Chapter Six

“You must be weary. Will you not take your rest?”

Rennie tipped her head up and up to take in the man standing over her, the one called Sparrow. Her emotions stirred within, making her feel restless. Already she felt bruised and bombarded, barely able to think. Too many sensations assaulted her. She was tense enough to break.

Yet Sparrow had a kind face, and she could feel waves of reassurance rolling off him, the opposite of the man who had just left her—Martin.

“I shall not be able to sleep,” she told Sparrow, and waved her hand. “Not with all this.”

“It must seem strange, indeed.”

“I am used to being in my scullery, alone. I do not know when I have talked with so many different people.”

“And some of us no doubt seem daunting.” He smiled, and Rennie felt the warmth of it, clear through.

“If you refer to Martin, he is like a flock of crows, pecking. He shreds my composure.” She frowned. “He should have been called ‘Crow’ instead of ‘Martin.’” She shot Sparrow a considering look. “Perhaps you can tell me something: why are we three named after birds?”

“Mind if I sit?”

She shook her head. Sparrow folded his legs under him and dropped down by her side. Rennie had the immediate and powerful impulse to reach out and touch his hand but fought it back hastily. Sitting so near, she could catch his scent—wood smoke, leather, and a tang of male underlying it all. He wore his hood back on his shoulders, and she could see his hair, long, glossy brown, not so shaggy as Martin’s. He wore no beard.

“We were named in honor of Robin, of course, as were many born in Sherwood, back then.” He grinned. “To be sure, there can be only one ‘Robin,’ so other birds had to be selected.”

“Aye?” Rennie studied him closely. “Why ‘Sparrow’? Would not Hawk have suited you better?”

“My father, so the story goes, wanted me to become a fine archer, one to rival Robin himself.”

“How does the name lend that?”

“It carries the word ‘arrow,’ does it not? ’Tis said the rogue friar himself—Tuck—named and blessed us before he died.”

“Did your name do its work? Are you a fine archer?”

“If I answer that honestly, I fear I will sound as full of myself as does our friend Martin.”

“Oh, him! Who would believe a word he says?”

“I do not know what he has been saying to you, but he is very good with a sword and with his fists, for all that.”

Rennie continued to study him in the flickering firelight, fascinated by his eyes, which held that hint of the wild and were shadowed by lashes surely longer than her own. And she found herself hoping Martin would not return. The emotions she gleaned from Martin were tumultuous and disturbing. This man, however, emitted a measure of calm.

“Do you remember him, Robin Hood?” she asked.

“Your father? Aye.”

“Can you tell me something about him? I cannot quite believe he is my father. It is oversetting, finding oneself the daughter of a legend.”

“I remember them both, your father and your mother. I was about six when you were born. But I do not know to what extent my memories are colored by what I was later told.”

“What was he like?”

Sparrow closed his eyes and considered his words before speaking. “Strong and kind. I remember that about him. When he looked at you, you could feel his kindness. I never saw him angered with anyone, not like Martin’s father. But when Robin took up a cause, the magic in him flared and he became unstoppable.”

“Magic.” That word again. Rennie sighed.

“It abounds, here in Sherwood. And your father had it in full.”

“Is that what I feel?” Rennie glanced round at the trees.

“You look like him.”

“What? How is that?”

Sparrow smiled again, almost ruefully. “You have his strength about you, and the cast of your face is the same, but I think you have your mother’s eyes.”

“Can you describe him to me?”

“Well, he seemed very tall to me then, but I was small. He was not big like my own Da, who was a veritable giant. He had hair just the color of yours—dark brown—and I remember his eyes glowed blue, like jewels.”

Rennie’s breath caught in her throat. “I think I have dreamed of him, over and over again, for years, not knowing who he was. He used to speak to me while I slept.” A shiver made her tremble. “His eyes shone with blue light, just as you describe.”

Sparrow leaned closer. “What did he say to you, in these dreams?”

“Many things, most of which I did not understand.” Rennie pressed her lips together. The strange man had visited her dreams at times when she felt at her most desperate and vulnerable, when she wept. She would not admit that to Sparrow, whom she barely knew.

“And your mother,” Sparrow began.

“What is all this, then?” Martin loomed over them, his shadow leaping ahead of him, cast by the flames.

“We are just talking,” Sparrow said mildly. “Wren has questions.”

“Time for you to take watch,” Martin told him, and dropped to Rennie’s side. Immediately she could feel his emotions resume beating at her, and she surged to her feet.

“I need to rest.” Suddenly, her longing for her nest in the scullery was so intense she could have wept.

“Here, child.” The woman who had been introduced as Martin’s mother, Madlyn, held out a hand. “Come with me. I shall see you settled.”

Rennie put her fingers in the woman’s hand. They left the two young men sitting together in silence.

****

A strange sound woke Rennie from deep, dreamless sleep. She had lain long before finding oblivion last night and had half expected the man—her father—to visit her dreams, but he had not. Now, eyes still closed, she registered a hollow thunk, thunk, almost like someone chopping wood, or like Master Eddoes cutting meat on his block. And she could hear voices, calm and quiet.

