"What I have to tell you is hard to believe," Navarre said as they walked together down the narrow street that led from the tavern to the stable where their horses awaited. Their boots crunched on a light layer of snow that had fallen during their stay inside, and Navarre wondered suddenly if Kendra was warm enough in the tower. He shook the thought away.
"Whatever it is, I doubt I will be greatly shocked," said Garrick. "And I will believe you, because you have never lied to me, Navarre."
"And never will, I warrant," Navarre swore vehemently, then glanced up at his friend. "Then you do not believe the witch could be controlling what I say to you?"
Garrick shook his head. "Nay, a witch is not the Almighty. She can only do so much. Your thoughts are your own, it is another part of you that is under her spell, my friend." He laughed loudly at his joke and Navarre flushed. Even now, even as they walked and talked, in another part of his mind he was thinking of her, wanting her, burning for her.
"Aye," Navarre agreed. "Then here it is. The woman brought a weapon with her that can cause a fireball to burn through a man's armor." He paused and jerked his cloak aside, pushing his sleeve up to reveal the bandage on his upper arm. "She used it on me."
Garrick stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes focused on Navarre's arm. He slid the soft cloth of the wrapping upward and poked at the still healing wound.
"What did it feel like?" he said in amazement.
"Hurt like bloody hell," Navarre replied. "Felt like a hole was bored into my arm by something that pierced with the fury of a sword and burned like a red-hot poker."
"How far away was she from you?"
"A good bit—two furlongs perhaps."
"Could it have killed you, do you think?" Garrick ceased his explorations of the wound and shifted his gray gaze to the knight. Navarre pulled his sleeve back down and nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.
"Aye,'" he said softly. "It could."
Garrick's face split into a beatific smile. "Perhaps we should return to the inn and drink some more, for surely we now have much to celebrate."
"Richard?" Navarre asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
"Richard, indeed." Garrick rubbed his hands together and blew on them. "An assassin could use this weapon to kill King Richard from a distance, making his escape an easy matter.
"Aye," Navarre said, pushing away the prickling of conscience that he still dealt with from time to time. It was one thing to kill on a battlefield, quite another to contemplate coldblooded murder.
"There's just one more little matter I believe we should settle, ere the night is over," Garrick said softly, taking a pair of leather gloves from his pocket and pulling them on.
"What matter?"
"The matter of the witch, of course, for indeed, I, too, believe her to be a sorceress." Garrick tugged at one earlobe, as though the realization distressed him. "The fact that the wench has such power over your emotions is proof enough for me. Unless, of course, you happen to be in love with her?"
"In love with her?" Navarre laughed sharply. "Are you mad?"
Garrick shrugged and pulled his cloak more tightly about him. "Look at your irrational attachment to Talam in Outremer," he said, gesturing with one hand. "I never really understood that, my friend. An infidel, little more than a whore and yet—"
Without warning, Navarre seized the sheriff by the back of the neck and slammed him up against a nearby building. The knight towered over Garrick by a head, but the man did not seem in the least rattled by his friend's sudden behavior.
"Did the witch tell you to kill me, my friend?" he asked, his voice hushed with concern. "Is that the reason for these strange, unprovoked attacks of late?"
Navarre immediately released him, stepping back, arms spread wide as he cursed himself and Kendra broadly under his breath. He turned away, running one hand through his hair, Garrick's words crashing through his mind.
"You said she could not control my mind," he reminded him, his breath coming hard.
"But she controls your emotions and that, my friend, can be much worse." Garrick cocked one brow at him. "Have you bedded her or no? For that is the way that a witch can place a man under her power, you know. She binds his body to her first, then his emotions. And if given enough time, I daresay perhaps your mind might be forfeit as well."
Navarre closed his eyes. Could it be true? Could this new, unreasonable fury he felt with Garrick be the woman's doing? But how? She had given him no orders, said no words concerning the sheriff.
That you understood, anyway.
