Previously...
I could kiss him, I think. I could kiss him right now and slip away into the shadows before he is fully awake, watch as he touches his lips, eyes widening in the knowledge that Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon desires the man he has hated for as long as he can remember.
My stomach growls in protest of too much liquid and not enough food. I shuffle backwards and away, heart banging in my chest.
Will's bed is not as comfortable as mine is and the blanket is thinner and rougher; but it will have to do, at least until Guy is well and we sort out our future sleeping arrangements.
In the distance, an owl hoots and another answers. The trees rustle and creak in the soft breeze. The telltale tread of a woodland creature nears and then fades away.
The forest is sleeping its gentle nighttime sleep, while I am lying in bed wide-awake and restless.
Tomorrow, I think. I will tell him tomorrow.
~
Chapter 27
I crouch beside the bed and gently touch his bare wrist. Guy opens his eyes, blinks to clear them of sleep.
If I'd taken Matilda up on her offer to poison him, right now I could be hiding behind some tree, arrow nocked, ready to rob some passing nobleman of his coin, instead of squatting here with a bundle of damp leathers resting on my knees, heart pounding, my throat tighter than a taxman's purse strings.
Guy pushes up onto his elbows. He glances at the closed curtain. "No mad girl with a hunting knife coming to slit my throat? No foul-mouthed medicine woman about to castrate me?"
"No, they're-"
"I was jesting," he says, lips curling upward into a genuine smile. "I heard you sending them on their way earlier, along with the rest of your gang." He wriggles farther up the bed, until he is sitting. He eyes the folded leathers resting on my thighs. "I can't believe you managed to persuade your pudding-headed servant to wash those, even though he'd probably lick your boots if you asked him to."
"Much is not my servant, and he didn't wash them. I did."
"You?"
I nod.
"Why would you do that?" Guy eyes both the leathers and then me suspiciously.
"I haven't filled them with creepy crawlies, if that's what you're worried about." I lay them on the ground, beside the bed. "I figured you'd prefer not to go around wearing Matilda's late husband's cast-offs."
"True enough," he says, plucking at the course woollen tunic. "These clothes itch like buggery." He looks at the neatly folded leathers. "The witch told me she was going to cut my breeches up into very small pieces and make me eat them."
"Matilda is not a witch," I tell him. "And she says a great many things that she does not mean."
"Trust me," Guy says, pulling the woollen tunic over his head and scratching his bare chest. "She meant it."
I notice his chest is hairless and wonder what it would be like to run my hands over it and if I did whether he'd chide me for daring to stroke him with calloused bow fingers and many a broken fingernail.
"You can't blame her for disliking you, not after what you and the sheriff put her through. If it hadn't been for us, she would have drowned."
Guy scowls. "I always knew you were behind her escape somehow."
"Never mind all that," I say, not wishing to hark on the past when it's the future, his and mine, that I want to talk about. "Matilda came here and fixed you up. That's all that matters."
"Only because you asked her to." Guy peels back the blanket and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. I see he's wearing hose cut from the same rough wool as the tunic.
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"Surprisingly better." He again glances at the curtain and then at the empty beds nearby.
"I'll let you get dressed," I say, standing.
Don't be craven, Robin. This is why you sent the gang off on various errands: to be alone with him.
"No," he says, pushing himself off the bed and coming slowly to his feet. "Stay. I want to talk to you."
"You make it sound serious," I say, running my tongue over my teeth in an attempt to unstick them from my lips. Now that the moment to speak to him candidly is here, I'm as nervous as a maiden on her wedding night.
"Maybe," he says, unlacing the ties at the top of his hose, "that's because this is serious." He nods at his leathers. "Do you mind? I haven't eaten properly for several days and am a little light-headed. If I bend down, I may well end up staying down."
Feeling like some squire on his first day, I pick up Guy's clothing. When I straighten and turn to face him, I find him standing in a pair of braies - spare ones of mine - hand outstretched.
Disappointment coating my tongue, I hand Guy his breeches, followed by his undershirt, doublet and sword-belt. I watch as he does up the heavily embossed fastenings, maddeningly slowly, and wonder if I should start up a conversation about the weather.
"Much better," Guy says, running an appreciative hand over his doublet. "Though they're a little damp for my liking." He threads the thick sword-belt through a plethora of leather loops.
"Sorry. I thought they'd dry out on the walk back from the river but I guess they didn't."
Guy tucks his long matted hair behind his ears, sniffs his fingers. "I should probably go down to the river myself. I smell worse than the castle privies."
He meets my eyes, grins. "You like that idea? Me in the river, naked as my birthing day?"
"No. Yes. I don't know."
