Chapter Text
II.
Felicity could still hear her mother's stern voice from the night before, telling her handmaiden to tighten the strings of Felicity's dress as she would be getting such lovely news and wanted to look her very best. And later, as she sat in stunned silence at the table between her parents, her mother admonished her further, telling her she should smile more, for soon she would be meeting her husband and she best practice now. But Felicity did not want a husband, she did not want the already too tight dress to further depress her lungs. She wanted freedom.
She escaped through the passageway that John showed her when she was a small girl, his voice filled with warning as he told her that one day she might have to run away from an enemy and this was how she would do it. The enemy was not a person; it was not a fleet of soldiers marching on their land bent on taking it for their own. It was duty; it was a daughter's duty to her father, a princess's duty to her king. They wanted her to thank them, to happily take the hand of whomever won the games, as if brute strength or cunning were all that mattered in a marriage. It confused her deeply; she had seen the love her parents shared, why should they not want the same for her?
That night, her stomach churning, she found herself staring at the hidden passageway, half-thought out dreams of escape, of freedom forming in her mind. She fought with herself about what was right, what she should do, what she owed her parents, but as dawn broke and the sun began to rise, she slipped through the doorway and down the stairs. She ran out of the castle and across the yard. Luck was on her side and not one guard saw her as she fled. It was still dark enough behind the walls of the castle that she could hide, crouching behind a wagon when she heard men's voices nearby. When they were far enough away, she ran through the open gates, hurrying toward the cover of trees in the distance. She was not prepared, she had no idea where she was going. She had not even thought to dress for the weather or what dangers she might meet in the forest. She knew only that she had to run, as far and as fast as she could.
She did not stop running until her lungs burned from the effort. Deep into the forest, she had no idea which direction was right. Angry with herself, tears bit at her eyes. John would be so upset with her. He had taught her all her life how to survive and the first chance she had to put his lessons to use, she forgot every one of them. Chin lifted stubbornly, she continued walking, hugging her arms around herself. She could not be sure where she was going or how far she was from the castle, but she had to keep going.
For hours, all she did was walk. She stopped by a creek to drink the cool, fresh water, but it only served to make her stomach twist and protest its emptiness. Her feet hurt and the deeper she walked into the woods, the colder it seemed to get. A part of her was scared; it was not unlikely that she could die in these woods, far away from anything she knew and everyone she loved. There were animals lurking, she was sure. She had nothing to fend them off with. Every noise, every snapping branch or pattering foot made her heart race. She quickened her steps, but her fear kept steady pace at her side.
She refused to sit down even when her body ached with exhaustion, when her throat stung from a lack of water, and her stomach gnawed from hunger. She rubbed her arms and continued walking, refusing to stop and build a fire, not when she was sure they would look for the smoke. Walk, she told herself, just keep walking.
The sun was going down; she could feel it as the air chilled even more. Tired and scared, she considered what it would mean to turn around and return in the direction she came from. There was no certainty it would lead back to the castle, but it was likely closer to it than where she was going. Just as she thought she might, she found she had stumbled upon a camp. There was a fire not far away and her heart leapt in her chest, desperate for her to get closer to it. Before she could even try, there was someone in front of her, dressed darkly in all green, a hood drawn over his head, and a dagger pressed to her chest, atop her breasts. She felt the sharp tip dig warningly into her skin and her breath hitched.
"Do you know how dangerous it is to be in these woods in my company, Princess?" he asked.
Fear prickled over her skin, but knowledge was quick to replace it. She knew him. She had heard stories of him before. The man in the hood. Tales had been spun of his journeys from village to village, kingdom to kingdom. She stared up at him, the skin around his eyes and high atop his cheeks was smeared with paint, effectively masking some of his features, though it did not hide the strong line of his jaw or the bright blue of those stunning eyes.
Though her voice was shaky, she answered bravely, "No less dangerous to be in these woods without it, I am sure."
He raised an eyebrow, his head tipped as he gazed down at her curiously. "And what are you doing out here, where the big bad wolf would be eager to take a bite?"
She scoffed, raising her chin. "I am neither dressed in red nor taking sweets to my grandmother, Hood. I have merely lost my way. I am sure if you point me in the right direction, I will not fail to return to whence I came."
"What a foolish woman you must be to think I have that much honor."
"What a foolish woman you must take me for to think I would believe the fables they share of you in the court."
