GREENWOOD

by Sue Wilson

  "I must say, I've never seen the bay look better," the Sheriff said. "Your grooming has paid off, or is there some special ingredient you've added to his oats to make his coat so shiny? He's a fine warhorse and you've done well by him. No knight's squire could have done better." He ruffled the boy's hair, earning a worshipful look from clear gray eyes.

  "Mistress Aelredson helped, Sir, especially with Chimera." Simeon obviously felt charitable.

  "Mistress Aelredson...ah, yes." Nottingham turned on his heel and entered Chimera's stall, brushing past her. "Good morrow, Thea. On the loose again?"

  Somehow the Sheriff's query possessed none of the innocuous flavor of its separate words. Simeon called her "mistress" and it meant one thing. Nottingham's slight emphasis meant another. Thea felt its meaning course through her like warm mead, a slow, lazy heat that devoured her senses.

  "Mistress Aelredson came to put salve on my hand. See?" Simeon thrust out a grimy paw for proof. "She's been down here every day, rubbing it with some foul stuff, but 'tis fair healed now, is it not, my lady? Ned's too, 'though he grumbled far worse for having the Mistress fuss over him."

  "Yes, well, Ned was always a fool." The Sheriff rolled his tunic sleeves above his elbow, baring tanned forearms dusted with a scattering of fine, dark hair. He crouched down, made a soft clicking sound with his tongue, and captured Chimera's obediently raised hoof in one large hand.

  "Here." He motioned with long, blunted fingers for the hoof pick Thea still clutched. She dropped it into his open palm, content to stand back as Nottingham dispatched the task with easy expertise.

  He is different yet again, she thought as she watched the tender display of affection the Sheriff so unselfconsciously lavished upon his animal.

  Gone was his customary black silk with its intricate embroidery and metalwork. In its place, he wore a russet wool jerkin atop a creamy tunic of sun-bleached linen, both open to the waist where they were belted with a full hand's width of finely tooled leather. His breeches were simple hunter's leggings, and his dark hair was gathered at the nape with a leather thong.

  The change was as startling as Nottingham's earlier transformation from sinner to purported saint-and no more genuine, Thea wagered. Yet she could hardly remain unaffected by a man who looked as if he had stepped from Sherwood's green depths as easily as the outlaws he pursued.

  When he stood, towering well above her, she could only think how it suited him-daylight; the faint scent of hay and saddle leather obscuring Saracen oils; the glint of sun rainbowing off ebony hair; the natural, relaxed air he'd assumed instead of Norman arrogance. She swallowed hard, steeling herself as warm languor poured through her veins and resistance bled out.

  "Where are you bound today, my lord?" she asked with as much disinterest as her thudding heart would allow.

  "A secret. I'm escaping."

  "My lord?"

  "Chimera needs to be ridden and I need to avoid my scribe and another of his ponderous lectures on the inadequacies of my treasury."

  "Is that wise?"

  "No, in truth it is not. The little, beetle-browed twit dares overmuch of late, but he seems to be the only one with the capacity for figures to tell me how truly impoverished my ledgers say we are."

  "I meant your riding out for no cause."

  "But there is cause, as I just explained. The cause is pleasure. Pleasure, Thea. Or have you become such a dutiful surgeon that you've laid aside such nonsense?"

  "But certainly you're not going out alone!"

  "I am."

  "Without an escort? Without a guard?"

  "That, my dear, is the only way to escape properly."

  "But are you not afraid?"

  "The Sheriff of Nottingham is not afraid of going about in his own shire, woman."

  Simeon, the child conspirator, piped up, adding his own indignation. "The Sheriff of Nottingham is not afraid of anything. There's not an arrow can harm him, Mistress, or Chimera either."

  "I beg to differ," Thea said under her breath. "Really, my lord, you mustn't fill the child's head with such tripe."

  "Are you afraid, Thea? Afraid I might get picked off by one of your bandit friends, perhaps?" His voice was threaded with silk, lending a smooth oil of suspicion to his statement.

  She answered with simple fact. "Sherwood is not the safest place in which to ride, my lord."

