opened his mouth to speak and faltered. He pushed back the hood of his jerkin, using his fingers to scrub his scalp in frustration. Marian watched the dark locks of it shake around. She’d seen Robin full of laughter, full of anger, somber and brooding, and wistfully near melancholy. She’d never seen him frustrated, and unable to express himself.
It made her want to go to him, to pull him into her arms and press his head down to her shoulder.
To her bosom.
The thought of it brought a body memory of something that had never occurred. It hit her full force, and for a brief moment—a split second—she could
feel
him pressed against her. His lithe body, firm in its strength, touching against her from thigh, to hip, to stomach, to chest.
Her breath caught, and deep in the most intimate part of herself she felt a longing she’d never experienced before.
Oh, Robin.
“Yes?”
His voice startled her and she realized she had spoken his name out loud without meaning to.
“Uh, oh, carry on, I’m listening.”
His head tilted sideways, cocking at an angle as he studied her.
“These men gathered here are from my family’s land,” he said. “Some I’ve known my whole life. When my father left,
I
was responsible for their well-being, but I hated it. Every minute spent working that damned farmland was torture. It’s why I joined our rebellion.”
“The rebellion is needed…”
He put up his hand. “I’m not saying otherwise, but that’s just not why I joined it. I wanted away from Longstride Manor, and fighting against John with you was a way I could justify it to myself. So I ran with you and the others, fighting his corruption but not because it was corrupt. If I had wanted that, I could have gone to court, joined the other nobles and made a stand. Instead I ran through these woods and fought fat merchants with good friends.” He paused for the briefest moment, not looking at her, then added, “And a beautiful woman.”
She caught the words.
Robin continued. “My hatred of my father, the idea that I was better than digging a field, and the thrill of fighting in our rebellion is why I allowed Locksley to take my family’s holding. It was selfish, completely selfish.” He looked up at her. “Because of me, those men lost their homes and families. None of them will lose their life as well. We fight this fight alone.”
Her resistance broke. “Then we will rescue the children ourselves.”
He nodded. “As it should be.”
BITTER ASHES SWIRLING TO EARTH
CHAPTER NINE
The ship rocked gently under their feet, bobbing slightly. The ice rimming the hull had been broken, smashed by the crew so that the ship could sail freely from the southern harbor.
It crunched and chafed, covering any noise they might make.
Wind blasted over the water, ripping across the deck and cutting them to the bone. For stealth and fighting they had worn as little as possible, leaving behind layers of clothing in favor of simple wool pants and tunics, dyed black, and wool cloaks only big enough to cover them.
The moonlight poured down from the clear winter sky, bathing everything in a weird silver glow. It had allowed them to watch from the edge of Sherwood as a regiment of soldiers had escorted three wagons to the harbor. In its light they watched the soldiers open the wagons and drag out huddled figures covered in blankets. In the crisp air the sound of weeping was clear.
The southern harbor was old, small, and rarely used. It was more treacherous to sail from there than the one King Richard and his men had used. Perfect for things that needed to be done away from prying eyes.
They had watched as the huddled figures were walked up the gangplank, taken aboard, and put into the hold of the ship. Once they were secured, a portion of soldiers with them, the crew had begun their preparations as the rest of the regiment turned the wagons and headed back toward the castle.
The sailors went to quarters, and the rebellion made its
It made her want to go to him, to pull him into her arms and press his head down to her shoulder.
To her bosom.
The thought of it brought a body memory of something that had never occurred. It hit her full force, and for a brief moment—a split second—she could
feel
him pressed against her. His lithe body, firm in its strength, touching against her from thigh, to hip, to stomach, to chest.
Her breath caught, and deep in the most intimate part of herself she felt a longing she’d never experienced before.
Oh, Robin.
“Yes?”
His voice startled her and she realized she had spoken his name out loud without meaning to.
“Uh, oh, carry on, I’m listening.”
His head tilted sideways, cocking at an angle as he studied her.
“These men gathered here are from my family’s land,” he said. “Some I’ve known my whole life. When my father left,
I
was responsible for their well-being, but I hated it. Every minute spent working that damned farmland was torture. It’s why I joined our rebellion.”
“The rebellion is needed…”
He put up his hand. “I’m not saying otherwise, but that’s just not why I joined it. I wanted away from Longstride Manor, and fighting against John with you was a way I could justify it to myself. So I ran with you and the others, fighting his corruption but not because it was corrupt. If I had wanted that, I could have gone to court, joined the other nobles and made a stand. Instead I ran through these woods and fought fat merchants with good friends.” He paused for the briefest moment, not looking at her, then added, “And a beautiful woman.”
She caught the words.
Robin continued. “My hatred of my father, the idea that I was better than digging a field, and the thrill of fighting in our rebellion is why I allowed Locksley to take my family’s holding. It was selfish, completely selfish.” He looked up at her. “Because of me, those men lost their homes and families. None of them will lose their life as well. We fight this fight alone.”
Her resistance broke. “Then we will rescue the children ourselves.”
He nodded. “As it should be.”
BITTER ASHES SWIRLING TO EARTH
CHAPTER NINE
The ship rocked gently under their feet, bobbing slightly. The ice rimming the hull had been broken, smashed by the crew so that the ship could sail freely from the southern harbor.
It crunched and chafed, covering any noise they might make.
Wind blasted over the water, ripping across the deck and cutting them to the bone. For stealth and fighting they had worn as little as possible, leaving behind layers of clothing in favor of simple wool pants and tunics, dyed black, and wool cloaks only big enough to cover them.
The moonlight poured down from the clear winter sky, bathing everything in a weird silver glow. It had allowed them to watch from the edge of Sherwood as a regiment of soldiers had escorted three wagons to the harbor. In its light they watched the soldiers open the wagons and drag out huddled figures covered in blankets. In the crisp air the sound of weeping was clear.
The southern harbor was old, small, and rarely used. It was more treacherous to sail from there than the one King Richard and his men had used. Perfect for things that needed to be done away from prying eyes.
They had watched as the huddled figures were walked up the gangplank, taken aboard, and put into the hold of the ship. Once they were secured, a portion of soldiers with them, the crew had begun their preparations as the rest of the regiment turned the wagons and headed back toward the castle.
The sailors went to quarters, and the rebellion made its
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