Daughter of Sherwood (25 page)

She asked the lad, “Who is in charge, among the folks from Oakham?”

“Well, Adam Cooper survived, Mistress, but he is not here. There is another group of us camped farther off.”

“Can you lead us to him?” Rennie could barely face the prospect of trudging on. But she had no time to rest, and a war for which to prepare.

Madlyn spoke up. “We shall stay here, with Martin.” She indicated Sally, whose head drooped.

Rennie considered the women and nodded; the past days had proved easy for no one.

Madlyn lowered her voice. “What of Simon? Do you mean to punish him for his betrayal?”

Rennie looked at the lad who, utterly spent, had once more lowered himself to the ground as soon as they stopped walking. Just that morning she had caught a glimpse of his hands, a welter of sores and burst blisters from carrying Martin’s litter.

“I think he may have his punishment already, do you not? Ask someone to keep an eye on him for me, please, Madlyn. And take care of Martin.”

“I will.”

Rennie turned to Sparrow, who stood firm as a rock beside her, silent. At the sight of him so, his dark eyes wide, emotion trembled through her heart. Indeed, he was her rock, and she could no longer imagine existing without him. She prayed to the Green Man she never must.

“I will go search out Adam,” she told him. “You stay here. Rest.”

He smiled ruefully. “You think I could, away from you?”

“Then I would be grateful for your company.” She turned back to the boy. “Your name, lad?”

“Giles, Mistress.”

“Lead us to Adam, swift as you can.”

Giles chattered as they went, the words flowing from him like ale from the cask once the stopper is pulled. “There have been attacks every day by the Sheriff’s men, a different place always, not just Oakham. Farms have been overridden and cottages burned. Lambert leaves always the same message—he will not rest until you and those who make up your band are given over to him.”

Rennie felt Sparrow stiffen at her side. She laid a cautionary hand on his arm, which felt hard as iron.

“He seeks your betrayal,” Sparrow growled, “and from folk hurting and desperate. It is not safe for you here. We should go back into the forest.”

Rennie turned her eyes on him. “And do what? Allow others to die in our fight? It is our fight, Sparrow,” she added softly. “You felt the torch pass, as clearly as did I.”

He closed his lips in a mutinous line, and Rennie felt emotion surge through her again—either his or hers, she could no longer tell for certain. But since that night when last they lay together, she knew how Sparrow loved her. Oh, yes, she knew, to her very soul.

Humility touched her, along with gratitude so deep it surpassed expressing. To know the love of this strong, wise, gentle man even for a short while was a gift beyond measure.

Giles spoke on, reciting a litany of Lambert’s sins. Rennie wondered fleetingly if Sir Lambert hunted her so assiduously in the desire for personal revenge or, indeed, for the glory. Both, no doubt.

Adam and most of the surviving villagers from Oakham were gathered in an area just within the arms of Sherwood. A dangerous proposition—they would not be difficult to locate, for anyone who dared. Fires burned, children and women wept, and men spoke in guarded tones. The overall air was one of despair.

Adam did not look pleased to see Rennie and Sparrow, though he did grasp Sparrow’s arm when the younger man offered it.

“Bad work, this,” Sparrow told him, looking about.

Adam nodded. Like Madlyn, he appeared to have aged overnight, and his blue eyes looked stark with grief.

Softly Rennie said, “I am so sorry about this, Adam. How many have you lost?”

He shrugged. “Who can say? When the soldiers came through the village, folk fled and scattered. It is difficult to know where they are. Many met up again, here in the forest, but not all. We would go back to Oakham and search the ruins, but soldiers keep watch.” He cast a look about and added, “Folk are fearful and grieving. We cannot even bury our dead properly.” Disconcertingly, his eyes filled with tears. “I have not been able to lay my own wee grandchild to rest.”

Rennie reached out to him. “It is a hard thing to bear.”

“Impossible to bear. Mistress Wren, you know our people have long supported the cause, the wolfsheads, and your father before them. I was proud that his work should live on. But this…” He lifted his hands. “I do not know that we can survive.”

Sparrow spoke unexpectedly. “The trouble is, Adam, if Lambert wins in this, if he succeeds in crushing Robin’s cause and our spirits, it will not make an end to the heartache and sorrow. Is that not why Robin chose the fight in the first place? To put a stop to the floggings, the rackings, the severed hands, the burned homes? If Lambert defeats us now, he will be at liberty to ride over us roughshod. That will be all your children know.”

