Daughter of Sherwood

by Laura Strickland

  “We were named in honor of Robin, of course, as were many born in Sherwood, back then.” He grinned. “To be sure, there can be only one ‘Robin,’ so other birds had to be selected.”

  “Aye?” Rennie studied him closely. “Why ‘Sparrow’? Would not Hawk have suited you better?”

  “My father, so the story goes, wanted me to become a fine archer, one to rival Robin himself.”

  “How does the name lend that?”

  “It carries the word ‘arrow,’ does it not? ’Tis said the rogue friar himself—Tuck—named and blessed us before he died.”

  “Did your name do its work? Are you a fine archer?”

  “If I answer that honestly, I fear I will sound as full of myself as does our friend Martin.”

  “Oh, him! Who would believe a word he says?”

  “I do not know what he has been saying to you, but he is very good with a sword and with his fists, for all that.”

  Rennie continued to study him in the flickering firelight, fascinated by his eyes, which held that hint of the wild and were shadowed by lashes surely longer than her own. And she found herself hoping Martin would not return. The emotions she gleaned from Martin were tumultuous and disturbing. This man, however, emitted a measure of calm.

  “Do you remember him, Robin Hood?” she asked.

  “Your father? Aye.”

  “Can you tell me something about him? I cannot quite believe he is my father. It is oversetting, finding oneself the daughter of a legend.”

  “I remember them both, your father and your mother. I was about six when you were born. But I do not know to what extent my memories are colored by what I was later told.”

  “What was he like?”

  Sparrow closed his eyes and considered his words before speaking. “Strong and kind. I remember that about him. When he looked at you, you could feel his kindness. I never saw him angered with anyone, not like Martin’s father. But when Robin took up a cause, the magic in him flared and he became unstoppable.”

  “Magic.” That word again. Rennie sighed.

  “It abounds, here in Sherwood. And your father had it in full.”

  “Is that what I feel?” Rennie glanced round at the trees.

  “You look like him.”

  “What? How is that?”

  Sparrow smiled again, almost ruefully. “You have his strength about you, and the cast of your face is the same, but I think you have your mother’s eyes.”

  “Can you describe him to me?”

  “Well, he seemed very tall to me then, but I was small. He was not big like my own Da, who was a veritable giant. He had hair just the color of yours—dark brown—and I remember his eyes glowed blue, like jewels.”

  Rennie’s breath caught in her throat. “I think I have dreamed of him, over and over again, for years, not knowing who he was. He used to speak to me while I slept.” A shiver made her tremble. “His eyes shone with blue light, just as you describe.”

  Sparrow leaned closer. “What did he say to you, in these dreams?”

  “Many things, most of which I did not understand.” Rennie pressed her lips together. The strange man had visited her dreams at times when she felt at her most desperate and vulnerable, when she wept. She would not admit that to Sparrow, whom she barely knew.

  “And your mother,” Sparrow began.

  “What is all this, then?” Martin loomed over them, his shadow leaping ahead of him, cast by the flames.

  “We are just talking,” Sparrow said mildly. “Wren has questions.”

  “Time for you to take watch,” Martin told him, and dropped to Rennie’s side. Immediately she could feel his emotions resume beating at her, and she surged to her feet.

  “I need to rest.” Suddenly, her longing for her nest in the scullery was so intense she could have wept.

  “Here, child.” The woman who had been introduced as Martin’s mother, Madlyn, held out a hand. “Come with me. I shall see you settled.”

  Rennie put her fingers in the woman’s hand. They left the two young men sitting together in silence.

  ****

  A strange sound woke Rennie from deep, dreamless sleep. She had lain long before finding oblivion last night and had half expected the man—her father—to visit her dreams, but he had not. Now, eyes still closed, she registered a hollow thunk, thunk, almost like someone chopping wood, or like Master Eddoes cutting meat on his block. And she could hear voices, calm and quiet.

  “Ah, you cannot do that again.”

  “I can. Set the target farther off.”

  “Braggart!”

  “No bragging about it. Stand there just in front of the target, if you like. I will hit a hand’s breadth above it.”

