I thrive on Allan/Djaq angst!
Eye of the Beholder: Allan
He didn't know the reason for his mood, only that it was bound to make him do something crazy. He felt like running until his heart burst, or challenging John to a fight, or yelling out nonsense at the top of his lungs. Maybe Much had slipped some dodgy mushrooms into this morning's stew. Maybe it was the weather: overcast and crackling with tension as a storm brewed up. Maybe it was the secret throbbing against his temples. He'd come back from another secret meeting with Guy last night, one that had left him with coins to add to the accumulating pile in the roots of the beech tree, but also a nasty welt on his arm where Guy had pressed it down over a candle flame. The man's theory had been that pain would help ease the truth out. But it would end soon anyway. Just a few more carefully chosen secrets divulged, and he'd have enough money stashed away to leave his service.
Yet at the moment he felt reckless and angry and defiant and uncertain, a swirling blend of emotions that were threatening to overspill out into the open. Maybe the reason behind it was all of that, helped along by the sight of Will and Djaq…
Will had managed to scrape himself along stinging nettle, and had rolled up his torn sleeve so that Djaq could dab some salve onto the back of his hand and the length of his arm. They were sitting comfortably together, heads bowed close, Will watching with quiet fascination as Djaq's fingers administered to his scratches. It was a cozy little scene, and the two of them were talking too quietly for him to hear properly. Occasionally one or the other gave a soft chuckle at something the other had said.
"You know," he said loudly. "I was thinking the other day as to how lucky we are, that out of all the Saracens in the world, you were the one that ended up falling into our laps. You must be the first woman physician in the world, and we've got you all to ourselves."
The two of them looked up, a little startled, as though his presence had caught them by surprise. Then Djaq managed a smile.
"No so, I'm afraid," she said. "Amina bint Quais was seventeen years old when she led a team of doctors through the Muslim conquests, healing soldiers in the war-zones. When I was a little girl, I used to pretend I was her. All the children of the servants had to pretend to be my patients."
She swiftly finished up on Will's arm, looking a bit self-conscious now, and returned to the task of cutting up some herbs with her little knife. Feeling strangely satisfied, Allan watched her for while, before realising that Will's dark eyes, in their turn, were on him. He lay back against his tree trunk and feigned sleep.
Great, now he felt guilty.
This idiotic little dance they did around her was fraying on his nerves, especially now, with everything else that he had to worry about. It had been like this ever since they'd spoken out that day she'd been taken to Nottingham Castle; Allan hardly believing that he was making such a confession, and Will talking with all the conviction of youth. Allan hadn't taken him too seriously at first (he was a teenager after all) but after pulling Djaq up and out of that mine-shaft, feeling relief course through him, following Will's "hey Djaq," with his own slightly more confident echo, Will had turned around and given him a look that very clearly said don't.
Allan had been surprised at the clarity of it, and the force of it stayed with him for a few days, preventing him from making any overtures to Djaq. Still, no big loss. There were plenty of other girls in the world, and shy, quiet Will Scarlett had clearly staked his claim. So Allan magnanimously conceded an early defeat for the sake of his young friend, and sat back to watch…as Will did absolutely nothing to pursue the woman he supposedly loved.
It was frustrating to say the least, and made no sense at all. If he wanted her so much, why didn't he do something about it? Silenced by his irritating loyalty to the boy, Allan had watched him watch her, and likewise watched her grow steadily more attractive. Her hair had grown out, softening the angle of her face, and she'd shed her bulky waistcoat at last to reveal some rather mouth-watering curves. He'd seen her hands up close as her nimble fingers closed up wounds, watched her eyes glinting as she told stories by firelight, and almost tripped over himself when he'd returned to the camp one day and found her washing her feet in a vat of water Much had prepared for her. With her breeches rolled up past her knees, it was the most of her skin he'd ever seen, careful and modest as she was. Since she hadn't noticed him standing there watching, he saw no reason to announce his presence till she was finished.
