Laura Strickland - The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy (17 page)

Robert rounded on him. “Is that meant to be an excuse? There is no excuse. I am accountable to King Henry for that money. What am I to say to him? It was stolen by peasants—serfs—from under the nose of one of your knights, a man of my blood?”

He raised his hand to strike Gareth again, but Gareth, well prepared this time, seized his wrist before the blow connected. “Nay, Uncle, you will not. Whatever you think of me, I did not come into your service to stand your whipping boy.”

Rage flared in Robert de Vavasour’s eyes, and his lips skewed in a sneer. “Unhand me, cur! Why did you come into my service, if not to act the part of a Norman knight? You knew the situation here in Nottingham. Everyone from King Henry to the boy who totes the piss pots knows it. I am the laughing stock of northern England because I cannot keep the rabble in line.”

He raged on. “You knew the road passed through the forest. You should have expected an attack, should have been on guard.”

“We were on guard, Uncle.” Gareth saw and felt it again—the green light slanting down through high branches, dappling the roadway, the flitting birds overhead and their songs, like a spell of peace. The attackers had materialized quite literally from nowhere, as if by magic.

“And could you not then fight them off?” Robert de Vavasour continued to roar. “A band of peasants?”

“As I have said, they shot the first of your men from cover before we knew they were there. They wounded two more who tried to flee.” In mindless panic, though Gareth would not tell his uncle that. The soldiers had been nervous from the moment they entered Sherwood and when the arrows began to fly, their terror became palpable. Aye, Gareth had heard stories of Sherwood all the way south—strange things happened there, inexplicable things.

Like men who transformed into stags.
Follow your heart...

Gareth leveled his gaze on the man who stood glaring at him. Most certainly, his heart did not lie here.

“And the rest of you, were you brought to answer by the sword? What kind of master swordsmen lurk in Sherwood, that can vanquish a trained knight?”

“You would be surprised.” Gareth had been. “They hauled me off my mount and I broke my arm in the fall. I fought hard—”

“More excuses. You mewling, craven coward! Your father would be ashamed.” De Vavasour’s sneer became still more pronounced. “I suppose it is your mother’s weakness coming out in you. She was never worthy of his seed.”

Gareth experienced a surge of rage so intense everything around him went white. He growled, “Do not speak of her so.”

“What did you say to me? Mind your tongue, Nephew. You are sworn to my service, and I will speak to you as I choose. Aye, but you always were a mama’s boy, were you not? Just as well she died early and Maurice got you out from under her skirts.”

Anger stopped Gareth’s throat. He felt it run through his blood like hot tar.

“And what of the King’s tax collector, whom you were supposed to guard?” Robert renewed the attack.

“Dead.”

“Aye, dead. And what am I to tell Henry? I am disgusted with you. Get from my sight!”

Gladly, Gareth thought, and turned to leave his uncle’s presence, but Robert’s voice caught him once more, like the sting of a whip.

“I hope you intend to prove yourself to me. I do not expect you to fail me again. As for these excuses with which you have presented me”—Robert’s eyes raked Gareth—“your injuries do not look so grave. Where is evidence of this broken arm? And where the dire wounds?”

Gareth spoke through wooden lips. “Healed, Uncle.”

“Healed, in a matter of days? How?”

“The villagers possess healers of some skill.”
Her tongue, sliding over his skin, her fingers wooing him to come into her yet again…
“They considered me a valuable prize, so they troubled to have me tended.”
Sweet, holy heaven, if only he could hold her again.

“Well, there they erred,” Robert spat. “For you are of no value at all. I would have done better having the tax money back rather than your worthless hide. For now you will make yourself busy training the younger men among my guard, understand? I trust you have the balls for that.”

Gareth nodded stiffly.

“Oh, and Gareth—” De Vavasour called him back yet again. “I trust you have it well in your mind, the location of the village where dwelt these talented healers. For you and I together will go to root them out.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

My love, hear me!

