by M. C. Frank
Once there, she hung her torch on the wall, immediately illuminating the darkness and sending long, eerie shadows sprawling on the floor. She stood very still, looking at the marble in front of her as though on it were written all the answers to her questions. The rainwater was slowly seeping into her clothes, but she did not feel its coldness, nor did she notice the shadow of another figure light-footedly approaching the entrance, directly behind her.
The figure stayed silent, observing her from the shadows for a long time, but she was unaware of it. She neither cried nor spoke, nor did she move a muscle for the next half hour and more. Then, suddenly, her entire body seemed finally to feel the strain of her watching, and she stumbled, her legs refusing to support her any longer.
That was when the figure moved.
It stepped swiftly towards her, and caught her arm just as she was about to collapse on a heap on the hard ground, supporting her.
She murmured something unintelligible, and sighed, trying to push him away and stand on her own. After a minute, sure that she was able to stay upright, he let her go.
“Has he hurt you?” the figure asked gruffly, as though he hadn’t meant to speak, but the words had been wrenched from him despite his very will.
“What are you doing here?” Rosa asked him in a tired, strained voice. “Do you plan to render all my efforts for naught?”
“Efforts?” he repeated bitterly. “Is that what this foolish sacrifice is supposed to be?”
Rosa finally turned to face him.
The flickering light of the torch illuminated her pale cheeks, and Robin’s heart clenched within him, for he hadn’t seen her in two days, and during that time pain and sorrow had already made their mark on her beautiful eyes.
“I made my decision,” she said simply. “It’s not one I like, but I did what I had to do for… for the greater good.”
He winced at her words, at their formality and their impersonal tone, and at their meaning.
“Are you unharmed?” he repeated in a toneless voice, bending his head low so that the shadows would further conceal the bruises on his left eye.
“Robin,” she said, her lips curling around his name in a foreign, cold way.
“Did he hurt you in any way?” He swallowed hard, shutting his eyes for a second. “Tell me he did not touch you.”
“Please,” she said in a low voice and he cursed roundly into the chilled air of the vault, turning his face away.
What’s the point? Rosa thought wearily. The new Sheriff had indeed touched her, but harmlessly enough, stealing a quick kiss before he retired. But quite soon there would be more than that. He would be her husband, the rights of a bride surrendered to him for her entire life, and Robin’s questions would be rendered less than irrelevant.
He was silent for a breath, then he sighed, gulping in air like a man drowning.
“Come back with me,” he whispered fiercely. He lowered his hood and ran his hands through his dark hair. “Marry me,” he added in a broken voice.
“I cannot,” Rosa said calmly, and no one would have guessed her heart was breaking within her -no one but him. “I am promised to him.”
Robin’s hand dropped to his side.
“Surely you jest,” he said, looking into her eyes, but she did not meet his gaze. “Look at me!” he cried, trying to catch her eye. “You won’t even raise your lovely eyes… Surely… surely you do not think me a murderer?”
His voice cracked at the last word, his breath coming short and rugged.
“You did what you had to survive,” she replied in a whisper.
“Rosa,” he began, and then had to take a moment to compose himself. “I went back to him alone. It was my own fault entirely, for he had set up a trap for me, holding captive a little boy, a son of a kitchen maid, a young lad whom I found…” his voice trailed off.
“Martha’s son? You found him dead?” she asked, trembling.
“I did,” he said simply. His arms were aching to hold her, to comfort and warm her, but he did not dare approach her. “But that was not all that awaited me. He meant to fight with me to the death, and he was sure he would overpower me. His personal guard had me surrounded, I’m sure he thought they’d rush in to kill me at the last moment, if there was any danger to his life, only they weren’t quick enough… He… he stumbled and fell on my sword.”
“Sweet Robin,” she said, finally looking up at him, tears in her eyes. “Do not feel as though you need to explain yourself to me. I well know you would never do harm to another human being, no matter how much they deserve it, willingly.”
He laughed harshly.
“Never do harm…” he mocked. “Why, am I not the reason that you are sold to a form of slavery worse than death this very day?”
“Let us speak no more of this,” she replied, and started to move towards the exit. The sound of heavy rain pelting mercilessly on the cobbled stones was coming from outside, heavy droplets pelting mightily on the ground, their chill reaching her even inside, and she drew her cloak more firmly about her, bracing herself for the cold. “You know you won’t be safe otherwise. I gave my promise in order to guarantee you a few days of security, I hope, and after that, I’m afraid that the danger will again pursue you and your men. But still, this little that I can do, I will. I gave my promise and I dare not take it back, for there are others who will pay the consequence. You in the forest, me in the castle. That’s how it has to be.”
He ran to her, and took her shoulders in his hands, towering above her, his eyes frantic.
“You are my life,” he told her. “I am nothing without you. Nothing! Do you understand?” he shouted with vehemence. “How can you give me up after all we’ve been through, after all we’ve overcome?”
“I have no choice,” she said somberly. “I tried to think of any other way, but there is none.”
“And what of love?” he persisted. “What of your love for me? Is… is it dead?”