"I think you do know," he says, moving towards me until we are only an arm's-width apart. "I think this isn't the first time me being naked has crossed your mind. Certainly, I've imagined you in a state of undress."
His gloveless hand shoots forward and snatches up one of the lacings securing my breeches. I take an involuntary step backwards. "The gang-"
"Are not here," he says, yanking me into his chest. "And will be gone for ages with the long list of tasks you've given them. It's just you and me. That is what you wanted, isn't it?"
Run, I think, before it's too late. Go jump in the River Trent and stand there until your balls shrivel to nothing and this despicable want goes away.
Instead, I simply stand while Guy unties my laces, not knowing where to look, where to put my hands.
"The girl with the short hair and the common mouth," Guy says, flapping my breeches open. "Who is she? Another one of your waifs and strays?"
"You want to know this now?" I glance down, mortified that even just the thought of him touching my private parts has aroused me to such a degree.
"Yes," he says, crossing his arms. "I want to know this now."
He steps backwards, until his shins connect with the edge of the bed.
Feeling a complete fool standing there with my arousal evident through my smallclothes, I quickly re-tie my breeches in an effort to regain some composure. Then, acutely aware of the passage of time as well as my demanding flesh, I manage to tell him, in as few words as possible, about finding Rowena in Locksley, the fight with the knights and our subsequent flight to the forest.
"So," Guy says. "Robin Hood to the rescue, as always. And is this girl part of your gang now? After all, I imagine it gets very cold in the forest in winter, and now that your Saracen bitch is gone-"
"If you're implying-"
"I'm not implying. I'm asking."
"Asking what?"
"Whether you're intending to bed her."
"Do you think I'd let you touch me like...like you were about to, if I were interested in her?"
"I think," he says, "that the noble Robin Hood would go to any lengths to keep tongues from wagging, to preserve his reputation as a ladies' man."
"Bollocks! I loved Marian. I would have spent the rest of my life with her if you hadn't-"
"Did I say anything about Marian? I was talking about all the other young girls you've dallied with, all the hearts you stole only to toss away without even a backward glance."
A heated shame creeps up my neck at the truth of his words, a truth I've known since my time in the Holy Land, on crusade with King Richard, a truth I have pushed to the farthest reaches of my mind, just as I have the faces of the men I've killed in battle and elsewhere.
"I did love Marian," I say.
"As did I." He glances at his sword, leaning against an upturned barrel, turns back to me. His blue eyes glisten with tears. "This is a mistake. No matter what I say or do, it will always come back to her, to what I did. Her ghost will always come between us." He turns and stumbles in stockinged feet towards the closed curtain.
"Wait," I say, rushing after him and grabbing a handful of leather to prevent him escaping me. "This is not a mistake. Well, it is a mistake, but I want to all the same." I let go of his arm and wait, deciding to let Guy determine what happens next.
He takes a couple of deep breaths, knuckles his eyes and turns around. "I asked about the girl because I want to know you're not going to play me for a fool the way Marian did. That you're not doing this because you're fresh out of strong rooms to break into, or silver arrows to win, or pigeons to snaffle and need some other excitement in your coin-thieving life."
"I want to know," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Whether this is what you truly want."
I glance at his hand, notice his ever-clean fingernails are dirty and bitten. "You know it is. You've known it since you handed me my broken bow in that alleyway, maybe even before then. That's why I sent you away, when we got to Portsmouth."
Guy nods. "I guessed as much."
He stares into my eyes and I stare into his. It is going to happen. Now. Here. In the camp.I should be happy, but all I feel is sick and frightened and ashamed.
I want to kiss him, to taste his lips, his mouth, but when I lean in, hoping he'll get the hint, he presents me with the top of his head, intent on dealing with the ties on my breeches.
A quick fuck, I think. That's all he wants. I'm a fool to think it could be anything more than that.
"Must you tie these things so tightly," he says. "Anyone would think you were worried about someone stealing your jewels."
I lightly kiss his hair, say, "I'll make sure they're looser next time."
"And I'll make sure to avoid the berry starter next time. It's not good for the stomach or the breath. My mouth tastes like...no; I don't think you want to know."
You stupid idiot, Robin, I tell myself.Even as a boy, Guy was fastidious about how he looked, how he smelt. I will get my kiss when Guy is ready to bestow it upon me.
With a small grunt of triumph, he slides a hand into my braies and cups my ballsack.
Clumsily, I grapple with his belt buckle.
"Do you know what you're doing?" he asks, stroking the back of my hand and wrist with his free hand.
"Do you?" I ask.
He grimaces, as though at some unpleasant memory, quickly masks it with a smile. "I think so."
His belt buckle comes undone.