Lord of Sherwood

by Laura Strickland

Morning had come again to Sherwood, all last night’s rain flown. A sky of clear autumn blue arched above them, and light dappled through the roof of flickering leaves. Curlew barely noticed. They had been so busy rediscovering and reclaiming one another he scarcely knew dawn had arrived.

  “Was I more beautiful then?” she asked, and nipped at his lower lip.

  “You could not be more beautiful than you are now,” he told her honestly.

  “That is a proper answer, my lord, and will earn you more kisses.” She pressed her mouth to his and poured herself into him. Pure spirit—so she was, and yet he held her in his arms, tasted her, burned for her like fire: true magic.

  Still shaken by the revelation that had enfolded them the instant they touched in the forest yestere’en, he wondered how he could ever have failed to guess. How could he not know her despite the absence of auburn hair and amber eyes?

  A sudden thought touched him and he spoke it into her mind, his lips still otherwise engaged. But are you disappointed in me now? I am so ordinary, far too ordinary to be him.

  Disappointed? She stopped kissing him and her eyes flashed green fire. Did I seem disappointed last night when I worshipped each and every part of you with my lips?

  By the gods, she had not.

  Her eyes danced. Must I do it all over again?

  I will not say no. Though, faith, I think I should rather take my turn and adore you thus, my lady, this time. His hand stole to her breast. Last night, in the dark, it had been as if he were Robin and held Marian once more, but now, in the light, he could see her, and wanted to discover her all over again.

  He touched her cheek and narrowed his eyes; his joy dimmed abruptly. “You say Havers did this to you, gave you these bruises? Your—husband?” He spat the word. “I will kill him for it.”

  “You will not go near him.” Fear flooded her eyes. “I do not wish you to endanger yourself, not for any reason.”

  “Anwyn, it is the nature of my life to endanger myself.”

  “Perhaps that has been so, but I forbid it from this moment on. Do you think I have found you only to risk losing you once more?”

  Gently he skimmed his fingers over her battered face and brushed her lips. “I think if we are to learn one lesson, it is that we cannot possibly lose one another.”

  Wildly, she shook her head. “You cannot tell me that, for you did not live it. You did not have to try and go on alone.”

  “Back then, your grief would not let you feel me near you still. Surely it would be different next time.”

  “There will be no next time. Do you hear me, Curlew Champion? I now understand the need that burned inside me, I understand the cause of all my restlessness and for what I sought—you, always you.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She kissed him through them, and her fear assaulted him, all mingled with her joy. He longed to protect her from such hurt, to take the fear from her, but knew it could not be. For he had taken too much upon himself last time, and it had cost them dear.

  Listen to me. He released her lips with regret. We are being given a second chance. It is the first triad come over again. Then, ’twas me and you—the Lord and his Lady—and the spirit of Sherwood. This time it is you, me, and Heron, who is so closely bonded with the forest he is virtually one with it. He frowned in thought. I think Heron was a holy man before. And Diera a healer.

  Lil and Alric. Anwyn supplied their names. They, too, are finishing and balancing something. Her eyes held his. As must I. You say, love, that “we” are being given a second chance to make things right but ’tis I who needs this chance. I must be stronger; I must find the courage I need to not fail.

  And that might well mean she would have to face the same challenges, he thought in trepidation, and this time seek to overcome them. His heart quailed within him. Would he be forced to leave her again, just when he had found her? Aye, he knew, and believed full well, death was naught but a change of form. Yet this time he wanted to have many years with her; he wanted ease and laughter.

  “I am a child no longer,” she declared aloud. “And with my childhood I put away my great selfishness. I live only for you now, Curlew.”

  “Do not say that.” She had lived for him before, and her spirit had died for him.

  “Can I help it?” She caught his face between her hands and moved atop him, parted her thighs and cradled him.

  Somehow he resisted the lure of desire. “It must be otherwise, love. Sherwood gives—”

  “And takes.” She finished it for him. “And I go where sent, but I breathe only for you. One prayer, Curlew—only let me die first, this time.”