An eyebrow raised as he let down the dagger and began to circle her, a predator surveying its prey.
The fire was not far away, calling to her, with one lone man sitting at it, paying them little heed. Her hands were cold; truth be told, all of her was. She balled her hands into fists so not to show how eager she was to warm them.
"How long have you been out here?" he wondered, his fingers trailing over her knuckles, seeing what she wanted to hide.
She jumped in surprise and tucked her hands behind her at the small of her back. "Not but an hour, I am sure."
"You are a terrible liar."
She turned to glare at him, finding a grin on his attractive lips. She stared at his mouth a long moment. "You are terribly handsome." Her eyes widened. "No, I— I did not mean to say that. I— I meant you are terribly forward."
He laughed, a low chuckle that made her belly swoop.
She stared up at his blue eyes, made brighter by the green paint he'd swiped around them.
"A princess does not wander into the woods for no reason, especially not without a guard."
She bit her lip as guilt gnawed at her. John would no doubt have a number of things to say to her when she was returned to the safety of the castle, beginning with how disappointed he was that she had not trusted him. John Diggle had been her guard since birth, and he had never once put her life in danger. He would give his life for hers, of that she had no doubt. But she was tired of having her life dictated to her. And while she loved John like her own father, she could not submit to the pressures of high society.
"I have a guard. He is simply… lost." She lifted her chin stubbornly. "I am sure he is concerned about my whereabouts, so concerned he will surely pay you quite handsomely for my return."
"How handsomely? As handsome as you find me, or handsomer still?"
Felicity flushed, her eyes ducking. "He will pay you a comfortable sum."
"And what if I prefer your company to that of any sum?"
Her brow furrowed, as she looked up at him. "Sir?"
"You must be cold…" He cast his eyes toward the fire. "You could warm yourself."
"A kind offer, but the hour grows later. And my guard, I am sure, grows restless."
"Were he a worthy guard, he would know where you wandered." He swept an arm around her waist and drew her toward the fire. "Come, before the chill sinks into your bones. I fear the cure for that would not suit someone so very… pure."
She frowned, but did not stop him as he led her to a log. A man sat across from her with a boyish face and a thick black beard. He held up a deer-skin sack of wine and tipped it at her as he grinned. "Blessed is our fire with a princess to share its warmth," he told her with a rakish wink.
Felicity glanced from him back to the Hood beside her. "Your merry band of men is much smaller than I had heard."
"I am merry enough for ten men," the bearded man proclaimed.
The Hood ignored him. "What you cannot see, may still lurk nearby…" He cast his eyes toward the woods, and his features darkened as he grew thoughtful.
For a moment, Felicity wondered if the cheerful exterior he had offered earlier was nothing more than a ruse.
"Who are you?" she asked simply.
He looked down at her. "You said yourself you had heard of me… The Hood."
"The Hood is a story, not a person." She narrowed her eyes at him. "He is a myth, a legend, an unreal dream."
"Dream," he repeated, staring at her mouth. "Most would say nightmare."
"Perhaps… But most would not want for the same freedom the Hood boasts."
"Freedom," he repeated, a dark look crossing his face. "Is that what I have?"
"You do not agree?" She frowned. "From what I can tell, you wear not a corset, nor a sigil to any house. You roam as you wish, take what you like, live as you want… Is that not freedom?"
"I daresay I would not look as dashing in a corset..."
Her eyes fell, taking in his broad figure, before she said, without thinking, "I daresay you would look good in anything, or nothing at all, if it appeals to you." Biting her tongue, she shook her head. "That is not what I meant to say… not as it sounded."
He stared at her a long moment, his lips curled up in a faint smile. "I take the compliment all the same, my lady."
Tugging on the folds of her dress, she turned her gaze back to the fire, only to find herself looking at the amused expression of the man on the log across from her. She flushed brighter and turned her gaze down to the fire. "If I have suitably embarrassed myself, might either of you please return me to the castle? Or at least show me the direction I might find it."
Just as the man across from her nodded agreeably, the Hood beside her answered negatively,
"It is late… Far too late to go gallivanting in the woods."
"The sun did not fall so long ago," she argued, tipping her head back to stare up at the darkened sky. "Would not the stars guide us well enough?"
"You do not spend much time in the woods, do you, Princess?"
She scowled, turning her attention back to him. "Must you call me that? I have a name."
"And had you shared it, I might use it."
