Chapter Forty

“A word with you, young man, if I might.”

Anwyn jerked her head up at the sound of her father’s voice, even though he spoke not to her but to Curlew. Evening had come to Sherwood; a cold breeze fluttered the leaves overhead, and all the fires in camp burned low. Guards stood watch for soldiers from Nottingham, and Anwyn sat at Curlew’s side with her hand in his, the same place she had occupied all day long.

But how could she have forgotten about her father? He alone had survived the battle after Curlew fell; he alone could identify Curlew and so betray him to Lord Simon.

All this she thought as she looked up into her Da’s worn and kindly face.

Curlew shifted himself on the pallet they had fashioned for him. Well bandaged now, he still had some pain, but nothing like what had come before. She knew because she felt everything he felt—each breath, each twinge. She knew how impatient he was to get up, and that he would far rather face her father on his feet.

She knew, too, how closely Heron watched them from his place at Diera’s side, some twenty paces away. She found it so easy now to sense Heron’s presence. Their circle had never been stronger.

She wove her fingers tightly between Curlew’s and whispered into his mind, Peace.

He eased at that and spoke to her father, “Welcome, Master Montfort, and speak as you will.”

Mason Montfort seated himself, and Anwyn searched his eyes. Usually she could easily read her father’s feelings, but not this time. Did he come to warn them there must be retribution for this day’s events? She would fight, if she must. She smiled to herself grimly; this must be how it felt to be Lark Scarlet, always ready to battle fiercely for those she loved.

Her father said, “I scarcely know where to begin. I have seen things this day I would never have believed possible, had I not beheld them with my own eyes.” For the first time he looked at Anwyn. “You have said you claim this man for husband, lass?”

Anwyn drew a breath. Surely she was free to do so, since Havers now lay a pile of shattered bone and flesh beneath a tree in Sherwood. She gathered herself and replied, “Aye.”

Her father smiled ruefully. “Yet you took vows before God with another.”

“Most surely, Father, I am widowed now.”

Montfort nodded. “I have been listening to the talk about camp all this day long, and also sharing words with the young woman, Diera, who helped tend me. It seems all the men who made up the search party from Nottingham are dead—the foresters, and Lord Simon’s soldiers, as well. Now you say Havers met his end. How?”

“In the forest, as he deserved.”

“Havers,” Curlew said shortly, “would have taken what is mine.” He struggled to sit up in defiance of his weakness, to face her father on level ground, and Anwyn felt him draw on her strength. “Sherwood would not permit that, nor suffer him to live.”

To Anwyn’s surprise, her father nodded again. “There is magic here, I see that. Ah, do not look so surprised. You suppose I could be wed with a Welsh woman and fail to credit the existence of magic? By any road, I know what I saw earlier when my daughter and your holy man raised you up. I saw light. And felt power.”

“Da—” Anwyn began.

He stayed her with a raised hand. “Nay, Daughter. This is between the man you have chosen and me.” Montfort looked Curlew in the eye. “I am not sure who you are—what you are—besides a wolfshead. I have sworn fealty to Lord Simon and also bear him the duty of friendship. But I have an older duty to my daughter, one born of love.”

Steadily, Curlew answered, “That duty I both understand and share. Many are the ties that bind us, Master Montfort. Some cannot be denied.”

“Now, I am aware I lie, here, very much in your power. You have naught to do but slit my throat in order to eliminate all possibility of retaliation for this day’s events.” Montfort crooked an eyebrow. “Or, Curlew Champion, you and I might come to terms.”

“I am listening.”

Montfort shot another look into Anwyn’s face before returning his gaze to Curlew. “Do you recall, Master Champion, the day we first met in Sherwood? You told me you numbered one among Lord Simon’s foresters.”

“I will never forget.”

“And now I learn from Mistress Diera you are a kind of guardian of this forest, one whose authority she believes reaches beyond Norman laws.”

Curlew replied softly, “That I am.”

“You could, as I say, slit my throat. But that would gain you little in the long run. You would still be at odds with Lord Simon and whomever he might appoint after me. You would have no return for all the bloodshed and grief spent. And my daughter—my daughter would still live with a man outside the law.” His smile, this time, was dour. “Lord Simon has condemned me roundly for my handling of my willful daughter. Indeed, his recommendations precipitated much of what has happened. But, young man, what I have seen this day has set me back on my heels and made me wonder whether love be not the stronger path, after all.”

Curlew glanced into Anwyn’s face before he said, “Aye, sir, so it must be. But I am not sure I follow your thoughts.”

“I wondered, only, if you and I might strike an agreement to benefit all.” Now Mason Montfort drew a breath. “Lord Simon and I have determined there is need of a steward for Sherwood. I swore I would give that place to the man who wed my daughter. You, it seems, are he.”

For an instant everything stilled, as if even the forest itself awaited Curlew’s reply. The leaves overhead ceased to rustle; folks’ voices died away, and the flames of their fire flickered low. Anwyn once more felt the wheel of life pause on its great axis before it began to turn again.

“You would grant this place to me?”

“I would, but do not misunderstand: I have not full authority to do so. With Havers dead and so many others with him, there are many places to fill. Lord Simon will take the opportunity to bring in those to whom he owes favors, and many will be Norman. If you want this place, you will have to earn it.”

“How?”

“The most reasonable means would be in competition at the butts. If I propose it, I do not believe Lord Simon will refuse. Can you shoot a bow?”

Curlew began to laugh softly, in wonder. His grip on Anwyn’s fingers tightened, and the light inside him intensified. “I can. Indeed, Master Montfort, ’tis the one thing I have ever been able to do well.”

“I warn you, ’twill not be easy. If Lord Simon brings in his favorites, they will be eager for the place, and some of the Norman bowmen are very good indeed.”

“He is better,” Anwyn said.

“You have great faith in the man you have chosen, Daughter.”

“I have.” Carefully, she asked, “And you will give him leave to compete for this place?” The one for which his heart had reached always, through not one but two lifetimes, and that would at last afford his people a measure of autonomy. “Despite all that has passed between us?”

Her father smiled at her, a real smile this time. “Because of it, Anwyn. You will always be my daughter. But you, lad, can you give up your role of outlaw to deal with Lord Simon and, perhaps, a whole pack of Normans? Can you take on a new identity? For Lord Simon had better not discover who you are. We shall need to say you are newly arrived, perhaps from the north.”

“My father came from Leeds, and his sire was Norman.”

“Is it so? A useful thing! We shall say, then, you hail from Leeds. If you are willing, that is, to give up all you are.”

Curlew smiled wryly and lifted his hands. “And what am I, Master Montfort? Is it not possible to lay aside appearance as easily as a suit of flesh, one life for another? The spirit endures. And I would do far more, for Sherwood.” His voice assumed weight, and portent. “For I believe it is time. Look around you, Master. What do you see? Serfs? Saxons? Very few of us can claim that name anymore. We are Saxon, aye, but we also carry Celtic, Briton, and even Norman blood. I think, do you not, ’tis time for us to be one thing—English.”

Anwyn’s heart rose in gladness, as her father reached out and seized Curlew’s hand. The power that hummed between them stirred and reached out also, to embrace them all.

“A worthy goal,” said Mason Montfort. “Aye, then, let us begin.”