  No. He wrapped her tighter in his arms.

  “Ah, you see how it feels?” Her words, loving rather than cruel, vibrated with regret. “See what the mere thought of it does to you?”

  He saw. He closed his eyes and held to her, stunned by the sheer risk of loving someone so much.

  He said, as if foreknowledge had been given to him, “He will come looking for you—Havers, your husband.”

  “Perhaps not. He does not truly care about me, save for how I might elevate his position with my father. Da thinks to set him up as a kind of overseer for Sherwood.”

  Curlew’s eyes widened. “What is that you say?”

  “Some sort of caretaker, a liaison between the Crown and the people of the forest. ’Tis a scheme Da and Lord Simon created together.”

  “Havers would not last a fortnight,” Curlew said with feeling.

  “Eh?”

  “If someone did not put an arrow in his back the first time he set foot here, the forest itself would settle him.”

  “Truly? How?”

  He ran his hands through her hair again, just for the sheer pleasure of it. “Lead him astray, beguile his senses, surround him with spirits, make it so he is never seen again. There are men in plenty who enter Sherwood with evil in their hearts, never to return.”

  “I see.” Her eyes narrowed. “Then it seems we need not worry about him. I will be a widow soon.”

  “Aye, but much harm may be done before he comes into Sherwood alone. Men may be accused and arrested, more villages burned. So it was in my parents’ time. We have had many years of what I see, looking back, as relative peace. Now it all changes.”

  “Because I have come?” Her lashes lowered over glowing eyes and her voice purred at him, “Would you sooner I had not?”

  “Never think it.” He drew her still closer. “You were sent to save me. I only hope,” he said seriously, “I can be worthy of this great gift.”

  “Do not doubt that,” she told him. “Do not ever doubt again. And smile for me. I have always lived for your smile.”

  Joy speared through him, defeating all the uncertainty. “Any other orders, my lady?”

  “Oh, aye, I have a whole host of them.”

  She began to move over him, wanton and rejoicing; her body called to his, wooed and raised it. Desire ignited, at least as strong as the love he felt, and flowed through him in an unstoppable wave.

  She reared up, her glorious hair her only covering. With pleasure sharp as pain he watched her body flex, all strength and softness, felt her take him inside and rock him until they, the forest, and the morning became ever one.

  A woman who knew what she wanted, who had always known; thank the Green God it was still him.

  When he filled her, she fused her mouth to his and spoke into his mind, ’Twould be a shame, my lord, not to do justice to this great gift we have been given. Aye, and you have all the strength of the forest itself. Let us see how many times you can love me.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Two villages have already burned. And Asslicker has sent out a decree: Montfort’s daughter is to be returned or greater pain will follow.”

  Falcon Scarlet spoke heavily, yet his gaze, on Anwyn’s face, remained kind. Never once, since Anwyn and Curlew had come hand in hand out of the forest, had he suggested she should return to Nottingham.

  She wondere
d what Lark thought. If anyone made the suggestion, surely it would be she. Yet Lark’s lips remained pressed together in silence, even though her gaze looked mutinous.

  Neither Lark nor Falcon knew the truth about her or about Curlew. They had debated long over whether to tell Curlew’s aunt and uncle. In the end, Curlew had balked at it.

  “How can I stand up before them and declare myself a legend? I have not the self-conceit.”

  “Yet, love, that is what—who—you are.”

  “Aye, but such grand ideas have been built of him since his death. I cannot begin to live up to all that.”

  Heron did know the truth. They had needed to tell Heron, and Anwyn suspected Heron had told Diera, for the two of them were now nearly inseparable. Ancient circles, as she well knew, reached round to meet with themselves again.

  Even now, she and Curlew stood before Falcon and Lark with their fingers tangled. She needed that contact whenever possible; even though their minds were always linked, she wanted never to let go of him. Their desire for one another might be prodigious, but the need overshadowed all.

  And that terrified her, whenever she let herself think on it.

  Now she lifted her eyes to meet Falcon’s. “Havers cannot be certain I am in Sherwood.”