She was so different now from when he'd first seen her – not that he'd realised she had been a her. That had taken a rather embarrassingly long time to figure out, and it was still a point of contention with him that the others had allowed him to stay oblivious for so long. By the time he'd figured out the truth, he had found himself in a friendship with the Saracen that he didn't really know how to handle. He'd never been friends with a woman before.
And so his mind was pulled in a dozen different directions that day, from Sherwood to the Trip, from Maggie's bitter smile to Gisbourne's sneer, Djaq's laughter, Will's eyes, and now it was all settling slowly, like a pond smoothing itself out after a stone has been thrown in. It was just about time for the daily rounds of dropping off supplies to the villages. Robin had counted out the money from the latest ambush the night before, but there was nothing he'd rather do less this morning. He just wanted to lie back until the low rush of the leaves and the dim sunlight set him off to sleep. Slowly he forced himself to relax, lulled by the thunking of Djaq's knife.
Mindful of her presence, he recalled his last attempt to get her attention. It had been Christmas a few weeks ago, and he'd found a sprig of mistletoe. Actually, he'd nearly broken his bloody neck trying to get it, what with the high tree branch creaking and swaying ominously under his weight. And it had all come to nothing anyway. He'd brought it back to camp, waited for a quiet moment, and then told her that the little plant was his best weapon in obtaining kisses.
She'd looked affronted. "You drug women in order to kiss them?"
"What? No, no! It's just an English custom. You…hang the…" he trailed off uncertainly, suddenly aware of what an idiotic custom it was. Kissing under plants? Who the hell came up with that? "You give it to…because it's…pretty."
She looked down in disbelief at the pale leaves and little white buds.
"Never mind," he'd muttered, throwing it away.
He was not at all impressed with the effect she had on rational thought. Nor for the way she made him feel as though he were a teenage boy clumsily wooing a dairymaid. He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed, trying to force the memory away.
"Ahem."
He looked up to see her standing over him with a sack of supplies.
"Come on. We are the only ones left."
He looked around, and sure enough, the others had already left.
"Well so we are," he said, stretching lazily. "Why go anywhere when we've got the whole place to ourselves?"
Used to this sort of talk, Djaq simply swung the sack in front of his face until he got up with a sigh and took it from her.
"Do you want to take Edwinstowe or Whitborough?" she asked.
He screwed up his face.
"Edwinstowe is closer, but Whitborough has less people…what one do you think will be the least amount of work?"
"It does not matter. I will beat you back here either way."
He grinned at her.
"You're on."
"And the prize?" she asked. "You have still got the pebble from last time."
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the small white stone, the token of victory that was often passed between them in their little games. But looking at it now, winking up at him from the palm of his hand, it wasn't enough.
An idea came to him, and he pushed down the warning voice that told him to let it lie, to remember Will, to keep the delicate status quo. But his odd mood was still swilling about in his mind, and if not for that, he probably wouldn't have said what followed.
"No – not today," he told her. "If I get back first…"
His breath momentarily hitched in his throat.
"I get to kiss you."
To her credit, she looked neither surprised nor appalled. She simply raised an eyebrow. He tried to maintain his shaky smile.
"And what if I get back first?" she asked.
"Then…you get to kiss me."
"And what if Much gets back before either of us?"
"Then he gets to watch us kiss each other!"
She didn't accept or decline the offer, but there was a tiny lift at the corners of her mouth, and his heart suddenly began ricocheting around his ribcage.
She plucked the stone from his sweaty palm, and turned for Edwinstowe, disappearing into the trees as swiftly as a bird in flight. For a moment he stared after her stupidly, then realising the race was on, grabbed his sack, tripped over a root, cursed, picked himself up and broke into a run for Whitborough as though the devil himself was after him.
*****
The residents of Whitborough were not impressed with that morning's deliveries. The food parcels were muddled up, they were denied any news from Nottingham, and Mr Pippins got hit in the face by a flying pouch of coins as the delivery boy sped by.
Allan threw apologies over his shoulder, but wasn't too worried. Let them think that guards were after him or something. He had to get back – not just before her but before any of the others, who may have had a considerable head-start on him, and whose presence would ruin everything.
