Once Upon a Romance 03 - With True Love's Kiss

by Jessica Woodard

  Even if he were nothing but a human man, to take advantage of this moment would prove him to be some sort of vile predator. It would be unthinkable, and wrong. Added to that was the pure and simple truth. He was not human. Which made the idea of a liaison between them more than wrong. Even if he wished, he could not join her in her life.

  And she could not join his.

  He let the icy logic cool his heated blood, and, taking one last deep breath, gently extricated his hand from Bianca’s grasp. With a few quick strokes he pulled himself to the edge of the pool, and drew himself out, feeling the water roll down his body to puddle on the ledge. A few quick swipes with his shirt, and he was dry enough to draw on his breeches. Then he retrieved the pot of clear water, and turned to bid Bianca happy swimming.

  Her blue eyes were already on him, locked on his half-naked form. He had no idea when she had turned, or how long she had been watching him, but her eyes held a hint of that same heat that had possessed him only moments before. He thought he had beaten it down, but the glow in those midnight blue depths brought the embers springing back to life. It was like a fire racing along his skin, scorching his nerve endings, making him burn to reach out to her, just once.

  There they stayed, locked in the moment, staring across the expanse of cool, calm water.

  The sun was falling behind the mountains, and in the forest a lynx screamed at its mate. The sound startled them both, and Robin’s sensibility returned in a rush. Fortunately, his humor returned with it, so he was laughing at himself as called down to the beguiling chit in the pool.

  “I imagine that air will chill rapidly, once night falls. You might wish to get out. Whether you dress or not is, of course, entirely up to you.”

  ***

  Bianca watched as Robin made his way back behind the waterfall. She felt dazed, stunned, and altogether confused. When he had pulled his hand away, she had turned to face him, only to see him swim off and pull himself from the pool. He was all lean whipcord and smooth skin, and the muscles from shoulder to heel moved with an easy, sinewy grace that fascinated her. Her heart had pounded, and she felt almost exactly as she had felt so many years before, watching Thomas rise from the river.

  It scared her, but beneath the fear she felt a heat so intense she was surprised her chest didn’t glow from within.

  When he’d turned, and caught her looking, she hadn’t blushed. Instead she felt in control, powerful.

  Even desirable.

  Then the hunting cat screamed, and the moment was gone. But she half-stood, half-floated, and basked in it. Basked in a feeling she’d thought dead and gone. Of course, Robin was the wrong man to indulge that feeling. He wasn’t even technically a man. But she didn’t care. Not right now. Right now she felt exhilarated. She felt alive. She felt—

  Cold. Definitely cold. He had been right, the night was cooling much too fast for comfort.

  Bianca pulled herself, shivering, from the pool, and hastily rifled through the saddlebag. At first she was confused, and then she remembered. She hadn’t packed this. Robin must have done it for her.

  A few minutes later she stood at the mouth of the cave, fully dressed, arms crossed, toe tapping. Isabelle, who had opened her eyes and was speaking quietly with Robin, looked up and gasped.

  “Bianca!” Her eyes twinkled merrily. “You look like a child’s painting pallet!”

  Bianca couldn’t deny it. Robin had thrown a spare chemise, a skirt of a soft, natural fawn, and a bright blue riding vest into her bag. That was all. She had no choice but to wear the belt that was part of her riding habit—a bright, vivid red—and as a consequence she looked like someone had painted her in primary colors. When the author of this wardrobe disaster caught sight of her, his mouth quirked.

  “I believe Isabelle has spoken truly.”

  “You couldn’t have taken the jacket that matched this skirt? Or the skirt that matched this vest? You had to consign me to riding into Albion looking like I don’t know how to dress myself?”

  “You are the one who walked away and left me in your room. If you cared, you should have packed yourself.” He sounded insufferably smug.

  Bianca’s jaw dropped. “You did this on purpose?!”

  “I admit, I am given to small mischiefs.” He grinned at her with insolent cheerfulness.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Just you wait, Master Goodfellow. It’s a long way to Albion. I’ll have my revenge.” His smile never faded as he took a long drink of water.

  “That sounded almost sassy.” Isabelle spoke from her pallet.

  Bianca bestowed a sunny smile on her friend. “It did, didn’t it?”

  “Mmmm…” The sound was pensive. “Are you feeling well, dear?”

  “I think it was my bath, Isabelle.” Bianca kept her tone carefully casual. “The pool’s water is quite bracing. It left me tingling all over.”

  She couldn’t deny the satisfaction she felt when Robin choked on his water.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning Bianca checked Isabelle’s back over carefully. It was a wonder what a day of healing had done. There was no redness, no sign of swelling, and her careful knife cuts had begun to scab over. The original wound was mending well, and Isabelle felt strong enough to sit up next to the fire and discuss their options with the other two.

  “We should stay here several more days, at least.” Bianca was firm in her opinion. “Isabelle is better, but her body is exhausted from the ordeal of the infection. She needs to rest and give herself a chance to heal. The wound needs to close, or she risks getting another infection.” She was full of concern as she looked at the queen. “I don’t know if you could fight off another one, Isabelle.”

