Chapter Sixteen

“A word with you, Heron,” Curlew requested irritably.

His cousin turned to him, his face calm in the golden afternoon light. Almost a full day had the lass, Anwyn, been in Oakham. Curlew could not help but think of her as a trap waiting to spring upon them all.

The urgency inside him increased, making him edgy and impatient. His inner desires and his practical sense warred with one another. He did not like being at odds with Heron, but he felt very much so now.

“Come and sit,” Heron bade. He waved Curlew to the fallen log from which they often watched target practice. The life of Oakham bustled all around them: children laughed and cried, women gossiped together, men hauled in the last of the harvest. The rhythm of it should have comforted Curlew, but it did not.

Heron, on the other hand, looked very much at ease. He met Curlew’s gaze and lifted both brows in query. “Something troubles you, cousin?”

“What have you done with the lass?”

“I? Nothing.”

“Then where is she?” Annoyance stirred in Curlew’s heart.

“With Diera, who has agreed to give her a bed for the night.”

Aye, and Diera would agree to whatever Heron asked.

“I think ’tis a bad idea for her to remain here.”

“That, Lew, is more than plain.”

“Then why would you go behind my back and arrange for her to stay?”

“I have not. I meant what I said—the decision to let her stay or send her to Nottingham lies with my father, or, more precisely, with my parents, for you can be sure Ma will have a say.”

“And where are they but struggling with the possible collapse of their triad? Surely they have enough to juggle now. We all have. Why trouble them at such a dire time with the fate of one errant maid?”

Heron drew a breath and gave Curlew a thoughtful look. “You feel very strongly about it.”

“I do.” Curlew’s emotions were tangled impossibly between the desire that still kicked him hard every time he so much as glanced at the woman and his conviction that her presence promised to change everything.

Heron settled himself more comfortably. “Why not tell me how you came to meet her in the forest? I thought you went to await the ministrations of the Lady.”

Curlew frowned. Could he explain to Heron what had happened? Could he even explain it to himself? “You will scarce believe it.”

“Only try me.”

“I did, indeed, go into Sherwood as you bade, deep into its heart. I bathed myself, invoked the Lady’s presence, and waited.”

“Aye?”

“Dark it was, dark as if I lay blind. And then,” a thread of wonderment crept into Curlew’s voice, “she came. And I took her into my arms and loved her well.” That made a vast understatement. Curlew had never dreamed of coupling with anyone as they had.

Heron’s eyebrow twitched. “And so?”

“At the height of things, she extracted a promise from me that I would never send her away. I thought her the Lady, Heron—I supposed it some kind of mystical binding to do with the guardianship. I agreed.”

“Aye, so? I would have done the same.”

“Only, she who extracted this promise was not the Lady. It proved, in the end, to be this lass, Anwyn, in my arms—a mortal woman, and I could not tell. I know not how she came there, to the heart of Sherwood in the dark.”

“Do you not?”

“Nay. She has some mad tale of being led by a glimmer of light.”

“Does she!”

“But it can only be a vile trick, Heron. I was misled into giving that promise, and now she seeks to hold me to it.”

“Ah.” Heron’s golden eyes turned thoughtful. “Quite the tale, that.”

“Aye, if someone else brought it to me, I would not believe it.”

“That is plain.” A hint of irony colored Heron’s voice. “For you do not believe it now, even though it has happened to you.”

“Eh?” Curlew scowled.

“Do you, lad, remember none of the old stories? Have you forgotten their meaning?”

“Of which stories do you speak?”

“Many they are. Take the one your father tells of how he found himself led through the depths of Sherwood by the glint of a bird’s wing, a spark of light.”

“Our parents tell many tales. You know I am not one for living in the past. ’Tis the present that concerns me, and the future of the guardianship.”

“And it is just that I believe confronts us now. Why did you go to Sherwood last night?”

“Because you sent me,” Curlew said, not without resentment.

“Nay, because you sought an answer, among other things, about our missing companion. I think you have received it.”

For the space of several heartbeats, Curlew failed to take his cousin’s meaning. The look in Heron’s eyes directed him to it.

“Nay,” he breathed then. “You are mad.”

Both Heron’s eyebrows rose. “No doubt of that. Yet I am surprised you did not tumble to this conclusion.”

“What conclusion?”

“You went to the heart of Sherwood seeking. Sherwood gave.”

“Not this. Not her.”

“You lay with someone you believed to be the Lady, did you not?”

He had, indeed. Every moment of the encounter remained burned into his flesh and spirit. “Aye.”

“Why is it difficult to believe Sherwood placed into your arms the woman we seek?”

“Because,” Curlew sputtered, “because she is all wrong.”

“What is right, then? You tell me how she must appear, this woman we seek.”

“Not like that. Not like her!” Curlew insisted again. “She is naught like I imagined.”

“Must we always receive what we imagine? Or sometimes more—what we need?”

“How can this wayward lass be what we need to complete our circle?” Curlew scowled. It irked him that Heron sat there so smug and calm. “She is not even born of Sherwood but comes from the west—part Welsh, and with that unwieldy name.”

Heron began to laugh softly. Curlew fought the desire—heretofore unheard of—to slap the smirk from his cousin’s face.

“What is there to make you laugh?”

“You denounce her name, and us a flock of birds!”

Curlew managed to damp down his irritation. “Aye, make light as you will. You are wrong about her. You have no real cause to say she is the one we have awaited so long. As she pointed out to me herself, many folk flee into Sherwood.”

“And she just happened to flee into your arms.”

“Heron, listen to me. This is no time for fancy or uncertainty.”

“It is all uncertainty.”

“Do you think her father will fail to come looking for her? She will have him and his foresters down upon us like a pack of hounds. Send her back.”

“That is not up to me, Lew. I say again, it is a decision for the members of the current triad.”

“Which is broken.”

“Not yet. You and I need to go together and attempt to rouse your mother from her sleep. I am thinking we can bring my parents back with us and let them make the decision about Anwyn. Meanwhile, she will do well enough in Diera’s hands.”

“And if Asslicker’s men come looking for her while we are away?”

Heron shrugged. “They are bound to come. Something has been set in motion by the arrival of this lass and her father in Nottingham. The wheel begins to turn again. I believe, Lew, we face our challenges even as did those who came before us.”

“The risk is high.”

“And has always been so. We would not be worthy guardians were we not able to face the dangers and stand strong.”

Aye, bold words for Heron to say, Curlew thought bitterly. It was not his mother lying still as death and holding the welfare of all they loved in her slender hands. He did not have to face the heartbreak in his father’s eyes.

Yet he could not allow Heron to become his opponent. And anger would benefit them not at all.

He drew a deep breath, looked Heron in the eyes, and nodded. Heron reached out wordlessly and they clasped arms as they had done a thousand times.

“Aye,” Curlew said then, “together we shall go and make our bid for my mother’s life.”