“Are you certain I am the one?”
“There is no doubting what happened yesterday. Surely you felt the power of it?”
Gravely, Anwyn nodded. She could scarcely let herself think about that even yet. The sensations she had experienced defied understanding. “So, that was magic?”
“Deep and wondrous magic, the kind that comes only when three are bound.” He added simply, “We would not have been able to wield it, were you not the one.”
Anwyn tried to accept that, and a host of emotions rose up inside, too tangled to define. One emerged, dominant over all: gratitude. She was grateful that this meant she had reason to be with him. She would accept far more, dedicate herself to aught she must, if it gave her a right to remain at his side.
“But even you do not know why ’tis I?”
“Sherwood knows, and that must be enough.”
Such faith, she thought. The beauty of it sounded deep inside her.
“It will take time,” he continued levelly, “to reach an understanding of what this means to you—to us. Heron and I will do our best to show you all you need, so you can make the right choice between us.”
Her mind darted, strove to comprehend all the aspects of it. “What about your uncle, though? Your aunt will insist on trading me for him.” Anwyn could not but sympathize with the woman. She knew what it would cost her to lose Curlew. The very thought of it terrified her.
She reached once more for his hand. His fingers closed about hers strongly, and a sort of humming started running through her blood, a very faint echo of what she had experienced yesterday when the sparks of light flowed from her hands. Aye, so this was magic, and nearly as powerful as what she felt for this man.
Comprehension touched her. “It is why you told my father, when first we met, that you were a forester,” she proposed, “because you are guardian of this place.”
He looked at her and his eyes glowed like stars. “Sherwood,” he stated, “is and will ever be mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I do not understand,” said Curlew, and not for the first time. He stood at the edge of his parents’ encampment deep in Sherwood, that which they had always called the hermitage, and wondered if he were losing his senses, or if he might have lost his way in Sherwood for the first time in his life. But nay, this was the place. There lay the ruins of the shelter his parents had shared for so long, all boughs and wattle work, not wrecked but dismantled. And there the great gray stone his mother had used for her altar. There the dead tree his father had used for a target when he practiced with the bow. And there, reaching above it all, clothed in gold, the central ash tree, taller than all those around it. He could not mistake the place.
Yet everything, each living remnant of his parents, was gone.
He stood stricken and stupid, unable to comprehend it. Beside him, the lass, Anwyn, shook her head.
“What is it? What is amiss?”
“They should be here. They are not.”
“This is the right place?”
“Aye. There—there she lay the last time I was here with her. There he sat with his head in his hands.”
“Could he have moved her somewhere else?”
It made no sense. Why would his father subject her to a move when she lay so ill? And could he have moved her on his own? Perhaps she had recovered and they had started back for Oakham by another route.
But then why take apart the shelter that had stood so long? Why, unless Gareth believed they would never return?
Had his mother died and his father gone mad with sorrow? Had he buried her somewhere nearby and gone off into the forest to end his own life? But Gareth Champion was not a cruel man, and never to his children.
Aye, and likely Robin’s Marian had not been cruel either, yet she had turned her back on Robin’s folk and abandoned their child. Grief caused people to do impossible things.
Anwyn laid her fingers on his arm. “Steady on; they may be somewhere nearby. Let us search.”
He looked into her eyes and calmed. “You are right. You wait here; I will go up along the stream a short distance. He may well have taken her to the pool that lies there.”
He went slowly, calling for his father, and dread gathered on his heart even though he encountered only a sense of peace. Birds fluttered up at his approach, and the trees rustled, whispering overhead.
All at once he caught a swift movement from the corner of his eye. On the far bank of the stream he saw a hart and hind, their coats shining white in the uncertain light beneath the trees. At his approach they turned their heads to look at him—the eyes of the hind were his mother’s eyes. He caught his breath even as the deer moved off quickly, together.
And at that moment he knew the truth. Grief and gladness together filled him. At least his father would not have to live without her. The deep magic of Sherwood had given Gareth fair repayment for all his years of faithful service and love.
When he returned to the clearing, he saw Anwyn waiting beneath the great ash, her hair half braided and hanging down, looking so much a part of the place he could scarcely believe she was not born of it. No matter, though, for she had come to them, and just in time.
She took one look at his face and distress flooded her eyes. She hurried to clasp his hands.
Hers, he had learned, was not a quiet spirit, yet he sensed in her now only support and strength.
“You have not found them.”
“I will not. They are free now in Sherwood. It is our turn to take up this burden.”
“Oh, lad.” She wrapped both arms about him and pulled his head down to her shoulder in an immediate offer of comfort. He accepted it gladly, let the pain he felt rise and flow into her, the ache of it shared. She spoke no words, made no sound, but merely absorbed his hurt. The birds darted and flickered around them, the trees swayed softly as if to an ancient music, and Curlew’s heart eased. Whatever he faced, at least he did not have to face it alone.
Anwyn’s fingers caressed his cheek and then cradled his head, pressing him closer. He felt the bonds between them flex and strengthen, and when her lips brushed his face he turned so his lips met them.