“Ah, you cannot do that again.”

“I can. Set the target farther off.”

“Braggart!”

“No bragging about it. Stand there just in front of the target, if you like. I will hit a hand’s breadth above it.”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“Always!”

Rennie opened her eyes and sat up, her loose hair swinging round her like a brown blanket. Green light shone everywhere, and sensation rushed upon her. The forest, alive and in movement, whispered far overhead, and birds flicked by like shards of brightness. By God, she was still in Sherwood. Yesterday had not been an ugly dream.

Not far off a fire smoldered. Rennie saw Madlyn there, stirring a pot of something that smelled so good Rennie’s stomach rumbled.

The lad called Simon sat beneath a tree, stringing a bow, his attention all directed farther off where—

Ah, there they were, the two men who had vied for her attention last night. They competed again now, with bows in their hands. The sound Rennie had heard was that of arrows finding their marks.

She got to her feet slowly. Neither young man noticed her, but Simon did, and the old fellow who lazed in the corner of the clearing, both of whom gave her sharp looks.

Rennie stumbled to Madlyn’s side and spoke but one word. “Privy?”

Madlyn’s kind face turned sympathetic. “There is none. You must just go off by yourself. For the god’s sake, be careful. Shall I come with you?”

Rennie shook her head, able to think of few things she wanted less, and slunk off.

When she returned, both men stood beside the fire, having abandoned their archery practice. Rennie could feel their emotions, all stirred up and tangled. She fought the impulse to turn round again and just run and run, into the trees.

Martin held a bowl in his hands, which he offered Rennie. “Hungry?”

She was, yet she shied from him instinctively. A spark of impatience lit his blue eyes. “You must eat. Mother, pray get her a portion.”

“I would rather have a place to wash, and some time on my own.”

“One of those we can offer you,” Sparrow said. “But you must remain under someone’s protection.”

Martin’s gaze inspected Rennie as if stripping her naked. “You will need some decent clothing. Everyone will be coming, you understand.”

“Everyone?”

“They will have heard about you and be feeling curious.” He tipped the bowl to his lips. “You will need to look as they expect.”

Rennie’s anger flared. “And what do they expect?”

He waved a hand. “Something grand, as befits Robin’s daughter.”

Rennie drew herself up and declared, “I do not play at ‘grand’!”

Both men grinned, as did Simon and Madlyn.

Martin’s teeth flashed white, and Rennie found herself assaulted by his all-too-potent charm. “I think you just did. You cannot blame folk for being anxious to lay eyes on you. All these years they have kept the faith alive. Now something is going to happen.”

But what? Rennie wondered. These outlaws here in Sherwood, and the folk in the surrounding hamlets who supported them, could not possibly expect her to step out of the scullery and lead them…could they?

Madlyn placed a bowl in her hands. Half dizzy with hunger, she reconsidered and raised it to her lips.

“Not so fine as what you had in Nottingham Castle, I will be bound,” Madlyn remarked. “I am sure Lil’s kitchen has more than a little magic in it.”

“This tastes wonderful.” Rennie pushed her hair out of her face, all too aware of how closely both men watched her. “Some grand dishes get prepared at the castle, aye, but I never tasted them. A full two score people work in the kitchens, and the Sheriff is not about to let them sup his gravies and sauces.”

Madlyn clicked her tongue. “Imagine seeing and smelling of all that food, and having none of it.”

Rennie shrugged. “’Tis hardest for the youngsters who stir pots and turn the spits.”

“So,” Martin asked suddenly, “just what did you do to the bastard, Lambert, that you are banished from Nottingham?”

The rich stew caught in Rennie’s throat and she nearly choked. She raised her eyes to Martin’s on a flare of anger. “He demanded what I was not willing to give.”

Martin nodded. “That Norman get seems to think he can take whatever he wants. Needs to be put in his place, like Sir Guy before him. At least he got what he deserved.”

Rennie nodded uncertainly. She had laid eyes only a few times on Sir Guy, the Sheriff’s longstanding captain of the guard, killed last winter. A fierce, cruel man, at least he had never come hunting his pleasure in the kitchens.

Sparrow spoke with an edge of irony. “I may as well inform you before Martin, here, decides to brag on himself—’twas he who struck Sir Guy’s death blow.”

“Death blow?” Rennie echoed.

“Aye.” Martin took it up. “’Twas just before Solstice, and the Sheriff’s guards, led by Sir Guy, were transporting the last quarter taxes over icy roads. We halted them on the far side of Oakham, where Sir Guy fancied he could best my sword.” Martin’s grin flashed again. “There were folk had meat for their Christmas table, thanks to us.”

“And Sir Guy?”

“Went home and died—slowly,” Martin said with satisfaction. “Word is, it took him ten days and cost much in pain.” He leaned toward Rennie and widened his blue eyes. “Stay with us, Wren, and I promise I will serve Lambert the same.”