“My father, and the memory of him,” Rennie reminded Adam, “has been a force standing between the folk he loved and the Normans’ tyranny.”

“Aye.” Once more Adam looked about. “But your father, lass, is a long while gone. And, pretend as we may have done this while, he will not return.”

“That is where you are wrong.” Sparrow leaned toward the headman. “He is here.” He looped an arm about Rennie’s shoulders and conviction poured from him. “Can you not see that? For all true purposes, here he stands.”

Adam’s gaze softened. “I can see you believe that, Master Sparrow, and I have naught but the greatest respect for you. But look at us. These folk had little in their lives, and have lost all of that.”

“Save hope,” Rennie appealed earnestly. “Without that, they are truly defeated.”

Adam shook his head, but before he could speak, Sparrow said, “Only give me leave to go among your people and ask those willing to stand with us to step forward, a force for good.”

“An army to stand against the Sheriff’s soldiers, with their swords and armor? I will not stop you, but I will say any who choose to stand with you must be mad.”

“Aye, well,” Sparrow conceded, “a mad army is better than none.”

****

“Martin asks for you, Wren. Will you come?”

Madlyn appeared at Rennie’s elbow even as she stood watching Sparrow drill his new recruits. Ten men and, surprisingly, two women, both widows, had stepped up and offered to fight. Brave souls, they were nevertheless farmers, far better suited to having a hoe than a bow in their hands. And there was so little time.

It would not be enough.

Rennie pushed that conviction from her heart even as she turned to Martin’s mother. “Of course I will come at once. How is he?”

“Hurting and refusing to admit it. Angry and frustrated.”

Rennie smiled in spite of herself. “Martin as we know him, then?”

Martin lay half propped up on his pallet, his eyes open and wild. Rennie, relieved to see at least some measure of his energy returned, hunkered down next to him. He reached out fevered fingers and clasped her arm.

“Wren, I need to tell you—I dreamed.” As soon as he touched her, she felt his emotions clearly. They tumbled through her in a confusing rush: wariness, dismay, consternation—even a hint of fear. That last knocked Rennie back on her heels and made her blink at him. Was this the Martin she knew? Possibly not. Covered with half-closed wounds and in continual pain, he almost looked a stranger.

But his eyes held hers, single-minded and intent. “Must tell you. I dreamed I sat with my father, and yours. Talking.”

Rennie nodded, trying to remain calm even as foreboding touched her. Was it so hard to believe Martin’s father remained near him, after what had happened deep in Sherwood?

“He told me—he told me…” Martin’s fingers contracted painfully on Rennie’s flesh. “One of us may be required to make a sacrifice. One of us three.”

“Death, you mean?” Rennie lowered her voice. Sally worked not far away at making bandages.

“You must help me get off this accursed pallet.” Martin waved wildly at Sally and Madlyn. “These women will not let me get up.”

“You are not yet ready to get up.” Rennie strove to soothe him. “You have suffered much.”

He gave an odd shudder, almost as if he shook himself, and Rennie blinked; when he moved she saw a faint shimmer of magic around him. “The body’s hurts are nothing. I must fight. We must stand against Lambert’s men when they come. For they will come. I have seen it.”

A responsive shiver passed through Rennie. Martin’s eyes were those of a man who had looked beyond mortal life.

“They will come.” Rennie thought of Sparrow’s pitiful band. “And we will meet them.”

“You will die,” Martin declared flatly.

“Do not say that.” Rennie felt a sudden conviction that saying it could make it so. Was that not one of the things Lil had tried to teach her about magic? That with belief the picture in the mind held true? “You must hope for victory.”

“I do hope.” Martin sat up straighter, despite his wounds. “But if one of us must die, it cannot be you.”

“It shall be as the god chooses.” Yet, Rennie thought, if she carried Sparrow’s child, might she not be meant to survive?

“Listen to me, Wren.” Martin’s eyes burned on hers. “There in the castle forecourt, I felt what you did, how you held me. You gave me your strength, like light. It lifted me, shielded me. You saved my life then—I will not hesitate in spending it to save you, anon.”