The kiss held much comfort and very little passion. He drank from her long, and when he paused she said, “There is nothing I would not do for you, Curlew Champion. I would take your every sorrow. I would accept your every pain. I do not understand this magical burden you have inherited, but I will gladly take it up with you.”
He looked into her eyes, green as new leaves on a spring morning, and asked, “Why? You barely know me yet. My troubles are not yours.”
“I know you. And they are my troubles just because they are yours.”
Something like a sob came from his throat. “Anwyn—”
“Hush. Would you refuse what I offer? Do you not need me?”
“I need you,” he said helplessly.
The pricks of gold in her eyes warmed. For an instant he saw glimmers of the light that had consumed her when they saved Heron.
“But,” he said carefully, “you must know what you are taking on. There is no going back from this. Guardianship is a grave and heavy duty, and you see how it ends.”
“I have never taken on any duty so dear to my heart. Do you doubt? Please, Curlew, do not doubt me.”
She kissed him again, and this time the passion came surging. It built inside him, all tangled with his need and her devotion. It flared like the magic of Sherwood and nearly took him to his knees.
He caught her face between his hands. “Stay with me, lie with me here tonight.”
“I will stay with you anywhere.”
“This is a holy place.” And if he loved her here, claimed her here, would she not remain his for all time?
****
“You need not fear for your parents, child.”
The words might have been part of a dream, only they roused Curlew from sleep as no dream ever could. He opened his eyes and fought against memory and imagining. He lay
in the eternal forest with the woman he loved. Her name—?
Anwyn, of course. She snuggled close against him, one arm curled about his chest, still fast asleep. They had used their clothing for blankets and so lay naked beneath it. The taste of her remained, ripe and sweet, in his mouth.
He tore his gaze from her and blinked, then blinked again. A spirit sat beside him, faintly outlined in radiance, a dim aura of gold. He did not require the moonlight filtering through the autumn leaves to see her.
“Well, then, do you know me?” she asked.
Struck nearly dumb, he did not reply. She had long, brown hair liberally streaked with gray, a strong face, severe and beautiful, and Aunt Lark’s eyes.
“Knowing,” she said comfortably, “is a curious thing, is it not, lad? There is the knowing you feel down in your gut, the knowing you pick up on your way through life—then there is the knowing that precedes it all. Life is funny, too. It is like a giant wheel that goes round again and again. A circle has no beginning and no end. Your grandfather taught me that.”
“You are Robin’s daughter, Wren.”
She nodded, as if pleased with him. “Robin’s daughter and Marian’s. It took me a long time to forgive her, you know. But understanding comes more easily when we are not confined to the flesh. We remember so much more about beginnings and endings.”
“Grandmother.” He had never met her in life. She and her husband, Sparrow, had disappeared into Sherwood before he was born.
“Aye, lad, and is that not why I have come? I would not have you fret and fear for them. They follow a path even I have taken.” She raised her hands. “And am I not well?”
Curlew tried to gather his scattered thoughts. He hoped Anwyn did not wake and take fright.
“No worry, Curlew—she sleeps sound.”
“You can hear my thoughts?”
“Let me explain to you something of life—and death. Death first of all: it does not exist, save in our minds. All life is in your mind, come to that. Pure illusion. You know that as well as I do, but it is one of those things you have forgotten.”
Curlew shook his head.
She leaned toward him. “What if I were to tell you everything that has happened since Robin’s death—everything—was meant to bring you to this? You, and her.” She gestured at Anwyn. “Would you then remember who you are and who she is?”
“Nay, Grandmother, I do not understand.”
“Put your head to work on it. Generations of folk have bequeathed you a rare intelligence. Use it now. Use all the power that comes to you.” Her gaze softened slightly. “For the past must be healed and the future won.”
“What am I to remember? And if ’tis so important, why do I fail to recall it?”
“Ah, lad, ’tis a mercy we forget, for if the memories of so many lifetimes descended upon you, you would go mad. But I will give you a hint.”
She leaned still closer and whispered into his ear, “You are the most important person ever born in Sherwood. Now do you know?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I had the strangest dream,” Anwyn confessed. “I thought I heard people talking—you, and a woman.”
She had awakened in Curlew’s arms, the one place she wanted to be. And now, with the sun barely up and the air cold and still all around them, her heart rose wildly. For he seemed to gaze into her, all the way to her heart, as if she were the only thing in his world.
She sat up. “Was it your mother with whom you spoke? Have your parents returned after all?”
“Nay.” Gently, he eased her back down to lie against his shoulder. “’Twas my grandmother you heard. It is as I told you, my parents will not be coming back. They have gone to be together in a place that is here, yet not here.”
“I do not understand.”
He smiled and it lit his face with warmth. “I am not sure I do, either, not completely. Yet with my mother’s going, her triad ends, and surely the new one must take its place. Sherwood brought you to us just in time.”
Anwyn fought to make sense of it all. “But your uncle, Falcon Scarlet—you need, still, to get him back.” She caught her breath. “I think I know a way.”
“Aye?”
“It came to me all of a piece while we slept.” Born in part of her desire to give anything and everything to him. It terrified her, such desire, made her heart beat high in her breast, made it hard for the breath to come. But she could not fail him. She would not.
