Daughter of Sherwood

by Laura Strickland

  Madlyn wept, Sally lamented, voices cried inquiry and response. Rennie, still kneeling, looked into a gulf of blackness so bitter she shied from it.

  “Come, love.” Not Sparrow’s arms, but Martin’s lifting her up so Lil’s hand slipped from between her fingers. She felt his kindness, his unexpected gentleness as he pulled her into an embrace and comforted her like a child. Instantly, his grief assailed her and combined with her own.

  “There now, there—I know it is a terrible loss. But you will take her place, even as I will take Geofrey’s.”

  Rennie could not tell him, not now, that someone already filled the place beside her. She closed her eyes and sheltered against the agony. Martin pulled her still closer, wrapped her in his arms. He murmured, “Together we will keep the magic strong, here in Sherwood.”

  And so they would. Had she not promised Lil?

  All about the camp, cries of grief and weeping arose. Rennie drew from Martin’s arms and saw Sparrow on the ground beside Alric, seeking to offer comfort. The old man appeared broken, and Rennie knew how cruelly the bonds inside him had been severed. It would feel just so for her if she lost Sparrow—or Martin.

  But now it was time for her to take her courage in both her hands. Time for her to do as Lil had asked. She drew a deep breath. “We cannot linger here,” she declared. “Gather the rest of our things, and we will go.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “We need to scatter,” Martin declared. “We stand a better chance in small groups, for the Sheriff’s men cannot pursue us all.”

  “What of Lil?” asked Wren, her face a mask of grief. “We cannot just leave her here.”

  “No,” Sparrow agreed.

  The three of them stood in a clutch with Alric and Madlyn, struggling to make last-moment decisions. Alric had pulled himself up from the ground, but the old man was clearly shattered, barely able to speak. Madlyn wept silently, and constantly. Wren—Sparrow could barely look at her, for what leaped up between them whenever he did. When he met her eyes, or even when he did not, he could feel her hands upon him, sliding over his naked skin, even feel himself glide again into her welcoming heat. This was no time for such thoughts, when emotions were raw and brutalized. Martin’s control hung by a mere thread, and if Martin suspected the truth, hell would erupt.

  Wren could not withstand that now. Sparrow’s first duty was to protect her, even from Martin’s anger, and even though he wished only to take her in his arms.

  She spoke, brokenly. “We must take her body with us. I refuse to abandon her to Lambert’s men. She will want to be buried beneath the oak, next to Geofrey.”

  “And that is impossible, now.” Martin seemed to think someone had given him the right to make decisions. Sparrow glared at him through narrowed eyes and felt Alric seize his arm.

  “We will bundle and take her with us. Time to bury her later.”

  Sparrow stared into the old man’s eyes and read his pain. Did Alric feel as Sparrow might, if he lost Wren?

  “You will come with me, Sparrow,” Alric told him. “We will take Lillith.”

  “Aye,” Martin agreed quickly. “I will look after Wren.”

  Sparrow felt Wren reach for him with her mind. “No,” he said, an instinctive reaction. “Wren will be safer with the both of us looking after her.”

  Martin spoke impatiently. “It is not safe for the three of us to travel together; we might all be taken.”

  “He is right, Sparrow,” Alric agreed. “The protection of Sherwood now falls into your hands.”

  “Give me my bow.” Wren stepped away from Martin. At least some of her grief seemed to have transformed into anger. She glanced at Sparrow. “We will meet later.”

  “Three days,” Martin declared.

  Three days—it might as well be three years. Sparrow ached to reach for Wren, to bury his fingers in her hair and hold her as he had last night. Yet she had turned her eyes away from him.

  “Come,” Alric said to Madlyn. “You and I shall prepare Lillith for her journey.”

  Martin touched Wren on the arm. “We will collect supplies and weapons. Swiftly, now.”

  Sparrow swallowed hard. Only moments stood between him and unbearable separation. Would Martin sense the feelings running rampant inside and guess the reason for them? Would he unleash his anger, then? Would Wren be safe with him?

