Daughter of Sherwood

by Laura Strickland

  Swiftly Sparrow asked, “From whence did Martin get this information?”

  “He never said. Someone from inside Nottingham castle, he let us think. Though I can guess—” Micah caught himself up and his eyes, filled with pain, searched Rennie’s face. “Do you not know, mistress? It was by your orders we went.”

  Rennie cursed herself. The man spoke truly: she should have known every detail. She had trusted Martin, given him altogether too much leave, and now her people paid for it. “How many dead?” she asked grimly.

  “We were a party of a half-score. You see, Mistress, how many have returned. Dead or captured, the rest. Lambert’s men took Martin and two others.”

  “Four dead.” Rennie grieved it. She had failed them. “And yon fellows, are they hurt also? Go you to Madlyn. See what aid she can give.”

  “Aye, mistress, but—” Micah reached out and seized her sleeve with bloodied fingers. “I saw Simon.”

  “Eh?” Rennie had believed the lad killed during the last flight from Oakham. Had he been captured, instead?

  “He rode with Lambert.” Micah spat the words.

  Rennie’s stomach clenched hard, and dismay filled her heart. She liked the lad and flinched from the suggestion he could have betrayed them.

  “Mistress, what about Martin and the others? My own brother, Trent, makes one of their number.”

  “Leave it with me, and Sparrow,” Rennie told him. “We will make a plan.”

  “What plan?” Sparrow asked as soon as Micah walked away.

  Rennie met his gaze. “We need to rescue them.”

  “Are you mad?” Sparrow caught her by the arms. “That is just what Lambert wants. This was a trap from the start, and Martin, with his hot head, fell right into it.”

  “It is my fault; I should have done a better job of curbing him.”

  Sparrow tossed his head. “No one curbs Martin. If you do not know that, you know nothing.”

  Rennie stared into Sparrow’s eyes and became very still. So rarely did she sense rage in him, she barely recognized it now. Sparrow did a far better job than Martin of controlling his emotions, yet she could feel the ire boiling up. “You are angry with me.”

  “Not with you. With Martin for getting us into this, with that twisting adder, Lambert, and with Simon, if what Micah implies is true.”

  “And with me.” Rennie did not dodge his gaze. “Do not lie.”

  His gaze softened. He reached out and touched her cheek, and she shivered. “I am incapable of lying to you, Wren. It is just that I know you, and I fear you will place yourself in danger. You are barely healed, yet you will rush within reach of Lambert’s hands. Have you paused to consider what he will do if he catches you?”

  Rennie did not want to consider it. She swallowed hard. Yet she knew she existed only to fight their oppressors. How could she turn away? Helpless, she told Sparrow, “I cannot leave our men there. I cannot abandon Martin to his fate. He is part of us.”

  Sparrow turned away from her. “Sometimes I think you are as impossible to deal with as Martin himself.”

  ****

  Word came next morning, soon after first light, in the person of Micah’s brother Trent. He stumbled into camp, breathless and injured. Rennie heard the sentries she had posted cry out, and arose from her restless bed to meet the man beside the now-dead fire.

  “How did you get here?” she asked. “Were you followed?”

  He shook his head, and his eyes sought hers. “I made sure of that. Sir Lambert released me in order to bring a message. The others who were with me—” His voice broke.

  Micah, now heavily swathed in bandages, reached for his brother’s arm even as others, roused from their sleep, crowded in.

  “Thomas, taken with us, is dead,” Trent said bitterly. “The bastard, Lambert, killed him in the courtyard of the castle soon after we arrived. As an example, I think.” Trent blanched. “I have never seen a man killed so. He screamed and screamed.”

  Rennie’s stomach wobbled and turned over. She managed to ask, “But Martin—?”

  “Alive—badly hurt. They beat him every time he protested Thomas’s treatment—and he did protest. But Lambert recognized Martin from past encounters. He knows he has a prize. So he sent me to you.”

  Doubt flickered in Trent’s eyes. “Only, he does not know you are you, mistress, if you take my meaning. He sent me with a message for Robin Hood.”