Her eyes fell, realizing he was right, she had not shared her name with him. "Felicity," she said then, raising her chin. "And yours?"
He grinned, turning to face the fire once more. "If you find it not disagreeable, you may spend the night here, warm by the fire… I will return you to your knight come the morrow."
"My knight," she repeated, brow knit. "What knight would I be returned to?"
"Surely your suitor is a knight… Or a prince, perhaps."
"I have no suitor." She let out a heavy sigh and gazed sadly into the fire. "My father seeks to find me one. A test of strength and will is all that will stand between me and my future… Life beside a man who shoots an arrow straight. What test is that? What of his mind? His heart? What test will show me that?"
"What good is a heart or mind in running a kingdom?"
She turned to look at him, angry and stubborn. "And who said I wanted a king for a husband?"
He peered into her eyes searchingly. "What would a commoner have to offer a princess?"
She let out a scoff and shook her head. "Were you not listening, Hood? He need only have a strong heart and a deep mind." She reached for her hair, tugging on a braid, playing with the end. "He would love deeply, caring not for trivial affairs. He would be kind and loyal. He would laugh loud and smile often… I care not for how he wields a sword."
"A princess without a knight does not sound like any fairytale I have heard."
Turning to face him, she replied, "Mayhaps you need a better storyteller."
He opened his mouth to reply, but a rustling nearby caught his attention instead. His good humor faded quickly and his arm whipped behind him, grabbing his bow and arrow to brandish with the eager ease of any knight she had ever seen. He was up and aiming, his brow heavy over his eyes, his mouth set in a firm, unforgiving line.
It did not go unnoticed that he put himself between the noise and her, a protective stance.
"Lower your bow, archer. It is only I," a deeply accented voice replied. A man, even larger than the Hood stepped out from the brush. He was tall, dark of hair, and wore a scruffy beard around his grinning mouth.
"Slade," the Hood said, frowning as he lowered his bow. "Where did you wander to?"
He raised a goblet, liquid sloshing over the edges. "Taking my pleasures, friend." His eyes cut past the Hood to her and his smile turned suggestive. "As have you, I see."
Felicity frowned, shifting in her seat.
The Hood moved, standing to block her sight of this 'Slade' man. What an uncommon name. What village did he hail from? she wondered. His accent was like none other she had heard.
"She is of no concern to you," the Hood replied, his voice heavier, deeper than Felicity had heard it since meeting him.
"Nay? But she looks mightily close to the princess 'round these parts, does she not?" he postulated. "I have seen the murals of her pretty face, all rosy cheeks and golden hair… Tiny bit of goods, but good hips on her, I see."
Felicity leaned back to look at him, but only managed to make the Hood move to block her vision once more. She noticed a muscle ticking in his cheek and wondered what had fouled his mood so much. Was not this Slade fellow his friend? One of his merry men?
"Have the guards noticed her missing yet?" Slade wondered, taking a long drink from his goblet. "We could fill our pockets with gold if we let the king learn of her whereabouts…"
Ransom. The word floated through her mind suddenly, and she thought of John. He had warned her many times that she had to be careful, that there were unscrupulous people out there who would not hesitate to use her to earn a handsome ransom. Her heart clenched hard in her chest and a chill ran down her spine. Perhaps she was not so safe as she had thought. When she had happened upon the Hood, she had comforted herself with the stories they told of how he stole from the rich to give to the poor. Surely he was not so cruel!
But she was not a commoner; she was not one of his kind. He owed her no allegiance.
"She is our guest. That is all," the Hood replied, a threatening tone underlying his words.
Slade scoffed before he turned and walked off, shaking his head as he tipped his goblet back once more.
Only when he was out of sight did she see the tension leech from the Hood's figure. He took his seat beside her once more, this time looking far less jovial. Shadows played over his features, making his handsome face seem menacing. She could understand then how the stories of soldiers coming upon him had prayed to God, certain that their lives would not be spared by the Hood's sure aim. And there had been casualties, she was not unaware of the blood that stained the hands of the man who sat at her side. Though she questioned if those men had been good, as there had been stories of corruption, of how poorly they treated the people of their villages. When she had heard of their demise, she wondered if it was not deserved, and then cursed herself for passing judgement that was not hers to pass.
"You think deeply, Princess. Share the burden with a thief?"
"Does a thief share? I had heard he only took."