  "The true testimony of one who knows." He fit bit and bridle to his mount, then turned to her. "Or is that a touch of envy I hear in your voice, disguised as care? Have you not abandoned that single-minded longing to return to the wood which you demonstrated with such regular tedium when you first arrived?"

  Anger drew her hands into fists at her side. "Sherwood is my home. I will never stop wanting to go back."

  "Alas, a mortal wound to my hopes. And after all I have done to make Nottingham Castle a pleasant retreat for you."

  "If you mean the recent efforts toward civilization, you needn't have bothered. They, like you, Sir, are a sham, as ill-fitting the castle as your own pretense of civility is to you. By the way, you must get rid of that minstrel. Another eve of his off-key warbling-" She stopped herself in mid-sentence. "I didn't mean that literally, of course."

  Laughter rang through the stable. "Ah, Thea, you delight me! At least absence from Sherwood has not withered your wit."

  Her gaze fluttered away from his.

  "Do you miss it that much?" Fingers touched under her chin, lifted her face to his.

  His kindness cut through when nothing else did. She paused, considering the change in his tone and the trickery it surely hid. "There was a place in the wood," she said, "a hidden pool where I would go after a day's gathering. I have dreamed of it often. It was restful, quiet. No sound save the music of the forest-"

  She stopped. What weakness made her spill such a secret part of herself? Already she regretted her words, for they conjured up a memory clear and strong. Suddenly she longed for the wood more than she could say, more than he deserved to hear. Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring his face and the confusing compassion there. She jerked away and turned her back to him.

  "You know nothing of me, Sheriff," she began again, more harshly. "You came and took me away from my cottage and brought me here, and ever since, you've been intent on making me into some castle creature more to your liking that a simple peasant. Sherwood was all that I knew. It was my life."

  The words spewed out of her until she bit her lip, forcing silence. He did not need to hear this, did not need to hear how victorious he had been, tearing her from the sod that was her life's blood.

  "I see," he said, and she realized from his voice and the warmth of his breath against her neck that he had drawn close. His arms slipped around her. "It is home you miss-something I cannot say I know. I had not thought it would matter so much."

  She shook her head, refusing the tenderness he offered, certain it was just another trap to make her long for something he would not let her have. The subtle cruelty of the man was unequaled.

  She sagged against the hardness of his chest; the strong circle of his arms felt nothing like the prison they were. They comforted, the sensation luring and bewitching because she knew the Sheriff possessed no such ability as a natural gift. She wondered why she did not strangle the sly, sympathetic words from his gullet.

  "Thea...Thea..."

  He turned her in his arms and her eyes closed. She did not want to hear more. Seeing any trace of warm-hearted feeling would be more than she could bear. And if he kissed her-oh, God, if he kissed her-

  The thought hung unfinished in the air. The Sheriff's arms trapped her low, at the knees, and Thea buckled and collapsed like a sack of grain onto his shoulder. Her breath deserted her in a single cry of surprise as he lifted and thrust her onto the destrier's back. Her fingers clawed the stallion's mane as she struggled to sit upright. Kirtle and shift and cloak bound her legs. Before she could free herself, he'd caught the mantle Simeon pitched in his direction and swung up into the saddle beh
ind her, reins in one sure hand, arm tightening around her midriff as he pulled her back into the cradle of his body.

  "Have you gone mad?" Her heart hammered against his arm. "What are you thinking? Damn you, Sheriff! Where are you taking me?"

  He shifted slightly behind her. The muscles in his thighs jumped against the backs of her legs as he set heels to the warhorse. As best she could, Thea tried to accommodate herself to Chimera's gait and the Sheriff's iron grip. They raced out the postern gate and headed across the open waves of hills and valleys before he answered.

  And by then there was no need for him to say. She knew full well where Nottingham was taking her.

  He was taking her home.

  ~*~

  Thea's heart leapt with unexpected joy as she looked overhead at the sky, pale, watery blue, laced with wispy clouds. She drew a deep breath, filling her lungs completely.