  A soft gasp traveled round the onlookers. More steadily than she felt, Rennie asked, “How is that? He believes my father is still alive?”

  Beside her, Sparrow grunted. “It does not matter what he believes. He is a clever man. He knows the people believe Robin is alive and behind the resistance here in Sherwood. So he calls Robin out. He would destroy the legend itself.”

  Trent nodded. “He has issued to Robin Hood a challenge: appear at noon tomorrow—that is, today—at Nottingham Castle, to contest for Martin’s freedom.”

  “No,” Sparrow spoke instantly.

  Rennie turned her eyes on him.

  Passionately, he went on, “I know how you are, Wren—of what you are made. You will want to play the role, go there pretending to be Robin. You will be discovered—”

  “I cannot forsake Martin. He is part of the circle, part of us.”

  Trent broke in. “Lambert says Martin’s trial will begin at daybreak. That means it is starting even now.”

  “Trial?”

  “By torture, there in the forecourt, where all can see.”

  A cry rang out. Sally’s knees gave way, and she sank to the ground. Madlyn, pale as death, hauled her up and into her arms. “Here, lass, strength!”

  “But it is my fault,” Sally gasped.

  “How is that?” Rennie asked.

  Sally hid her face against Madlyn’s shoulder and did not reply.

  “It is Martin’s own fault,” Sparrow said, harshly for him. “I do not want to see him pay this price, but, Wren, I refuse to risk you in an effort to save him.”

  Agonized, Martin’s mother protested, “You cannot just leave him there.”

  “I shall not,” Rennie vowed. “We will plan a rescue.”

  “Rescue him from the forecourt of Nottingham Castle, with every soldier on alert?” Sparrow burst. “It is mad.”

  Rennie ignored his words. “We will form a party.” She looked into the surrounding faces. “Volunteers?”

  “I will go,” Micah offered.

  “And I,” said Trent.

  Rennie shook her head. “You are both too sore injured. Anyone else?”

  A few hands lifted into the air. Even Rennie knew they would not be enough. She bit her lip, her heart torn.

  How could she risk these brave souls in what must be a near-doomed cause? Yet how could she leave Martin in Lambert’s hands to suffer unbearably, no doubt hoping for rescue that never came?

  How could she abandon someone who, for all his rashness, was part of her?

  And what would Robin have done in this situation? What wisdom lent, were he here?

  I am here. The voice sounded within Rennie’s heart, echoed in her mind. Warm and strong, she recognized it from her dreams. I am alive in Sherwood, and Sherwood is alive in you.

  Her eyes widened, and she leaned toward her listeners. “Hark, all of you. I think I know what we must do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “I cannot believe you intend to risk your life—for him.” Sparrow could hear the anger in his words even as he spoke them, and felt them hit the wall of Wren’s resistance. He did not know when he had been so enraged—he fairly trembled with it, as with a sickness. He spat, “And you refuse to listen to me.”

  “I am listening,” Wren replied, even as she donned the hooded leather jerkin and checked the contents of her quiver. She sounded calm, but Sparrow could sense her riotous emotions as clearly as his own. “But what should I do? I have told you, I cannot abandon him. Would you want me to abandon you?”

  “Aye, if the only alternative
was a mad rescue attempt that could cost your life.”

  “Well, I could never do that.”

  “Wren, look at me.” He seized her shoulders in both hands and turned her to face him; her emotional turmoil poured into him as his eyes caught hers and held. “I cannot lose you. I would not be able to go on.”

  “I know.” Sudden tears filled her eyes. “And so, we cannot lose Martin—”

  Unreasoning jealousy licked up, cutting through Sparrow’s other, tangled emotions. “So you love him?”

  “Of course.”

  “As you love me?”

  “Oh, Sparrow! I will never love anyone as I love you.” She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, sweetly. Need leaped up, and his heart turned desperate. For several breathless moments their lips held; then Wren drew away again.

  “But, Sparrow, whatever happens, I will always be with you, even as my father is with me now.”

