Chapter Twenty-Two

“I must leave at once and go into the forest. We have but three days in which to rescue Falcon.”

Anwyn watched little puffs of vapor appear from Curlew Champion’s lips. The morning was deadly chill, brisk and alive with color. She tried to understand why it felt as if Curlew’s words echoed inside her, and gave it up. She comprehended little enough of what had happened to her since she came to Sherwood.

Only that Lark Scarlet wanted her sent back to Nottingham in exchange for Falcon. That somehow she and Curlew had commanded a staggering, great magic and saved Heron’s life. And that she could not bear to be parted from Curlew ever again.

She ached to lie with him—oh, aye—but it was not just that. She ached also for his presence, could sense it when he did or did not remain near. In a curious way she seemed able to feel his moods as well, almost as if they touched upon her awareness.

The two of them stood now just outside Diera’s hut. Not far away soared the great tree for which Oakham was named, its dying leaves stained the color of the light on Curlew’s hair.

She said the only thing she could: “Let me come with you.”

He studied her for an instant and she thought he must agree, but he shook his head. “Better not. I can move more swiftly alone.”

“Master Champion—”

“You had better call me ‘Curlew’ now, given what happened yesterday.”

“What did happen yesterday?”

Again he seemed to hesitate. The brightness in his eyes devoured her face, and she wondered what he saw. She had never been beautiful; now perished by the cold and worn by her emotions, she felt fragile beyond belief.

But his expression softened, and his emotions fluttered in her mind before he said, “It seems Sherwood led you to us for a reason, a precious one.”

Her heart protested it: Sherwood had not led her to them, so much as to him, through the sightless dark. Had he forgotten? She could never forget—each separate memory still had the power to possess her.

“Curlew, please do not leave me. Heron’s mother does not want me here.”

“She is grateful to you for saving Heron, and she knows you belong.”

She belonged with him. But that explained nothing. She reached out and seized his arm. “But just how did I help you save Heron? What was that light?”

Something grave and wonderful looked at her out of his eyes. “You, dear girl, are the one Heron and I have sought so long, the third of our number.”

She almost fell down. “I?”

A rueful smile curled his mouth. “Indeed, and I nearly failed to accept it, fought the very idea just like my aunt. But no one can deny what occurred when we called Heron back from death. You must have felt the bonds form and how strongly they now join the three of us.”

“I do not know what I felt,” Anwyn confessed. Amazement and terror moved within her, and a thousand doubts. From the very beginning Curlew had impressed upon her that an inescapable duty lay before him. She was not a woman suited to duty. Indeed, she had spent most her life fleeing the chains of responsibility. But this duty, these ties, would bind her to Curlew. And she would give her present, her future, her very life to be tied to him.

The uncertainty within her steadied as she gazed into his eyes. “Are you saying we belong together? You, me, and Heron? Forever?”

“Forever.” He repeated it like a vow.

She sucked in a breath. Dazzling, momentous miracle! She slid her fingers down his sleeve, which still she gripped, to his hand. She wanted him to feel what she felt, wanted him to know what lay in her heart. For her whole life had led her to this.

“Well, then,” she said softly, her fingers curling into the warmth of his, “you can hardly leave me here, can you? Not if we are meant, always, to be together.”

****

“Why do you go to see your parents?” Anwyn spoke in a hush inspired by the morning forest. Like something beautiful dying, it was—all the trees sentinel and silent, clad in their brown and yellow robes of mourning. The thought prompted another: perhaps he went to see whether his mother yet lived. Should she have asked?

But he said calmly, “I need to tell my father—and my mother, if she can understand—what has come to pass.”

“Explain it to me, first. What has come to pass? What is this triad, exactly?”

He slanted a look at her. They walked side by side when possible through the trackless forest, heading ever deeper into the trees. Anwyn could not guess how he knew where he was going, unless he might be led even as she had been the night she came to him, by inner knowing.

“It is a long and complicated tale.”

“This guardianship of which you speak—it is some magical force that protects Sherwood?”

His eyebrows twitched. Had he forgotten she hailed from the Welsh borders? Among her mother’s people magic was accepted, an everyday reality. And she could not deny magic existed here, among these trees.

“You have heard of Robin Hood.”

She smiled. “Who has not? He is like King Arthur, whom the Welsh claim as their own. A glorious hero who will never die.”

“Yet he did die, pierced by nearly half a score of arrows. Those he left behind, who loved him so well, banded together to keep his legend alive. Three of them did so by taking up the circle of magic Robin had once held along with his wife, Marian, and the god of Sherwood, and keeping it balanced among them. So did they become guardians of Sherwood. When they died, the guardianship passed to three others: Robin’s daughter and the sons of Will Scarlet and John Little. That daughter, Wren, was my grandmother.”

“You are descended from him, then—from Robin Hood.”

“Aye. My aunt, uncle, and mother took up the guardianship in their turn, but with my mother so sorely stricken—well, it becomes our duty and privilege.”

“Yours, and Heron’s.”

He drew a breath and she felt his emotions stir. “And yours,” he said softly. “All our lives, Heron and I have known ourselves destined for this. And long did we search for the third of our number. We knew only she would be female.”

“How did you know that?”

“Always there are three, all connected—two bound in marriage with each other, the third with Sherwood itself.”

Anwyn’s mind struggled with it. “But you say your mother is a guardian? Lark and Scarlet are husband and wife, but your mother is also wed.”

“My father is not part of the circle, even though Sherwood chose him as mate for my mother, just as Sherwood seems to have chosen you—either for me or Heron.”

He spoke the last words carefully, yet Anwyn’s heart leaped when she heard them. Him, let it be him! She admired Heron, aye, and what woman would not consider him beautiful? She could sense his kindness, his warmth, and great wisdom.

But to think she would ever lie with anyone but this man surpassed imagining. He answered every call she had ever heard, and stilled her fathomless longing.

Again he glanced at her. This time his eyes remained fixed on hers. “That is what my aunt struggles to reconcile. It is a great honor and a great burden. Sherwood bred, she cannot understand why it did not fall to one of our own.”

“Are you certain I am the one?”

“There is no doubting what happened yesterday. Surely you felt the power of it?”

Gravely, Anwyn nodded. She could scarcely let herself think about that even yet. The sensations she had experienced defied understanding. “So, that was magic?”

“Deep and wondrous magic, the kind that comes only when three are bound.” He added simply, “We would not have been able to wield it, were you not the one.”

Anwyn tried to accept that, and a host of emotions rose up inside, too tangled to define. One emerged, dominant over all: gratitude. She was grateful that this meant she had reason to be with him. She would accept far more, dedicate herself to aught she must, if it gave her a right to remain at his side.

“But even you do not know why ’tis I?”

“Sherwood knows, and that must be enough.”

Such faith, she thought. The beauty of it sounded deep inside her.

“It will take time,” he continued levelly, “to reach an understanding of what this means to you—to us. Heron and I will do our best to show you all you need, so you can make the right choice between us.”

Her mind darted, strove to comprehend all the aspects of it. “What about your uncle, though? Your aunt will insist on trading me for him.” Anwyn could not but sympathize with the woman. She knew what it would cost her to lose Curlew. The very thought of it terrified her.

She reached once more for his hand. His fingers closed about hers strongly, and a sort of humming started running through her blood, a very faint echo of what she had experienced yesterday when the sparks of light flowed from her hands. Aye, so this was magic, and nearly as powerful as what she felt for this man.

Comprehension touched her. “It is why you told my father, when first we met, that you were a forester,” she proposed, “because you are guardian of this place.”

He looked at her and his eyes glowed like stars. “Sherwood,” he stated, “is and will ever be mine.”