Daughter of Sherwood

by Laura Strickland

  “My mother gave up.”

  “I had carried too much of the burden, and she was ill prepared. Lil, Geofrey, and Alric did a better job of distributing the load, but Alric will not survive long now without them. You, Sparrow, and Martin must find a way to share the weight evenly, and with strength.”

  “But Martin—what shall we do about him? He is so angry, and he does not want Alric’s place.”

  “Then give him his own place. It is as I tell you, Daughter. With the three of you, the circle now takes new form. It does not matter where you stand, but so long as you do, my legend lives on and I continue to dwell here. Now, shoot your arrow.”

  Rennie still could not see the target. She raised her bow, narrowed her eyes and used the knowing inside her to aim, blind except for faith. Loosed, the arrow flew and voices rushed in upon her.

  “She wakes.”

  “Nay, she only stirs, still senseless.”

  “She hears us, she hears my voice.”

  “Get back away from her, you great louts, and let her breathe.”

  Someone took Rennie’s hand—Sparrow. She would know his touch even blind. Anyway, she could feel his thoughts battering at her—and Martin’s—both close at hand.

  She squeezed Sparrow’s fingers and felt his rush of relief. “She lives.”

  Rennie stirred; pain fell on her like a stone, searing across her chest. In spite of it, she opened her eyes.

  Three faces hovered over her like worried moons. At that instant Rennie knew how dear to her they were—all of them. How strange that only a month ago she had known none of the three, yet now they encompassed her world.

  She tried to smile.

  Martin leaned closer. To Rennie’s surprise, she saw tears in his eyes. “Wren, I am so sorry. I never meant…”

  She reached her free hand to him. He took it, his fingers rough and warm, and Rennie felt the bond become complete, the link forged whole.

  She spoke, her voice ugly and thin. “My father says we must learn to share this burden, the three of us together.”

  “Your father?” Sparrow looked startled.

  “I have just been with him.”

  “By the Green Man’s thorn,” Martin breathed, “did I send her over the threshold of death?”

  “He is not dead. Alive, here in Sherwood.”

  “Poor lass,” said Madlyn, “she is raving.”

  “Is it not why we join together,” Rennie whispered, ignoring Madlyn’s opinion, “in order to keep him alive?”

  “Aye,” Sparrow murmured, “aye, Wren.”

  “We cannot fight amongst ourselves; that will only do the Sheriff’s work for him.” Rennie’s eyes flitted closed against the pain.

  She heard Sparrow say, “Martin, give her your strength.”

  “Eh?” Martin sounded startled.

  “Pour it into her, man. Through your fingers. Do you not see how vitally we need her?”

  Rennie tried to open her eyes and found she could not. Yet she felt strength begin to trickle into her, like warmth, through the fingers of both men. Slow at first, and uneven, it steadied until she could almost see, against her closed eyelids, the circle of power that connected them.

  She knew, then, the triad had become complete, and she knew why. “Alric,” she mourned.

  And Madlyn spoke softly, “I am sorry, my dear; Alric is dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “We have been hunted like foxes these three days past. I have never known Lambert so persistent.”

  “Perhaps the Sheriff is dead at last. Can it be Lambert acts on his own, trying to earn a high place with the King?”

  Rennie lay listening as the two men spoke in low voices, while Madlyn laid yet another poultice on her chest. Comfrey it was, this time, to draw the heat from a wound that had become inflamed. Rennie closed her eyes against the pain, her endurance nearly at an end. Could she go on another day? Since being injured, she had traveled mostly on foot, despite her weakness. Sparrow and Martin shared the burden of Alric between them.

  Much of their conversation centered on flight, pursuit, and on where to lay the old man to rest. On his own, in Sherwood? Back where he had kept his hermitage, among the trees? Or beside those two with whom he had been so surely linked?

  The three of them understood the bond so much better now that their own had been forged. It made them hesitant to bury Alric apart. Yet a return to Oakham meant danger. Twice had they ventured near, only to run into patrols of soldiers.