Navarre felt the fear grip him by the throat. The woman had often spoken in a nonsensical manner as they traveled to Nottingham. He had tried hard to ignore her blathering. Could he have missed something? Or was she, even this very moment, chanting a spell, that because of his indiscretion with her in the crag and again in the bath, gave her power over him? It chilled him, the thought that someone could control him, control his actions. It must stop. It must stop now.
"Your pardon." Navarre turned back to face the sheriff. "I believe you are right The woman has ensorcelled me. I suppose there is little question what must be done."
"Find out how to use the weapon, and then she must be killed," Garrick said, "but not by fire."
"No? But—"
"You must kill her with your own hands." Navarre shot him a startled look and Garrick rushed on. "Once you have been ensorcelled by a witch, there is only one way to break the evil bond—by taking her life yourself. You must take a dagger newly honed in the fire, no more than a day, and plunge it into the witch's heart." Garrick's hand came down on Navarre's shoulder as the man continued to stare at him, stunned. "Heed me," he said, his words hushed, "I am well versed in the ways of black magic. 'Twas often used in my father's house after I came to bide there as a child."
"What?" Navarre turned to his friend, unable to hide the horror that swept over him at the sheriffs words.
Garrick nodded, his gray eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Navarre shivered, once again finding the sight of his friend's silver-blond hair blowing in the night breeze, his silver eyes glazed with memory, vastly disturbing.
"Aye, my father's wife was a witch," Garrick said, turning and walking toward the stable again. Navarre hurried to match his strides. "It was a closely guarded secret but one my father was privy to and later, I as well. Shall we say that my stepmother enjoyed small children—enjoyed making them suffer, that is. She would often try her latest spells and incantations on me or the servants' children, as well as other, more earthly experiments." Navarre closed his eyes against the hollow sound of his voice and the mental picture of small children at the mercy of a wicked, demented woman.
"You never told me this." Navarre choked out, too furious to say more.
"It was before I knew you. and later, I feared your reaction." Garrick's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "It would seem my fears were not unfounded. Am I now less in your eyes, old friend—again?"
"Of course not!" Navarre stopped abruptly, laying one hand on the sheriff's shoulder. "We have always been brothers, Garrick, not by blood but by common bond. Nothing can change this. I swear it!"
"Nothing?"
Garrick's question was softly spoken and Navarre met his questioning gaze with his own resolute one.
"Nothing," he swore.
"Take this then." From beneath his cloak Garrick drew out a long object. He held it out to Navarre.
"A dagger? But I have my own."
" 'Tis newly honed just today," the sheriff said. "Take it." Navarre complied and Garrick smiled, clapping him on the back. "Go home, my friend, and sleep. Tomorrow will be soon enough."
Navarre drew the dagger from its sheath. It caught the silver shimmer of the moonlight and as the light danced across the long, sharp blade the knight swallowed hard, his throat tight with an emotion he could not define.
"Tomorrow," he whispered.
"Quickly!"
Marian held the candle higher and motioned for Kendra to follo
w her down the steep stairway. Marian had become nervous and fretful once they discovered the tower guards had disappeared. Kendra had reasoned that perhaps they were just sleeping on the job, holed up somewhere instead of doing their duty, but Marian had stared at her as if she had lost her mind.
"No soldier in Nottingham sleeps on duty," she whispered, "for fear the sheriff will have him drawn and quartered."
Kendra decided not to pursue the subject but suggested they use the situation to their advantage. Marian had agreed and led Kendra down the tower steps.
"I don't get it," Kendra said as they stopped at the bottom, Marian in front with the candle. "Why would Navarre and the sheriff leave the castle so unprotected—and at night? This is very—"
The rest of Kendra's sentence was lost as something grabbed her from behind. Her breath left her suddenly and before she could scream, a hand clamped down roughly over her mouth. Marian stood a few feet away, likewise held by a shadowy figure, the candle lying extinguished at her feet. Knowing it was up to her to save them, Kendra began to struggle, kicking backward, trying desperately to bite her abductor, but his hands were like iron, his grip unbreakable.