“Eh?” His fingers tensed on her shoulder and his gaze became intent.
“Lord Simon acts on my father’s behalf in this. They knew each other well as young men, when de Asselacton captained the King’s guard in the west. They fought together; in fact during a fierce battle, my father saved Lord Simon’s life. There is little Lord Simon would not do in return. For that reason I believe he will make good on his threats and refuse to release your uncle if I am not found. He may even sentence Falcon to death.” She held Curlew’s gaze. “You have already lost your parents. I will not have you lose your uncle also.”
“Aye, but…” Curlew twined his fingers through her hair. That mere touch made her relive all they had shared last night. She could feel his body moving over hers again, and his lips everywhere. “I need you also. Heron and I do. Sherwood does.”
“Let me return to my father just long enough for an exchange to be made. I will come back to you as soon as your uncle is safe.”
“If you can. If your father so allows. He will keep much closer watch on you, after this.”
“He thinks I was snatched, abducted. I will feed his belief with some tale, say I never saw the faces of my abductors and that I was held elsewhere, far from Oakham. Your folk will be safe. You will be safe.” She raised her hand to his cheek.
He caught her hand and pressed his lips to the palm. His breath whispered across her skin as he said, “I am not at all sure I can let you go now.”
“Curlew—”
“What if your father insists on wedding you at once to this man you detest?”
“Havers? He will never have me now that I am most assuredly ruined.”
“What if he does not believe you ruined? You are meant to be mine, Anwyn—mine, and Sherwood’s.”
Emotion rose inside her, fierce and tumultuous. She seized hold of him and stared into his eyes. “You listen to me, Curlew Champion. I will return to you at any cost. How can you imagine I can be kept away, when you are here?”
“By all the faith in my heart,” he avowed, “I cannot imagine it.”
“Then come, my fine lord of Sherwood, and ruin me one more time.”
****
“I mean to return at once to Nottingham,” Anwyn told the woman who sat cross-legged outside Heron’s hut. “Thus will I see your husband fairly returned to you.”
Lark got to her feet slowly. Light blazed in her eyes and chased some of the burning agony. Her gaze dropped to Anwyn’s hand, linked fast with that of Curlew, who stood beside her, and then returned to her face.
“What is this I hear?” Diera ducked through the doorway of the hut and into the light. “What has happened?”
“My parents are gone,” Curlew announced. He looked at his aunt. “They have done what everyone says Grandmother and Grandfather did—become part of Sherwood, together.”
Diera gasped, but Lark stood strong, her head well back. “Ah, so it is done, our circle sundered.”
“I am sorry, Aunt. You have lost much, your sister and the guardianship both.”
Lark smiled thinly. “You know, we none of us wanted to take it up when our turn came. Poor Fal! But I was his strength and he was my wisdom. We became one another’s life.”
That, Anwyn could understand.
“And Linnet—she was the one who kept us all whole and sane. Now she goes on ahead and the wheel turns. It seems, lass”—she bent her gaze on Anwyn—“you must take your place upon it. And much as I desire the return of my husband, I must ask: how does that fit with taking yourself away to Notti
ngham?”
“She thinks she can return to us once the exchange is made,” Curlew answered for Anwyn, hoarsely.
“Ah. So it seems you do have some courage. It had better be enough. We have had guardians in the past who failed dismally in their duty. But I lie. There has been only one.”
Curlew’s fingers jerked violently in Anwyn’s. She looked at him in question.
Not now. Did she truly hear his voice in her mind? I will tell you later.
She clenched his fingers hard and looked Lark full in the face. “I will prove myself and my courage to you, mistress, if you give me the chance.”
Lark grimaced. “Have I a choice? Send him back to me, lass, and you will be more than half the way to my favor.”
Anwyn nodded. Never in her life had she been required to prove herself to anyone. Her mother had always cherished her. Even Winifred, who had stepped in after her mother’s death, had been indulgent. And she had worked hard, since then, to destroy her father’s regard. Aye, she had much for which to make recompense.
Curlew looked at Diera, who stood silent, listening. “How does Heron?”
“He does very well.” The raspy voice came from behind Diera and made her start. Heron loomed behind her, his hair unbraided and hanging down, bandages swaddling his throat.
“You should not be on your feet!” Diera turned on him, and Anwyn caught a glimpse of her expression as she did. Ah, so the lovely Diera had given her heart to Heron. Anwyn twitched her fingers in Curlew’s again. All well and good, so long as Diera did not desire Curlew, for he was hers now and for all time.
But how might that impact this guardianship of three?
Heron looked at Anwyn. “I heard all you said. You leave for Nottingham directly?”
“Aye.”
“Come inside first. I think the three of us need to speak together.”
“Will that make you sit down?” Curlew asked Heron as they followed him in. The place, dim and quiet, still smelled of herbs.
Heron shrugged. “As you see, I am fast recovering, even though it seems I may never again sing. ’Tis an ugly voice now, is it not?”
Anwyn spoke impulsively, “Naught about you could ever be ugly.” She felt an instant surge of emotion from Curlew through their linked fingers, and thought at him, Do not worry—as I have promised, there is no one for me but you.
Lord of Sherwood Page 13