  He spoke to Wren in his mind. Remember you are mine.

  With her face still turned away, she replied. Aye, love. I am not likely to forget.

  Love—she called him “love,” a word that had not yet passed her lips. It struck him to the heart.

  Return to me, he told her.

  I will. Even as she turned to follow Martin, her eyes gave the promise.

  ****

  The three days, as Sparrow lived them, might have been thirty. Alric led their little group, which included Sally and two other men—Timothy and Roderick, who helped carry the burden—far deeper into the wood than Sparrow had ever ventured. The old man knew Sherwood like the landscape of his own heart, or, more precisely, as a man knows a lover.

  The rain returned to dog them and, light as it was, Lil’s body made a troubling burden.

  On the second night, while Sally, Tim, and Roderick tossed in troubled sleep, Sparrow and Alric sat together without so much as the comfort of a fire.

  “Perhaps we should bury Lil here, come first light,” Sparrow suggested. “She grows—” Words failed him.

  “No.” Stubbornly, Alric shook his head. He seemed, in a peculiar way, to have shrunk since their flight began, shriveled in upon himself. Now he coughed fitfully. “I know ’tis not truly Lil we bear—”

  “Then what does it matter where her remains lie? Surely here, in the heart of Sherwood, would suit.”

  “She would want her bones to lie beside his. She did so love to lie with him.” Pain weighted Alric’s words. “And she had so little chance for it, in life.”

  “Aye, then we will do as you think best.” Curiosity stirred in Sparrow’s heart. “Alric, if you do not mind me asking—” Sparrow paused.

  “Ask what you will, lad. You do not stand far off from where I once stood. And the time swiftly moves to when the three of you—Wren, Martin, and yourself—must take our places completely.”

  Sparrow stared blindly into the wet darkness. “How was it with you, then? Did you both love Lil?”

  “As the both of you love Wren now, aye.” Ruefully, Alric confirmed it. “Oh, do not think to hide what you feel. Things are as they were meant to be. Love it is that weaves the spell.”

  “The spell?”

  Alric turned toward him, yet the dark prevented Sparrow from seeing what lay in his eyes. “Surely you know, Sparrow, only love can weave magic? Love—or hate. And we will have no part of that sort of spell. But it calls for strong emotion: for the world, for one another, for Sherwood itself. Robin bore that love, and others before him. Lil had great love. And I.”

  “But the love and desire of a man for a woman—”

  “It is a force in itself. The intensity of the wanting calls up the power of the world. Do you see?”

  Sparrow wondered if he did. “How was it for the three of you? How, when Lil decided?”

  “Lil chose with her heart. She loved us both in different ways. I always knew that. For a time, I hoped she would choose me, but then I saw how she looked at him.”

  Sparrow thought of Martin. “And you felt no anger for that?”

  “Anger? Lad, for a time my emotions were so twisted I barely recognized them. But it was a troubled time, just as it is now, and everyone’s emotions were in discord. Robin had held so much on his heart, in essence inhabiting the place of leader and worshipper combined, linked to Sherwood through the Green God himself, as so many before him.”

  “There have been others?”

  “So many others—since the time the first men came here and found the spirit that dwells in the wood and the wild.”

  “But when Lil chose Geofrey, you
accepted it?”

  “You must understand, Sparrow, when it happened we were not so young as the three of you. The blood no longer ran so hot. I had seen two score years. Three score, now.”

  “I see.”

  “And we both know youthful blood runs very hot, indeed—especially Martin’s. Sparrow, do you dread taking my place?”

  Not any more. All Sparrow need do was think of Wren—remember touching and caressing her, recall the look in her eyes at parting—for the warmth to come flooding. But he could not tell even Alric the secret he shared with her. Softly, he asked, “Is your place so terrible?”

  “No. No, it holds its own reward. When I die, I will become part of what I love. What could be more magnificent?”

  “Sherwood, you mean.”

  “I do—and the magic that exists here.”

  Sparrow hesitated. “Can you better explain it to me, Father? How was this magic born, and how does it continue? If we are asked to give our lives to it, I would know.”

