Lord of the Forest

by Kay Berrisford

  Robin touched Cal near where the arrow had struck. "Does it hurt a lot?"

  Cal pulled a face. "A little. The bandage could be tighter. It kept getting caught on those damned branches."

  Fiddling with a single hand, Robin fixed it, his fingers warm and rough. As Robin concentrated, he firmed his slender lips. Cal grew hungry—not for food, though his stomach lay empty, but to taste Robin's mouth.

  Seducing this beautiful, kind hero would be a task he'd relish.

  *~*~*

  Robin reached under Cal's clothes and sorted the bandage, refusing to meet Cal's gaze. Holding Cal close had seemed so right and natural. All else about Cal felt wrong or made little sense. The boy professed weakness, then volunteered for a dangerous mission to vanquish a brutal tyrant. And despite the treachery of Robin's body beneath Cal's touch, Cal's sly groping—if that was what it had been—revolted him.

  "Thank you," said Cal.

  Robin clenched his jaw. He adored the smile the lad offered, the sweet way his lips curved down a little at the edges. He wanted to kiss him, devour him. But he didn't trust Cal any more than he'd rely on a hungry dog not to gnaw bones.

  He frowned, shook himself as if awakening from a nap, and looked about.

  They'd arrived in a deep ravine. Walls of glistening black rock surrounded them, lush with dripping verdure. At the far end, a waterfall tumbled into bubbling froth from which a stream rushed forward. This widened out into an emerald-black pool edged with drooping willows and swaying bulrushes, before which they now stood.

  "We've got to get out of here," whispered Cal.

  "I came willingly, lad. The fair folk might offer England's best hope in fighting this charter."

  When the ginger-haired healer cut the bonds between them, Robin dropped Cal's hand like a stone. Cal grabbed Robin's cloak and shook him. "They'll as likely boil us in their cauldrons as keep true to their word. Help me. I'll battle to the death at your side, Robin Hood."

  "To the death?" Robin arched a brow. "Why, Cal, you don't even know me, nor I you. Why should I trust your word over theirs?"

  "Just give me a chance to prove myself."

  Cal's pretty features stiffened with warlike determination that set Robin running a troubling gamut of emotion. Joining with Cal would no doubt bring him comforts that an alliance with fairies couldn't, and mayhap the boy would turn out honest. But Robin must think with his head, not his cock.

  He pried Cal off. "You'd better just tell them what you told me. I'll see there's justice, I promise you."

  "His pleas are useless." The Elfaene's voice sliced between them, drawing Robin's attention to the far end of the pool. She reclined on a lattice of gossamer threads that was slung as a hammock between two tree trunks.

  Robin stepped in front of Cal. "If we're to join forces, you must show this lad mercy. He cannot be blamed for his mother's desertion of the Greenwood. He was a mere infant, and the woman herself seems to have had little choice."

  "He's right," said Cal, raking his hair as he peeped from behind. "At court, we were treated like servants because of her old English blood. Mother was scared, and I tried to run away many times, back to the Greenwood. I was caught and beaten mercilessly for my efforts."

  Cal's story didn't contradict what he'd told Robin before, but it rang less true. "I thought you were beaten by the other lads?" he asked softly.

  "I was beaten a lot."

  The Elfaene shrugged. "I must consult the spirits. They will pronounce judgment. In the meantime, the boy may pass freely about this place. My daughters will not harm him, and we will see he has all he needs for his comfort. But he must not leave."

  "There you go." Robin offered a reassuring smile. "Everything will be alright. The spirits will understand you're no traitor."

  "What if they make a mistake?" Cal hissed with pain and touched his wounded shoulder. "If we get out of here, we can find an alehouse with a roaring fire, cheap ale, and dry blankets. Just us."

  Temptation reared. Robin fought it. "Don't fret, lad. My gut tells me the spirits of this forest will judge you fairly."

  "Your gut?" Cal panted, incredulous. "If your gut's got it wrong, they'll kill us both."

  "Why us both? You're a forester, and I'm an outlaw. Our cause isn't united, and I've helped you quite enough."

  "You're making a dreadful error." Though his words sounded mournful, Cal's eyes glinted like an angered wildcat's.

