Daughter of Sherwood

by Laura Strickland

  “No? Yet opposite forces do call to one another, and fit just because they are two halves of the whole.” Robin held out his hand, and a hare pushed forward from the underbrush and came to him, almost lost in the gloom. “I never could have imagined your mother would wed with me.”

  Rennie asked, with sudden hunger, “What was she like? Lil made a fine mother to me, but I have always wondered.”

  “Aye. Marian was a ward of the Sheriff when I met her, he having stolen her father’s lands. She was strong and rebellious, and fled to Sherwood, where she encountered our band. You have her eyes.”

  “Lil says my mother died for love of you.”

  Robin remained silent.

  “I want that kind of love,” Rennie admitted, “the kind that knows no bounds, would give anything—but perhaps I do not deserve it.”

  “Each spirit, Daughter, deserves its fill of love, as love is its remembered home. There is love in Sherwood, and you are of the forest, lass, conceived and born here. Ask for Sherwood’s help in making your decision.”

  “Ask—the trees?”

  “Why not? There is help to be found.”

  Rennie looked up and around the small clearing. Scores of eyes watched them, faces but vaguely seen in the gathering dusk—not only Robin’s hare but deer, owls, mice, a fox. For the first time, she found their presence comforting.

  “Thank you. I—” she began to say to her father. But when she returned her gaze to him, he had faded from sight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Wren? Wren, where are you?”

  The call, soft yet persistent, cut through Rennie’s restless slumber and brought her awake. Morning light drifted through the trees, and birds sang and fluttered above her head. With difficulty, she sought to remember how she had come here, to the deep forest.

  Was it her father who called to her? She had dreamed of him—Robin—dreamed they sat and spoke together while the wild things listened all around them. But no, this sounded not like her father’s voice.

  “Wren? I know you are nearby. I can feel you.”

  She scrambled up from the place where she lay, on a bed of moss beside a fallen tree, and her hair swung around her. It was full of twigs and leaves, and the very scent of Sherwood pervaded her clothing. She felt as much a part of the forest as those creatures to which Robin had beckoned, last night. But for all the wildness that surrounded her, something in her heart had settled.

  “Sparrow?”

  He slipped between two trees and materialized beside her. In his garb of green and brown, with his brown hair and secretive eyes, he seemed to embody the forest the same way her father had, when she sat and spoke with him. But surely that had been a dream.

  “Thanks be to Herne,” Sparrow breathed. “Are you all right?”

  Rennie nodded. Moving softly still, Sparrow stepped forward and took her into his arms.

  Rennie’s heart expanded; she felt it rise, and then soar. She allowed herself to shelter against Sparrow’s shoulder for one moment, then drew away and looked into his face.

  He spoke before she could. “We have been half frantic with worry. We searched everywhere.”

  “‘We’?”

  “Myself, Martin, Simon—everyone who could be spared. What made you run off that way? You do not yet know enough about the forest to spend a night here alone.”

  But I was not alone. Rennie did not voice the thought. Instead she gazed into Sparrow’s dark eyes, sampling his unspoken emotions. “What is it? What has happened?”

  Sorrowfully, he answered, “Lil.”

  ****

  “What has befallen her? Please tell me she is not dead.” The words, breathless, came raggedly from Rennie’s throat as she and Sparrow ran, hand in hand. He knew where he was going, and she put her trust in that.

  “We do not know much. Word was brought from Nottingham last night, not long after you left. She has been arrested and accused of witchcraft. I came looking for you then, and learned nothing more.”

  The ache in Rennie’s chest increased. “It is a grave charge.”

  “Indeed. Wilfred, who brought word—he is a guard at the castle, and in with us—said she is to appear before the Sheriff as soon as he is well enough.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “The dungeon.”

  “No!” Rennie stumbled and slowed to a halt, dragging Sparrow with her. The dungeons at Nottingham were legendary, stinking holes where torture and pestilence reigned. Few people ever came out alive. “She cannot be there! I cannot bear it.” No, not Lil with all her wisdom and generous spirit. “She has been everything to me, all my life.”