The words called Linnet from sleep, curled through her mind, and forced her eyes open. For days she had struggled to keep shut the door in her mind, closed against Gareth de Vavasour’s wooing. His voice came to her day and night, early and late, sweet and distant. She knew she could not let herself listen, tempting as it might be. The comfort of touching with his thoughts became, in reverse, the sharp pain of longing for him, and more than she could bear.

But now he came to her in sleep, when all her defenses were down. And the endearment went straight to her heart.

So early was it the first light had only begun to sift through the trees and dance upon her eyelids. Linnet slept beneath the leafy roof in the open, with a knot of children around her. For the past fortnight, the men had worked hard to rebuild what they could, but they did so on the basis of need. The sick and elderly would receive new dwellings first. Linnet knew she would remain without a roof for some time.

Now she sat up, her eyes wide and her senses straining. Had she imagined the call? No, for she knew Gareth’s inner voice as well as she knew her own heartbeat.

Ah, and she should force shut the door, slam it shut. But had she the strength?

My love.
Did she think or whisper the words? No matter, for Gareth fell upon them and his gladness spilled over into her, so strong and vital it made her want to weep.

Beautiful Linnet
. The words seemed distant, and they came disjointedly, the way a fitful wind blows a far-off sound. But his emotions reached her clearly, the same warmth, the same intense tenderness she had experienced in his arms.
Why have you kept yourself closed to me? Why have you shut me out again and again?

It hurts so much—too much,
she admitted.

I regret. I would sooner die than hurt you
. “I do not wish to hurt you”—the words he had breathed into her before he entered her the first time. All at once Linnet’s body came alive with remembering. Longing blossomed inside her and, aye, it did ache unbearably.

I need to protect myself. You must understand.

But his voice in her mind strengthened as if it gained facility through his emotion.
You are my one comfort.

Ah, and how could he say such a thing? Here she slept on the ground, roofless, homeless, her only clothing that on her back, while he doubtless lived in plenty at the castle, enjoying the benefit of his uncle’s board and his privileged standing.

I need to see you.

Aye, and Linnet needed to see him too, yet she gathered all her will to do as she must.
No.

Please. Meet me somewhere. Anywhere. In the forest—you choose the place.

Have you a death wish? Do not come here alone. Promise me you will not.

I need to touch you, to hold you.

Linnet’s fingers curled and her nails bit into the palms of her hands. She could feel all he left unsaid, and all he wished to do—touch her everywhere with his hands and his mouth, love her so sweetly and so long it made her forget all the pain of separation.

It feels, Linnet my love, as if I have left part of myself there with you in the forest, the better part. I ache for you.

She knew, aye, she knew.

And I,
she agreed. She closed her eyes an instant.
But do not venture here. All the forest trails are closely watched.

It is that I need to tell you. Sheriff de Vavasour is determined to regain the King’s taxes stolen along with me. It is a matter of pride with him, and he will not rest. He wishes me to lead him to the village where I was held. He will apply what pressure he can. Our party—including him—leaves here at full light.

Aghast, Linnet remained silent.

You may be sure I will not lead him to you, love. But, indeed, I must lead him somewhere. I have thought to plead confusion and take him on some merry chase. He already despises me.

Despises you?
How could anyone?

Now Gareth fell silent. And Linnet demanded,
Speak to me. Does he not value you?

That is neither here nor there. I would not bring his wrath down upon some other village, Linnet. And he will spend his ire wherever I do lead him. He is that kind of man.

How soon do you leave Nottingham?
Linnet thought furiously; already the light grew stronger around her and the village folk began to stir.
There is little left to lose here in the village and we can disappear into the forest at need. I will convince our headman—

Falcon
. A world of emotion filled that one word. Linnet heard longing, jealousy, and regret.

What am I to tell him of how this knowledge came to me?

Tell him it came in a dream.
Gareth bade her bitterly,
It is all we are to one another now. But, my love, do not close yourself away from me again, I do so beg.

