Immortal Outlaw

by Lisa Hendrix

  CHAPTER 13

  “NOW PASS THROUGH,” called Matilda. She was squatting by the stone, peering through the opening at Steinarr. The stone was more arch than tunnel, widely open along one side and through the middle, but narrowing quickly to leave only a small passage through to the far side. Only a man, she suspected, would see it as a womb and a quaint—but her father was a man, and so perhaps Torvald had been right.

  It was through the smaller opening that Steinarr was preparing to crawl. He measured it with his eyes. “ ’Twill be a tight fit.”

  “As it is for all infants. Hurry. The sun is high.”

  Steinarr squeezed his shoulders into the narrow space and poked his head out. He peered around carefully. “I see nothing. It may be as simple as where my shadow falls. Mark the place.”

  Marian used her knife to scribe the outline of his head in the loose gravel, but she was shaking her own head as she did it. “Father has not been so obvious in his other clues. It does not seem like trial enough. And ’tis so close to Sudwell.”

  “Perhaps he thought it would be more difficult for Robin to decipher where he meant and made finding the clue itself simple.”

  “Perhaps. Back out, and come help me dig.” She started gouging at the ground with her knife.

  “No. I should crawl through in case there is something else to be seen.” Steinarr snaked one arm out, found purchase, and inched himself forward until he spilled out onto the ground. “Anything?”

  “Not to my eye.”

  “Nor mine. So we dig.”

  The ground within the outline was nearly as hard as the stone itself, but they hacked at it until their blades hit something even harder. Steinarr scraped away enough of the hardened gravel until he could see. “Solid stone. It is not here.”

  “Could he have used mortar?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. You said this was too easy, and you were right. There must be something else. Another shadow to be seen.” He rose and circled the stone, searching up and down the face.

  As he paced, Matilda studied the hole. “ ‘To prove the worth of your blood, be reborn from the sorcerer’s stone beneath the midday sun.’ Be reborn beneath the midday sun.”

  “Do I need to go through again?”

  “You just want to slide into that quaint once more.” Shocked at herself, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Did I say that?”

  Steinarr snorted back a laugh. “You did indeed. Torvald is a bad influence on you.”

  “Not nearly as bad as you, my lord.” A shiver of pleasure ran through her as she recalled what they’d just done, and she laid her hand on his chest. “Nor as good.”

  “He’d better not be. Shall I go again?”

  Matilda looked at the sky. The sun was already past its zenith, and if they lost the midday light, they’d have to wait another full day. Much as she would like to pass another night in the elf house, this time with Steinarr, they couldn’t afford the time. “Yes, if you please.”

  He disappeared around the stone and she heard a moment’s scraping before his head appeared and he started working his way out.

  She mopped his forehead with her sleeve. “You are sweating.”

  “Being born is hard work.”

  “Being born,” she repeated. There was something …

  “You are the wrong way ’round. When a child comes out, it faces down at first, but as its head comes out, it turns.” She rotated her hands. “So, until it faces mostly upward.”

  “And how do you know this? Did peasants give birth in that loft of yours as well?”

  “No, but Lady Amabel bore a child every year while I was fostering and had all of us attend her. She said we might as well see it done by someone who did it easily. Turn yourself.”

  Steinarr grunted and strained, reminding her very much of Lady Amabel’s laboring. “Too tight. Let me back up and come at it the other way.”

  He vanished like a worm down its hole. A moment later, his arms reappeared, then the top of his head. And then he stopped. “This does not work. I cannot move myself.”

  “You could if you were not such a large babe,” she said as she reached for his hands. She stopped. “You are too large. Robin is thin as a reed, as was Father. Get out of there. ’Tis my turn. Quickly, before we lose the light.”

  She ran around and slipped into the hole as soon as he was out of the way, wriggling into position quite easily. As she emerged from the hole, however, he wasn’t there. She called to him, “What are you doing?”

  A hand lifted her skirt and she felt air swirl over her thighs and higher. “Admiring the view.”

