Previously...
With a small grunt of triumph, he slides a hand into my braies, 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.
~
Chapter 28
"I think," Guy says, wrapping the fingers of his free hand around my hand, the one I have presently buried inside his leathers, tentatively exploring the length and weight of him, "that I'll just do you this time. I'm not sure I'm really up to the occasion right now, all things considered."
"All right," I say, pulling my hand free and letting it dangle by my side. Then, feeling awkward, I hook the fingers of both my hands over the top of his thick leather belt. I always knew where to put my hands when I was with a woman. I thought this would be similarly easy, but it's not.
"Good." Guy places the warm pads of his fingers under my chin, lifting it so we are eye to eye.
I nod, even though I'm not sure whether his 'good' is a question or not.
He slides his hand from my cock, licks the back of it and gives me a predatory grin. Lowering onto his knees, he pulls my breeches and braies down with him.
Don't look, I think, closing my eyes. Imagine it's some other man doing this to you, anyone but him. I take a deep, shaky breath. The smell of damp leather fills my nostrils.
"First time at my mercy, Hood." He gives me a teasing lick. "I think I'm going to like this."
I open my eyes, daring to look at what he's doing, and stare straight into Matilda's shocked face peering around the curtain that divides our sleeping area from the rest of the camp.
"Fuck!" Stumbling backwards, I trip over the clothes bunched around my ankles and end up on my back, legs spread.
Guy whirls around. "Witch!"
Screwing up her face in disgust and disbelief, Matilda yanks the curtain closed.
"I'll have her," Guy snarls, eyes alighting on something above my head and behind me: his sword.
"No. I'll deal with her," I say, pushing up onto my elbows. "Don't-"
"You can't lie your way out of this one, Hood. That witch is no fool."
Untangling a leg from my dropped breeches and braies, I kick out as Guy strides past me, toppling him. Still fumbling to do up his belt buckle, he is unable to save himself. With a sickening crunch, he smacks onto the wooden edge of my bunk. His eyelids flutter and then close. Blood oozes from a gash on his forehead.
Quickly regaining my feet, I tug my braies and breeches up trembling legs. Two attempts and I give up trying to tie my laces sensibly, knotting them instead.
I kneel next to Guy and brush his long hair from his face. He is out cold.
"Matilda!"
I call again but she doesn't come. Leaving Guy where he is, I charge outside, almost taking the curtain with me.
She is standing some yards away, one of Much's frying pans in one hand and a paring knife in the other. One look at her face tells me that Guy is right: there is not a lie on this earth I can use to explain away what Guy and I were about to do.
"He won't hurt you," I say, blinking away sudden tears. I don't know if I'm more upset about her finding us like that, or because she's denied me his mouth on my willing flesh after craving it for so long. "I won't let him."
"It's not me I'm worried about." Matilda lowers her improvised weapons, shaking her head sadly from side to side. "It's you."
"I'm all right, but Guy isn't. He's fallen, bashed his head. He's unconscious and bleeding."
"I can see he stays that way, too." She strides towards our sleeping area, frying pan and knife in hand.
"No!" I grab her arm as she passes me and prise the knife from her hand. "Leave him be."
"Maybe," she says, shaking me off her, "you're the one I should be smacking over the head with a frying pan. Someone obviously needs to knock some bleeding sense into you. Whatever are you doing, Robin?" She holds up a staying hand. "No, don't answer that. It's obvious Gisborne weren't knelt down there saying his prayers."
"I can explain."
Matilda tosses the frying pan aside, puts her hands on her generous hips. "I'm waiting."
"Actually, I can't explain. I don't know how or why it happened, it just-"
"Oh, Robin, Robin." Matilda comes closer, until we are only inches apart. She takes hold of my hand, the one I'd briefly touched Guy with. "You, of all people. And with him. Whatever can you be thinking? Aye, well obviously you weren't thinking, least not with your head. Come over here. You and I need to talk."
Gripping my hand, she drags me over to our eating area.
"Sit!" She points at the fallen tree trunk where we sit and eat most of our meals.
I do as she says. I've never been able to refuse Matilda. She sits beside me.
"Listen to me, love." She grasps both my hands and pulls them into her lap, the way she did when I was a child. "God knows I've-"
"Why did you come back?" I snatch my hands from hers. "You told me you were going home."