  Sparrow grimaced in sympathy. “I know.”

  “What says Alric? He will never leave her there?” If the dungeons did not kill her, trial for witchcraft could.

  “I have not heard him say anything, yet. Come!”

  They ran again, and kept at it until the breath rasped in Rennie’s lungs. A crowd awaited them at the wolfsheads’ camp. Martin saw them first and broke away to seize hold of Rennie, what looked like bright anger vivid in his eyes.

  “Where have you been? What is the matter with you, haring off like that?”

  She pulled away from him and ignored the questions. “What goes on?”

  “I barely know—I just returned from searching for you. Wren, do not do that again.”

  She glared at him defiantly. “I shall do what I wish, especially if you two insist on growling over me like two dogs with a bone. Now, let us go listen.”

  Alric stood at the center of the crowd, his white hair streaming across his shoulders, his face troubled. He shot one look at the three of them when they joined the group, which included a large number of villagers and what must be outlaws from farther afield in Sherwood.

  “An accusation of witchcraft cannot be brought without certain claims of evidence. And it must be answered by trial, over which the Sheriff, himself, must preside. He is said to be near death.”

  “Who has brought the accusation?” someone called out—Adam, of Oakham.

  “Wilfred, will you speak?”

  Another man stepped forward. He wore the garb of a castle guard. He it must be who had brought the word of Lil’s arrest. “No one seems to know, but I suspect it was Sir Udolf Lambert. From what we have been able to learn, he complained his food, gotten from the Nottingham kitchens, was hexed. It made a furor in the dining hall, people falling about and thinking themselves harmed. No one was seriously hurt, but after that the accusation against Lil was made.”

  “Just because she is in charge of the kitchens?” asked Simon.

  Rennie shook her head. “No, he wants revenge against me. He does not believe Lil’s claims that she knows not where I have gone. He is punishing her the worst way possible.” Grief flooded her, sorrow that Lil, who had never been aught but loving and kind, should suffer for her sake.

  Alric inclined his head. “A harsh punishment, indeed. We know not what the trial itself may involve. But few have ever survived, in any case.” He looked at Rennie sadly. “Lil is a strong woman. But she is no longer young.”

  A murmur rose among the onlookers, fear and incipient grief.

  “An added difficulty,” Alric went on, “is that Lil represents the second part of Sherwood’s protective triad, now in danger of being lost. Should she fall, Sherwood and all who depend on her will be open to the worst kind of danger.”

  Rennie felt someone take her hand. At first she thought it was Sparrow. The feelings and sensations bombarding her made it impossible to tell. But Martin stepped forward, bringing her with him by their linked fingers.

  “Father, we will not leave Lil there, in the hands of the dark-minded. Surely we will rescue her?”

  Rennie’s heart lifted with sudden hope. Yes, surely love alone would mount the effort.

  But Alric looked at Martin sorrowfully. “A rescue from Nottingham’s dungeons? It is a steep task.”

  “My father accomplished it, in the past,” Marti
n declared, “along with Robin and other members of his band. Did they not once rescue Alan Adale and John Little himself?”

  “Indeed,” Alric conceded. “But that was Robin Hood.”

  “And we have Robin’s daughter!” Martin lifted Rennie’s hand high, and his voice rang with confidence. “Was she not born to be invincible?”

  “No one is invincible,” said Alric, almost kindly.

  “Robin was.”

  “My son, Robin fell to a hail of arrows and with a score of wounds.”

  “Aye,” Martin met the words swiftly, “but that did not overturn his legend, or his spirit! He has remained alive, we have kept him so, each one of us who believes. You, Master, and Lil and Geofrey—ask anyone in Nottingham if they believe Robin Hood still lives and fights for justice, and they will answer, ‘Aye.’ Now it is time for Wren, Sparrow, and me to take it up. Robin would not leave Lil there, and by the blood of the Green Man himself, we are Robin!”

