Chapter Fifteen

“Hie, Curlew! How went your pilgrimage?”

The cry met Anwyn and Curlew as they entered the village, and stopped them in their tracks. Anwyn turned her head sharply to locate the speaker, and her eyes widened.

The most beautiful man ever she had beheld strode toward them. Beautiful, aye—it was not a description she ordinarily applied to males she encountered, but this man deserved no other. Golden he was, from his head to his feet, tall and slender, and lithe in his movements. Tawny yellow hair flowed over his shoulders, and his face might easily grace one of God’s angels. He wore leggings and a tunic of golden deer hide, and the laces on his high boots only served to show the length and grace of his limbs.

“Heron,” Curlew said.

Ah, so this was Heron, the cousin somehow linked with Curlew in this mysterious duty of which he spoke. Anwyn could only stand and stare as he approached.

Curlew slanted a rueful look at her. “Aye—Heron affects most maids so, at first sight.”

The beautiful man even had golden eyes, set like jewels between deeply-fringed lashes. They regarded Anwyn and warmed when he smiled. “Well, cousin, I knew you went to meet a lady in Sherwood but, faith, I did not expect you to bring her back with you.”

Anwyn’s heart sank once again. Curlew had gone to the forest to meet someone? Was that why he had seemed so unsurprised when she fell into his arms? Was it why he had loved her so eagerly, because he thought she was someone else? Dismay tasted bitter in her mouth.

Curlew did not answer directly. “This is Mistress Montfort, who is fleeing Nottingham for the refuge of the forest.”

“Montfort?” Heron tipped his head. Light shimmered around him like fractured radiance. “Is that not the name of de Asselacton’s new head forester?”

“He is my father.” Anwyn spoke with only a slight tremor in her voice and held out her hand. “I am Anwyn, and most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Heron fairly shone with delight. He made an obeisance worthy of King Henry’s court, and his lips brushed her fingers. Anwyn felt that touch reach inside her, like the toll of a bell.

“Most pleased to meet you, Mistress Anwyn. I am Heron Scarlet. Welcome to Oakham.”

Curlew cleared his throat. “She cannot stay but for breakfast. She will have to be sent back to Nottingham.”

You promised you would never send me away from you, Anwyn protested silently, and Curlew twitched, almost as if he heard.

“Well, we will speak of that anon,” Heron said soothingly. “Meanwhile, you will break your fast on bread baked by these hands.”

“You know how to bake?” Anwyn could not help but ask.

Curlew snorted. “He cooks astonishingly well—manages most things well, does my cousin.”

Anwyn sensed sincere affection between the two men. Close as brothers they must be, possibly closer. Oh, she thought wistfully, to be part of something like that.

Heron led them to a hut, one among the others. It had the figure of a stag carved above the door—nay, it was a man with antlers on his head.

“Any word?” Curlew asked his cousin as they went.

“Your sisters have both been and gone. They brought word of no change.”

“And your parents?”

“Remain with her. We will need to go, the two of us, and make our attempt.” Heron’s eyes slid to Anwyn. “Just as soon as matters here are attended.”

She felt instantly in the way, as if she did not belong. But Curlew only nodded, and Heron pushed wide the wooden door of the hut and invited her in.

The interior of the place felt cool and smelled wonderfully of things Anwyn could not begin to identify—herbs, possibly. The hearth took up most of the space in the small room. To the right Anwyn saw stools and a bench, to the left a narrow bed. Only one window opened onto the autumn light, but Heron left the door standing wide.

Anwyn had been in similar dwellings in the Welsh borders, had played with and been invited home by children who lived there. She had seen desperate poverty but did not sense that here. The room, though spare, gave off an air of comfort.

“Please, Mistress Anwyn, sit. Will you take some ale?”

“Aye, thank you.” Whatever this beautiful man offered her, she would gratefully accept.

