TRUE LOVE'S FIRST KISS, OR MAYBE NOT
"Robert! What are you doing here?"
"I'm here for the tournament, why else would I be here?"
"Oh."
"Silly girl, I came to see you! Are you surprised?"
Robert smiled his deep, velvety, knee-melting smile, and kissed her cheek.
Rodger never smiles at me like that. Come to think of it, he hardly ever smiles at all. He's so grim and serious. Not like Robert….
"Yes. I mean, you didn't tell me you were coming. And how did you know I'd be here?"
"I have my sources." He took her hand. "I didn't tell you because I wanted to keep it a surprise. My father had a shipment of horses to deliver to King John's stables. We're staying for the tournament as a guest of the king. I didn't know you liked jousting."
"I don't, but I, well, my family and I, we came to see Rodger compete in the vespers tourney. And see my Uncle Archer. He's in the king's household guard."
"Is he? Well, now, you must have some clout with the king then."
"Not me. I don't. I've never met him, and I don't want to. I met Queen Eleanor. She's very nice. She likes my family. But my father isn't King John's favourite person."
"No, I imagine not, being the former Robin Hood and all."
"You know about my father?"
"Come on, Eleanor, everyone knows about Robin Hood! Robbed from the rich, gave to the poor, isn't that right? He's famous!"
"I think the king would label him 'infamous' instead."
Robert laughed and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Let him say what he likes. Your parents are good people, Eleanor. By the way, do you think they've forgiven me yet? Because I'd love to dance with you."
Eleanor stole a quick glimpse back at the table where her parents were sitting. Were they watching her? Yes, they were both looking in her direction. Was that a frown on her father's face? It was hard to tell from across the room. Perhaps it wasn't.
"I'm sure they've forgiven you, Robert. And I'd love to dance with you, too."
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Rodger ladled out two goblets from a huge bowl of sweet punch, and handed one to the girl. She thanked him as she took the cup. She was pretty, and a good dancer, and he was on the verge of asking her for another dance, when he saw Eleanor, her face aglow, swirling about in the arms of—Robert of Mansfield.
Rodger's heart slowed to a dull thud. All around him people talked and laughed, ate and drank and danced, but what had once been a merry party was now nothing but noise, a loud, ceaseless din reverberating in his ears. Even the girl, whose name he had failed to ask for, was only so much irritating chatter. He heard nothing she said. He stared at Eleanor and Robert as if they were the only two people in the room, until a gentle tug on his sleeve brought him back.
"I finished my drink," the girl was saying. "Do you—I mean—" She glanced toward the other dancers, and then looked up at him in hopeful expectation.
"I'm sorry," he replied. "Thank you for the dance, but I just remembered I have something I need to do." He excused himself and turned from her quickly, too quickly to see the hurt and disappointment in her eyes, and went outside to the balcony.
After the hot, crowded hall the night air was cool on his face. Happy couples strolled past, whispering to each other and laughing. Rodger gazed out over the castle gardens, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, but his eyes saw nothing of its beauty. He drew his cloak around him and stood unmoving. The moon disappeared behind a cloudbank and the sky darkened. Behind him, the banquet hall gradually grew quiet as the dancing and feasting ended, and the king's guests dispersed to their homes. The night was well along before Archer finally found him.
"Rodger! I've been looking for you everywhere! I thought you went back to the inn with your parents, but here you are all by yourself. You okay? You look like you need some sleep. So do I. We've got a big day tomorrow."
Without waiting for a response, Archer led Rodger back to his quarters. They undressed and climbed into their beds.
"G'nite," mumbled Archer. He never noticed that Rodger didn't answer him, for he was almost instantly asleep.
Sleep was far from Rodger, however. He could not close his eyes the rest of that night. But he was weary beyond words.
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The hubbub of the crowd grew into a roar, until at last the clamour died away as the ceremony of the Invocation was announced. The tournament had begun, and for three days knights from all over the realm would pit their skills and their courage against one another.
Rodger acted as squire for Archer. He watched proudly as his uncle unseated knight after disgruntled knight in the joust. They scowled and swore profanely at him under their breaths, but Archer never stopped smiling. Nothing ever seemed to rattle him, whether a tournament, or a dangerous assignment from King John, or the king's insane fits of wrath. He took it all in his stride.
"King John keeps me around because I amuse him," Archer told his family one evening. "Mind you, he hasn't forgotten that I'm a Locksley and a Gisborne, so if I ever stop amusing him, I'll likely lose my head." But even those frightful words were spoken with a wide, cheerful grin.
And he knew how to play to the crowd. He dismounted and helped each of his fallen opponents back on their shaky legs, and handed them their shields and lances in a gesture of chivalry that drew loud cheers from the spectators.