  Robin shook his head and turned his back. "You should get some rest."

  *~*~*

  Robin and the Elfaene retreated into a bronze swirl of leaves and light, their voices low and beyond his hearing. Cal sank to his knees on the muddy ground.

  At nineteen summers, am I so withered that he doesn't want me?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. He mustn't think like that. Robin's body had betrayed some small triumph on Cal's part. Hell, Robin's coldness could be a blessing, undermining any silly boyhood idolatry. Cal must hate Robin as he'd abhorred the other lads at court, Berolt, and so many in his past; he shouldn't rule out the possibility of escaping alone. He wasn't chained in a dungeon this time. The walls of the dell were assailable, and while the fairies were ferocious, they'd been instructed not to torment him more.

  Damn Robin Hood. He didn't need him.

  Cal staggered to his feet, then swirled around to find two bun-faced fairies staring up at him. Both had plaited blonde hair and were blessed with violet eyes so well matched they might have been twins. One offered a silver platter spread with sweetmeats.

  "Care to try?" she asked.

  "I'm not hungry." The loud grumble from his stomach placed this among the greatest untruths of his day. She pushed the tray farther under his nose, and he winced.

  His mother had warned him never to take food from the fair folk, lest it be bewitched. But heavens, could that be a slice of honeyed pear? Amber nectar was drizzled across fluffy white flesh, and the fragrant odour set him slavering.

  Beyond the Elfaene's bower, Robin had been offered food too, and he took it without hesitation. These creatures didn't seem inclined to poison Robin, so Cal requested the trays be swapped, and they agreed. He settled on a moss tuffet near one of the willows to devour Robin's dish, alone though not unobserved. To his left, a briar patch twitched with fairy watchers, impervious to the scratch of the thorns.

  He refused to favour them with a glare. One by one, they flitted away. The pears devoured and his stomach full, he licked sticky honey from his fingers and lay down. Soft turf moulded about his body. He pillowed his head with his right hand, sighing up at the cloud-mottled heavens.

  Experiencing only a mild twinge from his shoulder, he relaxed further, sinking beneath the hush of the wind and the distant hum of conversation. A frog croaked, and he forced his eyes to stay open. He must not sleep. His captors would expect that after his long journey and the meal. Could he slip away, make a quiet escape?

  Not just yet.

  While Robin and the Elfaene had strolled out of view, two fairies lingered nearby, guards of a sort. A group of fair folk on the far side of the pool took off their gauzy robes, and one tiptoed through the rushes into the water, soon followed by others. Their bodies looked smooth and downy like peaches, and they splashed and played. Naiads of the forest indeed. He appreciated their nubile beauty as he esteemed the rubies on a king's crown.

  He'd rather see a gorgeous, rough woodsman strip off and bathe.

  No.

  He wanted Robin Hood naked; nobody else would do. He'd admire the muscular planes of Robin's rear, feast his eyes on that impressive shaft he craved to know more of. Damn it, he yearned for Robin to fuck him, to want him—though that was madness, seeing as Robin had offered no alliance nor given Cal hope of profiting from that golden bounty.

  The air heated rapidly, drawing a prickle of sweat from the back of Cal's neck. His buttocks clenched, and his loins hardened. Trying to shake off a fever of frustrated lust, he scrambled to his feet so quickly his vision swam. He glowered
at the pool.

  The fairies engaged in a boisterous game of tag, mayhap with the fish, given the evidence of the silvery tails that flipped through the surface. None ventured over to his side of the pool. Cool waters whispered a silent invitation.

  He started forward, glancing to the guards nearest by. If they'd suggested he bathe, he might have resisted. A fairy with large, mushroom-coloured eyes looked up from where she toyed with bone dice but seemed disinterested. Cal let his cloak slip down, pulled off his shoes, and then unlaced his hose and cast all aside.

  The slide of mud beneath his toes felt delicious. He forged onward, and the pool grew so unseasonably warm it must have been fed by hot springs. He lifted his tunic from his thighs, dragged it off so he was naked save the bandage about his shoulder, and tossed it to the bank. Before any nosy fairy could scrutinize how hard he'd grown, he submerged to his neck.

