel.

  “All right?” he asked her, untangling from his hand the rope that had lifted them from the altar, and inspecting her anxiously from head to toe, to make sure that she was all in one piece. She nodded mutely.

  She could not pretend to be sorry for her rescue, but now her mind was racing with the impossibility of this mad scheme. How would they flee? And what about Alan-a-Dale? Before she could dwell on these thoughts, however, Robin picked her up in his arms again and the next second they were climbing down the back of the building, and tearing at a high run towards the castle.

  “Are you sure this is the right direc-?” Rosa panted, trying to manage her long train and her wind-blown veil all while running at a mad speed at Robin’s heels. She wasn’t allowed to finish her phrase, however.

  In a minute she was plunged in freezing, dark water that stole her breath. She tried desperately to kick to the surface, but her heavy gown was pulling her down, the veil tangling around her neck, and the water choked her, filling her lungs.

  She opened her mouth, but freezing, green water was all that came in, and she felt herself sink like a stone, darkness threatening to overwhelm her. She tried to lift herself, to push upwards with all the strength she had, and she made some progress, but she didn’t have enough air, nor enough light to see where the surface was.

  Robin, she thought, choking on a mouthful of water.

  A force seemed to drag her downwards, and she wasn’
t strong enough to pull herself up. Breathe, she told herself. Come on, a bit longer. But it was no use. She could see nothing in the murky water.

  Maybe it was time to stop fighting at last, and drift to the bottom. Maybe finally, after all the fights she had won and all the fights she had lost, it was time to give up.

  Robin had known from the very first that his best course of action was to run directly for the moat. He had therefore arranged for Julian to meet him there, on the other side of the castle, at a small distance from the northern gate, with a cart which hopefully would bear him and Rosa, well-concealed, back into the forest.

  He planned to swim the moat, which, filthy and deep though it was, was hardly wide nor turbulent enough to be really dangerous for a strong swimmer such as he, and he knew Rosa could swim just as well, but he had not calculated on the great weight of her gown, nor how the exhaustion of the past days had weakened her.

  The things he longed to tell her, the things he longed to do… Feeling her body tremble against him as he lifted her from the church, and seeing the unhappiness in her eyes, her velvet skin bruised and fragile, it was all he could do not to kiss her atop the steeple. All he had time to do however was pass a shaking hand along her lovely throat, wincing at the chill of her skin, and ask her stupidly whether she was all right.

  They’d climbed down quickly and then ran towards the moat with all possible speed.

  They jumped in, and he immediately shot up, gasping for air, the offending smell of the dirty water meeting his nostrils. Somehow Rosa’s hand had slipped from his as they fell in, and now he was frantic that he had lost her. He could not see her beside him, the dark waters obscuring everything beneath the surface, and with a sudden twinge of fear he realized that she should have appeared by now.

  Taking a deep breath, he dove.

  He found her after several attempts, all the while conscious of the time racing by, and of Sir Hugh with his guards approaching right behind him. His panic rising, soon he could think of nothing else, however, but the danger to Rosa, submerged in the cold water.

  “No,” he gasped, as he surfaced briefly for air, “Damn it, no!” he gulped in a deep breath, and plunged in once more. Groping desperately in the dark waters, his lungs burning for air, he finally grabbed hold of something that felt to the touch like a cloth. He followed it blindly until he reached her wet, clammy skin, then he hoisted her quickly to the surface, tearing the veil away from her face, his breath catching as soon as he saw her white, small face, and shook her until she opened her eyes.

  “Rosa,” he shouted, past caring that his voice might give away their whereabouts to their pursuers. “Rosa!” he repeated, his voice desperate, gruff. “No, sweetheart, spit it out. Fight!”

  She choked and coughed, shaking badly within his arms.

  “I’m fine,” she gasped, fighting to keep her chin above water, spluttering as her mouth dipped below once more. “It’s so… cold,” she tried to say, but her words were drowned as water filled her mouth.

  “Look at me,” Robin said, cupping her neck and holding her face above the surface. He looked into her eyes in agony. “Breathe,” he urged her in a panic, “breathe, it will be all right. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Tears ran down his eyes as he tried to keep her afloat, her dress pulling them both towards the bottom, but with superhuman effort he held her with one arm against him, and swam powerfully on for the other bank. His heart was slamming in his chest, for he had never seen Rosa so weak, her eyes so defeated.

  She had faced danger, and pain worse than this; she had even faced near death before, and he had held her broken and weak so many times. But never had he felt the strength going out of her body so fast, the fight leaving her eyes. He felt her head drooping on his chest, and a sharp pain stole his breath.

  “I’m holding you,” he whispered against her wet curls. “Rest against me, you’re safe now. No one can take you from me.”

  She let out a sigh, and he secured his arm tighter around her, reaching the shore with one last strike of his other arm.

  Once there, he pushed her up, but, seeing that she was too weak to lift herself onto the ground, he picked her in his arms and climbed with her easily.