“Martin, you are not fit—”

“No,” he cried loudly enough to turn Sally’s head. “You must help me up. Give me your strength once more—you are the only one who can. Because if you send Sparrow to this fight without me you will lose him.”

“I begged you not to say—”

“I know how you love him. I felt the strength of your love for me, there at Nottingham. You love him still more.”

“Martin, this is the fever talking.”

“Do you deny the bond that joins us? You and me; you and him; even me and him?”

“I do not deny it.”

“All of us, and Sherwood.” Martin blinked at her. “Whatever Sherwood asks of me, I will give. Now, help me up.”

Both Sally and Madlyn had left off pretending to busy themselves and now stood, watching. Martin clasped both Rennie’s hands, hard. She felt his spirit pull at hers, even as his weakness demanded her strength. Slowly, his gaze a fixed demand, he rose from the pallet, first to his knees and then, with a mighty surge of will, still farther, until he stood swaying.

All around them, heads turned. And power sparked like the dust of the stars.

“Now,” said Martin, breathing hard, “take me to Sparrow.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

“You must let me help,” Simon begged Wren passionately. “Give me a chance to make up for what I have done. I can prove valuable to you, Mistress, for Sir Lambert does not know I have turned.”

The sense of disquiet that had haunted Sparrow for days flared once again. He spoke before Wren could. “But what of your mother, lad? Surely you are better off keeping out of it?”

Simon turned empty eyes on him. “My mother is dead—word awaited me when we returned from the forest. There is naught I can do for her now.”

“I am sorry, lad,” Wren said with quiet sympathy.

Simon drooped where he stood. “Everything I did was for her sake. I betrayed those who cared for me. I betrayed Robin’s memory.”

“We act as driven, in the cause of love.” Wren cast a look at Sparrow before extending her hand to Simon. “I will be grateful for your help. Sparrow and Martin have their army, such as it is. You and I, lad, shall go to Nottingham.”

“Eh?” It was the first Sparrow had heard of any such plan, and alarm raced up his spine. “Nay, Wren. We have not spoken of this—”

“Sparrow, I need to get inside. Simon is at liberty in the courtyard, the hall. I can gain access to the kitchens.”

“It is sheer madness,” Sparrow hissed. “All it needs is for one person to betray you—one, out of the many. Why take such a chance?”

Wren narrowed her eyes. “Word from Nottingham says the King arrives tomorrow. I must gain access to him, to seek an audience. The Sheriff is not expected to live until dawn—”

“An audience with John? Now I know you are mad!”

Wren seized both Sparrow’s hands. “You know as well as I do the Sheriff’s authority is all that has kept Lambert’s brutality in check. An appeal must be made to the King, lest he decide to elevate Lambert in the Sheriff’s stead. You know what could happen then.”

Sparrow thought of the scene in the castle forecourt, Martin brought to the finest throes of agony. He thought of Oakham burned, its folk slaughtered, right down to the children. Aye, Lambert represented Norman tyranny at its worst.

Yet he shook his head. “You cannot hope to appeal to John.”

“The barons did.” Her golden eyes widened. “They persuaded him to sign that charter to their benefit. What of us?”

“The barons had power.”

“And so have we.” She linked her fingers with his and raised the joined hands between them. “Of a different kind.”

“You think magic will help us?”

“I think Sherwood will, if we believe strongly enough. Believe for me, Sparrow.”

Sparrow felt her will and her emotions tug at him, yet he held back. Had she asked him to risk anything else, including his own life, he would not deny her. But his heart remained unsure. They possessed only an army of twelve, a lad who may or may not betray them again, himself, Wren, and Martin, who existed only on will and should not even be on his feet. How could it be enough? He had but one secret hope in his heart.

Last night he had spoken at length with Martin, the two of them with their heads close together in the dark, while Wren slept. Martin’s body might be sorely battered, but his heart remained strong as ever. It was his heart that made him believe he could still fight—that, and his conviction that one of the three of them might yet be required to pay the ultimate price.

“And if that is so, Sparrow,” Martin had vowed to him out of the darkness, “it should be me. Or you. Not Wren.”

Finally, something on which he and Martin agreed. And if Wren now carried Sparrow’s child, did that not mean she was protected—at least until that child, member of the next triad, was born? Perhaps so—but only should he or Martin prove willing and prepared to sacrifice himself. Oh, aye, Sparrow had learned well how worked the magic of Sherwood...