Laura Strickland - The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy

by Champion of Sherwood

  “I know how closely bound the three of you are. It is a hard thing to bear. But I cannot believe Lark could ever turn her heart completely against you. As for Falcon—”

  “He is lost. Do not say ’tis not so. Do not lie to me.”

  “Listen, Linnet. I have spoken with your grandfather, even as you have with your grandmother. He gave me reason to hope. I told him my heart is yours, and because that is so, my loyalty belongs to Sherwood. There may yet be a way to help Falcon.”

  “How?” She stared at him. “Can you persuade the Sheriff to release him?”

  “That I do doubt. But soon the King comes to attend a tournament at Nottingham, and my uncle is desperate to recover the stolen taxes before then. Do you have any idea what happened to the two casques seized along with me? Returning them may be the only way to save Falcon’s life.”

  “Two? I saw but one that day.” Linnet shook her head. “And the coin will be long gone, distributed among those in need.”

  “Are you sure? There was a large box and a smaller one filled with not coin but jewels. If you can recover even part of that, it might go far to ransom Falcon.”

  Linnet thought hard. Martin had been in charge of the only casket she had seen, back in Oakham. What would have happened to it after his death? “Are you certain there were two?”

  “Aye, and I should be, since I was in charge of guarding them, along with the King’s tax collector, a thing my uncle never leaves off throwing in my face. The smaller was in the keeping of the King’s man. I cannot imagine his attackers would have missed taking it from him after he fell.”

  “I saw only the casket filled with coin, all small pieces. I do not recall seeing another. Might it have been hidden, and lost when Oakham burned?”

  “Gold and jewels do not burn, my love. Who would know?”

  Linnet thought hard on it. “Martin did not share control, or knowledge, easily.” Her heart sank. “The most likely person to know would be Falcon.”

  When Gareth said nothing, she prompted, “That is not good news, is it?”

  “I fear not.”

  “They will question Fal at Nottingham, will they not? Torture him… Oh, Fal!” Her cry of grief pierced the darkness. “He is strong, but not as his father was. I know him; I have always known him. He has long tried to follow Martin’s ways, as he believes he must, but inside him there lies a great compassion, a softness. I do not know how he will endure.”

  Again, Gareth remained silent.

  “If he does not come back from Nottingham, all is lost. There is no one else to hold his place in the triad. And Lark will never forgive me.”

  “I have told you: she cannot possibly turn her heart against you.”

  “Ah, but you do not know her. Lark hates as strongly as she loves, and she loves Fal as much as I love you.”

  She felt Gareth’s emotions come rushing in response to her emotions, a vast well of tenderness founded in determination like bedrock. If others could only feel this in him, she thought, they would never doubt his loyalty. Only she heard, along with Sherwood, and that must be enough.

  “I swear to you, Linnet, I will do all I can to save him.”

  “I know you will. But how?”

  “As I say, there is to be a grand display at arms whilst the King is at Nottingham. If I make Falcon part of it, he might then fight for his life.”

  The breath caught in Linnet’s throat. “Fight—against whom?”

  Gareth ignored the question. “He is a good man with the sword. I discovered that much in the clearing near Ravenshead.”

  “Aye. Martin trained him well, and Martin had his skill from his own father, Will Scarlet, who was once a soldier. But Falcon lacks their instinct to kill.”

  Irony filled Gareth’s voice in the darkness. “In this instance, he may well wish to kill his opponent.”

  Fear gripped Linnet’s heart so it fluttered like a bird in a clenched fist. “And who will that be? Whom will he need to face?” she asked once more, though she already knew.

  “Me.” The word came low and steady, but Linnet could feel his emotions behind it: doubt and determination she could barely comprehend.

  “No,” she breathed.

  “Aye, love, if I can only arrange for it.” The darkness was now almost complete, but she felt his lips brush hers, like the fleeting touch of butterfly wings. Her whole body responded to that touch, leaped toward him in love and desire.

  “You see, I must be his opponent, for only that way can I assure his opponent does lose.”

