Daughter of Sherwood

by Laura Strickland

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also by Laura Strickland

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Daughter

  Of

  Sherwood

  by

  Laura Strickland

  The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy Book One

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Daughter of Sherwood

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Laura Strickland

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First English Tea Rose Edition, 2013

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-917-9

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-918-6

  The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy, Book One

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by Laura Strickland

  DEVIL BLACK

  Disgraced in her father's eyes, Isobel Maitland travels to Scotland to purchase her sister's happiness at the cost of her own. But when she is abducted by a dangerous highwayman, she faces an unexpected choice: suffer the loveless union to which she has resigned herself, or marry this ruthless, Scottish outlaw who can ignite her desire with a single touch.

  ~available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  …

  “A fascinating historical world, and engaging characters,…some brilliant lines of dialogue and a few laugh-out-loud moments, to ease the tension from the underlying violence. …genuine characters…all very vivid and real, each fully realized with distinct personalities. …A violent, harsh, racy, and utterly compelling and gripping tale. I defy anyone to put the book down before they finish reading it.”

  ~Helen, Love Romances and More (4.5 Hearts)

  “I’m a sucker for historical romances. The hero was exactly as he should be. …The long hair and the kilts, oh my! …This was a good read and I’d recommend it to my friends who enjoy historicals chalk [sic] full of adventure, intrigue and set in the Scottish Highlands. I’ll be keeping an eye out to see more from this author as well!”

  ~Hydrangea, Long and Short Reviews (4 Stars)

  Dedication

  For my daughter, Alix, with many thanks

  for all the hours spent together with Robin.

  Chapter One

  Nottingham Castle—April 1216

  “The Sheriff of Nottingham is dying, and Geofrey of Oakham is dead.”

  The stark words penetrated Rennie’s sleep the way hunger might, or a bad ache. Uttered in a deep, smoky voice, they wove through her senses and drew her irresistibly to wakefulness.

  She opened her eyes and stared into the soft dimness of the flagged scullery. A virtual womb, this place was—a hard womb paved with stone and furnished with the great, granite sink to which Rennie spent her days spiritually shackled. A comfortless place, but the only home she had ever known.

  She did not recognize the man’s voice that whispered from beyond the scullery doorway, yet something about it pulled her. She sat up in her nest of blankets, tangled brown hair swinging behind her like a mane.

  Who was Geofrey of Oakham? The Sheriff of Nottingham, she knew—God take his rotting hide! He was master of this place and, she supposed, of Nottingham proper, answerable only to King John, and also a cruel, soulless hulk, dispossessed of even one part mercy.

  “Geofrey?” A second voice, and one Rennie knew right well. Aye, and she should—had not old Lil raised Rennie from a pup and provided the only love she had ever known? Now Lil sounded shaken and grieved over the passing of this stranger. But who brought her the news, and why come in the dead of night while Nottingham’s vast kitchen slept? “What befell him?”

  “A sudden turn,” answered the first voice that so affected Rennie’s mind. “He arose this morning, spoke his prayers, and then fell as if touched by the hand of the god. I came to you as soon as I could.”

  “Ah.” The weight of grief carried in Lil’s voice increased. “I should have known! How could I fail to tell? My powers must have betrayed me.”

  Her visitor snorted. “As if that could ever happen!”

  “It can, and it will. You know that as well as I. Is it not why you have come to me?”

  The male voice became tentative. “I only brought you the news that affects you so deeply. But, Lil, do you see what this means?”

  Lil ignored the question. “I would that I might have seen him one last time. A good man, Geofrey. A man I loved.”

  “I know. It is, after all, love that kept the circle strong. I am sorry for your grief. But we cannot let the warding of Sherwood waver or, worse, fail. I have come for the girl.”

  “Rennie?” Lil’s tone sharpened. “It is far too soon!’

  Rennie stiffened at the sound of her name, and kicked her blankets aside.

  “Hush!” The man must have ears like a stag. “What was that?”

  “Naught, Sparrow. Everyone sleeps.”

  Sparrow? Rennie frowned and her body tensed. She had never before heard the name.

  The man’s voice lowered to a whisper Rennie barely caught. “For these last three years you have told us it is too soon for the girl to come to us. Now there is no choice. With the circle sundered, the spell shattered, we are all in danger. We need her, Lil—you know that.”

  Rennie scrambled up. Her bare feet made no sound as she left her corner of the scullery for the maw of the great, shadowed kitchen, where Lil always slept.

  Lil was undisputed queen of this place and had run it as long as Rennie could remember. She ruled her kingdom with firm kindness, but when Rennie’s eyes found her now, she looked, for the first time, old.