  “Do you take me for a fool?”

  “Always!”

  Rennie opened her eyes and sat up, her loose hair swinging round her like a brown blanket. Green light shone everywhere, and sensation rushed upon her. The forest, alive and in movement, whispered far overhead, and birds flicked by like shards of brightness. By God, she was still in Sherwood. Yesterday had not been an ugly dream.

  Not far off a fire smoldered. Rennie saw Madlyn there, stirring a pot of something that smelled so good Rennie’s stomach rumbled.

  The lad called Simon sat beneath a tree, stringing a bow, his attention all directed farther off where—

  Ah, there they were, the two men who had vied for her attention last night. They competed again now, with bows in their hands. The sound Rennie had heard was that of arrows finding their marks.

  She got to her feet slowly. Neither young man noticed her, but Simon did, and the old fellow who lazed in the corner of the clearing, both of whom gave her sharp looks.

  Rennie stumbled to Madlyn’s side and spoke but one word. “Privy?”

  Madlyn’s kind face turned sympathetic. “There is none. You must just go off by yourself. For the god’s sake, be careful. Shall I come with you?”

  Rennie shook her head, able to think of few things she wanted less, and slunk off.

  When she returned, both men stood beside the fire, having abandoned their archery practice. Rennie could feel their emotions, all stirred up and tangled. She fought the impulse to turn round again and just run and run, into the trees.

  Martin held a bowl in his hands, which he offered Rennie. “Hungry?”

  She was, yet she shied from him instinctively. A spark of impatience lit his blue eyes. “You must eat. Mother, pray get her a portion.”

  “I would rather have a place to wash, and some time on my own.”

  “One of those we can offer you,” Sparrow said. “But you must remain under someone’s protection.”

  Martin’s gaze inspected Rennie as if stripping her naked. “You will need some decent clothing. Everyone will be coming, you understand.”

  “Everyone?”

  “They will have heard about you and be feeling curious.” He tipped the bowl to his lips. “You will need to look as they expect.”

  Rennie’s anger flared. “And what do they expect?”

  He waved a hand. “Something grand, as befits Robin’s daughter.”

  Rennie drew herself up and declared, “I do not play at ‘grand’!”

  Both men grinned, as did Simon and Madlyn.

  Martin’s teeth flashed white, and Rennie found herself assaulted by his all-too-potent charm. “I think you just did. You cannot blame folk for being anxious to lay eyes on you. All these years they have kept the faith alive. Now something is going to happen.”

  But what? Rennie wondered. These outlaws here in Sherwood, and the folk in the surrounding hamlets who supported them, could not possibly expect her to step out of the scullery and lead them…could they?

  Madlyn placed a bowl in her hands. Half dizzy with hunger, she reconsidered and raised it to her lips.

  “Not so fine as what you had in Nottingham Castle, I will be bound,” Madlyn remarked. “I am sure Lil’s kitchen has more than a little magic in it.”

  “Th
is tastes wonderful.” Rennie pushed her hair out of her face, all too aware of how closely both men watched her. “Some grand dishes get prepared at the castle, aye, but I never tasted them. A full two score people work in the kitchens, and the Sheriff is not about to let them sup his gravies and sauces.”

  Madlyn clicked her tongue. “Imagine seeing and smelling of all that food, and having none of it.”

  Rennie shrugged. “’Tis hardest for the youngsters who stir pots and turn the spits.”

  “So,” Martin asked suddenly, “just what did you do to the bastard, Lambert, that you are banished from Nottingham?”

  The rich stew caught in Rennie’s throat and she nearly choked. She raised her eyes to Martin’s on a flare of anger. “He demanded what I was not willing to give.”

  Martin nodded. “That Norman get seems to think he can take whatever he wants. Needs to be put in his place, like Sir Guy before him. At least he got what he deserved.”

  Rennie nodded uncertainly. She had laid eyes only a few times on Sir Guy, the Sheriff’s longstanding captain of the guard, killed last winter. A fierce, cruel man, at least he had never come hunting his pleasure in the kitchens.