  “Stop that.” She kicked out, connecting with something that drew an “oof” of pain. A moment later, he appeared at her head, red-faced, but laughing. “You should not kick at what you cannot see, if you ever hope to enjoy my favors again. Go in and come out slowly, infant. Tell me what you see.”

  She squirmed back in. Just as her eyes slipped beneath the overhang, she glimpsed a dim flash of crimson. She moved back out. The same flash of light made her freeze.

  “There.” She pointed. “Something red within that big lump that sticks out.”

  “I do not see anything.” He reached up, feeling for it. “Where?”

  “Higher. Near the top.”

  “I will have to climb.” He groped around for hand and foot holds and inched his way up as she guided him.

  “Hurry. It grows dim even now. Right. Right. Higher. There. Your hand is on it.”

  He clung to the face of the rock. “There is no way to loosen it like this. I’m going up. Watch out.”

  He scrambled up, dragging himself over the edge and out of sight as loose gravel tumbled down the wall. Matilda covered her face with both arms, but she held her position even as pebbles bounced off her head, afraid she’d lose that gleam of red if she moved. The rock fall stopped, and a moment later, Steinarr’s head reappeared over the edge. The red vanished as his fingers closed around it. “This lump?”

  “Aye. What is it?”

  “We shall see. ’Tis fixed in the stone.” Steinarr pulled out his knife and began hammering with the hilt. Big chunks flaked away under his blows. “It is mortar, proper mortar, with the pebbles mixed in.”

  “We have it, then.” She scrambled out and stood twisting a sleeve point fretfully as Steinarr pounded at the rock. A moment later, the mass of false stone fell away and the bit of red came away in his hand with something attached. “What is it?”

  “I will bring it down so you may see for yourself. Move back a little. I do not want to fall on you.” He slipped the object inside his gown, swung around, and gingerly lowered himself over the edge, grappling for toeholds. More gravel and pebbles poured over the face of the rock as he inched his way down.

  “Be careful.”

  She’d no sooner spoken than a clump of rock gave way in his hand. Steinarr fell backward, landing with a thump and a blistering “Shite!”

  “Are you hurt?”

  He rose and rubbed at his backside. “Only my pride.”

  “I always thought a man’s pride was in front.”

  Laughing, he caught her around the waist and pulled her into his arms. “I suddenly find I escort neither lady nor servant, but the king’s fool. Is this what a good tup does to you? Gives you a bawdy mouth?”

  Her cheeks heated. “I do not know. Strange things just seem to be coming out. They astonish me as much as you. Do you object, my lord?”

  “I do not. That you can jest about it tells me you enjoyed yourself.”

  She pressed a kiss to the wedge of bare skin that showed in the neck of his chainse. “Did you doubt it?

  “Not this time, no.” He patted her bottom and released her. “Watch that tongue before others, though, my sweet, or I will have to tell them you are my leman rather than my lady’s servant.”

  “I am your leman. What did you find me?”

  He reached into his gown and handed her another cylinder, similar in size to the on
e Robin had retrieved from the tree, except this one was wrapped in leather. Matilda carried it out into the sun and sat down in the grass. She polished the large red stone against her sleeve, then held it up against the sun to admire the brilliant red glow. “Is this a ruby, or only a carbuncle?”

  Steinarr knelt beside her. “It could be glass, for all that I know of gems.”

  “You’re likely right. Father would surely not have risked burying a precious stone so openly.”

  “He had built up the mortar over it so there was only a narrow channel to let the light pass through the stone. It could only be seen with good light behind it, which is why it had to be found at midday. Even when I was above it and knew it was there, I could barely spot it.”

  “Still, what if someone else had found it first?”

  “Well, they did not. Go on, open it.”

  She twisted at the top, but it was firm. She pried at it with the tip of her knife, and it didn’t budge.

  “Let me see.” Steinarr looked it over, then took her knife and cut the stitching that held the leather. Beneath it, copper wire wrapped around top and bottom. Steinarr quickly unwrapped the wire, and as the last twist fell away, the cylinder came apart in four pieces to reveal a rolled-up parchment.