  “No.” She protested it again as a wall of pain crashed upon her, and she distinctly felt her heart tear in two. She loved Falcon and had been raised in the belief that he was vital to everything she would ever hold dear. Without him, the future was lost, along with Sherwood’s precious magic.

  But this man who now cradled her so gently between his hands was precious to her also, as dear as her own breath, and the one desire of her heart.

  She whispered—or did she only speak in her mind?—I cannot let you. I cannot hope to go on living without you. If you must fight him, can you not just allow him victory? Must it be a fight to the death?

  Be sure I will try. But ’twill be an open arena and before hundreds of eyes. It must be convincing, and the man already wants my blood.

  Ah, no! Linnet cried again, broken.

  And he told her, Sacrifices must be made. Have we not both been so bidden? I am willing, for your sake. He bent his head in a beautiful gesture of devotion and bowed to her as a knight might bow to his liege, with total, humble grace. Once more she felt the fullness of his love surge upon her, unstinting.

  Linnet, I go to do this thing with a whole heart, as your champion.

  Linnet, caught and helpless, made him the only answer she could; it came in the form of a kiss, one salted by her tears. They clung together, held fast in the spell of Sherwood’s darkness, and their emotions twined and tangled so her fear became his, exchanged for his determination.

  When he had kissed her lips, her eyes, and every bruise that mottled her face, he spoke again into her mind. My love, you will need to be there.

  What? Her terror, only partially soothed by his touch, spiked again. To know he went and did this on her behalf was one thing. To be forced to stand and watch it—quite another.

  Relentless, he said, You need to go to Nottingham with a band of your people to demand justice of the King—should I fall and my uncle fail to keep his word.

  Could she entertain such a possibility, even in her mind? Might imagining it make it so?

  Courage, love. I can win for him his chance; I can even tip the scales for him. But it may be up to you to ensure he receives his reward.

  Courage, he bade her, when she knew very well she held the better part of that between her hands. All brightness and valor was the spirit of Gareth de Vavasour. And to be worthy of him she must try to be as strong as he.

  She nodded in the darkness even as she reached for him with her mind, with her hands, and with her heart.

  You win him free, she whispered, and I will get him free, for Sherwood.

  For Sherwood, he returned.

  But first, my love—she ran her hands over his shoulders, against the warm skin of his throat and inside his tunic, desperately craving the taste and feel of him, desiring the comfort and completeness of him inside her—I would ask one thing for me, just for me.

  And he replied, as he laid her down in Sherwood’s holy darkness, That I am most glad to give.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “And where have you been? Out running wild in the forest, by the look of you,” Lark said sharply, “even while Fal languishes in a dungeon at Nottingham.”

  “Since when have you ever found fault with running wild in Sherwood?” Linnet tried desperately to control her emotions and disregard all the hurt burgeoning inside her. She could feel Lark’s pain, the ache of loss that possessed her at Falcon’s absence. Lark’s terror for him rendered her very nearly helpl
ess.

  And Linnet understood that terror full well: she had just sent the man she loved away, possibly to sacrifice himself. In truth, she could not see a way forward from the tangle in which they were caught. If the promised combat took place, Falcon might not return and the future would be lost. Or Gareth de Vavasour might not survive and Linnet’s own future would be too bleak and terrible to contemplate.

  She had felt his intent when they parted. He fully meant to lose on purpose if he must—for her and for Sherwood.

  She glared at her sister now, both sympathetic and impatient with Lark’s habitual truculence.

  “Are you willing to put aside your anger with me, Lark, and work for Falcon’s sake?”

  Lark looked up from beside the hearth place of what had once been Linnet’s own cottage, where she had found her. Oh, Linnet thought, what had become of her orderly life, when the worst thing about which she had needed to worry was Lark and Fal spoiling a morning’s work? Now morning came again, and the pure light poured through the trees with the same beautiful promise, but all had changed: Martin dead, her parents gone, Falcon’s life forfeit, and her sister, closest in the world to her, glaring as at a stranger.

  And Gareth—her heart convulsed at the thought of him. Aye, but she must be strong, as strong as he.