"And so I was. Then, as I was walking, I got to thinking and then to worrying. I'd heard you telling everyone to go off and do this and that errand and I realised that you were all alone in the camp, with Gisborne, the man who's tried to kill you countless times. What if he's not as weak as he's making out, I thought. What if he jumps Robin when you're not looking? Something in my waters I said, and I was right, wasn't I?"
"We weren't hurting anyone."
"Not yet you weren't, you great lummox."
She slaps me round the side of the head, so hard it hurts. I bite my lip to keep my tears at bay, but I never could fool Matilda.
"Oh, lad, don't take on so. I do understand. A lot more than you might think. I know men have such urges. I've had young and old alike asking me for potions to drive out the Devil's Itch, as some call it. Heaven help me, but it happened at me own hearth."
She fiddles with her skirts as if to gather her thoughts, or maybe she is waiting for me to ask her to explain. When I don't speak, she continues. "My husband was a good man and we had our fair Rosa, but that didn't stop him. Nor could I. I couldn't cure him any more than I could the others that came knocking on my door. I think he was glad when the pox took him. He certainly didn't fight it. Weren't nothing but a mild case. I reckon I could have saved him. But he wanted to die, wanted the curse lifted, to spare me and Rosa, spare us from the shame should it ever come out."
She lets go her skirts and cups both her hands around mine, drawing them back into her lap. "Is that what you want, Robin? To live under the shadow of knowing what people will say and think of you if they find out? You, Robin Hood, the stuff of legends, your name dragged through the mud. And would you trade your gang, your friends, for an urge, for that black-hearted piece of horseshit? Think about it, eh, love. It's for you to work out, nothing I can say, I know that. But make the right choice, I beg you."
Matilda sighs and stands. "I should have slipped him that poison when I had the chance, said nothing. It's not too late, Robin. I could still do it on your say so. With Gisborne as weak as he is, it'll be easy work for you to hold him down while I do it. Just a drop or two on his tongue."
For a handful of heartbeats, I consider it. With Guy dead, this shameful longing can die with him. The gang need never know what happened, will think whatever was ailing him before has struck anew, finished him off. And even if they do suspect that I had a hand in his death, especially when they see his bruised and cut forehead, I doubt very much that they'll care. They tolerated him on the journey home to England because I asked them to. I know they'll be happier not to have him around, especially John and Much.
"No," I tell her.
"You're making a big mistake, love."
"It wouldn't be the first time." I stand and turn my back on her, the disappointment on her face more than I can stand.
Matilda steps up behind me. Laying a soothing hand on my back, she says, "I'm not going to pretend I can live easily with this. I've known you since you were but a happy glint in your dearly departed mother's eye. We used to talk, her and me, while you used to run around in nothing but your under-wrappings, with your curls and your big blue eyes. We used to talk about all the hearts you'd break, all the maidens who'd be swooning over Robin of Locksley. And they did, didn't they? But there was only one girl for you. Only one girl who could win the heart of my favourite boy. Would you sully her memory by-"
Guy groans, clearly coming to his senses.
"You need to go," I say, turning to face her. "Now. I will make sure he doesn't come after you."
Matilda spits. "You think I'm afraid of that leather-bound dog turd."
"I know you're not afraid of anything. You're one of the bravest women I know. But Guy has a temper and-"
"Aye, he has temper, all right. You're the one who should be afraid, Robin."
"Please," I say. "Go home. Let me deal with Guy."
She gives my arm a squeeze. "All right. I will. If that's what you want. But think carefully, lad. Because he'll not live up to her, not in a million years. There are other people to love you, you know. Other people who can help you get over your heartbreak. Why choose him, especially since he's the one what caused it? Why I could tell you stories-"
"Don't," I say. "Please...don't."
Guy reels off a string of foul-mouthed curses. I cringe. Only moments ago, that mouth was about to do a lot more than merely rant and swear.
"Come on," I say, grabbing Matilda's hand and dragging her towards the trees.
"Wait! My medicines."
Letting go of her hand, I rush over to her dropped satchel, snatch it up and pelt back to her.
"I won't say anything, love. Not to nobody," she says, stumbling along behind me, one hand gripping her voluminous bag, the other holding up her skirts. "But I will say this: they are your friends and they've stuck by you through thick and thin, but just because I understand this, don't mean to say that they will."