  “How did you know?”

  “ ’Tis a sword hilt. The tang fits here, between the two long pieces, with the guard and blade below.” He laid his finger in the center channel to demonstrate, then held up the piece with the stone. “This was likely the pommel, and this other bit was purpose made to close the bottom. These grooves held them in. They would not pull free without taking the grip apart.”

  “I would never have figured that out.”

  “Robin would have. He has trained with a sword and would recognize a hilt and know how ’tis made. Your father created the puzzle for him. Perhaps Robin would even recognize the stone from a weapon he once used.” He picked up the parchment and handed it to her. “Read.”

  “ ‘Next visit the village where wise men fooled a king and take from it the bird they held in the bush.’ ” She grinned and started collecting the bits and pieces to put them in her scrip. “He may have created the puzzle for Robin, but this answer, I know. We go to Gotham.”

  He helped her rise and they started toward the horses. “You seem very certain.”

  “I am. Father told the same story every time the king came through on progress. The wise men of Gotham avoided the burden of hosting King John’s court by playing fools of the worst type. Fearing he would catch the madness, the king passed the village by and went elsewhere.”

  “Wise fools indeed.” He bent and linked his fingers. “And the bird?”

  “Is the cuckoo,” she said as he handed her up. She organized her skirts as he prepared to mount. “One of the foolish things they did before the king was to join hands around a bush. When King John asked what they were doing, they claimed they were keeping the cuckoo trapped, so they could listen to it sing all the year through. You do know where Gotham is?”

  “More or less.” He settled in before her, and she wrapped her arms around him.

  “How far is it?”

  “A single day, if we could go by the road, but Nottingham Town lies between here and there. I do not want to take the chance Guy or Baldwin or any of their men will see you. Or me, for that matter. We will keep to the forest and go well around to the west. Two days, perhaps three if those clouds carry rain.”

  She looked to the west, where a sullen, gray line stretched across the horizon. “Then we will hope they do not.”

  “PRIORESS CELESTRIA. I was only now told of your coming. Welcome. Welcome to Headon Hall.”

  The reeve dropped to one knee and waited until Cwen touched the filthy cap he wore on his filthier head. “Heaven’s blessings on you, Reeve. Rise, all of you.”

  The dozen or so men and women who had been in the hall when she’d entered came to their feet along with the reeve.

  “We did not expect you, Lady Mother,” said the man as she surreptitiously wiped her fingers on her gown. “No one sent word ahead.”

  “I wished to come upon the manor without the steward’s knowledge and see how he truly runs it. Where is he?”

  “Leicester, Lady Mother. He went to sell the year’s rope. He gets a better price there than in Nottingham.”

  “Well, then, I will see how you run the manor without him. Have fresh horses saddled. I wish to see how the harvest is coming.”

  “Now? I mean, your pardon, the hour is late, Lady Mother. Would you not rather wait until the morrow?”

  “Are you afraid of what I will see?” She waved off the reeve’s protests. “I will want supper in the solar when we return. Capon and bitter greens and almond cake.”

  “Yes, Lady Mother.” He snapped a few orders to servants, then followed her outside. He looked around the yard, confused. “Surely you do not travel alone, Lady Mother. Where is the rest of your party?”

  “Lost along the way, I fear. Both Father Renaud and Sister Paulina.”

  “Lost? Dead, you mean?”

  She did not want to speak of it, but there would be questions. She might as well tell the story now. “No. But sadly, their souls are lost. They ran off together in violation of their Holy vows.”

  The reeve’s eyes widened in horror. “Worse than dead, then.”

  “They will be found and punished,” said Cwen. And well they should be. She had caught them together on the second night out, swiving like pigs in the woods, spending the girl’s virginity before her blood could be spilled for its proper use. They should have been killed on the spot for their blasphemy to both the old gods and their newer one, but others had been near, and fearing discovery, she had let them live. By the morning, they’d fled, leaving her with nothing except the knowledge that she must have been given this journey for some other reason. “Show me the grain first, and then the peas and beans.”