  “Aye, lad. But it is difficult to explain the ineffable. Have you ever seen a book?”

  Sparrow frowned. “Once or twice.”

  “Ever seen a man—a monk—write? The stylus leaves a trail on the parchment, and something of the thought behind the words then remains. Love is like that. It leaves traces of itself that can be felt and, sometimes, manipulated. Since men first came to our island, they have loved and worshipped the wood. That love has left its trace, and it is that Robin tapped into, when he came.”

  “But how did he know?”

  “You would need ask him that, lad—or his spirit, for it dwells here still. Geofrey, Lillith, and I never misunderstood that. I know, for he told me, that he communed with the god of the greenwood, in essence became him, and lay with his lady, before ever Marian joined him.”

  “Lay with his lady, the god’s lady?”

  “Do not sound so startled. I have lain with her myself, as will you, if you take my place. When I die, it is in her arms I shall lie.”

  “You are right,” Sparrow admitted ruefully. “It is ineffable.”

  Alric laughed softly. “Be that as it may, the three of you must take up the threads of this ancient magic and spin it as you will. If you do not, if separation from the Green Man occurs, the Normans will eventually claim Sherwood. They will fear it no more, and the faith Robin kept burning will extinguish. Then will he die.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you, lad?”

  “I feel your words even if I do not wholly comprehend them. The magic is our defense and our strength.”

  “Our defense, our strength, and our identity. If we lose that, we lose ourselves.”

  “And it is all held by love.”

  “Aye. Love of a man—or woman—for place, for duty, for one another. But that love must be manifest and it must be earnest.”

  “Father, may I tell you a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “Sally carries Martin’s child. How will this affect our delicate balance?”

  “Ah.” The single word conveyed Alric’s regret; he said nothing more.

  Earnestly, Sparrow went on, “You speak of love: Sally loves Martin. How does that impact what happens between the rest of us?”

  “A good question.” Alric repeated what Sparrow had told Sally. “Children born in Sherwood tend to be special, even destined for greatness.”

  “I know.”

  “Soon she will need to tell him. Such a secret cannot remain long hidden. It will be the measure of the man, what Martin does then.”

  “I suppose it will.” The Lord and Lady help them all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Has Sparrow come?” For at least the third time, Rennie asked the question, and Martin sent her a sharp look. She drew a breath and struggled to control her emotions. For days now, she had kept them locked down tight, afraid to let them stray where they naturally wanted to go, for fear Martin would glean what she felt for Sparrow. She thought she had succeeded reasonably well. But on this, the third day, her resistance was in shreds. As the scattered parties slowly drifted to Oakham, prepared to lay Lil’s body to rest, her uneasiness grew. Most of those now gathering had stories of pursuit and danger, tales of the Sheriff’s men. Only Sparrow’s group had yet to arrive.

  “Nay,” replied Madlyn, sounding as worried as Rennie felt. “Not yet.”

  “Oakham has become a perilous place,” Rennie said, also not for the first time. She fidgeted like a woman dancing on hot coals; she wanted Lil safely laid to rest, and this thing done.

  And she needed to see Sparrow, with an intensity that frightened her. Her eyes longed to rest on him, her heart wanted to be at home with him, her fingers itched to caress him.

  She added, “We cannot linger here long. What if another troop of soldiers arrives?” They had already faced two small parties before finding refuge deep in Sherwood—Rennie, Martin, Simon, and the two others who, along with Madlyn, made up their group had fought valiantly. Rennie remained unhurt, but Martin now bore wounds upon his wounds.

  The three days had seemed three score long.

  She glanced up to find Martin’s eyes on her. All too aware he could sense her feelings even as she sensed his, she once more caught herself up, hard.

  “Why do you fret so?” He sounded annoyed.

  Rennie tossed her head. “We cannot have a burial without Lil’s body, can we?”

  Sudden awareness seized her then and turned her gaze northward into the wood. It pricked all over her skin and played like a song in her mind. Relief hit her in a staggering wave. All the time they had been apart, she had caught no thoughts from Sparrow’s mind, not so much as a hint of comfort. But now—

  Wren?