All at once Kendra remembered the last self-defense class she'd taken a few months before leaving for England. Without hesitation she sagged, letting her entire body weight go limp in the arms of the man who held her. The suddenness of her action, coupled with the dead weight, broke his hold. Kendra jerked away and scrambled to her feet, only to collide with another shadowy body who sent her tumbling headfirst into the dirt.
The blow wasn't serious but it stunned her momentarily, and before she could regain her equilibrium Kendra found herself flat on her back, straddled by one of their assailants. Someone else came rushing up in the darkness with a candle, and a flame danced suddenly above her chest as the man sitting on top of her brought his face down to meet hers. Her vision cleared in time to look up into an attractive face, at least what she could see beneath the brown hood that half-hid his features.
"You are the one sent for Richard, are you not?" the man said, his lips scant inches from her own. "Answer me quickly if you value your life."
Kendra opened her mouth, shut it again, took a chance, and nodded. The man smiled and she stared up at him in amazement. His smile lit up his face, and now she could see his eyes fairly danced with life and intelligence. Who was this man?
"Excellent," he said, standing up and bending down to reach for her hand. "You must come with me, quickly, before we are discovered." He pulled Kendra to her feet, then swept her up easily into his arms.
"Wait a minute!" she cried finding her voice at last She kicked out with both feet, thrashing about in his arms. "Who are you and what do you want with me?"
"We have no time for explanations, my lady," he said, grunting as he struggled to hold on to her. "You must come with me."
"I'm going nowhere until I know who you are and where we're going!" Kendra said fervently.
With an oath, the man dropped her in the dirt. Kendra grunted as her backside struck the ground, then stumbled to her feet and turned to confront the man.
"How dare you accost us in this manner!"
The man bowed, his hood falling back, momentarily displaying a rich chestnut brown mane of hair cropped just below his ears. He jerked it back into place. "I beg pardon, my lady. In what manner would you rather be accosted?"
Kendra couldn't resist the quip nor the good-natured sound of his voice, and her own lips curved up in amusement. "Who are you?" she repeated.
The man motioned to the candle-bearer and the flame danced nearer once again as her attacker lifted one hand, hesitated, then pulled the hood back from his face. It dropped to his shoulders and the light of the candle illuminated his face. Kendra realized with a start that her first appraisal of his good looks had been less than accurate. He wasn't just attractive, he was absolutely gorgeous.
Eyes a deep sea-blue gazed back at her. openly appraising her features, apparently liking what he saw. His thick, brown hair was cropped an inch below his ears, making his face, with its high cheekbones, appear even more sculptured, more aristocratic. His full, sensuous lips were accented by a well-groomed goatee and his aquiline nose gave him such a regal air that for a moment Kendra wondered if perhaps Richard the Lionheart were not attempting to sneak back into his castle to foil Navarre and his friends. From behind her came the sound of a quick intake of breath, and Kendra turned to see Marian staring at the man in wonder.
"It is you," she whispered. '"I wasn't sure—the darkness—but it is you."
"Who?" Kendra said, wondering if her intuition was correct and she stood before the King of England. "Who are you?"
The man swept her a low bow. "I am but milady's humble servant," he said, then straightened and tossed her a rakish grin. "Once I was called Robert of Locksley, but now I am known as—"
"Robin Hood," Kendra whispered.
His smile widened. "The very same. At your service, milady," he said moving to lift her hand to his lips. "And you are?"
"Kendra," she said, staring into his face, shocked at the reality of meeting a legend. For some reason meeting him eclipsed her encounter with "Prince" John or the Sheriff of Nottingham. Could it have something to do with his dashing, charismatic personality?
"My name is Kendra O'Brien."
"Irish. I am quite a fan of the Irish, though I must admit you are not at all what I expected. Forgive me for the impropriety of our introduction, but as you can see I am in somewhat of a hurry. We must leave before the guards are missed."
"Robin? Do you not remember me?" Marian's voice echoed plaintively from behind.
Kendra's estimation of the legendary hero rose as he turned, hesitated, then with a smile, hurried to Marian's side.