  Sparrow spoke with an edge of irony. “I may as well inform you before Martin, here, decides to brag on himself—’twas he who struck Sir Guy’s death blow.”

  “Death blow?” Rennie echoed.

  “Aye.” Martin took it up. “’Twas just before Solstice, and the Sheriff’s guards, led by Sir Guy, were transporting the last quarter taxes over icy roads. We halted them on the far side of Oakham, where Sir Guy fancied he could best my sword.” Martin’s grin flashed again. “There were folk had meat for their Christmas table, thanks to us.”

  “And Sir Guy?”

  “Went home and died—slowly,” Martin said with satisfaction. “Word is, it took him ten days and cost much in pain.” He leaned toward Rennie and widened his blue eyes. “Stay with us, Wren, and I promise I will serve Lambert the same.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Mother, I wish to go home.” To Rennie’s consternation, her voice broke on the words. “I know you say Sherwood must be my home now, but it feels not! The trees whisper at me, and I can find no rest.”

  Lil said nothing. The two of them walked together in the forest, not far from camp. Birds came fluttering from the surrounding trees to follow in Lil’s wake, but Rennie barely noticed, so intent was she on persuasion.

  Hurriedly, she went on, “Surely Lambert has forgotten all about me by now. I am naught but an insignificant peasant, to him.”

  “Forgotten? You broke his cheekbone with that bucket. I doubt he is likely to forget,” Lil said wryly. “He has been to the kitchen looking for you no less than three times, and the Sheriff has issued a decree that, if caught, you are to be whipped.”

  “What said you to Lambert, when he came looking?”

  “That you had run off, and I knew not how to find you.”

  “Oh.” Rennie could not imagine so much furor over her instinctive act of self-defense. Then again, neither could she imagine being the daughter of Robin Hood. The last thing she wanted was to cause more trouble for Lil, even though her own unhappiness cried aloud.

  Ruefully, she said, “I never imagined I might be homesick for the scullery, dank place that it was.”

  Lil stopped walking and faced her. “You must learn to take your place here—for it is your place, child, though you believe it not. You were conceived and born beneath these trees, and the waters of Sherwood run through your blood.”

  “I hear them speaking to one another—the trees, I mean.” Rennie lowered her voice, as if fearing the overweening branches might listen. “What does it mean? And how is it I can sense what those two are feeling so clearly, Sparrow and Martin?”

  Lil’s green eyes searched Rennie’s closely. She sighed. “Perhaps I should have prepared you for this long ago. But, the god help me, I thought it safer if you did not know and so could not let slip some truth that might endanger you. Lately, though, it has been like trying to keep a young falcon in a cage. My heart told me. I should have listened.”

  “Your heart told you what, Lil?”

  “I had no right to keep you so long. I should have educated you long since, then set you free into Sherwood.”

  “But you did educate me, Mother, in so many things. You taught me the histories of England, all about healing herbs, and how to set a bone. You even taught me to read a few words.”

  “And I neglected much, as well, perhaps those lessons you needed most. I should have taught you the truth about magic. It shall be a great part of your life.”

  Rennie caught her breath. “Everyone at Nottingham knows magic is dangerous. Women have been killed for using it.”

  “Old biddies, thinking they can speak curses! I am talking of real magic, Rennie, the kind that turns the seasons and makes the stag run.”

  “That is life.”

  Lil nodded. “Magic is life, quickened. ’Tis what the old word means, is it not? Wicca—the quickening of life. You feel it all around you, here in Sherwood. You feel it streaming off the trees, and it is what you are sensing from those two young men.”

  “How do you know what I am sensing?”

  “I have felt it myself, all my life. Listen to me, Rennie. All folk are of the earth, and connected to her. But in some, the sensing is very bright. They can read the life force the way a scholar reads a book. ’Tis a gift and a burden, one you and those two men share.”

  Rennie struggled for comprehension. “Why? How?”

  Lil smiled gently. “The ‘how’ is easy: your fathers all gave themselves to Sherwood, heart and soul. Sherwood gives back. Those who have met the god possess a magic that flows through them and manifests in many ways.”