  At long last! To breathe air scented only with green meadows and turned earth! To feel the breeze caress her face and whip her skirts! She smiled and snuggled back into Nottingham's arms, not caring if he saw the gesture as concession. He was a wretched man, there was no denying that, and without a whit of selfless generosity in him. Yet she could not contain the smile that broadened until laughter rose from her throat like a wellspring bubbling over.

  They rode most of the morning and the better part of the afternoon, Thea pointing out landmarks and favorite places, relating story after story about the land and its people as if the Sheriff knew nothing of the shire he ruled. Although she knew he shared none of her elated feelings of homecoming, he listened patiently and indulged her every whim, letting her next impulse decide their direction.

  When at last they stopped, Thea was as breathless from the ride as Nottingham was tireless. He shrugged out of his heavy mantle and slung it across Chimera's back, then lifted Thea down and let the well-lathered horse graze behind them as they walked through a patch of open meadow.

  Beneath the unseasonable warmth of the sun, tall grasses swayed in the wind. Thea stretched out her arms, letting the stalks tickle her palms with their silky green tassels. How many times she had done this-stood and watched as the grasses rippled like the sea, marveling at Sherwood's untouched glory-and yet this day seemed sweeter for its rare freedom.

  With a start, she realized she had walked-no, run-ahead of her captor, and she turned, woolen skirts adding their swish to that of windblown grasses. The Sheriff had stopped some distance behind her, and the odd feeling that crept down her spine told her he'd been watching her. His woodsmoke glaze flicked over her, as if she were something not quite decipherable, as if perhaps she were right and he knew her far less than he thought.

  She flushed, something more than the sun's heat on her cheeks, and fingered the remains of a wind-tossed braid slung over her shoulder. It was right that he should see her so happy and carefree in the place she loved, yet she had run and kicked up her heels more like a young deer than a young woman. Briars snagged the fine wool of her forest green kirtle and yellow daisy pollen dotted the ivory hem and sleeves of her shift. Whatever the Sheriff saw, it couldn't possibly match the image of silk and embroidery he had tried to create.

  "There's something of the hoyden in you, Thea...or child. I've yet to figure which." Strangely, he did not sound displeased.

  "And something of the scoundrel in you," she called back.

  He grinned and walked to her side, leisurely cutting a swath through the grasses with deliberate grace. "I can do nothing right, can I, woman?"

  "My lord?"

  "I bring you to your damnable Sherwood-at indeterminate risk to my own skin, I might add-and I am but a 'scoundrel.' I endeavor to bring a modicum of decorum to Nottingham Castle, and I am a-how did you say it?-a 'sham,' I believe it was."

  "I merely mentioned that the minstrel is-"

  "What am I hearing, Thea? That my ever-chaste surgeon would rather hear lewd tavern songs played in my hall?"

  "Don't feign shock with me, Sheriff. They were played regularly before."

  "Before what?"

  "Before you became...civilized."

  Nottingham cringed in an imitation of horror.

  "Well, it's true," Thea said. "Lyrics of knightly love, pure honor, noble sacrifice-I can't believe you know anything about such lofty virtues."

  "I am mortally offended."

  "You are insincere."

  "Absolutely not!"

  "Yes," she argued. "You are. There is not much I know about you, Sheriff, being forced to seek hopelessly for some bit of honesty in the stories you've told me and piece together what truth can be found in the castle gossip, but tales of knights and their ladies fair seem an unlikely source of entertainment for you. I picture you more at home in a tavern, a joint of mutton in one fist, a cup of ale in the other, a wench on each knee, and the innkeeper's adulterous wife draped 'round your neck-" she nodded toward him, indicating the open vee of his tunic, "-where you usually wear that ill-gained chain of office."

  "This is the picture the castle staff have given of me? My loyal, devoted staff who would not dare breathe a word of untruth at the cost of the tongues in their heads?"

  "Quite the contrary. This is the image you give me...when you are not busy polishing it away with all your efforts toward gentility."

  "I see." The Sheriff mulled over her words. "So you prefer me less civilized."

  "I do not prefer you at all."