His mouth turned up at the corners and she felt a swell of pride.
"For you… I take nothing not offered."
She turned to look at him. "Your friend was not wrong… Were you to keep me here and tell my father of my capture, a boon would be in your future."
"Who is to say the boon would not be in keeping you?"
Her breath caught in her throat for a moment and she lowered her eyes, her lashes brushing her cheeks. "You would turn a lesser woman's head, sir."
"And yours?"
"It is not my head that needs turning."
"Right… I remember now… The princess leads with her heart."
She looked up at him, fire flashing in her eyes. "You think me a fool?"
"Nay." He shook his head. "But you ask for something not many can offer..."
"Mayhaps I do not want what comes easily."
He gazed at her a long moment and then tipped his head back to stare at the sky, the stars twinkling brightly down at them. "Your father seeks a suitor for you… When does his search begin?"
Picking at the folds of her dress to distract herself, she frowned. "A fortnight."
He scrubbed his fingers through the scruff beneath his chin thoughtfully. "Is that what finds a princess in the woods?"
She looked at him from the corner of her eyes. "Is it so unbelievable that I lost my way?"
He offered a faint, bitter smile. "You are in my camp. To say you have lost your way would make God himself laugh."
"To what have you wandered from that led you to these woods?" she wondered.
"There was a time when I would be a suitor your father saw fit… A time when my heart would not outweigh my bow."
She considered that thought; was he a knight? A prince? Did it truly matter?
"And now?"
He offered a soft sigh, burdened with the weight of a life much changed. "Now your father would not see me fit, but I fear you would."
"What heart does the Hood hide behind all this green?" she wondered, reaching up to smear the paint around his eyes with her thumb.
"A heart much too eager to find a willing princess to fix it."
"A thief who wields words like a poet," she teased with a small smile. "Are these stolen too?"
He let out a deep chuckle, his head ducking low in his mirth, and she felt her heart lurch in her chest. He was very handsome and charming and possibly smarter than she had first given him credit.
"Perhaps they are stolen… It is not unlikely that I picked the pocket of a lovesick man and took his dreams for my own."
"What dreamt the lovesick man?" she murmured, staring at his lips.
"The same as the man who was loveless, I suppose."
"Do their dreams come true? The loveless and lovesick?"
"Do the princess's dreams?"
Her face fell as she turned away. "Nay. The princess is too lofty in her dreams… She is bound by duty, by oath to a good man… She will return to her tower, to her father king, and smile prettily as the men with their too-heavy swords and swift bows come to offer their skill in replace of love. She will grow old as her husband grows dim and live a grander life than she wants for."
He hummed thoughtfully. "And what life would she like instead?"
"A greener life, I suppose." She let her head fall back as she let the cool breeze play over her cheeks. "A life with no rules, no laws, no corsets nor maids nor expectations… A life where her mind is more beloved than her beauty. Where her smile is secondary to her wit. Where gold is only seen in passing as she boards ships, sailing the seas to far off places."
"Lofty dreams," he murmured.
"Lofty indeed," she agreed with a smile.
The sat there for a long time, letting her dreams settle in the air around them, eaten up by the man at her side as he let them paint a picture in his mind. She liked him. His company, yes, but there was something more to it. Oh, but he was intriguing. Her heart beat terribly hard behind her breast as she looked upon him, though she was sure he was the last man her father or John would ever wish for her heart to call to. Was it her heart that called? Could a person be wooed so quickly? And without even a name.
She wondered what it was, who lay beyond the hood. Did he have a handsome name? A strong one? Did he prefer to be called Hood or, in different company, did he have another name for his friends and loyalists to use? Would it fall from her lips like a familiar hymn or trip on her tongue? She wanted to know it, to speak it and whisper it until it was so familiar that her lips repelled all other words.
When the fire began to die down, the Hood retrieved more wood, and soon his men, Thomas and Slade, began to cook a hearty meal for them to share. There were others too; a younger boy named Roy, and another man who never walked close enough for her to see properly. He spoke in low tones to Slade and the Hood, a peculiar accent in words she had never heard before.
Stew was passed between them and Felicity listened to Thomas tell stories; he was a smart character, and took great pleasure in making those around him laugh. Though she thought he laughed enough for all of them. Every once in a while, she could see a grin peek out from beneath the hood of the man across from her. He set himself apart now, listening, quiet, taking enjoyment from the festivities.