  And the man beside her—

/>   The desire, the need to see him had prodded Rennie from her bed, but now there was very little to see. For he came swathed in a cloak and hood that covered his hair and obscured his face. But he had striking hands, broad in the palms, long-fingered and graceful, those of a young man.

  His head lifted when Rennie appeared in the doorway; he came to his feet swiftly, as if drawn by strings. For a moment suspended in time they stood so, regarding one another. Then Lil swore softly.

  “By the Green Man’s horns, lass—you should be asleep.”

  “Who is this?” Rennie could feel his gaze all over her—the length of her hair, her hands, face and bosom—personal as a touch. His regard made her tingle disconcertingly. She turned to Lil in challenge. “Why is he here?”

  Lil clacked her tongue. Rennie, who had been with Lil since birth, could discern the old woman’s moods as well as her own and knew Lil to now be much overset. The news brought by the hooded man had disturbed her deeply.

  “Sit, child. Do not wake anyone else.”

  Disobedient, as she so often was, Rennie remained standing. “Tell me first who he is.”

  Lil got to her feet. A small woman, she still moved like a girl despite her advanced years. Rennie had often wondered if Lil did not carry some fairy blood. Her tiny stature, her strength in spite of it, her ability to command others, persuade them to do her bidding, and the very magic that swirled around her, all argued it. She must have been beautiful in her youth. Now her hair had turned dove gray, and the green of her eyes had faded except when angered, as now.

  “Sit, for pity’s sake, and be quiet. Do you want him discovered?”

  “I do not know. Do I?” But Rennie sat, folding her long legs under her and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

  The man still had not taken his eyes from her, and his regard made her feel naked. Aye, and the only male who had ever made her feel more uncomfortable that way was Lambert, the captain of the Sheriff’s guard.

  “This is she?” the hooded man breathed. “Not what I expected.”

  “No? And what did you expect?” Rennie threw the words at him like knives. She did not like men. Despite the awareness washing over her in waves, she did not like him.

  In an unexpected move, he pushed the hood back onto his shoulders, and Rennie found herself blinking in surprise.

  Ah, and he was not what she expected, either. For the face thus revealed did not, somehow, match the deep, smoky voice or the awareness streaming off him.

  He looked ordinary. It might be the face of any peasant: a broad forehead, narrow chin, unexceptional nose. Rennie saw strength in the weight of bone—aye, he was not a small man—but that was all, save for straight brown hair, now messed by the hood, and brilliant, dark eyes set beneath strongly marked brows.

  Then he smiled, and Rennie caught her breath.

  The smile held a singular sweetness, somehow at odds with his rough appearance. Not ordinary, then—no, not he.

  He said softly, “I suppose I imagined you would be cowed and broken, raised here in the den of the devil himself.”

  “And why should you imagine me at all?”

  He gave Lil a sharp look. “She does not know—?”

  Lil scowled. “Of course not. ’Tis no burden to lay upon a child.”

  His gaze brushed Rennie again. “This is no child.”

  Lil regarded Rennie also, her expression grave. “You are right. The years slipped away from me, and keeping her safe seemed more important than anything else.”

  “What—?” Rennie began again.

  The visitor interrupted. “But we need her, Lil. We need her now. Martin went at once after Geofrey’s death and consulted with Alric. With the triad broken, she must be ready to take her place.”

  “Who is Alric? What is this ‘triad’?” Impatiently, Rennie leaned toward the man. “What do I need to know?”

  “Hush, child!” Lil told her again.

  Rennie bristled. The restlessness she had felt so often lately translated easily to irritation. She had never taken the word “no” well—now she clashed eyes and wills with Lil, who sighed.

  “Perhaps you are right, Sparrow. It becomes increasingly difficult to hide her light.”

  “Aye.” The man’s gaze touched Rennie yet again. “It fair shines from her.”

  “I needs must tell her all.”

  “Tell me!” Rennie demanded.

  “But not here. And, lad, it is far too dangerous for you to linger. I will bring her later this morning.”

  “Where?”

  “The hollow near Oakham. Best to have Martin there.”

  “As if I could keep him away!”

  “And Alric also, if you can manage it.”

  “That may prove more difficult.”

  “It is all difficult.”

  Sparrow shifted his weight lightly. “You will tell her?”

  “Aye, but such things cannot be spoken here where the walls have ears. Now, lad, go—we shall see you anon.”

  He moved off and disappeared into the shadows that cloaked the kitchen, gone as completely as if he had never been. Rennie blinked.

  “Lil—”

  “Quiet!” Lil jerked her head toward the scullery.