  On the other side much clamor and commotion followed a colorful crowd of guests and guards, Sir Hugh first among them, his eyes spitting fire, his hair disheveled and his resplendent fur cloak muddied, shouting futilely that they were now on the other side of the moat, and to seize them.

  “No, you fools!” he shouted to the guards next to him who were preparing to fling themselves, mail and all, into the water. “Go for the bridge! Quick!”

  Meanwhile, not paying any heed to them, Robin was lifting Rosa in his arms and carrying her to the bushes behind which he fervently hoped Julian and his cart would be hidden.

  “Courage, my sweet girl,” he whispered to her, his breath coming in rapid puffs, “you’ll soon be safe and warm. Come on.”

  He had hardly set her on her feet carefully and begun to brush water droplets off her dripping hair, a hand still supporting her waist for she was gasping for breath, when the leaves behind him rustled eerily in the silence.

  He froze.

  He turned slowly, hoping against hope that what he feared wasn’t true.

  But it was. They had found them.

  Five armored men were emerging from the thick leaves around them and slowly encircling them, their swords raised menacingly. Robin stepped back, shielding Rosa with his body, and his muscles tensed, ready to pounce.

  The guards approached slowly, knowing form experience how lethal the outlaw could be even when caught unawares, and raised their weapons. Robin stopped breathing.

  Then, suddenly, he felt a slight touch on his shoulder. He did not dare turn his head away from his enemies, but he glanced to his right and beheld a slender, white hand, silk sleeve soaked and brown with moat-water grime, outstretched towards him.

  In a split second he understood, and, grabbing an extra knife from his knee-high boot, he placed it wordlessly in Rosa’s waiting hand.

  And so it began.

  Back to back they fought, Robin supporting Rosa as she leaned heavily against him, feeling her every move as she parried and thrust and tried to keep the guards’ steel at bay. He himself took a much more aggressive stand against the swordsmen, but still there were five of them, and one of him, so he was fast losing ground.

  A few minutes of tension and sweat passed; one of the Sheriff’s guards lay dead on the ground, the rest two heavily wounded, but still fighting with Robin, and two more were pressing Rosa harder and harder.

  He could feel her unsteady on her feet behind him, and gritted his teeth, struggling to get rid of his opponents quickly, wanting to turn to defend her before it was too late. Suddenly she went immobile and silent as death.

  “Rosa?” he shouted in a panic.

  Seeing an opening, one of the guards plunged in for his throat. Robin feinted to the right in desperation, and then drove his sword neatly through the man’s thigh, bringing him to his knees. Then he turned his attention to the other.

  Leaning against his back, Rosa stumbled.

  “Rosa! Are you hurt?” he yelled again. Still she didn’t utter a word. “Answer me, damn it!” he screamed, near to losing his mind.

  “All is well,” her voice came breathless a second later.

  Robin wanted to ask her why she was not moving at all, but he concentrated on disarming his opponent, so that he could rush to her, when out of the bushes sprang the tall, lithe figure of Julian.

  He ran to Rosa, sword in hand, and expertly plunged it into her attacker’s side. With a muffled scream, he fell next to the others.

  “Thank God,” Robin breathed. “Julian.” Together they got rid of the last guard, and he picked Rosa up in his arms. She was shaking and white, her body going limp as he held her.

  “We’re safe, my rose,” he murmured to her, as Julian motioned them a few yards to the left, where he’d hid
den the cart.

  “I… I hurt him,” Rosa whimpered against his chest.

  “He’s alive,” Robin told her, not caring whether it was true or not. His heart shattered as he understood her shock at having injured a man for the first time in her life, and he gripped her tighter against his chest. This precious girl, ready to fight next to him, even when she was weak and injured, lay broken in his arms, hardly daring to move for guilt that she had done another human being harm. “Breathe.”

  She took a shuddering breath that sounded like a sigh and lost consciousness.

  Cursing savagely, Robin ran and placed her carefully on the straw cart, concealing her as best he could, and then covering her with a blanket. She was shaking badly before, but now she was entirely still, her face pale and her wet hair plastered to her forehead.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Julian asked, turning white.

  “She’s fainted,” Robin said stiffly. “I… I nearly lost her to the water, she almost drowned… I need your help, Ju, come on.”

  They woke her up, but still she was breathing with difficulty, and her words were muddled. Robin, setting his lips tight, changed his clothes with an old beggar’s garb Julian had brought him, and then together they rearranged the straw and the blanket so that Rosa would be hidden from sight, and they started.

  They reached the Nottingham gate with no trouble, for the guards were surrounding the moat, and hitting every bush and corner with their spears and swords, trying to flush him out. Not one of them suspected that the outlaw might be making his getaway in a vehicle, looking instead for a man on foot, so, after much scrutiny from the gate-guards, the cart bearing the rugged beggars was allowed to proceed into the forest.

  As soon as they were clear of the guards, Robin leapt up and, unearthing Rosa from her hiding place, took her in his arms. The cart didn’t stop, Julian tugging on the reins with gusto, and Robin tore at her dress, lifting the wet garment from her chilled skin, and wrapped her in the blanket, all the while supporting her drooping head on his shoulder.