"The showoff!" said Robin, with an affectionate smile as he watched his younger brother lift his last conquered foe to his feet and catch his horse for him.
"It's the Locksley side of him," added Guy, with an equally fond smile. "The chivalry he gets from the Gisbornes."
"He's a terrible flirt," said Meg. "How many ladies' favours is he wearing?"
Marian laughed. "Half a dozen, anyway. Maybe more."
On that first day, Rodger was too busy fetching weapons, cleaning armour, grooming Archer's horse, and helping wounded knights off the field and into the physician's pavilion to think of Eleanor. At the feast and the dance that night he avoided even looking in her direction. And he went to his bed too exhausted to do much but fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
But early the next morning, as he gathered with the other squires at the practice ground for a bit of warm-up sparring before the day's continuation of the tournament, Eleanor, and only Eleanor, entered the gate, carrying her bow. All the young men turned to stare. Unflustered, she walked toward Rodger.
"Good morning. Don't let me interrupt your practice."
"Eleanor, what are you doing here?" asked Rodger.
"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about," she replied, with a cheeky smile. "Oh, and you're talking to me now, are you?"
"You're welcome to watch if you want to," he said, a bit gruffly.
"May I meet your friends first?"
Rodger made the introductions.
"So, this is your little lady friend of whom we've heard so much," Stephen said. "She's prettier than I expected. But what's with the bow? Don't tell me—she's an archer?"
"Yes, and a very good one, too," Rodger replied before Eleanor could respond to the "pretty" remark.
"Really? That pretty little girl?" he snickered.
"I wouldn't call her that if I were you," Rodger said. "She's Robin Hood's daughter, don't forget."
"So you've told me. She inherited dear daddy's skills, did she?"
"She learned them, just like we did, but she had the best teacher."
"How much are you willing to wager?"
"What?"
"You up for a bet, Gisborne? Your little friend, against me. Best shot of three."
"Are you serious? Well, then, she can speak for herself. You ask her."
Eleanor burst out laughing. "Do I have some say in this wager of yours?"
"Of course, Lady Eleanor of Locksley," replied Rodger.
Eleanor gave him a smile that made him want to believe that there was nothing, after all, between her and Robert. He returned it in hopes that she saw what he was too shy to say. And for a moment, her eyes did linger softly on him, before she turned back to the hulking Stephen with a droll smirk.
"Fine, I'll take your challenge. But I'm not playing to win your bet. I'm doing it for Rodger."
"Woo-hoo!" cried some of the boys. "Hear that? For Rodger!" And with that they all hurried to the archery range.
"Ladies first," said Stephen, with a gallant bow.
Eleanor took her position, and lifted and aimed her bow. Her hands were strong and her aim was sure. The arrow flew and struck the target near the center. Some of the young men whistled, but Stephen shrugged it off.
"A lucky shot," he grunted. "She won't better that."
To his chagrin, and Rodger's delight, she did. He took his three shots, but none came closer to the center of the target than Eleanor's. Stephen was forced to concede defeat, and Rodger, pleased and proud, could not resist the opportunity to rub it in.
"I told you not to challenge her. Now, be a gentleman and hand over your money."
Stephen was too good-natured to be ungracious in defeat. He handed the lost bet over to Rodger with a laugh and a hearty handshake for Eleanor.
Rodger and Eleanor left the practice grounds together a short time later, to a chorus of teasing whoops from the other young men. Rodger rejoined his uncle on the field, and Eleanor sat with her family. They did not have the chance to speak to each other that day, but Rodger's heart was light once again, and even more so that night, when he sat beside her at supper, and danced with her all evening.
He had no way of knowing that Robert was simply away with his father on business in the king's behalf, and that he planned to return to stake his claim on Eleanor the very next day. Eleanor never told Rodger. It never occurred to her to tell him. His manner to her convinced her that she was forgiven for failing to return his letter, and he was willing to be friends again.
As for Rodger, all he knew was that Robert was nowhere to be seen. Eleanor's smiles were now for him instead. He no longer regretted what he'd written in his letter to her, or felt angry because she hadn't answered it. There were no doubts in his mind and heart anymore. He loved Eleanor. He always had, and always would.
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At the final feast in celebration of the tournament the next night, Rodger watched as Eleanor joined Robert for supper. After the meal ended, a number of young women hovered on the periphery of his vision, hoping to be invited to dance by the handsome squire who'd demonstrated his manly valor in the lists. But Rodger saw them not. He saw only Eleanor, dancing with Robert once again.
He could look on them no more. He left the banquet hall, walked out to the balcony, stalked along its length several times, and then stared out onto the garden as he had before. The air grew chilly, and a light rain began to fall. It was pointless to get drenched, despite his mood, so he headed back to the sheltering overhang near one of the doors to the banquet hall.