  “Your husband, you mean.” Lark could not resist getting a barb in.

  Curlew leaped immediately to Anwyn’s defense. “’Tis not her fault she was forced to wed with him. And you see how he used her.”

  Aye, they had all seen her bruises when Curlew brought her out of the forest.

  Lark shrugged and grimaced.

  “What would you do,” Curlew challenged her, “if you were treated so?”

  Lark answered swiftly, “I would wait until the next time he proved vulnerable and stab him to the heart, make well certain he was dead. I am sure I would not run straight to the person I loved, streaming danger and violence behind me.”

  Falcon turned to her, touched her cheek and smiled tenderly. “Liar. You would always come straight to me.”

  They exchanged a look Anwyn now understood in full. Sherwood gave.

  Lark visibly softened. “Aye, love. Through fire if need be.”

  Curlew’s fingers clenched Anwyn’s. He had confided to her, whispering the words into her ears, about how often he had yearned for just such a relationship, as for something remembered.

  “That is because you did remember, deep inside,” she had told him. Now a current flowed ever between them. Her one fear remained that it should once more be severed.

  She caught her breath and spoke, not to Lark but to Falcon. “Do you mean to send me back?”

  “I have no authority to send you back.”

  She forced herself to say, “In the eyes of the church and the crown, Havers is my husband.”

  “In the eyes of Sherwood, however, he is.” Falcon nodded at Curlew. “Lass, I would not send you if I could.”

  “Despite the risk in letting me stay?”

  Falcon gave her a smile warm as sunshine. “Despite it. Are you not our third guardian and destined to take your place in the next circle?”

  “The god only knows why,” Lark muttered.

  Anwyn did look at Lark then. “And you? Would you send me back?”

  Lark made an impatient gesture toward Falcon. “It is as he says. With my sister gone, our circle weakens. You must be ready to stand strong.”

  “I think,” Falcon said slowly, “the two of you should go back into Sherwood. ’Tis not safe for you here. Only let this Havers come looking; he will not find what he seeks.”

  “But will he not do much damage in the searching?” Anwyn persisted.

  “He will not find us so easy to defeat, lass.” Falcon asked, “You say you can you use a bow?”

  “I can.” She lifted her head. “My Da taught me, and well, but ’twas with the shorter Welsh bow.”

  “Love,” Falcon addressed Lark without looking at her, “give her the lend of one of yours. It should be about the right draw for her, and Curlew can guide her in the use of a longbow.” He told Anwyn gently, “We all need to be able to fight.”

  Aye. And Anwyn meant never to be caught helpless again.

  ****

  “I bring ill tidings. Oakham lies burned, and many are dead. My parents have gone.”

  Heron stood before Curlew and Anwyn and delivered the news starkly, with little emotion audible in his voice but pain rampant in his eyes. He wore a hood well up over his tawny mane and not one but three bows on his shoulder. Diera stood at his side, straight and tall, with a bundle tied to her back and another clutched in her arms.

  “Gone?” Curlew repeated, centering on the heart of it. “Not dead?”

  Heron shifted his shoulders uneasily. “Who can say? If they are dead, they left no bodies behind. And I can still sense them.” He smiled bleakly. “But then, I might well be able to do so even were they dead.”

  “Aye.” Anwyn felt Curlew’s thoughts leap and sensed his dismay. “Yet they would not abandon their people, especially in time of such need.”

  “Their power had nearly waned. ’Tis time for the three of us to accept our places in full—now, while the danger is bright. ’Tis why I am here.” He glanced at Diera and corrected himself, “Why we are here.”

  “Wherever he goes, I now go,” Diera stated.

  Anwyn reached out and touched the other woman’s arm. “Most welcome. Master Heron, how did you find us?”

  A glimmer of a smile touched his eyes. “I followed your thoughts. Do not look so distressed, Lady—I can catch but an echo, not enough to tell what love words you may speak to him.”

  Thank the green god.

  “You sparkle,” Heron added simply, “the two of you together do. There is power.”