“How can you ask me that?” she cried. “How do you not see that I am doing this out of love for you!”
“You… you are killing me,” he gasped.
With a muffled cry of desperation, she wrenched herself from his grasp, and ran up the stairs into the rain. The water showered heavily on her, and within minutes she was drenched, her soft moccasins sinking in the mud. Her gait was unsteady, for her vision was blurred with water and her chest rose and fell rapidly, but still she stumbled in the dark, running away from him.
She heard his steps slapping in the rivulets of water behind her as he came after her with long, determined strides, and she tried blindly to find her way in the darkness, but too soon he reached her, and, taking her elbow, he crushed her to him, panting heavily.
“Good God, you must be chilled to the bone,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her forehead. “My own, sweet girl,” he continued, stepping away to look at her, “the danger is passed. I am free and come back to you. Please, please accept me.”
“I cannot,” she said, tears glistening on her cheeks, and mingling with the rain.
With a splash, he fell to his knees heavily before her, bowing his head as though she were a saint and he a pilgrim.
“I will spend the rest of my life trying to earn your forgiveness for what I did last night,” he said earnestly.
“There is no need for forgiveness,” her voice came sweet and gentle above his head. “My good master, I know it in my heart you have done no wrong, especially so when your acts saved me forever from my greatest adversary, a man who despised and hated me so deeply, yet I persisted in seeking his love and affection to the very last.”
Her chest was hurting with sobs, her whole body shaking, and Robin got up with a shuddering breath and slipped a hand around her waist and another under her legs. He pressed her to him briefly and then, at a mad run, he carried her inside the castle.
“Don’t,” she muttered through chattering teeth, but he sauntered unceremoniously into the kitchens, and laid her carefully on
a chair in front of the burning furnace.
“Bring me some wine,” he said gruffly, hiding behind his dripping hood, to the first maid he saw. “And quick, your mistress is cold.”
The maid obeyed immediately, her cheeks turning red, and Rosa took his hand in hers urgently. The heavy aroma of roasted meat and spices was choking her, making it hard to breathe.
“You must leave this place,” she said. “Now.”
“Your hands are like ice,” he said absently, chafing them. “I’m not leaving without you.”
He was staring stubbornly, recklessly into her eyes, which were still streaming, and she brought his hands to her lips and soaked them with her tears.
He could see now, in the indoor light, that she was wearing a dress of burgundy velvet, having exchanged her mourning garb for a festive gown, which complimented her auburn hair to a fault and made her pale skin glow soft and translucent, bathed as it was in the orange light of the flames.
“I feel as though staying will somehow atone for the sins I did against my father,” she murmured, her green eyes large and sad and luminous. “I cannot bring myself to marry you when I know the danger it will entail for you and the merry men. I cannot… forgive myself enough to indulge in this forbidden happiness with you.”
“No,” he said, his own eyes red. He knelt before her, never letting go of her hands. “What you’re saying is so wrong, I cannot even begin to…” he swallowed, his Adam’s apple working. “I love you more than my own life! How will you live with… with him?”
She didn’t reply, but only turned her head away.
“Teach me how to persuade you,” he whispered fiercely amid the clatter that was going on around them. “I will not leave you with him. I’d sooner die.”
“Don’t say that,” she cried. “Do you not see? He kept his promise, he let you go, now I have to keep mine. It cannot be otherwise.”
He got up and paced in front of the fire, scowling.
“You do not seriously trust him to have kept his word, do you?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked quickly.
“Ask him,” he said harshly, but then she sat back, her head hanging low, looking so pale, that his heart constricted within him, and with an oath he threw himself at her feet and looked imploringly into her eyes, lifting her chin with his finger so that their gazes met. “My beautiful mermaid,” he whispered, smoothing away a few wet curls from her temple, “I fear you have had your heart broken too many times this past day already.”
“Tell me,” she pleaded through white lips.
“Alan is in the dungeon,” he said softly, watching her face carefully. “I’m so sorry, my rose. I’m so… no, don’t cry so, I can’t bear it.”
She tried to stand, but she stumbled, her knees giving way beneath her. Immediately Robin was there, catching her against him, and holding her safe.
“Do not leave me,” he cried, sounding tormented, but she untangled herself from him, and stepped towards the door, leaning a hand to the wall to steady herself as she walked. He caught up with her in a moment, his long legs swallowing the distance between them in a heartbeat, and took her arm, pressing his lips to her ear as she stood, crying, from behind.
“I will be here tomorrow,” he whispered fiercely. “I’ll be at the church where he plans to marry you, come rain or shine. One gesture, one look of distress from you and I’m at your side.”
She turned her head sideways, not quite meeting his eyes.
“How will I live with myself if I allow your weakness for me to affect your safety… your work…?” she began, but he interrupted her fiercely.
“Hang my work,” he spat. “You are my work, my life, my whole world. Don’t you know that to continue as I was is pointless without you? You… you have consumed me entirely. My darling girl, my little wife, please…”
Suddenly the doors were flung open and a figure stood in the opening. Robin felt Rosa stiffen beneath his touch, and he took in a sharp breath. He made his decision swiftly, sending a prayer to the skies.