  Sparrow, Sparrow, Sparrow.

  Incautiously, she said, “They come,” and ran to meet them.

  Martin followed, as did Adam, now serving as headman of Oakham, with Madlyn in their wake. The party came slowly, Timothy and Roderick carrying Lil’s swaddled corpse and Alric leaning heavily on Sparrow’s arm.

  The old man looked shockingly unwell. Gray in the face, his expression set in a stoical mask of pain, he appeared frail and almost powerless, his grief palpable.

  Compassion struck Rennie, an overflow of Sparrow’s compassion. Their eyes met.

  Wren.

  My love.

  The worry seemed to lift from Sparrow like mist at sunrise. His shoulders straightened and his head rose.

  Madlyn went forward and took Alric’s hands. “Old friend, you look unwell.”

  Alric nodded soberly. “We gather here to bury a dear one. I shall not be long in following her.”

  “Do not say that.” The words came from Sparrow. His beautiful, dark eyes held troubled concern.

  Alric gave him a rueful smile. “Why not? There is always value, lad, in speaking the truth.”

  ****

  Lil, so well-loved, called forth floods of tears as she was laid to rest. The service was, perforce, brief. Alric kept himself upright until the end, when he sank to the ground above the grave. He was senseless when they lifted him up again.

  “We cannot linger,” said Martin, tense as a bowstring. “Should we be found here, Oakham will burn.”

  “I need time to tend him, if I hope to save him,” Madlyn told her son. “I have not Lil’s skill, but I will do what I can.”

  “Soldiers!” The cry came from the south end of the village. “They ride this way from Nottingham, with Sir Lambert at their head.”

  “You must scatter once more. Quickly!” Adam told them.

  “Aye. Someone help me.” Martin caught Alric up in his arms. Sparrow stepped forward to share the burden.

  Wren?

  I am with you. This time we will not be parted.

  As so often before, the outlaws melted away by twos and threes into the forest. This time, though, Rennie felt she left part of her heart behind, lying beside Geofrey. How could she hope to go on without Lil’s steady presence, her strength an
d wisdom? How could she imagine filling such emptiness?

  Their group numbered but four in addition to Alric: Martin, Sparrow, Madlyn, and Rennie herself. Her bow on her shoulder and exhaustion pulling at her limbs, Rennie brought up the rear, keeping constant watch on their back trail.

  Yet the wood held its silence. She caught no outcry from behind, no sound of mounted soldiers, no hint of smoke. Birds wove their songs overhead, and new, unfolding leaves rustled.

  Rennie reached for Sparrow’s mind.

  My love, how I missed you.

  And I, you. Your absence was a wound on my heart.

  His thoughts sang in her mind even as the birds sang overhead. Rennie drew a deep breath and felt herself steady.

  Martin glanced at her over his shoulder. Did he sense the connection, or did he but check their progress? Unsure, Rennie strove to rein in her desire. It had been one thing, keeping her feelings in check when she and Sparrow were apart. Now that they traveled together, could she hope to hide the truth from Martin? She determined she would not speak again to Sparrow in her mind.

  Yet when they paused at last, too spent to go on, she had to fight her need to go to him, touch his hand, bury her face in his shoulder. He and Martin sat side by side, while Madlyn provided what care she could to Alric, who had not yet regained his senses.

  She went to Madlyn’s side. “How is he? Can you tell?”

  Madlyn glanced into Rennie’s face and shook her head. “It may be his heart is tired. I cannot tell.”

  Martin spoke unexpectedly. “He has chosen to die. He does not wish to live without Lil. Can you not see that?” Rennie once more felt his gaze on her. “Now perhaps you begin to understand the strength of the bond between them.”

  Rennie turned her eyes on Alric. Eyelids like thin, withered leaves closed the doors to his soul. He looked peaceful.

  Martin spoke again, sounding aggrieved. “The truth is we have no time to prepare ourselves for what is upon us. With Alric thus, we three must be ready to step into our places, whether we want to or no.”