"Surely you jest, Sir Thomas," Felicity said, shaking her head.
"I fear I do not, my lady. I fled from the court with not a stitch on, I swear to all that is holy." He raised a hand as proof, his other pressed to his heart.
She giggled, her hands pressed to her cheeks. "I fear I should not ask how you lost your clothes..."
"Ah, but a rapscallion I am, with far too many indecent tales ears such as yours should not hear." He winked at her lightly. "However, if you ask, I dare not tell a princess a lie."
Shaking her head, she replied, "Curiosity does plague me. Tell just one?"
"Then my best I will tell." He leaned forward in his seat. "We begin as sordid love affairs often do, with the smile of a beautiful woman."
Roy groaned. "Do not encourage him," he begged. "Not the story of Laurel, please. Give my ears a rest."
"Laurel," Felicity repeated. "What a beautiful name."
"For a beautiful woman," Thomas agreed with a wistful sigh.
"Is she your lady love, Sir Thomas?" she wondered eagerly.
"She is his love, but nay, not is lady," Roy informed her with a frown. "Perhaps when pigs fly, he will woo his way back into her good graces."
"Alas," Thomas agreed, "love does not always end in marriage."
"Depending on your definition of love, it ends happily enough the same night you meet them," Roy snorted.
"Have you no lady love, Sir Roy?" Felicity wondered.
He ducked his eyes, glancing briefly in The Hood's direction before he said, "None that I deserve, m'lady. Nor that I will ever see again."
Frowning, she shook her head. "Deserving does not matter when it comes to the heart." She reached for him, her hand finding his and squeezing. In a quieter tone, so not to be overheard, she told him, "If she is yours, you need only fight for her."
"There are some fights I am certain to lose."
"It is not always winning that matters, but trying."
"I fear no trying would convince him I was worthy of her."
"Is it her father that you wish to please?" She shook her head, tugging at the pleats in her dress. "Far be it from I to give advice, I am certain my current situation speaks ill of my common sense, but perhaps it is not permission of her father you need, but permission from your love that truly matters."
His mouth curled up on one corner. "Are you suggesting I run away with her, m'lady?"
"Between you and I, Sir Roy…" She leaned toward him and told him happily, "Indeed I am."
He chuckled, his head ducking in his humor. "I fear her brother would gut me for even thinking it."
"Then I shall keep your secret." She crossed her heart. "And he will not know until you and she have already fled."
"A kind offer, but I fear it is far too late for fleeing… We have ventured too far from her now and it may be best for her that she find a better suitor."
Felicity scoffed disagreeably. "Does she return your love?"
He paused, considering the question, and then grinned. "Aye, she does."
"Then there is no better suitor," she claimed simply.
His smile turned gentle and he nodded at her. "Mayhaps."
"What turn of the tide is this that you earned a smile from our Roy?" Thomas wondered loudly, grinning at the boy teasingly. "I have not seen but a frown in months."
"Were you not going to tell her the tale of Laurel?" Roy wondered, easily turning Thomas' attention.
"Ah, yes. Laurel…" he sighed dreamily.
As Roy stood to leave, he patted Felicity's shoulder in thanks, and she smiled back at him before returning her attention to Thomas, who was quite eager to tell her all about his love story.
Roy did not return, but Felicity thought he might be giving her words serious contemplation.
The group around the fire had dwindled to three.
Slade did not speak to her often; when his wine was finished, he seemed more sullen, walking off to sleep elsewhere, far from the gaiety. And the other man never did walk near enough to truly join them.
As Thomas finished his story of Laurel, he then offered to speak of the many fleeting loves he had before her. The stories went on for some time, until finally even Thomas could no longer keep his eyes open.
He bowed dramatically and circled the fire to take her hand, pressing a kiss to the back. "A better audience I could not have asked for," he told her affectionately.
She smiled up at him. "You flatter me, Sir Thomas. I have not laughed so much in some time."
"It is I who is flattered." He released her hand and, glancing briefly at the Hood, told her, "I bid you adieu, my lady, with the hope that we might cross paths again soon." With a sweep of his arm then, he took his leave, finding elsewhere to sleep, which was, like all the rest, somewhere out of sight.
Felicity found herself alone with the Hood once more and turned to watch him watching the fire; from what little she could see of his face, he looked deep in contemplation.
Standing, she moved to join him on his log. "Are you not tired?"
