Everything is a Choice

Chapter 22

Previously...

I don't want her. I want Guy. But he's not here and she is. And I long to kiss something other than the back of my arm.

Chapter 22

I know it is wrong, just as I know how I feel about Guy is wrong, but I can't help myself. I'm weary of tearful goodbyes, of travelling, of fighting. All I want to do is to wrap my arms around someone, press into their willing flesh and surrender to my body's demands. All I want to do is to lie on my bed with someone next to me and, right now, I really don't care who it is, male or female; I'll take whatever is on offer. I am an animal, I think.

I ease Rowena away from me. "I'm sorry. I can't. This isn't right."

"It is right," she says, clutching my shirt.

"No," I tell her. "The kiss was a mistake. We've had one hell of a day. You've been frightened and hurt. I should not have taken advantage of that. It was wrong of me." I prise her fingers from my shirt.

"I think perhaps you're the one who's frightened and hurt," she says. "It can't have been easy coming back to your home without your betrothed."

"Marian was my wife. We married in the Holy Land just before she lost her life." I should tell her that Gisborne, the man she'd heard much about but had never met, had murdered Marian, but I can't say it, can't think it even, not now, not when I ache to touch him, to kiss him, to... Heaven help me, no.

"And you miss her," Rowena says. "And being with me seems too soon, I know. But life goes on, Robin, it has to." She slips her hand into mine, pulls me towards the bed.

"Rowena, I told you, we can't—"

She shakes her head. "Just to talk. Nothing more. Not unless you want to. That's all right, isn't it?"

I nod yes even though I'm not sure I want to talk. I truly think it would be best if I went away, or if she did. But this is my home and my people need protecting from Prince John and I can't simply turn Rowena out; she has no home, no family, nothing.

I sit next to her, her cream-coloured skirts touching my blood-smeared breeches. Her hands are small and delicate, although the pads of her bow fingers are callused, as mine are. She is still holding my hand, gently caressing the back of it with her thumb. It's soothing, just as Much rubbing my back outside was soothing. It makes me realise how very fragile I still am, even after all these weeks.

"When I was with Prince John, in London and then in the castle, it opened my eyes to a lot of things," Rowena says.

"Most of them not good, I'm sure."

Rowena's circling fingers still, and I wonder whether I should be the one giving her comfort. Perhaps we both need comforting, I think.

"When I was serving table," she continues, "I listened to the big fat nobles with their big fat stomachs and their big fat wives talking about you, and, despite the fact you are an outlaw and against John, they couldn't hide their respect for a man willing to fight for his people, die for them even. That's when I decided I was going to get away, come to Locksley. Even though the villagers knew I wasn't your sister and that I had no right to live at the manor house, they let me stay, made me feel welcome. When I heard about the Night Watchman, I decided that I could carry on where he left—"

"She," I interrupt. "It was Marian, remember."

"Oh, yes. She, I mean. I decided to carry on her good work. There were a few incidents with John's men; nothing I couldn't handle. Your people called me the Night Watchman and Robin Hood rolled into one. And then you came along and spoiled it all."