  The tranquillity of the waters struck him. He glanced behind. The pool had emptied, the fish had swum away, though a crowd of fair folk waited on the far verge. A couple pointed, and several leaned and whispered to friends. Irritation sent blood rushing from his cock to his cheeks.

  "Can't a man bathe without you wretched wood-wives staring?" He hitched his lip and waded under the willow tree. Here weeping branches formed a sheltering veil, interwoven with bulrushes sporting thick, brown, baton-like heads. The pool stayed shallow, the base firm, though the pondweeds became thicker, and some tangled about him. When he reached the willow, he brushed through long, feathery branches and settled in the still waters beyond.

  He breathed slowly, regarding the scene through the haze of his lashes and wondering if the food had been enchanted after all. The water lulled his tension and soothed his mind till a revelation struck. He was a prisoner in the heart of the Greenwood he hated, yet he found this place beautiful. He was so contented it bewildered him. Maybe if he got over his daft hankerings for Robin, he could scheme without distraction, but he didn't want to think about betraying anybody. Not right now. He'd do what he must, yes, but he liked Robin Hood. He'd focus on seduction and deception later.

  Squeezing his eyes tight, he cupped his groin and grasped at an image of Robin. Rather than conjuring the image of the outlaw he longed for, his mind played tricks.

  Though his lids remained closed, he found himself staring at the willow trunk. From either side of a fold of twisted grey bark, eyes shaped like diamonds blinked long emerald lashes. Branches spread toward him and unfurled sleek green-brown fingers. A low voice echoed in his ears, though he couldn't fathom who or what spoke. "Stay with us."

  Before his arousal could wane, the crooked willow trunk straightened into the body of an oak. From orange buds burst a full mane of leaves that shone like frilled green satin. Brown limbs reached out, wood morphing into knotted sinew and hard human flesh. A man resembling Robin took the tree's place on the bank, bold and naked, that impressive cock erect and its nub glistening. Then Robin's flesh hardened to wood, and the oak reared up again.

  Cal wished the silly trees would get out of his daydream. He forced his eyes wide lest he slumber and risk drowning, then threw cool water on his face. To his relief, the willow remained in its normal state. Behind him, fairies lingered on the far bank, their cries distant.

  His blood still rushed for Robin.

  Concentrating on the physical sensation, he fisted his cock, then jolted and smothered a yelp. Something tickled his ankle. He reached down to untangle a thread of weed, wetting his hair and face in the process. Hooking his fingers, he tried loosening it, but the leaves clung to him with tiny suckers.

  He splashed through the surface to breathe. A willow tendril lifted, shaken by a breeze, then looped about his right wrist and tightened like a shackle.

  What the hell?

  Heart hammering, he tugged. His bonds refused to give, the bines tautening in front of his eyes and carving grooves into his skin. To his left, the pointed tongue of a reed stretched out and snatched his other hand. That deep voice without origin tolled again.

  "You belong to us."

  Chapter Six

  "No," said Robin. "I could never lead an army of outlaws into open battle against the king or his barons. Their men are trained soldiers, with weapons of Spanish steel. It would be slaughter. I refuse it."

  The Elfaene stretched her black eyes wide. In a grove of mighty oaks, their boughs draped with mistletoe, she lounged on a throne of bone and horn as if it were cushions of satin and silk. The human thigh propping the base set Robin's stomach rolling nearly as much as her plan did, though his rebuttal had stunned her into silence. His mind flew back to Cal.

  Was Cal alright? He wished the Elfaene had not led him out of sight. This conference with her seemed unavoidable, even advantageous. Yet Cal's safety filled him with as much anxiety as the prospect of war.

  "If Herne the Hunter does as I ask and leads his Wild Hunt to raze the barons' lands," said the Elfaene, "your foe will be weakened. You would be mad not to take such a chance."

  Her snapped words dragged him back to immediate business. He chose to laugh rather than yell. "If your so-called friend Herne leads the Wild Hunt across England, thousands will starve. And what about the wretched souls Herne's undead ghouls could murder along the way? The poor will suffer worse than the rich. 'Tis always the way."

  "You think more like a man than I hoped, Robin Hood."

  "I am a man. Only a man. What else did you expect?"