  “Bold,” Martin had muttered on the second occasion. “Do they fear Sherwood no more? If we could round up our own men, we could put them to the chase. But Lambert did his job too well, scattering us.”

  Now Rennie opened her eyes and turned her head. Sparrow and Martin sat together like friends, both of them showing obvious signs of exhaustion. Rennie caressed Sparrow with her gaze and received a resultant jolt of pleasure. Feeling her emotions, he swung his face toward her; their gazes tangled and held.

  “There, now,” Madlyn whispered, “lie still, lass, and let that do its work.”

  “Will she be able to go on?” Martin asked his mother.

  Rennie answered before Madlyn could give her opinion. “I will.”

  Martin made a rude sound that expressed his doubt. He looked angry and aggrieved, with weariness under it all. Well, they all felt worried and tired unto death. “One thing is sure. We cannot linger here.”

  “Wren needs to rest,” Madlyn protested.

  “And we need to move on.” Martin’s gaze could have cut glass. “Gather your medicines, Mother, and let us go.”

  Madlyn straightened, sudden tears in her eyes. “You will kill the child, Martin. Is that what you want?” She seemed to realize what she had said only after the words left her lips. Martin’s face froze, and tears flooded Madlyn’s eyes. “I am sorry, I did not mean—”

  Martin got to his feet, desperation in every line of his body. “Naught to be sorry about, Mother. ’Tis the truth.” He looked at Rennie. “Do you wish to rest here a while?”

  She struggled up somehow, trying not to let her agony show in her face. “No, best we move on. I have made a decision: we can wait no longer to lay Alric to rest. Perhaps, after all, he should lie apart from Lil and Geofrey, as he lived apart from them.”

  “Poor bastard,” Martin muttered. “But where, then?”

  Rennie lifted her chin. “We will take him to his hermitage. That was a place of peace for him, and it was there he found his own bride—the Lady herself.”

  Sparrow and Martin exchanged glances and nodded.

  “How far are we from the hermitage?” Rennie asked.

  “Farther than you will be able to walk,” Sparrow told her. “Here with you, up on my back.”

  “Eh?” Rennie returned, startled.

  “I will take you pig-a-back, if your wound can stand it. Madlyn, can you make a cushion to fold over my shoulders?”

  “Never mind me bearing it,” Rennie objected. “Sparrow, you cannot. We are all weary to the bones, and I am no tiny lass, nor an easy weight.”

  “There is nothing to you. Just tuck your arms round my neck.”

  “You expect to tote me, as well as carry Alric?”

  Sparrow reached out and touched Rennie’s cheek tenderly. His gaze engulfed hers, and Martin quickly looked away. Such exchanges still troubled him.

  “Love, you are no burden.”

  They traveled much more swiftly with Rennie up on Sparrow’s back, hampered only by Madlyn’s ability to keep up. Rennie went with both arms and legs twined about Sparrow, so she could feel his every movement, the smooth strength in each muscle, and her cheek pressed against his hair. Unexpected desire stirred. Would they ever have another chance to be together, man and woman? Even sore and hurting, she cried out for it. But perhaps duty called them to be something more than lovers.

  “Ah—” Martin, in the lead, stopped suddenly. “Someone has been here before us.”

  “No.” Madlyn pushed fo
rward. “How could anyone discover Alric’s secret place?”

  Rennie peered ahead and saw a small, cleared area in the wood, hard against an outcropping of rock where the land rose. The trees here, old and massive, stood guardian, and a spring bubbled up to form a rivulet that joined a stream farther below. Alric must have kept his few belongings in the alcove, but they were now strewn about, most smashed across the remnants of his last fire, and the ground looked trampled.

  It struck Rennie to the heart, having brought the old man back to refuge only to find it defiled.

  She slid down Sparrow’s back and stood on her own feet. “But how could this place be discovered, so deep in Sherwood?”

  “The Sheriff—or, more correctly, Lambert—must have inside information,” Sparrow said uneasily. “But, from whom?”

  Martin spat, “Curse him, whoever he is, to betray Alric—and us.”