  “Your father?”

  For the first time, Wren’s gaze avoided his. She looked down and adjusted the belt at her waist. “It is Robin Hood Lambert wishes to meet—and Robin Hood I take to him. I will carry him inside me.”

  Sparrow gasped. “You do this thing on a fancy? You are as mad as Martin.”

  She stepped away from him and raised her hood. “How do I look? Will I pass for the legend himself? I am tall enough, I think.”

  “You mean to walk into that lion’s den and declare yourself Robin Hood?” The audacity of it stole Sparrow’s breath. “Aye, you might fool them for a moment, until they lay hands on you. Lambert will know you all too well, then.”

  “I shall not give him the chance to lay hands on me. I mean to issue a challenge—Robin Hood to stand against the best of his archers, the prize Martin’s freedom and my own.”

  “He will never agree to it.”

  “His arrogance will not let him do anything else. How can he refuse the challenge? He must save face.”

  “And if you are wrong? If he seizes you as soon as he sees you?”

  “He will not.”

  “You do not know that, and I refuse to let you risk yourself so rashly.”

  She paused in her preparations and laid her hand against his cheek. “My love, you cannot keep me.”

  He could. Sparrow knew he had only to lay hold of her and restrain her forcibly. She might never forgive him, but at least she would be alive.

  He grasped her hand in both of his. “Please, Wren! What of Simon? Have you forgotten he may play the part of traitor? He will surely recognize you.”

  She shook her head. “You still do not understand. I go cloaked in magic. I do not go alone.”

  “You are right, Wren. If you insist upon this, I go with you. In fact, let me play the part of Robin. Not to boast, but I am the far better archer. You know that is true. I am nearly as good as Robin was.”

  “Nearly as good.”

  “Even if your plan works, Wren, you must stand against the best of the Sheriff’s archers and win.”

  “Not I. The legend of Sherwood.”

  Sparrow stared at her, his eyes narrowed. She truly had lost her wits, and her sense; the strain of events must have turned her mind. He opened his lips to speak, but just then Sally pushed in upon them, her eyes wild.

  “Wren, I need to tell you—Martin is in danger because of me. I lied—”

  Wren turned to Sally, and Sparrow felt her strive to gather her patience. “This is no time for tears, Sally.”

  “No, it is time for the truth. Can I watch you sacrifice yourself even as Martin has, all for an untruth I told?”

  “What untruth?” Wren challenged.

  Sparrow cringed at the agony in Sally’s pretty eyes. But she lifted her chin bravely. “Martin went out in anger, wishing to thwart Lambert, because I told him Lambert had attacked and raped me, and I carried his child. It is not true. It is Martin’s own child I carry, and now he may die for my falsehood, and you also.”

  “But why lie about it?” Astonished, Wren turned to Sparrow and saw the truth in his eyes. “You knew this? Why did you not tell me?”

  “It was not my secret to tell.” Sparrow had hinted, and bidden her talk to Martin. But she did not remember that now.

  Quickly, Sally said, “Do not blame Sparrow. It is not his fault. All the blame lies with me.”

  Sparrow felt Wren’s anger flare. “Foolish girl! I hope you can live with the consequences, however dire they may be.”

  Sally’s eyes filled with ready tears. “Should Martin be lost, I will suffer every day for my sins. But I will raise his son, or daughter, the best I may. I pray, Wren, please forgive me. What I did, I did out of fear, and love.”

  Wren turned away from her and gathered her weapons, without another word.

  Sparrow caught her arm. “Wait, Wren. I will come with you.”

  She whirled to face him. “You will not. I need you here, in case the worst happens. You will have to carry on.”

  “I have just told you, I cannot—not without you.” Was this the terrible price the god had levied, when Sparrow had begged him for Wren’s life? If so, he found he could not stomach it, after all. “You cannot go alone.”

  “I do not. I go with those who have volunteered.”

  “I volunteer!”

  “No, love, anyone but you.”