  Rennie moved back into the dank room she considered both sanctuary and prison. For as long as she could remember she had inhabited this place, and she loathed it—lightless, airless, the very atmosphere heavy as chains, an endless stream of hand-chafing, back-breaking labor from first light to last. She detested the damp and the smell of the salt-scrub and rotten food. She resented that her only refuge was a nest of blankets worthy of the rats that came to steal crumbs.

  This place represented her life, and she loathed that also.

  Yet she sat on the tangle of blankets in the corner, and Lil came to join her.

  “I know you are full of questions,” Lil began.

  “Who is he? Who are Geofrey and Alric?”

  “I shall tell you everything later.” Unexpectedly, Lil reached out and stroked Rennie’s hair. Lil was rarely demonstrative, yet Rennie felt love emanating from her now, along with a mix of other emotions.

  Lil whispered, “I do not suppose I could have kept you here much longer. There is too much inside you, and what is within must eventually come out—’tis the way of life.”

  “I hate when you speak in riddles.”

  “You seem to hate everything, of late. I do not like this harshness about you.”

  “What is not to hate? My life here, as a virtual slave? The attentions of that vile monster, Lambert?” Lately the captain of the Sheriff’s guard had come sniffing around, making it clear he wanted favors and, moreover, suggesting what Rennie did not offer willingly could be taken by force.

  Lil shook her head. “I can no longer hide you. And with the death of Geofrey—”

  “Who is Geofrey?” Rennie asked again. “What is the ‘triad’? And that man—”

  “Sparrow?” Lil smiled briefly. “He lives in Sherwood. He and his companions—outlaws all—keep alive the tradition of the Green Man, and of Robin Hood.”

  “That old legend?” Rennie tossed her head. “A story for children.”

  “Is it?”

  “Aye. A tale meant to give hope to the hopeless.”

  Lil gazed at Rennie and said nothing.

  “Not that there is hope anywhere,” Rennie concluded bitterly.

  “We live under the heels of the Normans, aye,” Lil conceded. “But that does not mean hope is dead—it lies beneath the soil like yarrow in winter. And it lives in Sherwood with Sparrow and his crew.”

  Lil leaned closer and lowered her voice until it made a thin whisper. Even the silence of the sleeping kitchen seemed to bend in and listen.

  “I assure you, child, Robin Hood was a real man, and flesh and blood. He must have been, mustn’t he? Because you are his daughter.”

  Chapter Two

  “Did you see her? What is she like?”

  The questions assaulted Sparrow as
he slipped through the trees, silent as a shadow, and entered the outlaws’ camp. Night always meant life to Sparrow, in Sherwood. At home here since birth, he knew the animals who stirred only under cover of darkness—and the men.

  Now one of those appeared before him as if by magic, and blocked his way. Sparrow sensed others beyond, but the bulk of emotion came from Martin, who hovered threateningly, demand in his every line.

  “Peace,” Sparrow said, though Martin never seemed to find much of that.

  What a curse it was to be able to feel others’ emotions the way Sparrow felt the warmth of the air or the breeze on his cheek! He did not want to be assailed by Martin’s unstable brew, especially now when his own head still spun. He pushed at Martin in order to pass, but, stubborn as always, Martin stood firm.

  “You can give me an answer,” he growled. “That is simple enough.”

  “Aye.” Sparrow’s anger, a rare commodity, flared. “You always think everything simple, do you not?”

  Martin scowled; even in the soft, dim light Sparrow could see his expression. Or maybe he did not need to see it.

  “I still say I should have been the one to go to Nottingham. I would have brought her back with me. We need her here. How dare the old woman contrive to keep her from us?”

  “Would you drag her away from her home, and she not knowing who—and what—she is?”

  Martin nodded his shaggy, fair head. Whipcord strong and but a few inches shorter than Sparrow, Martin displayed the old Saxon blood, run true. With an often-murderous expression in his iron-blue eyes, he always looked like he should have a sharp axe in his hands.

  “It is time, and past time,” he grumbled.

  Someone moved behind Martin, a far more soothing presence: Alric.

  “Come, sit down,” he told both men. “We have much to discuss.”

  “Words!” Martin tossed his head in rampant frustration. But he listened to Alric as to no one else.

  A small fire burned, releasing the sweet smell of ashwood into the air. With a hand on each man’s forearm, Alric led them there, nodding to Martin’s mother, Madlyn, in passing.

  Madlyn—the only resident woman in camp—had played nursemaid and mother to them all over the years. Other females came and went; members of the outlaw band brought their lovers and wives from time to time. But few stayed long. Life in Sherwood always proved too risky, too difficult, and too dark. Madlyn, like Martin, was made of sterner stuff.