  “Few knew the location of Alric’s lair,” Madlyn whispered, as if fearful someone still listened. “And he would have woven a strong spell of protection round the place.”

  “No matter,” Rennie said. “They have come and gone, and snared no one. Surely they will not return soon.”

  “If they do,” said Sparrow grimly, “we will hear them coming. Let us lay Alric to rest at last. But if we stay here the night, Martin, we will need keep watch, in turns.”

  Martin nodded but said nothing.

  Madlyn tidied away the mess, gathered shards of broken pottery, and collected what could be salvaged, while the two men dug a grave in the soft, loamy earth. They finished just as darkness began to gather beneath the trees. Solemnly, heads bowed, they stood over Alric’s mound. Madlyn started to weep.

  “Do not, Mother,” Martin said. “We will exact revenge for all he has suffered. This I promise you.”

  “Son, I do not think it is about revenge. He was a good man, and I grieve at his loss, and the fact that I will never see him again.”

  And, Rennie wondered, did Madlyn also grieve because she believed her son must take this lonely path, for which he seemed so ill suited? Did Madlyn resent Rennie for choosing Sparrow? She had, so far, treated Rennie with nothing but loving kindness.

  Rennie stole a look at Martin’s face, just visible in the gloom. He stared down at Alric’s quiet grave, his expression bleak. Did he even now suppose he stared into his own future?

  She closed her eyes and attempted to pray, to ask for Alric’s repose. Above her head a breeze stirred the leaves, just as if a breath passed through them. Something brushed her hand and then her shoulders—Sparrow, she thought, but it did not feel like Sparrow’s touch.

  She opened her eyes and saw their number had increased by two. A spear of alarm went through her before she blinked and identified the new arrivals.

  The light had nearly failed, yet Rennie saw both of them—Lil and a man who could only be Geofrey—standing with their hands linked, heads bowed. Her heart lurched and rose. So, Alric did not lie alone. How could she have imagined anyone was ever alone, here in Sherwood?

  ****

  “We need a plan,” Martin said insistently. “I refuse to continue running like a hare before the hounds, letting Lambert’s men do as they will on our turf. We need to round up our men and make answer—and, if someone has indeed betrayed us, I would answer him, also.”

  Morning had come to the wood, and with it a feeling of renewed strength. Bright sunlight flickered through leaves that danced in a freshening breeze. Magic seemed to dance with it, and some of Rennie’s vitality had returned. Her companions looked grave but resolved. With Alric at rest, the burden of responsibility had passed to them fully and completely. They must learn to make their own way now.

  She nodded. “I agree. And I propose that the way things were done in the past may not be the way we need to go on. Roles and duties may change.”

  Both men looked at her in surprise.

  Sparrow said, “I am not sure I understand.”

  She grimaced and waved a hand. “We have two examples before us. My father held the magic firm in his own hands, and carried most of the responsibility. My mother and the Green Man himself completed that circle.”

  “Who told you that?” Martin demanded.

  “He did—my father.”

  Martin shivered but made no reply.

  “When he died, the connection with the Green Man was severed, and my mother surrendered to her grief, unable to go on. Lil, Alric, and Geofrey took it up for the sake of Sherwood and those who depend on what Sherwood represents—they did a fine job, but they formed the circle according to who they were.” She struggled with the ideas gleaned last night, above Alric’s grave. “We are not them. And I believe so long as we maintain the circle, we need not take up their places, or identities.”

  “What places, then?” Sparrow asked curiously.

  “We need to hold to our strengths. Martin, I cannot see you surviving here, amid all this quiet. It feels wrong—and I would not make of you what you are not.”

  He looked both relieved and wary. “What, then?”

  “You need to embrace what you do best—I believe that means you should stand foremost for us. I would ask you to serve as my captain, even as Lambert serves the Sheriff. I also believe you should take the place as headman of Oakham, if that is acceptable to Adam, and if it does not prove impossibly dangerous.”

  “But—you have chosen Sparrow.”