  They mounted and rode out through the fields, Cwen asking such questions as a landholder might ask of a reeve, and him answering. She paid little heed to the answers, instead turning her attention to trying to find whatever it was the gods wanted for her. “Where are the colliers Lord Matthew sent for our use?”

  “In the far part of the eastern woods,” said the reeve. “Too far to ride today, Lady Mother, but I will gladly take you on the morrow.”

  “Have any other strangers passed through?”

  “Now that is odd you should ask, Lady Mother. There are two strangers staying at the charcoal camp now. A peasant boy who broke his leg, and a knight who has befriended him. There was another knight, too, and a maid, the boy’s cousin, but I am told they rode on a week past.”

  “Knights?” Palms prickling, she sat up straighter. “What sort of knights would stay at a charcoal camp and not at the manor?”

  “Odd ones, with odder names. One called himself Sir Steinarr, and the other, the one still at the camp, is Sir Ari. Tall men, and both fair and golden-haired. They found the boy injured at …”

  The man’s voice faded into nothingness as Cwen smiled to herself. The lion and the raven. Thank you, Great Ones. She cut off the reeve’s annoying rambling with the flick of a finger. “Why did you not invite them to stay at the manor? It is your duty to serve as good host in the name of Kirklees and the Mother Abbess.”

  “Oh, I did invite them, Lady Mother, but the boy and his cousin knew the colliers and wanted to stay with them. The knights took them there and did not come back.”

  “And the boy and the r—this Sir Ari are still there?”

  “So far as I know, Lady Mother.”

  “I want the boy brought to the manor tomorrow. We will care for him while he heals.”

  “He is only a peasant lad, Lady Mother.”

  “Peasant or noble, he should have been kept here to begin with. It is our duty to care for the injured and the ill. You will send a wagon for him and prepare a good bed in the solar. I will tend him myself.”

  “Yes, Lady Mother.
”

  She had no interest in the boy except as a way to draw the raven near. It was him she truly wanted, the Seer-Skald. He had been there at Alnwick when she had confronted the eagle, helping the healer and the stableboy foil a plan years in the making. Now he was here, within reach, given to her by the gods. Perhaps she could draw his power and add it to her own, even as she took her redoubled vengeance.

  And then there was the lion and this maid he’d gone off with. That another of the murderers had paired off with a woman made her uneasy; there could be danger there. But there could be opportunity, as well, depending on what the gods had planned. For now, she would simply have to wait, play the prioress, and keep her heart open to whatever the gods offered.

  The rest would come to pass when the time was ripe.

  THE WEATHER DID indeed hold, so despite a large party of hunters that made Steinarr uneasy and sent them swinging wide into Derbyshire, the journey went quickly. As they reached the edge of tiny Gotham a little after Sext on the second full day, Matilda sat up a little straighter, alert.

  “So, where shall we look for this cuckoo first?” asked Steinarr.

  She looked around, but could see nothing unusual about the village. “Father has shown a certain fondness for Church property until now. We may as well begin there.”

  “Begin there, my lord,” he corrected as he turned toward the church. “Remember that you are my lady’s servant once more.”

  “Yes, my lord. And you, the knight who carries me to her in Leicester from Newstead.” They had changed their story over the past days to account for the direction of their travel. “Play a little cross with me, my lord, as you did in Harworth. You were quite convincing.”

  “Quiet, you foolish creature,” he snapped, and she had to bite back a chuckle as he gave her arms a quick squeeze with his elbows.

  The days since Blidworth had been a revelation to Matilda. Although they had yet to repeat their lovemaking—their days in the saddle had been so long that Steinarr had insisted on leaving her at night so that, as he put it, they could both rest well rather than spend the hours swiving—the desperate edge to his desire had eased considerably. She no longer had to work so hard to keep her mind away from his, and when she did slip, the contact was not so overwhelming. She could actually be at ease with him, even about matters beyond the enjoyment they’d found with each other. And as an extra boon, the more at ease she became, the easier and more pleasant their conversations. She was beginning to discover that she not only desired her strange knight, she actually liked him a little.