  The bold words stirred Rennie’s blood and heightened the hope in her own heart. She thought of her conversation with her father last night. How true it was that he lived still in Sherwood, part of its magic. Perhaps, truly, he could never die. For the first time, a sense of what these folk strove to accomplish, and what the triad actually meant, touched her. She wanted to be part of that.

  She could feel Martin’s strength, his power, flowing to her through their linked hands. His confidence might have been a magical spell for the way it lifted the spirits of those gathered.

  “Very well.” Alric inclined his head. “I bow to you, Martin Scarlet. But you will need a careful and canny plan.”

  “Aye. Who is with me, for Lil’s sake?”

  Nearly everyone there clamored. Rennie turned her head, and her eyes met Sparrow’s, dark and guarded. He remained silent.

  Martin’s fingers squeezed Rennie’s hard. “Wren?”

  “I will do aught I can to help Lil.”

  “There. You hear courage, Robin’s courage!” Martin declared. “With Robin’s daughter on our side, can we fail?”

  Excitement rose; a number of people stepped forward with suggestions, from the daring to the fanciful.

  “Go under cover of night.”

  “Have Robin’s girl cast a spell to stun the Sheriff’s guards.”

  “Use magic to spirit our Lil from that dungeon.”

  At last, Wilfred stepped forward. “I may be able to get you into the castle, but I do not see a way to get in or out of the dungeons themselves. The best chance would be to wait for the trial and snatch Lil on her way.”

  “But that may not happen for days, weeks.” Rennie surprised herself by speaking. “Can Lil survive so long?” She fixed Wilfred with a stare. “You will know the truth. Just how bad are these dungeons?”

  He shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “They are, my lady, vile holes full of filth and suffering. If she be left there until that villain, the Sheriff, makes up his mind to die—”

  “Then we cannot leave her there,” Rennie decided. “Surely so many minds can think of a means of rescue.”

  “Aye, that is my lass,” said Martin softly, and squeezed her fingers again. “You will plan a rescue.”

  She cast him a look. “It is, I think, just what my father would have done.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You look precisely how I feel.” The soft voice, just at Sparrow’s shoulder, caused him to start and pull his gaze away from the couple sitting on the other side of the clearing. Sally stood beside him, her pretty face clouded by grief and another emotion, locked down tight. “Yet I can promise you, staring at them will change nothing.”

  “Was I staring?” Sparrow asked, dismayed.

  “Endlessly, ever since he promised her they would rescue Lil.”

  Ruefully, Sparrow met Sally’s eyes, green as leaves and full of wisdom. “They have been inseparable since then.” Three days, and Wren had virtually lived and slept by Martin’s side. Intense huddles, endless meetings with Wilfred and others from inside Nottingham, planning sessions with Alric. Sparrow had barely spoken to her in all that time.

  Had she chosen already?

  “Why not?” Sally’s voice oozed pain. “Can love not come so swiftly as that? And was she not born to love one of you?”

  “Aye, but why him?”

  Sally’s smile was hard and rueful. “Look at him. Is he not everything any sane woman might desire? Handsome, bold, courageous, and the very essence of Sherwood. I, myself, loved him from the moment I saw him.”

  “You were but a child then.”

  “Aye, and all that time I have never looked at another. Did you know he slept with me all last winter?”

  Sparrow knew. He had half envied Martin—to whom things came so easily—but not half as fiercely as now.

  “I thought I had won his heart, back when the snow fell. But now he turns away from me as lightly as if I never mattered to him.”

  “I am sorry,” Sparrow told her awkwardly. “You have lost much.” Her father, her home, and now Martin, who poured his attention and charm over Wren with a persistence that bordered on the maniacal.

  “I have lost everything,” Sally corrected. “You probably think I should have some pride. But what I feel overweighs that.”

  Sparrow understood. Oh, how he understood.

  “One thing I do know.” Sally gave Sparrow another, bitter smile. “Watching them changes nothing. It only deepens the pain.”