  “I will do anything to save Fal,” Lark declared. “Anything. But what is to be done?”

  “In two days there will be held a tournament at Nottingham. We must be there and we must take whatever we can gather up of the taxes stolen at Midsummer, to return them to the King.”

  Lark came to her feet slowly, as if drawn by strings. “How do you know of this?”

  “Does it matter? During the tournament, Falcon may be given an opportunity to win his way free. But the Sheriff will not be appeased unless we can first offer some reparation—”

  “Slut!” The word hissed from between Lark’s lips. “You have been with him, have you not? Lain with him again. No need to lie about it—I can virtually smell him upon you, the reek of Norman swine.”

  “I met Gareth in Sherwood, aye.” Why deny it now? Linnet knew Lark could feel the truth. “But only so we might make a plan to help Fal.”

  Lark trembled where she stood, her gaze an accusation. “Why would Gareth de Vavasour choose to help Falcon Scarlet? They are enemies born.”

  “Gareth acts for my sake.” Tears came to Linnet’s eyes. “And for Sherwood.”

  “For Sherwood, a Norman champion?” Lark scoffed. “Words he gave you, no doubt, to get you on your back.” She swept her sister with a punishing glare. “And it worked, did it not? His handprints are all over you.”

  Linnet lifted her head high. She still tingled from Gareth’s touch, and the warmth of him lingered inside her like a treasure, one she might never again possess. Their farewell had been desperate and hard; he had taken the better part of her heart with him to Nottingham. But what remained belonged to Falcon, and to Sherwood.

  “Do you want to punish me, Lark, or do you want to help Fal?”

  Unexpected tears flooded Lark’s eyes. Her emotions assailed Linnet in a wave of anger combined with grief so deep it burned. “I wish for both! That any sister of mine could betray us this way—a child of Sherwood, granddaughter of Robin... You spoke to that Norman bastard in your mind. You told him how he might capture Fal. Now you act for him once again in an effort to reclaim the King’s blood money.”

  “Lark, listen to me.” Linnet seized her sister’s wrists and received another jolt of feeling as a consequence, an increased sense of Lark’s pain. “This is Falcon’s only chance. Think not of your anger but of him.”

  “Think of him?” Lark howled. “I can think of naught else. I can feel him, Linnet! I can sense his hurt and despair as if they were my own.”

  “Good. That means he is still alive. In order to save him, you must trust me.” She gazed full into her sister’s face. “Not Gareth de Vavasour. Me.”

  Lark shivered and shuddered. Anchored by Linnet’s hands, she stood fighting an inner battle, its intensity visible in her eyes.

  “Lark, Sister, we are lost without Fal. But you are also lost without me, and I without you. It needs the three of us, all three. Go to the forest and pray on it. Let Sherwood speak to your heart.”

  Lark blinked at her and then gave a hard nod.

  “Only, go swiftly,” Linnet bade, “and do not be gone too long. Falcon awaits us.”

  ****

  “Awake, my son.”

  Gareth opened his eyes to a dazzle of brightness. The chamber his uncle’s seneschal had assigned him faced east, and the new morning sun came in the window and found him where he lay. Pure white, it appeared to him as he lay just called from sleep, and blinding.

  Who had spoken to him? He had dreamed of Linnet, but this did not sound like her voice. Yet it was as familiar to him, over the distance of memory.

  The brightness shifted, gathered, and took form. A woman stood at the foot of his bed, smiling.

  And, oh, he remembered that smile. Every day of his youth it had been gifted to him, the highest reward he could hope to win. It held a measure of magic and beauty so true it even now twisted his heart in his chest.

  “Mother?” He sat up, scrambling among his blankets. Ah, but she was wonderful to look upon! Clad in what he now remembered as her favorite gown of spring green, she looked slender as a willow, and her fair hair—golden, with a touch of red—spilled down her back. And her eyes—as a child, Gareth had believed heaven lay in her eyes, and all the love available to him in the world.

  But they had laid her in her grave. His heart clenched again. Her presence here could not be real, much as he longed for it.