He poured three mugs of frothy ale and placed one at her hand. When he bent over her, she caught a hint of his scent, very similar to that of the house, and beguiling.

He brought a basket of bread and a pot of honey, then sat down between Anwyn and Curlew.

“So, Mistress Anwyn, tell us why you have fled Nottingham.”

She froze with her mug halfway to her lips. Parched, and hungry as well, she nevertheless hesitated. “Do I need your permission to stay here?”

He lifted arched brows. “Nay, but I promise you I can put in a very good word with our headman. He is my father.”

“Then, please.” She slid forward and touched his hand. “I pray you will convince him to let me stay.”

****

Yet another woman fallen victim to Heron’s redoubtable charms, Curlew thought sourly as he watched the smiles his cousin and the lass, Anwyn, traded to one another. He wondered why the idea made him ache inside. He barely knew her. Well, aye, he knew her in the carnal sense, right enough. His flesh still leaped for hers every time he looked at her, and to save his life he could not keep from looking. Even now, as she leaned toward Heron and touched his hand, he saw how her breasts pushed against the fabric of her bodice. He knew those breasts as well—the size and taste of them. He knew her sweetness and her heat.

But he should be used to coming second to Heron. Had he not done so all his life? Truly, never before had he resented it. The only thing at which he excelled was the longbow—there, at least, he knew himself unmatched.

He could not deny the two of them made a bright picture together, all ashen and golden like the autumn day outside. ’Twas as if they brought its beauty inside with them, to light this ordinary place.

“Only tell me your circumstances,” Heron bade with an interested look, “and I will gladly speak to my parents on your behalf.”

“My father has made a marriage agreement very little to my liking.” She bit into her crust of bread with her white teeth; Curlew could not but remember them also, sliding over his flesh.

“Who is the man?”

“The foremost of my father’s foresters, so Da says, though I can scarcely warrant it. I have told your cousin all my objections to him.” She glanced at Curlew, and away.

“Why would your father settle on such a man for your husband?”

“To tell true, I have not made things easy for my Da since my mother’s death. This is a fine place my lord de Asselacton has granted him, and he wants to keep it.”

Heron’s eyes flashed. “A fine place hunting down my good neighbors, who seek only to keep themselves and their families fed?”

“I know little of such matters, only that if I prove disobedient I shame him, and if I shame him it does not sit well.”

“And are you so disobedient?” Heron asked, looking suddenly amused.

“Aye.” Again, Anwyn glanced at Curlew. Did she think he would bring forth what had happened last night? Did she suppose him such a man? Aye, but she knew little more of him than of the trials of life in Oakham.

Heron looked at him also. “What say you, Lew? Shall we offer her sanctuary?”

Curlew took a deep draught of ale and shook his head. “A dangerous proposition. Her father will no doubt come looking for her. What father would not? And when he does come, he may well find other things.” He tried to ignore the stricken look in the eyes Anwyn turned on him. Aye, but she feared returning to her monstrous forester rather than parting from him, Curlew. Just because they had shared one mistaken night of passion did not mean she harbored genuine feelings for him.

She asked him softly, “Would you truly send me back to a man who has promised to beat me?”

Implacably, he said, “Tell your father what you have told me and Heron. You say he is a good man. I do not doubt he will take your part.”

An accusing look came to her eyes. Curlew could almost hear her thinking, “But you promised never to send me from you.”

Aye, he had promised in the heat and beauty of the moment. But he had to think of his people, and of his mother lying near death. Could he allow this woman’s presence to bring more risk upon them?

He spoke in a voice that did not sound like his own. “I do not see how we can allow you to stay.”

She looked like he had slapped her. All the light fled her eyes, and she clenched her hands together.

“Aye, well,” Heron said comfortably, “’tis just as well for you, Mistress Anwyn, the decision does not lie with Lew. You will need to ask my father, and he is away just now.” He gave a curious smile. “It seems you will have to stay long enough to await his return.”