He heard a giggle. A young couple, half-hidden behind one of the thick stone columns, and deep in a passionate kiss, caught his eye. He hesitated. With a shock he saw that the young man was Robert, but the girl's face he could not see. Her back was to him, and Robert's hands were tangled in her long, dark hair.
Eleanor! his heart cried. But he slowly realized that the girl was wearing a red dress. Eleanor's gown that night was a pale shade of green. It wasn't Eleanor. Robert, who only a short time ago had been dancing with Eleanor, was now locked in a close embrace with another girl.
Rodger felt his stomach heave. He'd always known there was something about Robert he didn't like. The young man's association with Peter, and his part in the attack after the Nottingham fair, had strengthened his dislike. But now this!
Did Eleanor know? His heart told him no. He knew her too well to believe she would associate with a young man who would sneak behind her back in such a despicable way.
I have to tell her. She must know. She can't be with Robert. She deserves better. She needs someone who truly loves her. Eleanor needs….me.
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Rodger waited until Robert and the girl in the red dress parted company. He caught up with Robert just as the betrayer of Eleanor's trust was going back inside the banquet hall, presumably to meet up with Eleanor and deceive her again.
"Robert!" He grabbed hold of Robert's arm and pulled him away from the door. "Going back to Eleanor now?" His lip curled in a disdain he could not hide.
"Rodger of Gisborne." Robert shook off his grip. "Isn't it funny how I keep running into you. What is it now? Can't you find someone else to bother?"
"Stay away from Eleanor," Rodger said, his voice deep and dangerous.
"What?" answered Robert, his brows raised in surprise. "Are you ordering me? What gives you the right—"
"I'm telling you, stay away from her. She's not yours, and she never will be."
"Oh, you think so, do you, Gisborne? She belongs to you, is that it?"
"Eleanor doesn't belong to anyone."
"Then she's free to choose, isn't she? And she's choosing to be with me, so you really don't have anything more to say about it."
Rodger gave Robert such a threatening glower from under his black brows that a wiser man would have heeded his words. But Robert was not that wiser man. He was only a spoiled boy determined to win Eleanor for his own, not because he cared for her, but because he liked the excitement of the chase, and Eleanor, unlike his other conquests, presented a challenge.
"I do have something to say about it," said Rodger. "As her friend, I do. She deserves better than you, at least."
Robert laughed nastily. "Quite the man, aren't you? I can see now why Peter doesn't like you. Can't say I blame him. I don't much like you, either."
"I saw you, with that other girl, out on the balcony. What if I tell Eleanor?"
"Spying on me, huh?" Robert countered. "That other girl? She's nothing to me, just some girl I used to know. And she was kissing me, for your information. But she's nobody. It's Eleanor I care about."
"Get out, Robert," said Rodger. "Go home, and stay away from her, or there will be consequences."
"Says who? Eleanor's my girl, so you go away!" Robert yelled.
A second later the words were driven from his mouth by Rodger's fist. Blood spurted from his split lip. Robert staggered back, and held his hand to his mouth.
"You'll be sorry for that, Gisborne!" he snarled.
"No half as sorry as you'll be if I see you near Eleanor again."
"You just wait, big man!" shouted Robert, even as he beat a hasty retreat several steps further away on seeing Rodger's hard fist rising up for a second blow.
"What is going on?"
The two young men turned to see Eleanor standing in the doorway, staring at them.
Rodger tossed his head. "You ask him."
"Robert? What happened to you? Rodger, did you hit him? Are you two fighting?"
"It's Rodger's fault! He thinks he owns you. He thinks he can tell me to stay away from you."
"That's right, and for good reason!" Rodger retorted. "Eleanor, listen to me. He's trouble, I'm telling you—"
Eleanor took his arm. "Excuse us, Robert." She led Rodger away to a quiet corner of the balcony.
"What is going on here? Why did you hit him? What do you mean, he's trouble? Because of Peter? He doesn't hang around with Peter anymore, that's all over."
"It's not just that. It's—"
"What?"
"You're not the only girl, Eleanor. He's been with others. I saw him, kissing another girl."
"When?"
"A few minutes ago, right over there by that column. I saw him."
"That's impossible. I don't believe you. You must have made a mistake. We've been writing to each other, for months. He came here to see me."
"Do you love him?"
"That's really none of your business, but I like him, yes."
"But no more than like?"
"I don't know! Rodger, it's really not your concern, unless you plan to tattle on me to my parents."
"No, I won't do that. But I don't want you with him. He's no good, Eleanor. He's a cheat and a liar! He'll hurt you."
"I'll see whoever I want! You're not my father, and you're not my brother, so stop telling me what I can and can't do! What does it matter to you, anyway?"