  She shifted, came forward, and sat on the foot of his bed. Her smile deepened. “Look at you. All grown, and so handsome.”

  He lifted a hand to the scar that now marred his face. “Nay.”

  “I speak not of your appearance, my son, although that mark takes nothing from you. I speak of the man within. I am so very proud of you.”

  Hot tears flooded Gareth’s eyes. How long had he waited to hear those words? Like a child, he answered, “I have tried, Mother. I remembered all you taught me.”

  “I know. I have often been with you, though you did not see.” She shook her head and the morning light shed from her hair in radiant sparks. “That you could have come through your father’s hands, survived, and kept your heart pure amazes me.”

  Gareth’s thoughts leaped. He had not forgotten what morning this was. Today he would fight a contest for Falcon’s life, and his own. Was that why she came, to warn him? Did she come because this day he must die?

  Much as he wanted that answer, he dared not chase her with a question and end this moment. Almost, he did not care—her presence proved enough.

  So he whispered, “You look well.” She did, especially since the last time he had seen her she had lain a broken creature, pale and wasted, most of her brightness flown. “You are happy?”

  Her smile deepened. “I am. Only look.” She lifted both her hands in a graceful gesture and cupped them together. They caught the sunlight and spilled brightness like water. She laughed. “Remember the magic about which I told you, and that I said was everywhere? I am filled with it now; I am made of it. There is, my son, nothing to fear in death.”

  Gareth swallowed hard. So, that was indeed why she had come. “Mother, am I to die today? If it is for her sake, I will not shy from it.”

  “Oh, what a son you are! You combine my love and your father’s courage.” Gareth’s heart protested, and she said swiftly, “Nay, do not deny it.”

  “I despise my father.”

  “Then you must despise a part of yourself, for he too contributed to what you are. Say what you will of him, he made you strong.” She tipped her head, considering him. “Are you strong enough to accomplish what you must, this day?”

  Gareth nodded soberly. “I live for her. Should I not die for her also?”

  “You will
do as you must. Follow your heart.”

  His eyes widened at the familiar words. She leaned forward and laid her hand against his face. He felt a tingle where she touched his skin. Now he could see her eyes, deep green like the light in Sherwood.

  “Therein, my son, lies your strength. It is a twisted, beautiful thing that in his cruelty your father gave you the iron to survive the poison he fed you and somehow keep the ability to love so strong.”

  “No mystery, Mother. You taught me. She taught me.”

  “Then bless her, and bless you also, Gareth. May the wind come and aid you when you need it, may the fire burn inside, may the purity of the water and the great strength of the earth flow through you. In the name of the Old Ones do I invoke all these for you.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” He closed his eyes with the strength of her blessing. Through his eyelids he saw the light shift and he knew she had gone, even though the memory of her touch lingered. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Here is your blood price, or most of it.” Angrily, Lark thumped the small, heavy casket down at Linnet’s feet. For the past two days, Linnet knew, Lark had searched for that chest, unstinting in her efforts.

  Now Linnet’s gaze flew to her sister’s. “How did you find it? Where?”

  “Does it matter?” Lark scowled. “Some of it is gone. Yet surely it will still buy Falcon’s life.”

  Linnet’s heart rose on a wave of hope, the first she had felt since parting from Gareth in the forest.

  “So,” Lark continued, “you may speak to your bastard lover in your mind and tell him you have what he seeks. It goes hard with me to turn over to you what might keep the wolves from so many doors this coming winter, but I would do far more for Fal’s sake. Anyway, I have prayed on it.”

  “And received an answer?”

  Lark’s golden eyes narrowed. “We are lost anyway, without Falcon. So those who dwell in Sherwood do say.”

  “We are three or we are nothing,” Linnet acknowledged. She, too, had done a lot of thinking these days just past. She knew she carried the future in the form of Gareth de Vavasour’s child. It was as if she could feel a measure of brightness tinged by magic just beneath her heart. Whether or not she bred the future, she knew she must accept the present in full. She had to step into her place in the new triad—nothing could be more important.