I must. I must.
And, using all her will, struggling mightily, she shut the door against him. Not until she scrambled to her feet did she realize she had not even thanked him for the warning.

****

“Falcon?”

He turned his head at Linnet’s call and gladness filled his eyes. Fal had been a different man since returning from Nottingham. It seemed he had summoned up a measure of his father’s strength and headlong courage. The responsibilities they all bore clearly weighed upon him, yet Linnet still caught a hint of the old, gentle Fal in his smile.

“I was hoping for a moment with you,” he told her. “It seems there has been time for naught.” He cupped her cheek with one hand. “I have missed you sorely, Lin.”

“Aye,” she could only agree, “and I you.” She longed for the carefree times and the laughter they had so often shared.

He hurried on before she could say more. “There is much to be settled between us. Matters seem to rush betimes.” His hand remained warm against her face, the touch tender. “But it has come to me, you and I might be one another’s comfort in all this madness, and this time that seems so bleak.”

“We have always been that to one another,” Linnet said, “the three of us.” That had been especially true since the death of Fal’s mother and sister. With Linnet’s parents so often away and Martin Scarlet occupied with the fight against Nottingham, their bonds had steadily deepened.

Falcon shook his head slightly. “I speak not of games with Lark. Linnet, you know what you mean to me. When are we going to make a declaration of it, what lies between us?”

Without giving her a chance to answer he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his, quick and tender. Falcon had kissed her before, countless times, both brotherly kisses on the cheek and a young man’s attempts at seduction. But his lips carried a new message this time: Linnet felt passion and intent. She felt what lay in his heart.

For an instant the sweetness of it held and realization crystallized in Linnet’s mind.
He loves me. And I might have loved him after all, had another not already claimed my heart.

She drew away and raised both hands to his chest. His eyes had grown dark and revealed the desire building inside him.

“No, Fal.”

“What? Why not? Linnet, the time is now for us to sort out our places in the triad and firm up our bonds. You and I were always meant to be together. Marry me now, and we will go into this thing doubly strong.”

“What of Lark?”

“What of her?” Falcon tossed his head. “She has always known she is the odd one out. The circle requires three; there is no help for it. Two bond with each other, and the third with Sherwood. She knows that as well as we.”

“I hardly think Lark well-suited to disappear meekly into the forest. Surely I am closer to the land when I take from it my herbs and use them to heal.”

“Are you in earnest? I have never seen anyone more in tune with Sherwood than Lark. She asks permission every time she cuts wood to make an arrow and whispers a prayer before every shot. She can vanish into the trees like one of the Old Ones. Sometimes I think she is more than half spirit.”

“Yet she has not the nature to make a hermit.”

“Does it have to be that way?”

In the past, one of the three who made up the triad had gone to live in the forest, honing his or her knowledge and wisdom. That kept the magic of Sherwood bonded and available for the defense of its guardians. Linnet’s own parents, along with Martin Scarlet, had changed the face of things somewhat; Wren and Sparrow had dwelled at the forest refuge together, affirming the power there. Martin Scarlet had presented the face of their defense with Falcon’s mother, Sally, at his side.

The power had shifted but not failed—until now. Linnet knew she must do her part no matter what her heart might demand.

She closed her fingers on Falcon’s arm. “We cannot speak of this now. I came to tell you we must gather and move everyone out of the village. The Sheriff comes with a company of men.”

Emotion kindled in Fal’s eyes. “That bastard Gareth de Vavasour leads them to us, no doubt. I should have known he had no honor and would act against us even though we spared his life. Pa was right. We should have slit his throat and sent him back to his accursed uncle dead and cold.”

Linnet drew a hard breath. “We do not know who leads them. And it does not matter now. We have naught left to lose in the village, save lives. If we scatter into the trees, we may at least protect the villagers.”

“Aye. Find Lark and anyone else who can spread the word. Get everyone up and moving. I will organize the men. We will await them in the trees surrounding the village and slay de Vavasour’s men when they come looking.”