  Curlew nodded. Anwyn knew how he struggled yet to come to terms with who—and what—he was, could not be sure he had completely accepted the wonder and peril of it. Aye, a humble man to his heart, as Robin had ever been humble—just a serf’s son, so he had always said of himself, who could shoot an arrow very well.

  But one who had inspired hope and devotion, and love that burned yet. All that lay inside her Curlew. And she would fight to the death to defend him. That meant she must accept her place in full, this time, stand strong, and live up to all it took to be at his side.

  She looked Heron in the eye. “What needs to be done? What can I offer?”

  “You, Curlew, and I need to strengthen our bonds and enforce the circle as did my parents and Curlew’s mother before us. They had an advantage: my mother and his are twin sisters and the three of them knew each other from birth.”

  “Like you and Curlew,” she supplied.

  Heron inclined his head.

  “I,” Anwyn stated, “am the outsider.”

  “Not a bit of it.” Heron glanced at the woman beside him. “I hope you do not mind, but I have confided in Diera about who you are. I can hold no secrets from her, even that.”

  Shame and regret struck Anwyn deep. She looked to Diera and said, “Then you know how I failed him and our daughter—and Sherwood—last time.”

  Compassion kindled in Diera’s dark eyes and she touched Anwyn’s shoulder. “I understand full well what it is to love, and your loss was a heavy one.”

  “Still”—again Anwyn jerked her head up—“I should have found the strength to carry on. I assure you both I will never be so weak again.” She hoped. Could she be sure she could keep from going mad with grief if she lost Curlew? She prayed she need not find out.

  “We will be needed back in Oakham,” Curlew said.

  “Aye, but I thought we should take some time to grow our power first. Three days. Then we will return.” Heron added, “By then we must be ready to face anything.”

  “Tell me what happened in the village,” Curlew bade Heron.

  Heron’s face closed. “That brute, Havers, came with a troop of soldiers, searching, so he said, for his bride, who had either run off or been snatched for ransom, ev
en as she had once before. He bore ugly wounds.” Heron’s eyes moved to Anwyn. “And held himself as if he hurt, but he was there.”

  “Was my father not with him?” Anwyn asked, and Heron shook his head.

  “He may have been busy searching elsewhere, I cannot tell. Havers spoke to my parents—or, rather, berated them. Mother answered him back. You know, Lew, how she is. She asked what made him think his wife was in Oakham, or in Sherwood. He answered they had searched all Nottingham and, besides, the gates had been closed and guarded when she disappeared. She had not been seen there. Havers became abusive; Ma did not take it well and fired on him.

  Anwyn gasped, even as hope stirred in her heart. “A death wound?” With Havers dead, she would be free.

  But Heron shook his head. “Ma’s shot took him in the shoulder yet hampered him barely at all. And then pitched battle broke out between the soldiers and our folk. Havers called for Ma’s arrest and Pa jumped to defend her. Somehow, in all the furor, flame was put to thatch.”

  He went on, “I, myself, began to fire from cover. ’Twas enough to let my parents and the others scatter and move to safety.”

  Diera spoke, her voice trembling. “He should not even draw a bow yet, with his wound scarcely healed. And now he will not let me look at it and see the damage.”

  “No time for that.” Heron gestured dismissively. “Most of the villagers gathered what they could ahead of the flames and fled to the forest. I assumed ’twas what Ma and Pa had done. The last I saw of them, she still had her bow in her hands and he attempted to coax her away.”

  Curlew said, “They may yet be somewhere in Sherwood.”

  Heron gave a rueful smile. “Oh, I do not doubt they are somewhere in Sherwood! But I doubt they will return.”

  He reached out his hands, one to Curlew and one to Anwyn. His fingers felt warm when Anwyn accepted them into hers; her other hand lay already fast in Curlew’s so they made a circle.

  Complete.

  The power stirred and rose to travel among the three of them. It glinted with its own radiance and flared like sudden lightning.

  Let the old circle form once again. Curlew spoke in both their minds. Unbreakable, and unbroken.