  The older woman smiled serenely, and looked at Robin.

  “And what do you say, Master Goodfellow?”

  He shrugged. “No doubt Bianca is correct in her assessment of your health. But, in all other regards, the sooner we are gone from here, the better off we shall be. The hunters Brannon sent after us are not total fools. They will realize, eventually, that we could not have outpaced them so far, and they will turn back, to find where they lost our trail. Perhaps they will find it, perhaps not. If we leave now, we give ourselves the best chance to avoid them. If we stay…” He shook his head. “Every day puts us more at risk of discovery.”

  “Then we leave in the morning.” Isabelle said without hesitation. Bianca opened her mouth to object, but the queen cut her off, speaking firmly. “It is my life at stake, Bianca, and my choice. You must grant me the right to make the decision.” Her voice softened. “Besides, I imagine I will do better with an easy pace, than a frantic flight from discovery, don’t you?”

  Bianca pinched her lips closed over the worries that bubbled up, and nodded in answer to Isabelle’s question.

  “Well, then, that settles it. Today I shall rest, and tomorrow we go.”

  Robin gave a complacent nod and took up his bow, moving a few paces from where the women were sitting. With a practiced motion he bent the stave—made not of yew, but of elm—and slipped the loop of the string onto the nocked horn tip. It was fascinating, watching him perform such a tricky task with the ease of long familiarity, but Bianca was too irritated to be distracted for long. Brushing the cave dust from the seat of her skirts, she rose, and walked over to Robin.

  “What are you doing?” She spoke softly, but her tone left no doubt as to her displeasure.

  “I thought I would go hunting. We can take the meat with us.” He looked at her quizzically, as though astonished at her question, and began checking the fletching on his arrows.

  “Not that.” Bianca glowered at him. “Why are you encouraging Isabelle to leave when she clearly needs to rest?”

  “I am not. I am merely giving her all the information, and allowing her to make her own decision.”

  “But she’s ill!”

  “Bianca.” He sighed, and placed his arrow back in the quiver, giving her his full attention. “You wish to make your own choices,
do you not?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why will you not grant Isabelle the same right?”

  “That’s not the same!”

  “It is exactly the same. You wish to choose what you will spend your life on. She wants the same. I told you, choices are important to my folk. I would not willingly take your choices from you, nor will I take them from her.”

  “Even if she dies?”

  “Even so.”

  Bianca whirled and stalked away, grinding her teeth in frustration. Behind her Robin’s parting remark lingered in the air.

  “Take heart, Bianca. You mortals are tougher than you look.”

  ***

  Robin spent most of the day out of the cave. After checking the area carefully he gave Bianca permission to wander, gathering what herbs she could to replace her supplies, as long as she stayed near him. After a morning spent in the forest, she returned to the cave to make several salves, leaving him to conceal the signs of her presence and then set out to hunt in earnest. Though the deer were everywhere he ignored them, for they’d never have time to make use of all the meat. Instead he set his traps for smaller prey, leaving snares along rabbit runs, and shooting what game birds he could find. By dusk he had four grouse neatly trussed to the back of his pack, and when he checked his snares he found several rabbits. Pleased with his work, he headed back to the cave and slipped inside.

  Isabelle was resting, as she had promised. Her peaceful breathing was a soothing sound, after so many nights of pain-filled rasping. Bianca, too, lay by the fire, but despite her closed eyes Robin could sense she was still awake. He settled himself on the floor of the cave, gratefully taking up the bowl of fire-roasted roots Bianca had left out for him, and waited to see if she would speak. It only took a few moments before she opened her eyes.

  “What did you mean, earlier, when you said mortals were tougher than we looked?”

  “Exactly that.” He took a moment to finish chewing one herb-sprinkled tuber, but she didn’t pester him, just waited. “Had I been asked, I would have said Isabelle would never survive our initial flight, and yet she has. I would have said that you would never bear up under the rigors of travel, yet here you are, hale and sound and perplexingly capable. You are deceptive, you mortals.”

  “We are deceptive? I find that strange, coming from you.”

  “The Fae can be misleading, true. And some of us practice treachery as a matter of course. But for all that, our natures are very singular. Once you know what drives us, we are easily understood. Predictable, even. You mortals, though,” he shook his head as he spoke, “you hold an infinite capacity for contradiction. It is as though each of you is not one being, but many beings, all with their own desires. It is frustrating, at times almost impossible, to predict what one of you will do. For all that…” He trailed off, forced to smile at Bianca’s expression. Her brows were drawn together in intense concentration, as she soaked up every word, and her mouth was pursed with thought. It was charming.

  “For all that what?” She prodded, impatient for him to continue.

  “For all that, it is this same frustrating nature that allows you to change. To become something new, or something better, than what you have been.”

  She frowned. “By that logic, it would also allow us to become something worse.”

  He was nodding, before she even finished speaking. “Indeed. It is a source of great contention among the Fae.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Robin felt a shiver go up his spine. He was very near to saying things that he should not, especially not in a place so near the border of the mists, where he could be so easily seen or heard from the other side. Bianca was looking at him steadily, awaiting an answer, but instead he offered an observation.