"Marian, dear Marian, please forgive me. I did not realize it was you. I thought you to be a serving girl—" He stopped, no doubt realizing how poorly that sounded. "That is to say, when I last saw you, you were but a child. Now you have grown into a beautiful young woman." He kissed her hand and Kendra could almost see the girl's heart fluttering through her tunic.
"Now, we must away," Robin said. "I am sorry I am no longer welcome in your home, Marian. I would dearly love to speak with you. However…"
"Take me with you!" Marian said, her face radiant in the glow of the candlelight. "Oh, you must, Robin, for if you leave me here the sheriff will surely shut me into the tower for helping Kendra escape."
"Ah, so you were helping her." His smile was approving and Marian blushed gracefully. "Do not fear, my lady. He will not know you had any part of it if you return to your room. There is no need for you to journey with us."
"Robin." Marian moved to his side and Kendra watched in amazement as the shy little church mouse changed before her eyes into a bold little fox. She lay one hand on the outlaw's arm and gazed up into his eyes beseechingly. "I did not wish to reveal something so unseemly to you after so shortly renewing our acquaintance, however, I feel that I must" She lowered her gaze and her newly darkened lashes brushed her cheeks demurely.
"What is it, my child? But please do hurry in the telling." Robin glanced into the darkness and motioned to the large man holding the candle. He handed Robin the taper and slipped around the side of the tower.
"It is John," Marian said, twisting her hands together nervously. "He has been saying things to me lately that frighten me. He has told me that he wants me. He says in time, he will have me." Her lower lip trembled slightly. "In faith, Robin, I do fear for my virtue."
Robin's brows collided above stormy eyes. "'He would not dare! He would not dare to touch Richard's ward!"
Her eyelashes swept upward, and round, light blue eyes gazed up at him. "He says that I am now his ward, along with everything else that belonged to Richard."
"Damn the man!" Robin struck his fist into the palm of his hand and whirled away from her, clasping his hands behind his back. "This is what we have to look forward to if John takes the throne!" He stopped h
is pacing and glanced back at the girl. "Surely, Navarre would not allow—"
"Navarre is not always in Nottingham, my lord."
"Aye, aye," he agreed, nodding. "And Navarre is not the man he once was, else he would not have taken the devil for his brother." He was silent for a moment, then nodded once, sharply. "Aye, you shall come with us."
"Robin, are you mad?" The large man he had sent presumably to scout ahead came striding up, his deep voice filled with disbelief. "You cannot abduct the king's ward!"
Robin grinned. "I am not abducting her. She has asked for my protection. As a knight of the realm, I am honor bound to give it."
"How do you know she speaks the truth about John?"
Robin dismissed the question with a wave of one hand. "She is the Lady Marian," he said, "that is enough for me."
Kendra shot Marian a questioning look across. Had John said such things to the girl or was it just a ploy to convince Robin to take her along? Marian met her gaze with unflinching resolve and Kendra shrugged, willing to give her new friend the benefit of the doubt. Besides, there was the slightly more important matter of finishing her escape to worry about.
"I hate to break up this little gabfest," Kendra said, "but didn't you say something about getting out of here before the guards are discovered?"
"My lady Kendra speaks rightly," Robin said. "Come, both of you, let us waste no more time, for surely if I am caught within the walls of Nottingham the sheriff will have my head."
Robin took her hand and to Kendra's surprise, tucked it into the crook of his arm and smiled down at her. She didn't miss the troubled look that suddenly crossed Marian's face as one of the other men offered his arm to her. Was this a trap? Could they really trust this outlaw?
"Where are we going?" Kendra demanded, snatching her hand away.
"Why, to Sherwood Forest, milady," Robin said, "where else?"
Chapter Nine
« ^ »
"Of all the incompetent, dull-witted—!"
The sheriff broke off his tirade and slammed himself back down on the rough-hewn bench. He leaned his forehead against one hand, his elbow propped on the table in front of him, long blond hair hiding the angry expression that had been there for the last half hour. Navarre de Galliard, peacekeeper, stood before Garrick Neushaw, hands clenched at his sides, his temper under a fragile control.
Tess Mallory - Circles in Time Page 15