  He tightened his fingers on her arm. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and so deeply the edges of reality blurred that Sparrow no longer knew where his touch left off and hers began. Her heartbeat became his own, and her breath as well.

  Her gaze abruptly softened. “Do you not see, Sparrow? We can never be parted. That is the true magic of this place. And so I will return to you, whether it be living or no.”

  Sparrow closed his eyes on a rush of pain. He wished he might lie with her one last time—possess her completely—and then realized that, aye, in the truest sense, he did.

  He whispered, “I do not think I can bear watching you walk away from me.”

  “I go first to the forest, to pray and prepare myself.” Her love poured into him. “Come with me, if you will.”

  They linked hands and walked away from Sally, into the shadowed forest, where the silence closed around them.

  ****

  Morning light trickled through the trees like sifted holiness. Sparrow sat with held breath and watched the woman he loved transform.

  Her prayer seemed less supplication than the evocation of a trance. She sat with eyes closed, the hood thrown back onto her shoulders, her hands folded together. Her breathing quieted until he feared to speak and break the spell.

  For spell it was. He felt her spirit call, and other spirits came in response: those of the trees, the forest itself, and the creatures that inhabited it, and the memories of those gone. Nay, more than memories.

  How did Wren know to command such magic? Had Lil taught her? But no, for this ability flowed naturally as the light, and it filled Wren, and changed her.

  Sparrow saw her lips move as if she spoke inaudibly to someone. Her back straightened and her head lifted. When she once more opened her eyes and looked at him, he was not sure what he saw.

  “Wren?”

  She got to her feet, moving with an ineffable difference. Wonder suffused Sparrow, even as a chill shivered down his spine.

  He had to ask, “Is it you?”

  “Of course.”

  But the eyes looking at Sparrow were no longer Wren’s eyes, not entirely. Sparrow knew this woman. He had held her in his arms, caressed her with his hands and tasted every part of her. He had become accustomed to feeling her emotions along with his own, and of speaking to her with his mind. He felt her still, yet someone else looked at him along with her.

  She adjusted the quiver across her back in a movement both practiced and foreign to her. Sparrow stood gazing at her, torn. He wanted to run from this and at the same time longed to touch her. He had never beheld such fierce magic.

  Yet even so deep a spell might not keep her safe.

  “Reconsi
der this,” he implored her. “Do not go.”

  “I must.” Even her voice sounded different, deeper, its timbre changed. Aye, and so armed she might carry off the ruse in the forecourt of the castle. But that did not mean she would get away again. Even the man she pretended to be had met his downfall.

  “Peace, Sparrow,” she said softly. “I will return to you. Is this not proof of it?”

  Aye, but Sparrow wanted her in truth, not some intangible form conjured by magic. He wanted her in his bed, wanted to tease and laugh with her, wanted to share children and old age. But maybe that dream had never truly been available for the two of them. They carried the gift, and the duty, of Sherwood on their backs, and on their spirits.

  She smiled, and it was Wren’s smile mixed with something more, both wise and kind.

  “I go, Sparrow, to salvage a third of our circle. You stay here and keep your third safe.”

  Inwardly, Sparrow grimaced. He had lived his life in an effort never to lie, especially to those he loved. He had promised, in particular, never to lie to her. But she asked, now, the impossible, and his lips moved in answer to the demand of something far beyond intention.

  “Aye, Wren, and so I will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Remember, now,” Rennie urged her companions, “we go boldly and with confidence. Robin Hood would not doubt himself, and nor shall we.”

  Four men—all those who had volunteered and were sound—looked back at her with a variety of expressions: fear, trepidation, determination. Rennie herself felt a disturbing level of disquiet, but beneath it, and underlying all, she harbored certainty.

  She could do this thing; she had no choice.

  Ahead, just across an open field, lay Nottingham Castle. Already she could feel the life contained there, surging—the energy of many minds. She had grown there, was once used to it. But in her time away, the silence of Sherwood had seeped into her and spoiled her tolerance. Now it seemed a great clamor. Yet this, too, must be faced.