  “You are right. Yet I cannot seem to help myself.” Already Sparrow had memorized everything about Wren—the precise color of her hair, the length of her limbs, the grace with which she moved, and the flash of intelligence in her eyes. He liked to keep watch for her smile, rare and fleeting, loved the way she handled a bow or stood, sometimes, gazing up into the trees as if listening for something, or someone.

  “Can you keep a secret?” Sally asked, lowering her voice.

  “Aye.” Sparrow bent his head closer to hers.

  “I am carrying his child. Martin’s.”

  Sparrow’s stomach plummeted. “Are you sure?”

  She gazed away and nodded. “I show all the signs.”

  “By God, Sally! How far—?”

  “I would say three months, maybe a bit more. Not so he can tell.”

  “He needs to know, Sal.”

  Her expression grew mutinous. “No. You promised me, Sparrow.”

  “But that is not a thing to be kept from a man.”

  “He wants her, now. He wants the place at her side, as headman of Oakham. Deny that is so.”

  Sparrow could not deny it.

  “But he deserves to know.”

  “Do not be a fool, Sparrow. He has but one thing in his mind, and ’tis not me, nor any child of mine.”

  “Of his, you mean.”

  “I mean to take care of it, Sparrow.”

  “How is that?”

  “There are ways to lose a babe—drenchings and potions. I meant to go to Lil.”

  Sparrow’s heart dropped still further. “Lil would never help you do such a thing.”

  “No? Well, there are other women who will. Gert, over in West Riding—”

  “She is no better than a butcher. Sally, listen to me. Children born in Sherwood are rare and special, often important, often blessed.”

  “This one will not be born here, nor at all.”

  “Have you spoken to Madlyn of this?” Her first grandchild—surely Madlyn would fight for its preservation.

  “Not a word.” Sally tossed at him before walking off. She did not look back.

  Sparrow clenched his fists against a sudden urge to hit someone—Martin, preferably, to knock some sense into him. Why could the man not see what lay before him? Sally went round with her heart in her eyes. Was Martin truly such a prize?

  You are jealous, lad, Sparrow told himself, and knew it for truth. Why could Wren not look at him the way she looked at Martin, with trust and admiration? That one shared kiss had made him believe she felt
something for him, yet in the three days since they received word about Lil, she had stuck to Martin like a burdock. Seldom did Sparrow see her chestnut head without Martin’s shaggy, fair one beside it.

  Except now.

  Sparrow watched as Martin walked away, his sword in his hand, and left Wren standing on her own beneath the tall beech at the northeast corner of camp.

  Sparrow wasted no time in approaching her. She looked up at him with a guarded expression, strained and grim.

  “Where has Martin gone?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  “Something is amiss with the pommel of his sword. He means to take it to the smith at Oakham.”

  A miracle! Sparrow drew a breath. “Come walk with me.”

  “No.”

  “Eh?” Her abrupt refusal made Sparrow cock his head.

  Wren sighed. “I am not in the mood for a stroll in the forest.”

  “You seem to have plenty of time for Martin.” As soon as he spoke the words, Sparrow wanted to thump himself.

  The look in her eyes cooled; now he could see lines of weariness in her face. “Listen to me, Sparrow. I care nothing for any rivalry between the two of you. I care for nothing at all save Lil, and I have not slept since the news about her came. Whatever you wish to say to me, you can say here.”

  Sparrow’s spine stiffened. “I understand you are distraught. We all care about Lil. But this scheme of entering the castle is ill-conceived.”

  “Is it?”

  “Aye. You may as well put Martin’s sword to your own throat as take yourself into Nottingham.” Why did he hurl these hard words at her when he wanted so badly to take her in his arms? She wore an air of toughness and showed, always, such a desire to fight. But he could sense the vulnerability underneath it all, and he longed to kiss those lips she barely kept from trembling.

  “You chide me, Sparrow, for spending my time with Martin. Yet he has offered me a plan, a means to the one thing I desire—winning Lil free. She has been a mother to me.” Wren blinked against tears. “The only one I have known. I would follow Martin anywhere in order to save her.”

  “What is this grand scheme of Martin’s, then?” Sparrow asked, not without an edge.