"Oy Allan!"
He skidded to a halt, feeling terror course through him. They fey mood was on him stronger than ever and it made him reach for his sword, certain that he was being found out, though as to what crime, he didn't know. For a moment he was more afraid of the sight of a glowering, betrayed Will than a furious Robin brandishing evidence of his dealings with Gisbourne. But it was John.
"I came down to fetch you. The lads and I are heading into Nottingham for a pint. Robin says we deserve a break."
Still feeling like a startled rabbit, he shook his head.
"I…can't…"
"Come on, Will and Robin are already there."
"What about Djaq?"
"You know her, she doesn't drink ale. Remember?"
"Yeah, I can't go though."
"You're turning down a drink at the tavern? What's wrong with you?"
"Just…can't."
He was off.
*****
The forest surrounding the campsite was quiet, and the trees themselves seemed to be hushed as he passed through, hardly breathing, not having the faintest idea of what to expect. Surely they weren't about to go through with this, not after so long maintaining this balancing act of careful touches and open silences and watchful glances that never lasted too long.
The trees parted, and she was sitting there, carefully whetting her sword with a large stone. That was hardly a reassuring sight, but when she noticed him approaching she smiled.
"I told you I would win," she said rather smartly.
"Yeah well…Edwinstowe is closer."
He shuffled his feet, suddenly feeling thirteen again. Her fingers were tapping nervously over the stone, her eyes dancing across the ground in front of him.
"So…" She cleared her throat.
He eased down onto the ground opposite her, awkwardness crawling over him. What had he been thinking?
"You don't have to. Just forget it."
She looked up, a little startled.
"It was not that. It is just…"
His heartbeat picked up again.
"Yeah?"
"I just…I am used to being good at things. And I probably will not be good at this."
He swallowed. "I won't mind," he told her, and tried not to wince at the fact his voice had risen a few octaves.
"But I imagine that you are used to this sort of thing."
Would this be a good time to lie? He had no idea. "Uh…"
Her face gave away nothing. He simply couldn't fathom what she was thinking, not even when she set aside her sword and slid off the rock she was sitting on. She kept her eyes on him as she neared, as though approaching some wild animal whose reaction she couldn't gauge, and crouched down next to him gingerly. Her face was level with his, her eyes scanned his face, and as he watched her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She tilted her head slightly, lining herself up on the right angle, and he could see the pulse in her throat beating fast.
Oh my God, she's actually going to kiss me.
But not just yet it would seem – she was peering into his face as though searching for something, her brown eyes piercing as always, but this time it was different. He got the irrational sense that she was silently asking him something, and more than anything he wanted to give her the answer she sought. But words were not forthcoming, and a spark of impatience leapt up in him. Seconds were trickling by, and she was just looking at him, wanting something, waiting. He had to clamp his hands down into the grass either side of him to stop himself from reaching for her.
Then her eyes dropped to his mouth. He held his breath, knowing that at this stage he should close his eyes, but completely unwilling to stop watching her. She had one hand on his knee to brace herself, and he felt her grip tighten as she leaned in closer. The hammering of his heart was no doubt audible, the scent of her hair filled his mind, for the briefest of moments he felt her breath on his lips…and a voice called out:
"Hey! Anyone back yet?"
She drew back in a single, fluid motion and was back on her rock by the time Much marched into camp exactly two seconds later, carefully scraping the whetstone along her sword as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Allan blinked in shock. Had he just imagined it all?
Afternoon passed into evening, the other outlaws trudged home. Night came and then morning. He couldn't find it in himself to bring the moment up again, though he wasn't sure what stopped him. It was not until he was sitting in a small chamber, dressed from head to toe in black, that he realised what she had been trying to do. She'd been looking for something in him, and he could have found it in her as well, if only he'd slowed down long enough to look.
*****
Yes, Amina bint Quais was a real person. When I read about her, I just knew I had to get her into a Djaq-fic somehow!
Next up: Marian