Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Does he yet live?” Anwyn asked the question piteously of her father, who tramped at her side, but got no answer. He merely shook his head as he had the all other times she had implored him.

Despite his denial she said, “Surely he lives. ’Twas but a single wound, and he is so strong.” He carried the very strength of Sherwood.

But that had not saved him last time. And there had been so much blood. She had seen that even as Havers dragged her away.

Her last glimpse of her love had come when the road turned, and it had the power to chill her to the heart: Curlew sprawled in the road with the others gathered round—both Heron, who must have followed him even as Curlew had followed Anwyn, and Diera kneeling over him. And the rain falling down, weeping.

It had all come round again, her worst terror and her deepest fear.

“It is my fault,” she murmured to herself. “I brought this on him even as I strove to prevent it, the very thing I—”

“Be silent!” Havers whirled and ordered her viciously.

She raised burning eyes to him. He had unbound Mason Montfort’s hands and tied Anwyn’s with the same straps, even over her father’s protests.

“We cannot trust her, Master Montfort. Surely you see that. ’Tis worse than we thought. She is in league with those outlaws back there, and has no doubt given herself to that rogue I cut down.”

“I do not like this, not any of it,” Montfort had declared even as Havers organized his men and moved off, leaving the Sherwood party in confusion behind him, scattered and focused only on their great loss.

And Havers told him, “Let us get out of this accursed forest and safe back to Nottingham, and we shall sort it.”

Nottingham, Anwyn thought; no safety lay there nor anywhere else for her now. She did not care what Havers did to her. She would scarcely notice for the weight of her agony.

Did Curlew live? She needed to master her emotions and quiet herself enough to listen for him through the ties that connected them, and those of the triad—him, or Heron. But she could not calm herself. Pain pounded through her like a second heartbeat, grief arose and threatened to unhinge her mind. Words chased one another through her head.

My fault. Brought this upon him. Led him straight into it. Failed him.

Again.

A sob caught in her throat. Had she learned nothing through all the past heartache? Did she not believe their love eternal? Did she not know life rose and fell and rose again, undefeatable as the seasons?

Aye, but still all she could see was him lying there in his blood.

Would she be so weak as to fail him now?

No. Not that.

She eyed Havers’ squat back, and the other men who accompanied them. What were her chances of escape, of making it back to that place Curlew lay, of discovering if he yet lived?

Six men—two foresters, neither of them known to her, and the surviving soldiers. Some went before and some came behind. She would not make it twenty strides before they caught her.

She tipped her face up to the sky, to the rain, and sought for strength. Sherwood must lend that to her; she was of the forest now, a part of it, a guardian. Sherwood, she knew, dealt in both magic and stark reality—it gave and it took.

I will give you anything. Only let me reach him.

She thought she saw something from the corner of her eye, a flicker of movement away through the trees that bordered the road. She fought for breath and strove once more to calm her mind. Help me.

A stillness came. Through it she reached with her mind, seeking out the pathways that linked her with Curlew—with Robin—battling even as she had failed to do last time to reach him, to find him.

To sense him.

Whispers. Flickering flashes of light. Did he live? If so he could not hear her, and he could not respond. But by the very light of the forest, she felt something.

What was it Curlew had told her? Love made up the strength of Sherwood—the love that bound souls one to another, that which lit the flame of giving, and sacrifice.

Last time fear had made her weak. This time, love would make her strong.

She stopped walking, threw her head back and screamed aloud. She called to the air, the rain, the deep soil and the eternal fire. “Help me!”

Havers faltered and spun, an ugly look distorting his face. The first arrow came almost simultaneously and thudded into the back of one of the foresters as if in answer to her call.

A hail of others followed. Havers’ party sprang into motion. The soldiers drew their swords and raised their shields. The one remaining forester readied his bow. Anwyn’s father, having no way to defend himself, dropped to the road and bellowed at Anwyn, “Get down!”

She ignored him and stood where she was, joy pounding up through her. Whatever came now to her aid would not harm her, even though arrows shivered through the air like hard drops of rain. Who had come to her aid? Surely it must be the bowmen Diera said Curlew, in his caution, had sent on ahead.

“Can you see them?” Havers demanded of his men, enraged. And louder, “Show yourselves, cowards!”

His sole response was an arrow that flew with beautiful precision and pierced the top edge of his shield.

“Drive them off!” he hollered then. “Fall in!”

Another arrow streaked in upon him. Anwyn saw it take him in the shoulder just beneath his throat, and her battered heart exulted. But he roared like the boar he resembled, seized the shaft, and pulled the arrow from his flesh.

Anwyn nearly fell down where she stood. Havers stomped forward and caught hold of her even as her knees began to buckle; his merciless grip trapped her as he drew her against him. The iron tip of his knife bit her throat.

“Stop firing,” he called into the trees, “or I slay her where she stands.”

Go ahead, Anwyn thought fiercely. If Curlew passed into death, she would go even there with him. Inner knowing told her they would then be together in spirit.

But she had a destiny to fulfill. She needed to fight, not crumble and run. She needed to stand strong.

The arrows from the forest desisted. Her father scrambled to his feet.

“Ah,” Havers growled in satisfaction, his breath scorching Anwyn’s ear, “so they value you, do they? You mean something to them.”

“Let me go,” she told him, “else you will not leave the forest alive.”

“Ah no, wench. You come with me. And you will have your discipline, full earned, in pain.”

Her father glared at Havers. “Is this how you think to treat my daughter? It is enough!”

“Peace, Master Montfort. Did you not ask for my help with her? The next time you see your daughter, I assure you she will prove obedient.”

Montfort stared, aghast.

Havers called to his men, “You get Master Montfort back to Nottingham safely. These wolfsheads want the woman, and I doubt there are enough of them to follow all of us. We will meet you there.” He growled for Anwyn’s ears alone, “And we have a score to settle, you and I.”