She is right. If they find out about Guy and me, I can kiss the gang goodbye. John's respect for me will fall away in an instant, right after he's clobbered me with his staff. Allan will find it amusing at best and detestable at worse. And as for Much, my loyal and loving friend, this will shock and sadden him beyond measure. What little of our friendship I have managed to claw back since leaving Le Havre will be lost in a single blow. And losing him, I now realise, is unthinkable.
I need these men, my friends. Despite the rough ride I've given them since leaving Acre they have always been there for me. Without them, I can't be Robin Hood. And sharing Guy's bed means I can't be Robin Hood either. And if I'm not Robin Hood then I don't know who I am.
"I will deal with it," I tell her.
"I know you will, love. Just promise me one thing."
"Name it."
"Be careful."
"I will. I promise."
"Oh, and one more thing."
"No. No more things. Go," I say, glancing in the direction of the camp, fearful that Guy is about to come bursting through the trees, sword in hand.
"I was going to say," she says, "that you'd do well to remember how ill Gisborne has been these past few days. I'd be watching where I was putting my mouth, if I were you."
I can't tell whether she's jesting or not, but if she's trying to dissuade me from getting up close and personal with Guy then, for the present, she's succeeded.
Giving her an awkward hug and foregoing my usual kisses, I say goodbye.
"Such a waste," she says, shaking her head and backing away from me. Then, turning her back on me, Matilda bustles off in the direction of Nettlestone.
I return to the camp, my head in turmoil.
~
Guy is nowhere in sight. I assume he is seeing to his bleeding forehead; either that or sharpening his blade ready to run Matilda, or possibly me, through. I take a deep breath and stride towards our sleeping area. It is obvious that he and I need to talk.
I am halfway there, when Much emerges from the trees, shouting, "Robin. Look what we've got for supper!" Beaming, he holds up a deer, an arrow embedded in its neck and another protruding from its breast. "Bit better than rabbit, eh?"
"Harder to get in the pot, though," Allan jests, dismounting.
I'd sent him on horseback to Nottingham to do some more nosing around and guess that he had run into Much and Rowena on his way back to the camp, along with John who'd been to check that our food store and drop off points were still intact.
"Ha, ha, very funny," Much says.
"Here," John says, switching his staff to his left hand and offering his right. "I'll give you a hand."
"I can manage, thank you." Much swings the deer enthusiastically over his shoulder.
I don't think anyone is surprised when he ends up in a heap on the ground, deer carcass on top of him.
Allan laughs. "You're supposed to cook it, not wrestle with it. You've gotten used to squirrels, mate, that's your trouble. Lost all your muscles."
Grinning, Rowena drags the deer off Much's face. "Don't pay any attention to them. I think it was wonderful of you to carry this for miles, even if my arrow was the one that killed it."
"Thank you," Much says, his smile turning to a scowl when he realises Rowena has just belittled his hunting prowess.
Despite the hollow sick feeling in my stomach, I can't help but smile. My funny, beautiful, exasperating gang. Would I risk losing all this, them, on an urge, as Matilda put it.
"The food store's still there," John says, "but most of the grain sacks are empty. Rats or mice or some other-" He eyes me suspiciously. "Robin? Are you all right? Has something happened?"
I'd been picturing what it will be like: all of us, sitting around the fire, eating, drinking, talking, and all the while Guy and I will be casting furtive glances at each other, wondering how and when we can escape the gang so we can have our wicked way with each other.
It's no good. I can't do this. I need to think, to get away.
"Robin, where are you going?" Much calls. "Aren't you hungry? You must be hungry."
I keep walking, waving a hand in dismissal of his question, trying to appear as though I am doing nothing more than taking myself off for an evening stroll.
But the moment I am out of both eye and earshot, I begin to run, hurtling through the forest as if the very beasts of Hell are after me.
I have no idea where I'm heading. I only know that I have to get away before I do something unforgivable, if indeed I haven't done it already.
Behind me, I can hear someone running and guess it is Much. He hates not knowing what I'm up to.
I keep going. Moments later, I realise it's not Much but Guy. I know it's him not only because he calls my name, but also because of the way he runs. He's run the same awkward way since he was a boy.
"Robin! Stop! Where are you going?"
He will not catch up with me, I think. He is still too weak and he is not as fast as I am, never has been. He also doesn't know the forest as I do. He will soon get lost.
And that is what I should do: get lost and stay lost.
Forever.