  “So? Is there some magical law that says he with whom I lie must be a soldier, and skilled with the sword? I know Geofrey was headman of Oakham. But that circle is dissolved away.”

  “Well.” Martin sat up a little straighter. She felt his rush of enthusiasm. Yet he asked, “Am I not destined to mate with and attend the spirit of Sherwood?”

  “That was Alric’s role, not yours. Anyway, Oakham is part of Sherwood, as good as. And will you not be attending Sherwood by defending its magic as you do best, with your sword if necessary?”

  Sparrow asked softly, “What of us?”

  She looked into his eyes and felt her heart stir. “We must find our way and our balance in this circle of power. I would not mind living here, or some place like it.”

  “You—to take Alric’s place?” Martin asked, amazed.

  “My own place,” Rennie once more corrected, “among the spirits of Sherwood. You, Sparrow, could be my connection between the magic here and the work we must do in the world. And there is much work to do, beginning with what you just mentioned, Martin—regaining the upper hand. That is, if you both agree.”

  “I agree,” said Martin, looking happier than he had in days.

  “I agree,” Sparrow echoed, gazing deep into Rennie’s eyes.

  She reached out and seized both their hands. “Then we will begin.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “How are you, Sally?” Sparrow asked in concern. He thought the lass appeared unwell. Her once rosy skin had turned pale, and her features looked pinched. Sparrow feared the worst. During their time apart, had she rid herself of Martin’s child? And was there a tactful way he could ask such a question?

  A fortnight had passed since Alric’s death, and the outlaw camp had more or less reformed in a new, well-hidden location. One by one, folk had drifted back, along with new arrivals driven by the cruel punishments visited upon Oakham. Each arrival had brought snippets of information, and Sparrow had built a picture in his mind.

  The Sheriff lived yet, but he was so ill and spent those about him expected each breath to be his last. Word had been sent to King John. No one could guess whom he might appoint as the Sheriff’s successor, but meanwhile Lambert acted with the King’s authority and proved a cruel and violent master. He had declared himself determined to eradicate the outlaws of Sherwood and all who assisted them.

  Martin, who had stepped into his new role with enjoyment, seemed more than ready for the challenge. But in all this time he had barely glanced in poor Sally’s direction.

  The lass now drooped, sad and wan. Even distracted a
s he was by his own worries, Sparrow ached to do something for her. When he found himself sorting arrows with her, following a skirmish not far from Oakham, he decided to speak.

  “How is your health,” he asked, his voice a low buzz, “and that of your child?”

  Sally shot him a warning look and her expression turned even grimmer.

  Sparrow caught his breath. “I pray you, Sal, tell me you have not—?”

  “I would have, given the opportunity. There has been no chance, with Lil gone and the rest of us in flight, all about Sherwood.” She pressed both hands to the small mound of her stomach. “Now I fear it is too late. But you promised not to tell.”

  “And I have not.” Sparrow had shared the precious knowledge only with Alric, and he now in his grave. “Sal, I cannot help believe ’tis best you have kept the child. But you need to tell Martin. Surely the truth will soon begin to show.”

  “And should I throw myself at him for such a reason, when his disinterest cries aloud?” Sally gazed across the camp to where Martin even now stood in conference with Wren. “I still cannot believe she did not choose him. Not that I say she is wrong in choosing you, Sparrow—we are good friends and I am that happy for you. But he—”

  Sparrow smiled ruefully. “Aye, Martin burns very brightly, especially now.” He followed Sally’s gaze; Martin and Wren stood with their heads close together, the yellow nearly touching the brown.

  Martin fairly oozed confidence, and Sparrow acknowledged Wren’s wisdom in placing her faith in him and giving him purpose. It had gone far in healing the sting of her rejection, which Martin perceived as a slight.

  Yet the position of headman, dangerous as it might be, allowed for marriage, did it not? He turned to Sally again. “Sal—he needs to know. It might make him risk himself less.”

  She shook her head. “That it will not. Martin is Martin, and will never change.”

  “We all know what it means to be without a father. But now that things are sorted between us he might well be able to help you look after a child.”