  “I have never met the god.”

  “Can you be so certain? He comes to us in many guises. ’Tis he guards the spirit of Sherwood, keeps the folk who are connected to the land safe, and the flame of hope burning in their hearts. Do you think the Green Man cares for lords and barons? He rewards those who see—and hear and feel—him best.”

  “Where is he, then, this green god?”

  “Beneath your feet, dancing through the air, in Sparrow’s eyes, and in Martin’s smile. The longer you stay here, the more strongly will your powers come to you. And when they ripen, you will need to make a choice.”

  “What kind of choice?”

  “Eventually, child, you will bond with both of them.”

  “Sparrow and Martin?”

  “Aye, but you will need to bestow on one of them the fullness of your heart.” Lil gazed into the far distance. “As I did, before you.”

  Rennie’s mind leaped ahead. “Geofrey? Did you love him, then, full well?”

  “Not love as you imagine it. ’Tis the love of the Lord for his Lady, and all men for all women—a holy, as well as a carnal, thing.”

  “I do not understand.”

  Lil reached out to smooth Rennie’s hair. “Nay, but you will.” She smiled sadly. “I half pity and half envy you. Promise me one thing: you will stay here and learn all those here have to teach you, even as in the past you learned from me.”

  “I will try.” Rennie frowned. “But you know how I hate being told what to do.”

  “Oh, that I do know!” Lil laughed with affection.

  “Very well, I do so promise, if you will promise me something in return: you will be here when I need you.”

  “I will try, love. But you need to be able to rely on yourself.”

  “Say that I will see you tomorrow.”

  “That is when Geofrey will be laid to rest. Alric and I must be there.”

  “Where?”

  “Beneath the great tree at Oakham.”

  “Let me come.”

  Lil gave Rennie a hard look. “Well, then, yes. Sparrow may bring you. But you must heed all he tells you. I will speak with him now.”

  Why Sparrow, Rennie wondered, and not Martin? She seized Lil’s ar
m and immediately felt Lil’s serenity, her grief—and strength. “Promise me a second thing, Mother—that you will not abandon me.”

  ****

  “Here.” A bundle landed in Rennie’s lap, soft deerskin and well-worn cloth.

  She looked up into Martin’s blue eyes. “What is this?”

  “Clothing. If you wish to go to Geofrey’s burial, it must be as a lad. Anyway, those rags you are wearing are fit only for the fire.”

  Rennie narrowed her eyes at him. Was he not a fine one to talk, an outlaw by birth, who had lived his whole life rough, in the forest? He wore leather leggings, overwrapped with deer-hide thongs, and a leather jerkin so soft it molded to his broad shoulders, loosened in front to show a strong, tanned throat. No denying Martin Scarlet was a comely man and a challenging one, given the way he stared back at her, tit for tat. Rennie did not want him to get the idea he could give her orders of any kind, and she did not like the implication that her own clothes might be manky. Yet there was some appeal in the prospect of wearing men’s clothing, and disappearing into a disguise.

  She scrambled to her feet, hampered by the bundle, and Martin reached out a hand to assist her. The instant their hands met, palm to palm, sensation came rushing, so strong she almost fell down again.

  Darkness, light, courage, intensity, and searing anger, burning up a great bitterness the way flame consumes dry tinder. She could feel his spirit, and it knocked the breath out of her, swayed her right back on her heels. She stared into Martin’s face and saw his eyes widen, the irises clear gray-blue, and knew he also felt the blazing connection.

  And what did he sense in her, then? Her overwhelming frustration? Her bone-deep loneliness and yearning for light? Her ever-present fear of abandonment?

  He gasped and, as soon as Rennie stood on her feet, extracted his fingers from hers. Wordless, they stared at one another while Rennie’s heart began to pound.

  Then Martin swore, soft and deep. “By our Lady!” Something kindled in his eyes, and he stepped toward her.

  Just as quickly, Rennie slipped away.

  “Wren.” He spoke her name like claiming.

  Instinctively, she shook her head. No. Too intense. Too terrifying.