He did not answer right away, his mouth set in a frown. "Do you often return to the woods?"
She turned her eyes up thoughtfully. "Nay. I have asked my guard to take me, but he does not like the forest. John prefers to see his enemy, and the trees offer too much coverage."
"A smart man."
"He is," she agreed, smiling brightly. "I admit, had John been with me, I would not have happened upon your camp… You were right, a smart guard would not have allowed me out of sight. I slipped away when John was busy elsewhere in the castle. There are passageways, you see, for easy escape should there be an attack on the castle… I fear I was not thinking clearly, I needed only to be free of the castle and the demands made of me. Before I could think better of it, I was too deep in the woods, and that is how I found myself here."
He hummed. "A lucky happenstance."
"Was it?"
"Had you not found us, you might have been hurt. The woods are full of dangers; men and animal alike."
"Then I should be happy that I found you, should I not?"
He shook his head. "Your guard would not think so."
"John is a forgiving man. He is kind and thoughtful. He would thank you for offering me safety from the woods."
He smiled faintly. "If he is as smart as you say, he would not thank me… He would tell me to keep my distance and wish you upon someone else."
"John would not wish me upon anyone. He has said more than once that I am more burden than blessing." Her lips twitched with affectionate amusement. "In his defense, I have not made his duties easy."
"Did you often slip away from the castle as a child?"
She hummed, shaking her head. "I was not the child my parents wished for… I did not take to my duties with relish as they wanted. I speak when I should hold my tongue, laugh when silence is deserved, and I fear I will never stitch as well as a lady should. When other ladies were eager to please, I was eager to play, to explore, and could not understand why it was frowned upon." She rested her elbows in her lap and her chin in the palms of her hands. "My mother often lamented that I would never be the princess she wanted of me, and I cried often on John's shoulders, taking comfort from him when he was unsure how to offer it. He was a stoic man, keen to quiet, while I was loud, and far too emotional for his liking."
"He was a friend to you."
She offered a dazzling smile. "The very best."
"Perhaps he is as honored to be your friend as you are to be his."
She laughed lightly, covering her lips with her fingers when she worried the sound might bother the others. "Were that true, John would be the last to admit it." Her smile softened then. "You rather remind me of him."
"Do I?"
She nodded. "You have moments where you are as stoic, perhaps even more than him."
His brows raised slightly, and she saw it for the surprise it was.
"I do enjoy it when you laugh… but laughter is only beautiful when it is genuine."
He nodded slowly. "It has been a long time since I have laughed sincerely."
Tipping her head, she peered at him. "You need more beauty in your life then, Hood."
He turned to her, his eyes washing over her face like a man starved for water. "Any more and I fear I will not survive."
She hiccupped on a laugh, a flush filling her cheeks. "Charm comes easy to you."
"Easier with you." He stared at her a long moment and then turned his gaze away to the fire. "If I am to return you early, you should rest."
"Is the hour so late?"
"Later than respectable."
Scoffing, she said airily, "I have spent much of my day with the Hood and his band of merry men, I am not sure respectable is how I would be described this night."
"There is still time to become less respectable…" he said, his voice a deep, suggestive drawl.
She shivered at the innuendo that made her stomach tighten. Heat flared over her skin, and it had nothing to do with the fire in front of her. She had heard the chambermaids speak of this – desire, lust – how consuming it could be. How it could empty one's mind until all that was left was need. She had scoffed at the mere idea once upon a time. An empty mind was not something Felicity had ever endured and surely, not for any man, would she want to. But this did not feel like losing control of herself, it felt like taking control. And she liked it. She longed for it in a way she did not quite understand.
The Hood stared at her lips as he added, "But I fear your John would have my head for it."
"What's in a head?" she murmured.
He raised his eyes, his own dark with a promise that made her swallow tightly.
"Lofty dreams I dare not hope for." His gaze returned to her lips. "What's in a head indeed," he said before he leaned forward, mouth slanting over hers, deep and warm.
She let out a tiny breath of surprise, her lips parted and the sweeping of his tongue followed, dragging over her own. She felt heat spread through her, fanning over her skin. She mimicked the lovely things he was doing with his tongue and teeth and lips. Her hands slipped beneath the cover of his hood and found his neck, fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck. He smelled of pine trees and leather; she breathed in deep, trying to memorize the scent for later musing. One of his hands cupped her cheek, callused fingertips dragging over her skin before his fingers buried in her long hair, tangling there. An arm banded around her waist and pulled her closer, until she was seated in his lap and pressed flat against his hard frame, and what a decadent feeling that was. He was all hard planes, muscle and strength that she had always scoffed at before. Brains more than brawn, she had always thought. But what a wonder the both of them were together.