“I do not breathe until you are mine,” he told her and the next minute he was gone.
Rosa swallowed hard, trying to steady her heartbeat, and turned to face Sir Hugh across the room, for it was he who stood at the doorway.
“My gentle bride,” he pronounced grandly, and all noise stopped around him, servants quickly running out of the way to let him pass. “I hear you are in danger of contracting a dangerous illness this night by traipsing into the rain when you should be in bed.”
He strode towards her and stopped right before her, fixing her with a challenging look in his eye.
“I had no sleep, my lord,” she said, feeling so bone tired she couldn’t take a step.
Sir Hugh reached out a hand to her, and she, averting her gaze, took it. “Come, my errant little fiancé,” he smiled. “You must regain your strength for the morrow.”
He led her ceremoniously from the room, but as soon as they were in the hallway alone, his face hardened. He took her in his arms suddenly and pressed his lips to her in a demanding, possessive manner. She fought against the disgust and faintness that threatened to overwhelm her, and stayed still in his embrace until his passion would pass.
His mood suddenly changing, he let her go and flung her from him with such violence that she crumbled on the floor.
“This was the last time you shamed me with your outlaw, do you understand?” he asked her calmly. “As we speak he is being trailed by my personal guard, whom I do not harbor much hope that he will escape. You seem to have squandered your advantage most foolishly, my dear. No matter. At least you will learn henceforth to not play me like you have men all your life.”
She did not speak, only concentrated on taking her next breath, and the one after that. She coughed as the tears caught in her throat, and her bridegroom seemed only then to realize the state she was in, and he bent down to take her hand.
“Come,” he said a bit more gently. “You must get out of your wet clothes.”
He left her to the care of two female servants, newly hired from the neighboring village so that there would be no chance of her knowing them. She however was in no mood for talk, but waited patiently until their ministrations were over, and then fell on her bed to spend a sleepless night full of tears and anguish.
And it was thus how the next morning, the morning of her wedding day, found her.
…
Robin Hood stood at the very back of the church, his simple peasant attire ordinary and invisible among the colorful crowd that had gathered to watch their new Sheriff marry the outlawed daughter of the previous one. He chose his place with care, so that he would be in the darkest corner possible, as well as enjoy a strategic view of the bride at all times.
He had to wait for more than half an hour among the crowd for the roads to open enough so that the bride and groom would arrive safely with their retinue, but he hid his anxiousness behind an indifferent smile and pretended to be a simple man of few interests and intelligence in order to avoid conversation. Finally the trumpets sounded, interrupting the steady flow of flutes that filled the air with festive music, and pink and red roses began floating from the ceiling to coat the ground where the bride would walk.
The bridegroom was already in attendance, his attire festive and light-colored, his white-blond hair swept back sleekly, a thin, ornamental sword at his side, and his faithful guards all around him. Sir Hugh was far too clever to take his victory for granted, and he had taken every precaution, from placing a double guard on every Nottingham gate, to having his personal guard at the altar behind him.
The mere fact that he had clearly seen Robin last night, and recognized him, still had only sent a guard to pursue him, not bothering to give chase himself, sent chills down Robin’s spine. For it meant that this Sheriff, much shrewder than the last, had a priority in goals, and that the first among them was making Rosa Fitzwalter his bride. The elation in his eyes right now bespoke of his determination
to have her, and Robin, not for the first time, clenched his fists in order to stop himself from flying to the front of the chapel and strangling the man.
He turned his gaze to the door, for the music was changing, becoming sweeter and grander with every pluck of the chords.
The bride was walking down the aisle now, and all eyes were on her, soft exclamations meeting the first sightings of her beauty and grace.
Robin pursed his lips tight, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t call out her name. Her face, he saw at a glance, was white and drawn, and soft bruises were forming beneath her eyes as though she was depraved of sleep. Her back was straight and proud as befit a true princess, but he could discern her sadness in the tightness of her shoulders and the sway of her neck. He would keep his word, however, no matter how much she was suffering; he wouldn’t interfere unless she indicated that she wanted him to.
How had things come to this?
How was it possible that he had lost her, lost everything they had together, within split seconds?
Everyone’s eyes were glued to her lovely figure or her exquisite dress made of shimmering blue silk with a cream overdress matching her veil; but his eyes, searching her frantically for any sign of distress, saw the well-concealed truth. He saw that her step faltered slightly once and that she looked about to faint, leaning on the arm of her escort -a man whom he was seeing for the first time, and whom he was almost certain she was barely acquainted with, being neither a relative nor a friend. Robin was sure she would rather have been escorted by anyone of her faithful servants, instead of this cold, indifferent stranger, at a time like this. He could hardly imagine what was going through her mind, having lost her father and him and everything that made her happy, all in one swoop fell.
Her cheeks remained dry, however, and her chin was lifted defiantly, and he thought with a wry smile how proud he was of her, and how blessed he had been to have her his, no matter how briefly.
