Everything I Do: a Robin Hood romance (Rosa Fitzwalter Book 1) (30 page)

“What secret, my lord?” she asked, dropping the pretence. Suddenly, she felt bone-weary.

“Do you think that it was by mere chance that you saw me every single day at that well? Do you think I get out every day, and go to the village square, and stand beside the well staring at the fat women who come to fill their buckets with…”

“You are right, it did seem quite strange,” Rosa interrupted quietly.

“Of course I’m right. Now, your name.”

“My name is Rosa Fitzwalter, and I am the…”

“The daughter of the Sheriff of Nottingham, yes, I know. The lost one. The traitorous one. Or the dead one, I should say.”

Rosa flinched.

“You knew all along?”

“I did.”

She briefly considered jumping up and running, but one look in his face told her he already anticipated her every move.

“That would be a really bad idea, my dear,” he said.

“How did you recognize me?”

“My friend, Hugh DeHavenger, he- ”

An exclamation of frustration erupted from her lips.

“Yes, quite,” he said coolly. “He had pointed you out to me on several occasions, asking for my opinion and advice on the matter of wooing you. I doubt however that you remember me.”

“I do not. I
do
wish you had given him some sound advice,” she muttered.

“Oh, I did, actually. I told him there were a million more deserving girls in England than that thin, wild-looking child he had chosen,” he said drily.

“Thank you,” Rosa replied.

“Well, I did my best as you see to discourage him,” he said. “But not from any thought of charity towards you. I simply did not see you as a fit companion for him, lady Rosa.”

Lady Rosa.

Suddenly their light-hearted banter was at an end. Rosa knew what was coming next. He would bind her, or not. He would knock her unconscious, or maybe he would feel sorry for her and treat her with some respect, although she doubted it. But whatever happened, she was sure he would lead her to her father. And he to the dungeons. And there, she could not bear to go again.

She got up from her chair with deceptive calm.

Her eye had caught something on the wall. A long, decorative sword was hanging by two leather hinges. With a swift move, and before Sir Gavin had had any time to react, she was standing next to the sword and getting it out of its leather straps.

She swung it out at him.

Immediately when he saw what she was doing, he was running to her. But now, the sword stood between them and he stopped short at the other end of its lethal tip.

He looked at her and for the first time she saw some emotion in his cold eyes. Fear. Not fear for himself, but fear for her. Fear that she had gone out of her mind, and that he would have no idea how to handle her.

“I have not gone mad yet,” she said. “But I will if you send me to him. So take it.”

She turned the sword towards him, handle first, and her arm was trembling from its great weight.

“Take it,” she repeated. “And use it on me now, if there is any mercy in your heart. Kill me and send me to him dead.”

He took it abruptly and flung it from him towards the other side of the room, where it landed gracelessly on the marble floor with a loud clang. Then he saw she had spent herself with the effort, and took hold of her arm to support her.

She collapsed against him and he knelt with her, holding her, he himself trembling harder than she, shaken from a sudden emotion.

“I won't go back to the dungeon,” she whispered, all pretence of strength leaving her abruptly. “I won't go back there, you can't make me.” She lifted her eyes to his, and he feared that his heart would stop at the look of pleading he saw in them. “Please,” she added and then her head drooped against his shoulder, lifeless.

When she woke, deep into the night, there was girl, not older than twelve years old, on a pallet next to her bed, who informed her with a wide smile that she would be her own personal maid, if you please my lady, the lord sir said if you will have me, I am to be in your service.

The next morning she found out that Sir Gavin had left on business and would return shortly. In the meantime, everyone in the castle had received orders concerning her.

The “lady Mary” -
so he has not yet shared my secret with everyone
, thought Rosa- was not to be allowed to work in the kitchens, although she was welcome to roam the winter gardens, and the grounds, and to have any selection of the horses she wanted. She was not allowed to leave the castle for any reason whatsoever.

Soon enough, and to her dismay, Rosa realized that Sir Gavin's servants were loyal to him and obedient to a fault. She couldn't work and she couldn't leave. That was that.

Sir Gavin had gone to visit some friends in the neighbouring county, or at least that was the pretext: the real purpose of his journey was to clear his head. What to do with the lady, that was the question.

He turned it over in his head, unable to sleep at nights, and yet the days passed and he had no clear idea formed in his head. Mayhap she could fit into his plans for revenge and justice, but he could see no distinct way that would ensure both his success and her own safety.

He decided to return one day earlier than he had planned, leaving his futile attempts behind and, gathering his retinue hastily, he started on the short journey back home.

A steady fall of snow had begun a few minutes after he set forth and he was wet and tired to the bone by the time the buttresses of his castle came into view. Immediately as he saw them, however, he reigned in his horse and came to a halt.

Instinctively he knew something was wrong.

It was the flag.