  "I don't know." She drummed her fingers over her lips. "The trees tell us your legends as if you were one of our own. The waters whisper of you. I offer faith, yet you clamour to protect strangers as if they were sacred. Sacrifices must be made, Robin, to stop this charter. To return the circle of life in the forests to what it once was."

  "And what sacrifices will you and your daughters make?" he demanded.

  Her face reddened with anger. "We sought the one who should fight for us, our protector. He is faederswica."

  "That has not yet been judged." He ground an acorn beneath his heel till it cracked. He'd had enough of the fair folk. This ill-fated alliance and his base lust for Cal were the kicks up the arse he'd needed.

  He must stop mourning his old band. Time to return to the northern forests, to seek new comrades and lovers among the brave young commoners who'd followed his example. A campaign of ambushes on the paths of Sherwood would not wage open war against Odo and his brother tyrants but would be less dangerous than unleashing the ravages of the Wild Hunt. The fair folk cared nothing for human suffering.

  With a clap like thunder through his chest, his heart made up his mind for him. "You and I cannot be allies. I must go." His instincts pressed for something more. "And I'm taking Cal with me."

  "It could be too late for that, outlaw."

  "What? You promised your daughters wouldn't harm him."

  "I said he would not be touched till I had consulted the spirits, and I have not yet done so." The Elfaene rose from her seat. A series of loud splashes and cries sounded from the direction of the pool, and Robin was running before her meaning had fully sunk in. "'Tis beyond my powers, Robin Hood, if the forest has already condemned him."

  *~*~*

  "You belong to us."

  Oh Lord, magic.

  Cal's arms and legs were ensnared by the pond life, and he ought to panic. Surely the Greenwood was plying its vengeance. Yet the strange whispers bore no threat.

  Resignation flowed through him, blunting the sharper edges of his fear. Beneath the surface, the plants that tethered both his ankles wound slowly past his knees. They wrapped about him like garters, leafy fingers caressing his thighs. Their sandy roughness kindled memories of Robin's touch and pitched his body toward frenzy.

  When he attempted to protest, he could only moan and writhe. "Yes, my lord of the forest. Yes."

  His unwonted vision of the willow tree had faded, and the oak loomed above. He gasped, inhaling a blast of spring dew. The weeds wrapped his cock, flimsy as lace and slithering like snakes. Th
e friction proved sublime—and not enough. Groaning, he willed Robin to seize him and craved Robin's flesh to penetrate him. Entrapped in the shifting bines, his cock extended in length and hardened. The rest of him melted like sun-ravaged snow. His ears filled with a thin cry that he faintly recognized as his own.

  The foliage supported and manipulated every part of him, pulling him flat on the surface of the water, splaying his limbs wide. Bulrushes leaned over him, arching like the legs of a spider, and then plunged their baton-like heads beneath him.

  His lust-addled moans exceeded his alarm. Robin's image dominated him to his core. In Robin's place, a thick reed stroked his buttocks and slid along the cleft between. The clusters of tiny flowers formed an eight-inch rod of slippery-wet velvet.

  He clenched and whined.

  The broad head circled his entrance and nudged his ring of muscle. He writhed and pressed back, wishing to draw it inside. He needed to believe this magic was Robin. The misted knowledge of fallacy kindled a flare of horror. Then carnal sensation overwhelmed him, and his wits shattered. Under pressure, his body gave, and the tendril pushed into him. At the same instant, a long brown bulrush breached his lips, tickling toward his throat.

  Propelled by an instinct to gratify, Cal sucked the bulrush, scrubbing his tongue against the spongy surface. The appendage at his rear stretched him, brushing his prostate, and swelled till the pressure burned. His climax started to build in the base of his cock, every sinew quivering and pulsing beyond his control. Fucked and filled, pleasured from every angle, he careered between bliss and anguish. The willows and reeds might be inside him, but he had no doubt who possessed him.

  Robin.

  He lingered in ecstasy for the briefest moment. The plundering reeds and the lapping water about his cock sent him spinning over the precipice. His rapture burst, a stream of white seed ripping forth through the weeping branches of the willows.

  His senses buckled. The rod inside seemed too large and burned, while the motion against his spent cock grew too much. Mercifully, the tendril in his mouth withdrew. He gasped, floating in the fading afterglow.