"Because…."
"Because what?"
"Because I—I mean—"
Eleanor gasped as Rodger pulled her into his arms. There was no chance to react before his lips were on hers in a boy's first shy, fumbling kiss. For just a moment she responded with a strange, frightening and yet exhilarating longing. She nestled against him, into his kiss, his strong but ever so gentle embrace, before she drew back in shock and met his countenance. His lips were slightly parted, his lids were half-closed; the long lashes drooped over ice blue eyes that had gone dark. She was as breathless as he.
"Rodger, what are you doing—"
"I love you, Eleanor—"
His mouth was on hers again, insistent and sure this time. He pulled her against his chest and held her close, and she was aware of his strength as never before. Almost she surrendered to it again, before she remembered that this was not Robert. This was Rodger, her childhood friend and onetime playfellow.
No, this is all wrong!
"Rodger, stop it!" she cried, and then, without thinking, she wrested herself from his embrace, raised her hand, and slapped him, quite hard, across the face.
He stumbled away from her. All the tender passion vanished from his eyes as he held his hand to his burning cheek.
"Rodger! Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—"
Her hand caught at his arm as he turned from her. "Rodger, I'm sorry! You scared me. But I didn't mean to hit you. Rodger, please, don't go! Can't we talk?"
He turned back to her, and this time his eyes were full of, not terrible hurt, but anger. They blazed at her with a cold blue fire in their depths.
"Go ahead, Eleanor, if that's what you want," he said in a low, bitter voice. "Go with Robert. I don't care. But he'll hurt you, you'll see, and someday you'll be sorry for it."
He turned on the heel of his tall black boots and strode rapidly away. Eleanor watched his retreating back as Rodger disappeared around the corner and was lost from sight.
She'd had her first kiss, and not from Robert.
Deep inside Eleanor, past her tomboyish ways and scorn for sentiment, beat a feminine little heart, and it spoke to her of a mortifying consciousness that his kiss, though wholly unexpected, had been far from unpleasant. Very far from it, in fact.
But Rodger had crossed a line that neither could come back from. He had asked something of her that she couldn't give him, and now she had ruined any hope of their remaining friends by humiliating him.
Her throat caught and she choked, and tears stung her eyes. Robert came over and put his arm around Eleanor. He hadn't seen Rodger kiss her. All he knew was that Rodger had disappeared and Eleanor was crying, and he was vastly pleased by the turn of events, despite his sore mouth.
"Come on, don't cry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry about all this. Rodger doesn't know his place if he thinks he can tell you what to do. I don't do that to you, do I? No, and—"
"Robert, don't!" She pulled away. "Just leave me alone! I want to be alone right now!"
Robert was left standing on the balcony by himself. A wiser man might have felt foolish, but he didn't. His face broke into an exultant smile. She'd had angry words with Rodger, they'd parted, and now, with any luck, his rival would be out of the picture for good.
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"Darling, what do you mean, you're not coming home yet? I thought you were ready to come back to Locksley?"
Rodger looked upon the disappointed faces of his mother and his brother and sister. They were at the inn, packing up for the trip home, and Rodger and Archer had come from the castle early in the morning to see them off. Rodger had already told his father he planned to stay a while longer in London, and his father had accepted his decision without remonstrance. But his mother was a different story. There was nothing he could tell her by way of explanation. Some things could not be explained.
Locksley. He missed Locksley village, the fields, the orchards and streams and the woods bordering the deep and mysterious Sherwood Forest that he longed to explore further. And he missed his home, Gisborne Hall. Mother and Father, Richard and Ghislaine—how he longed to sit with them again around the dining table, and say goodnight to them before retiring upstairs to his comfortable and spacious bedroom.
Uncle Robin and Aunt Marian, Allan a Dale and his family, Anna and Reginald, and Hugh and Willie the blacksmiths—all of the people he had known his whole life were back in Locksley village.
But so was Eleanor. Eleanor, who had repaid his devotion by defending that cheating scoundrel Robert, and returned his own heartfelt and loving kiss with a demeaning slap.
"I'm sorry, Mother, and Richard, Ghislaine. I miss you all, but I'm going to stay here a bit longer. It's for the best. Don't worry, I'll be home soon."
Rodger was relieved when his mother did not press him any further. But Meg was more perceptive than he gave her credit for. She had already surmised that his reason for staying behind had something to do with Eleanor.
She looked up at Rodger, her firstborn son, who was no longer a boy, and yet not quite a man, and her mother's heart was sad for him.
Life is going to hurt him, just like it has his father, and I can't always shield him from the hurt. He must learn to be strong. He must find happiness on the other side of heartache. And he will. I know he will. He's Guy's son, after all.