Sherwood Rogue

Chapter Two

I lay in the nearly complete darkness of the forest. It was early morning, the moon making fanciful patterns in the treetops. I had dropped off early, unused to drinking ale with my meals, but I woke when things calmed down, the men went to sleep and the quiet began to settle.

The stillness of the forest sank into my bones while I gazed up through the trees at familiar constellations in unfamiliar places. The stars looked so close in the pristine air.

Unable to get back to sleep, I got up in the hopes of talking to the man on watch. When no one was at the fire when I got there, I wondered where he had gone.

I found out when I felt cold steel at my neck. I froze.

"Aye," a voice whispered at my ear. Warm, bad breath stirred my hair. "Don't move. Who are you?"

"It's Kay."

"Kay? That's right." The knife slid away from my throat, making a subtle threat with an implied cut. I knew it would still be poised, ready. "You're the new one."

"Yeah."

A figure came around to my right where the fire lit his features. He was one of the few men whose name I didn't know.

"What are you doing up? You're not for the watch, are you?" I heard the suspicion in his voice, and it worried me that I couldn't see his knife.

"No. I couldn't sleep. I was looking for some company. It's too...still."

I heard a faint breath of laughter. "Some say your conscience keeps you awake out here."

There was no right response to that statement, so I took it as a joke, pushing the jibe right back at him. "Did yours?"

The man grinned. "I couldn't sleep the first night out here under the trees."

"When was that?" I asked.

"Quite some time ago. Sit down," he offered. I sat on a piece of firewood. The man sat next to me, close enough for quiet conversation, but not so close as to be within arm's reach. I wondered what his name was, but when he didn't offer it, I was curious to see if I could figure out who he was without asking.

"I heard you're from Italy." The man flipped his knife in little circles, catching it by the hilt, even when he turned to look at me.

"Really? Who told you that?"

"Someone I know. He calls you Little Italian. It suits you, I think."

I chuckled. "You do? Why?" I picked up a twig and broke it up in my hands, throwing the pieces one by one into the fire. Flames flickered and jumped.

"You aren't an English lad, for sure." His eyes watched my every move.

"I'm not from Italy."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. But if you like the name, well.... I've been called worse."

I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was a handsome man. He had brownish hair, a hawk-like nose, and eyes that reflected the fire, as though they were flames themselves. I felt my cheeks warm at the thought of that gaze laying my thoughts bare, and looked back into the fire.

"Who do you think will get the crown?" I asked, struck with the need to know who was king. If John were already on the throne, Robin didn't have much longer to be happy in the Greenwood.

He glanced at me in surprise. "It's a little early to be hatching new kings with Richard only coronated last year."

"Isn't Richard at war?" I asked, struggling to remember my English history. Richard reigned for how many years?