Laura Strickland - The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy (29 page)
Read Laura Strickland - The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy Online
Authors: Champion of Sherwood
Tags: #Romance, #Robin Hood, #sensual, #medieval, #Historical
The arrow flew with exquisite grace, arced through the near darkness, and embedded itself in the tall, ghostly form of a tree.
“Ah.” The sound came from Lark’s throat, a sigh of pure satisfaction.
Falcon turned and handed Gareth the bow. Gareth glanced into Linnet’s face, aglow with faith in him, and wished desperately he had the skill needed to accomplish this—for her sake, if not his own.
All is given, for love.
The words sounded in his head clear as a bell, a voice he knew.
Stand, son. As you give yourself now to Sherwood, so shall Sherwood give itself to you.
A flare of magic surrounded him. He heard Linnet’s breath catch, saw Lark stare, and saw Falcon smile.
A spirit not his own lifted the bow and notched an arrow. Eyes not quite his sighted, hands not his corrected the aim, the precise and barely definable amount needed for the distance.
The shot loosed and flew true in a shower of pure white sparks. The arrow entered the target so near Falcon’s the two were indistinguishable from where Gareth stood. Once more Lark went racing off to see, and returned as swiftly with a curious expression in her eyes.
“Both in the very center of the target.”
Falcon slanted Gareth a look. “The next, then, if you wish to continue?”
Gareth nodded, no longer sure what voice might issue from his lips, should he dare to speak.
“I have secured the next target,” Lark dared him. “Let us see, Sir Champion.”
Not yet his name, but no epithet either. Gareth gave Falcon the bow.
So acute had Gareth’s senses now become, he could feel Linnet holding her breath, could feel the air flowing through the trees in a veil of power. And he could feel the spirit waiting inside him, strong and patient.
Virtue survives death
, it whispered with a hint of humor.
And virtue recognizes its own, even in the guise of a Norman.
Gareth replied,
But I cannot see the target.
No worry, son. I can!
Falcon shot in another shower of aquamarine sparks. Lark, whose eyes must be much keener than Gareth’s, crowed in delight.
Aye, he is good,
said Robin inside Gareth’s head, even as Falcon returned the bow.
But I am better.
He raised the bow and shot. This time Gareth felt the full power of it, the rush of strength and certainty. His heart bounded.
Lark, apparently tireless, ran off again. She came back scowling. “Both arrows beside each other once again. I have placed the last target but—it lies in the deepest darkness. Fal, I do not know that even you can find it.”
“That,” Falcon told her, “is what makes it a challenge.” Almost respectfully now, he took the bow from Gareth’s hands and notched his final arrow. “This one flies by faith.”
Falcon raised the bow, notched the arrow, and sighted long. He shot and his arrow disappeared, even its trail of magic swallowed by the darkness.
Lark went after it more slowly this time. When she returned, she shook her head sorrowfully.
“I am sorry, Fal—your arrow missed. But he will not be able to make the shot, either.”
Falcon handed Gareth the bow. “He will.”
“How can you say so?”
“Look at him, Lark. Do you not see who that is?”
Giving her no chance to respond, the spirit within Gareth raised the bow. High above, in the darkness, the trees stirred. Magic came flowing, streaming down in great rafts like moonlight. It surrounded the arrow and enfolded Gareth’s hands when they released the shot.
For an instant everything stilled. All four of them were able to hear the solid
thunk
as the arrow found its impossible target.
“Nay, Lark—do not bother to chase it.” Falcon seized her arm when she would have dashed off. “You need not look. There is no doubt.”
Uncertainty now filled Lark’s eyes. She peered at Gareth and her face twisted in wonder. “But why? Why would Sherwood take his part?”
“Because.” Linnet stepped to Gareth’s side even as that other spirit lifted gently from him and arose like breath to disperse among the trees. “If ever we are to achieve our dream, all must be one—Saxon and Celt and Norman alike. One England, one people. Sister, if it cannot happen in Sherwood, it cannot happen at all.”
****
“Please kiss me.” A smile colored Linnet’s voice as she turned and lifted her face to Gareth’s, safe within the circle of his arms. He smiled in response. The night just past should have wearied him. He had lost count of the number of times they had coupled. But he lived on the remnants of magic and the fullness of his need for this woman, and felt as if he held eternity between his hands.
“No need to ask.” He bent his head and brushed his lips across hers, a whisper of devotion. “Tell me you love me,” he bade in return.
“Let me show you, instead.” She pressed her body against his and delight curled through him, slow and languorous. Already drunk on the taste of her, he took her lips once more and drank deep.
They stood together in the dawn forest, alone but very much not alone. Following the contest last night, Falcon had clasped Gareth’s arm like a brother before leading Lark off to Gareth knew not where. It had not mattered then and it barely mattered now.
He slid his hands over Linnet’s slender back and drew her still nearer. She left off kissing him long enough to gaze into his eyes, her expression both wise and mysterious. He pressed possessive palms to her buttocks and parted them slightly so she fitted him better. “Show me, then.”
“Wicked lad!” She bit his lip temptingly. Her luscious, soft mouth had been all over him this night. Just thinking on it had him up and ready for her again.
He tangled his fingers in her hair and a shower of magic erupted, glittering mellow gold. “’Twill take me some time to get used to that,” he said ruefully.
“Not too long, I trust. For Sherwood wants you here, as do I.” She punctuated the sentiment with another kiss. “My champion.”
“Just try and chase me away. I only hope I can prove worthy of the place your grandfather chose for me.” A bridge, Robin had called him, a branch—a Norman champion taken to Sherwood’s service. “I hope I can make a difference and strive for a united England.”
“So do I.” The wisdom in her eyes deepened. “The welfare of our child relies upon it.”
He drew a breath and urged,. “Tell me once more; I cannot hear it often enough.” Wonderingly, he ran his hands over her again. “You carry our child, my child? You are certain?”
Her face lit with joy, making her even more beautiful. She nodded. “It will be a son. Strong and true of heart, like his father.”
“Ah.” His joy caught from hers and gladness filled him. A reason to live, this, as if he needed any beyond the woman in his arms. A reason to fight, and a continuation of the precious magic that had saved, uplifted, and brought him home.
“Now,” he said in rampant delight, “there is a gift come straight from Sherwood’s heart. There,” he added more gravely, “is a piece of the future.”
“And, I do not doubt, the founding of the next triad. If I do not miss my guess,” she cast him another look, this one tangled with mischief, “Lark and Falcon are off somewhere even now seeing to the founding of the second part of it. From whence, I wonder, will come the third?”
“Only kiss me again,” Gareth said joyfully, “and we will leave the future in Sherwood’s keeping.”
A word about the author...
Born and raised in western New York, Laura Strickland has pursued lifelong interests in lore, legend, magic and music, all reflected in her writing. Though her imagination frequently takes her to far-off places, she is usually happiest at home not far from Lake Ontario with her husband and her “fur” child, a rescue dog. Currently she is at work on the third book of the Guardians of Sherwood series.
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Table of Contents
Praise for DAUGHTER OF SHERWOOD
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