On the second buttress to the right, one small red flag bearing the colours of his crest, was slightly askew. His gaze immediately flew to that particular flag, because that was the signal between him and the head of his trusted guard. If there was any danger, he would knock that flag down, and Sir Gavin would run the last few miles to defend his home from any enemy.

The flag wasn’t down, of course, not completely. It was slightly askew, standing out among the other, straight ones only to a trained eye, and that was all.

A cold shiver travelled down his spine.

It looked like someone had tampered with it.

Like someone had tried to knock it down, to send the signal of danger, but had been prevented at the last minute. Stopped short. Struck down.

Sir Gavin rode like the wind.

Then, before the large gate came into view, he dismounted and told his followers to hide.

He approached the gate from the side.

Guards stood watch, as usual. Only, as he approached them, he realized that they weren't his guards. They only wore their clothes.

Then he heard a scream.

A bloodcurdling scream, almost inhuman with pain.

Then another, and another. It was high-pitched as though it belonged to a woman, and as soon as he realized what that meant, Sir Gavin almost doubled over in shock.

He didn't know how he knew this, but he did. It was her.

He turned back and met his men.

After a few moments of deliberation, he knew he had no choice in the matter. There was only one man who could help him, and although he himself had not heard only good things about the outlaw, right now he needed help. Immediately.

He mounted his horse again, praying that he could find the wild thieves and persuade them to help him before it was too late. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but he had a fair idea who the men were who had replaced his guards.

They were Nottingham's men.

Which meant the Sheriff now thought he, Sir Gavin himself, was in league with his daughter, scheming against him. And which in turn meant that neither he nor the lady Rosa had much time for negotiations.

Judging from that scream, she might already be dead.

But no. The Sheriff wouldn't kill her. Not until he had what he wanted. Sir Gavin cursed under his breath and gripped the reins tighter, refusing to consider the possibilities of losing even more than he already had.

He turned his horse towards Sherwood Forest.

CHAPTER
12

THE RESCUE

“I am in need of your help,” sir Gavin gasped to the huge man standing before him.

The giant regarded him coolly. He was dressed in a light, summer tunic that could have been green at some point in the past, but was now of a nondescript color, fraying at the hem, and gaping with holes at the back. The cold was bracing, and still the man appeared unfazed in his light clothes, although his cheeks were red and his beard white with snowflakes.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” he said dryly. “Everybody is in need of our help.”

Sir Gavin sighed heavily, acutely aware of the dimming daylight around him. He had lost too much time already. Too much precious time. Maybe she was dead already anyway. He dismounted his horse, trying to rein in his temper.

“You are the outlaw Robin Hood, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I am Little John,” the man replied, “who stands in for Robin.”

What does that mean?
Sir Gavin wanted to ask, but there was no time to waste in questions. He had heard that a man had only to wander into the Sherwood Forest with a fat purse at his side, and immediately he’d be discovered by the outlaw and his men. However, that had not been the case today.

He and his retinue, although obviously wealthy and well-dressed, had been left alone for the better part of the day, and when finally two filthy-looking men had demanded their money on behalf of Robin Hood, he had had a really hard time persuading them to take him to the outlaw. Why, he almost had to bind his own hands to make them trust that he meant no harm. All this, after he had willingly placed in their surprised hands all the monies that he carried with him.

The camp looked to him empty and neglected, dead and bare as though winter itself had taken permanent residence there, but it was none of his business how these rough, unhappy men lived, although he was beginning to wonder why these sour-faced fellows were called “the Merry Men”.

“Please, may I see the outlaw Robin Hood?” he said now, with pretend politeness, barely containing his impatience.

The tall man, called John, sat on the ground suddenly, as though exhausted.

“Robin doesn’t… He isn’t here,” he said tiredly. “You can tell me what it is you want. And quick, mind you. I haven’t got all day.”

It was beginning to look like a seriously bad waste of time to have come down here, Sir Gavin thought. He placed a finger at his throbbing temple and massaged softly. It had seemed like his only option right then, but now he clearly saw that these outlaws’ fame had been grossly exaggerated. Except for disorganized, grumpy and leaderless, these men looked positively malnourished.

“There is a lady in grave danger as we speak,” he began, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Little John lifted his hand to stop him, already looking bored out of his mind.

“Look after your soft-skinned, fanciful ladies yourself, my lord,” he said sarcastically. “We are here for the poor. For the ones who have no one to defend them but a bunch of worthless criminals.”

“You don’t understand, you don’t even know who she is yet…”

He was beginning to wonder if the rumors about Rosa’s living in the forest had any truth in them at all -after all she hadn’t exactly confirmed it herself the other day- but he had to ask.

“Did someone by the name of…?” He was rudely interrupted once more.

“My men will escort you into the forest,” Little John said, and got up to leave. “And be warned, you stepped willingly into our camp, so you are fair game to them. Whatever they choose to do with you they are free to do before they send you back to the vile Sheriff, or whoever sent you here with hopes of besting the famous Robin Hood.”