  "Now we both know that is not true." His fingers caught her under the chin, and he raised her face, dark eyes stirring a host of memories within her. Quickly, she averted her gaze. "See?" he said. "You are insincere as well. Of course, it is inevitable you should have some mistaken impressions of me."

  Thea stopped, pushed the memories aside. "I shall be straightforward then. My impression of you, Sheriff, is that you are no more than a series of guises, strategically donned to serve your purpose of the moment, whatever that might be, and underneath, you are without substance, rather like a puffed pastry."

  "Indeed."

  "Somewhat crisp and brittle on the outside, with an occasional misplaced sweetness, while on the inside-" she thumped her knuckles against his breastbone, "-nothing but hot air."

  His hand closed over hers before she could move, and she regretted her gesture immediately, not just because he had pounced on her with such swift surprise, but because beneath her hand, he was anything but hot air. Their walk had brought the slight moisture of perspiration to strong, warm flesh, and she could feel the thrum of blood surging through his veins.

  She snatched her hand away.

  "Yes, a pastry," she said, as much to convince herself as him, "that leaves one empty and unsatisfied, with only a predictable cloying aftertaste."

  His laughter jarred her senses nearly as much as his touch. "Christ, Thea! 'Empty and unsatisfied'? You have a wit of vinegar, woman, and a tongue to shrink the noblest manhood."

  She shot him a reproachful glare, gathered her skirts in her hands, and pushed ahead of him.

  He was beside her in two loping strides. "I can see there's been damage done to my renown. You have gone from fearing and despising me to considering me merely unappetizing. I daresay I am not making the progress I had hoped."

  "And what progress is that?"

  They had walked to the edge of the meadow where a footbridge crossed a stream. On the other side, just beyond the grasses, a thick stand of trees thrust skyward. Sherwood was like that-dense, primeval forest juxtaposed to open meadow, sun and shadow unexpectedly meeting by the side of a deeply cut brook.

  The Sheriff was like that, too, she thought, as she watched the playful repartee die on Nottingham's lips. Dark and light commingling in unpredictable patterns.

  He paused and with a narrowed gaze followed the stream from its stair-step fall over a series of rocks to the calmer, deeper waters spanned by the makeshift bridge. A frown creased his forehead. "I had hoped you'd fall out of love with him."

  Thea opened her mouth to speak, but words fa
iled her. Something in the gravity of his tone stopped her, left her hanging on the sigh he had only half managed to check. It jolted her to stillness; she had thought never to recognize honesty in the man.

  And then it was gone, quickly traded for a glib smile. "We shall have to do something about your skewed image of me," he announced, then whirled to face her, barring her passage across the footbridge.

  "What do you propose?" she asked softly, wishing she could have held on longer to the candor she had heard.

  "You view me as a Norman, correct? An invader? A usurper?" He held up his hand, index finger beginning a tally of her misperceptions. "Well, there's no argument there, although I can hardly be held accountable for the misdeeds of my forefathers or an accidental location of birth. More to the point, you believe me a despot. A cruel man with ignoble ambitions. Perhaps a matter of interpretation. We can argue that later, as I'm sure we will. What cannot be argued is that you see me as a rogue, a man who loves his ale, perhaps too much, and his women, as often as he can, who is more suited to a night spent at the Trip than one devising fiscal strategy. And now, with my pride in tatters, I find you think of me as no more than a paltry, after-dinner treat."

  Thea smiled as if indulging a small child. "Please cross," she said, tapping her slipper against the log.

  "Ah, of course." The Sheriff stepped backward, walking with all the agile balance of a cat across the moss-covered tree trunk. "Well, that's nonsense," he went on. "Utter nonsense. Your view of me has been tainted, I fear. Millie undoubtedly has filled your ears with falsehoods about how human I am, and Aelwyn-God knows what poison she's filled your head with-and as for the rest of my people, who can tell? I am a product of gossip and conjecture, nothing more. Of servants' talk and the twisted opinion of the uneducated. I can only imagine the lies you've been forced to listen to."

  She moved after him onto the bridge, matching his steps pace for pace. "They say you hanged a child for picking your pocket."