  “You no longer seem as angry as you were.”

  She cocked her head, looking thoughtful. “I suppose I’m not.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “I don’t know.” She wrinkled up her face again, and Robin tried not to laugh at the picture it made. “I still don’t agree. I think the risk to Isabelle’s life outweighs the danger from the hunters. But I guess I can’t fault you for letting her make her own decision. Even if it differs from mine.”

  “There, you see? Adaptability. And in this case, I must admit, I am very grateful for it.” He finished his last few roots and lay down, trying to get comfortable on the hard surface.

  “Why?” Bianca also snuggled down, but she kept her head propped where she could see him.

  “It is a long way to Albion, Bianca.” He yawned around her name. “I should prefer if we were on pleasant terms. Would you not prefer that, as well?”

  “I suppose I would, Master Goodfellow.” Her voice was sleepy, but amused. “I suppose I would.”

  ***

  The weather was fine the next day, and though Isabelle moved gingerly upon first awakening, by the time they were ready to leave she had loosened up enough to mount her horse with no more than a boost from Robin. The huntsman then proceeded to use a handful of bandages, each torn into several strips, to soundly anchor Isabelle’s legs to the stirrup leathers, taking the burden of staying in her saddle out of her hands. The queen watched the process with a great deal of amusement.

  “I suppose I shall have to plan out my dismounts far in advance.”

  Robin smiled up at her. “Not as early as you might think.” He tugged gently on one of the loose ends, and the knot he had just constructed slithered free. “Pull hard and you will be free in moments.”

  “That is ingenious!” Isabelle watched carefully, trying to see how the quick-release knots were made, and smiled in satisfaction before he was done.

  Bianca watched the process in pensive silence. She had to admit, the bindings would allow Isabelle to ride with the minimum of effort expended, and the queen herself seemed to be happily confident of her ability to travel today. Her herb bag was packed with everything she could find that she thought she might need, and they could hardly have asked for a finer day to ride.

  Her misgivings remained, but she supposed there was no reason she couldn’t enjoy the day.

  So she smiled at Robin, when he came to offer a leg up. Her smile turned into surprised laughter when, instead of making a stirrup of his hands, he caught her around the waist and tossed her up into the saddle. Her skirts went flying, but she landed safely, and even managed to rotate to sit astride without unseating herself again. Robin caught her heel and slipped her foot gently through the stirrup, then handed her the reins.

  “Thank you, kind sir, for that boisterous assistance.”

  “The pleasure was mine, my lady.” He sketched a bow, then jumped lightly into his own saddle. “Alas, I fear the rest of the day will be rather sedate.”

  Robin was true to his word. He led them at a gentle pace through the forest and up into the mountains. Part of the caution was to keep their trail as concealed as possible—riding in streams or over rocks whenever possible—but Bianca knew they could still have been traveling much faster. Instead of rushing, however, Robin kept them at a easy walk—so slow, in fact, that Isabelle might have been able to stay mounted even without the assistance of the bindings. As it was, she rode with almost no difficulty, and the day passed pleasantly, hardly different from any other spring ride.

  They spoke as they rode along. Bianca told Isabelle some of the herb lore that had helped her create the poultice of roots, and Isabelle, in turn, told of some of the strange dreams she’d had while fevered. Robin started when she mentioned waking one evening to find swirls of bright lights darting through the air around her, and Bianca cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Why the surprise? Fevered people see all sorts of things.”

  “I may be mistaken, but I very much doubt that was a fever vision.”

  “Why?”

  Robin shook his head. “You have so many questions, Bianca, and so few are safe to answer.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “There are s
trictures. It is difficult to explain, without violating the Accords. Can you not trust me?”

  “It isn’t that I don’t trust you.” She spoke slowly, thinking about her feelings even as she tried to explain them. “But I still want to understand. Even when my father was at his most malicious, I always understood his motives. It’s—” she searched for the right word, “disturbing, to feel like a pawn being shuffled about according to mysterious rules.”

  “I understand your concern, but I cannot just answer your questions, not on my own, not without permission.” She started to object, but he held up one hand. “No one, however, could object to a few campfire tales, told after a hard day’s journey.”

  Bianca smiled at him, but he only looked back at her with serene innocence.

  “Perhaps you could tell me some tales, then, tonight before we sleep.”

  “Perhaps I could.” He turned his attention back to the trail, and Bianca was left with a view of his back.

  Their route became trickier as the afternoon stretched on. Robin was leading them along switchback herders’ trails, instead of the more commonly used passes through the mountains. They rode single file, and their conversation faltered as they climbed higher and higher. Though the sun stayed bright, the air around them grew chill, until Bianca insisted that they pause for a moment to swaddle a shivering Isabelle in blankets. At last, as the sky began deepening to purple overhead, they broke free of the rocky terrain and came to a high mountain meadow, and Robin reined up.

  “We’ll camp here.” He slid from his saddle, and ambled over to assist Isabelle. “A small fire should be safe enough; no one will see it unless they’re already in the meadow.”