He was sipping at her lips, drinking her bottom lip, suckling it, tugging with his teeth, and she never wanted it to stop. She could feel his whiskers scraping over her chin and cheeks and she scrubbed her fingers through them, feeling him shiver, a deep growl leaving him before he nipped at the edges of her lips. And then his mouth was buried at her neck, his whiskered cheeks dragging against her shoulder, his kisses slipping under the fabric of her dress to untouched skin. She felt dizzy, her head falling back as she focused completely on his mouth and how it was mapping out the curve of her neck. She wanted more; oh, so much more.
He pulled back abruptly and she went still, confused, wondering if she had done something wrong.
But then she heard it; shouting in the distance, numerous voices.
Her heart was hammering for a completely different reason then. The guards. John must have sent out a party to search for her. He would not have stopped until he found her, regardless of the late hour and abysmal light to guide him.
The Hood stood, maneuvering her behind him as he reached for the bow on his back, ready and willing to fight.
Felicity stilled him, her hand on his arm. "If they reach your camp, they will kill your men."
He frowned. "My men are far more skilled than you give credit."
"John will have more guards than your men can fight." She shook her head. "I will not have them fall to a sword because of a whimsical princess's dreams…"
"What is so whimsical about wanting freedom?" He gripped her then, taking her hips and pulling her closer. "You wanted this, did you not?"
Her hands fell, braced on his forearms. "More than freedom, I want to know you and your men did not suffer for my folly." Tears bit at her eyes but she blinked them back. "It was a pleasure, spending my night with you. Were it possible, I would spend many more in your company. But to do so would be as sure as asking my father to have your head."
He ground his teeth, his brow furrowed tightly. "What's in a head?"
She let out a soft laugh and reached up, cupping his face, the bristles of his whiskers tickling her palms. His eyes fell closed as he pressed closer, resting in her hands.
"In yours, I fear more than most would think." Lifting to the tips of her toes, she kissed his lips one last time, lingering for a moment, but fell back to her heels when she wanted more. "Thank you, Hood. If this was my only taste of freedom, it was the sweetest I could ask for."
His hand found the nape of her neck and drew her forward, his lips finding and pressing to her forehead. "Oliver," he said quietly. "My name is Oliver."
Her eyes fell shut on the warm tears that filled them. "I like that a great deal better." Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from him, her hands steady on his firm chest. She turned on her heel and hurried toward the woods with all the strength she had in her. She ran as fast as she could, feeling her dress tear on reaching, coiled branches. She nearly tripped a time or two, but kept on steadily, trying to get as far away from Oliver's camp as she could. Until finally she heard the neighing of horses and she smiled sadly.
"John!" she cried.
"Felicity!" a frantic shout replied.
She hurried up, until finally she found a collection of horses and men, neither of which she recognized in the darkness around her. But then arms were banding around her, familiar in their bulky strength.
"Felicity Smoak," his deep voice admonished. "Are you so keen to have me hung, girl?"
She laughed tearfully and hugged him close. "John Diggle, you are my only friend in the court; I would sooner hang myself."
"Do not jest." He gave her a shake and stepped back, his hands heavy on her shoulders. "What brought you so deep into the woods? I thought for sure we would never find you."
She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head, her tears escaping down her cheeks. "I am so sorry." She sniffled. "Please, I…" Her chest rattled with the force of her sadness. "Please forgive me."
He sighed, long and heavy, and pulled her close. "You know how I loathe your tears…" He patted her back heavily. "Come, you will welcome the warmth of the castle, I am sure."
She squeezed her eyes shut, biting back the honest reply that the castle's warmth was not what she wanted, but that of a man in green leather with as lofty dreams as she.
John helped her onto his horse and wrapped her in a blanket he had brought with him. She hugged it tight to her chest and leaned back, her head falling against his shoulder as they made a steady pace back to the castle. She fell asleep there, staring off into the trees, wondering if he was out there, if he was watching, if she would ever see him again.
Oliver.
She would speak his name in her sleep with all the familiarity of a lover.