Chapter Seven

“Mother, I wish to go home.” To Rennie’s consternation, her voice broke on the words. “I know you say Sherwood must be my home now, but it feels not! The trees whisper at me, and I can find no rest.”

Lil said nothing. The two of them walked together in the forest, not far from camp. Birds came fluttering from the surrounding trees to follow in Lil’s wake, but Rennie barely noticed, so intent was she on persuasion.

Hurriedly, she went on, “Surely Lambert has forgotten all about me by now. I am naught but an insignificant peasant, to him.”

“Forgotten? You broke his cheekbone with that bucket. I doubt he is likely to forget,” Lil said wryly. “He has been to the kitchen looking for you no less than three times, and the Sheriff has issued a decree that, if caught, you are to be whipped.”

“What said you to Lambert, when he came looking?”

“That you had run off, and I knew not how to find you.”

“Oh.” Rennie could not imagine so much furor over her instinctive act of self-defense. Then again, neither could she imagine being the daughter of Robin Hood. The last thing she wanted was to cause more trouble for Lil, even though her own unhappiness cried aloud.

Ruefully, she said, “I never imagined I might be homesick for the scullery, dank place that it was.”

Lil stopped walking and faced her. “You must learn to take your place here—for it is your place, child, though you believe it not. You were conceived and born beneath these trees, and the waters of Sherwood run through your blood.”

“I hear them speaking to one another—the trees, I mean.” Rennie lowered her voice, as if fearing the overweening branches might listen. “What does it mean? And how is it I can sense what those two are feeling so clearly, Sparrow and Martin?”

Lil’s green eyes searched Rennie’s closely. She sighed. “Perhaps I should have prepared you for this long ago. But, the god help me, I thought it safer if you did not know and so could not let slip some truth that might endanger you. Lately, though, it has been like trying to keep a young falcon in a cage. My heart told me. I should have listened.”

“Your heart told you what, Lil?”

“I had no right to keep you so long. I should have educated you long since, then set you free into Sherwood.”

“But you did educate me, Mother, in so many things. You taught me the histories of England, all about healing herbs, and how to set a bone. You even taught me to read a few words.”

“And I neglected much, as well, perhaps those lessons you needed most. I should have taught you the truth about magic. It shall be a great part of your life.”

Rennie caught her breath. “Everyone at Nottingham knows magic is dangerous. Women have been killed for using it.”

“Old biddies, thinking they can speak curses! I am talking of real magic, Rennie, the kind that turns the seasons and makes the stag run.”

“That is life.”

Lil nodded. “Magic is life, quickened. ’Tis what the old word means, is it not? Wicca—the quickening of life. You feel it all around you, here in Sherwood. You feel it streaming off the trees, and it is what you are sensing from those two young men.”

“How do you know what I am sensing?”

“I have felt it myself, all my life. Listen to me, Rennie. All folk are of the earth, and connected to her. But in some, the sensing is very bright. They can read the life force the way a scholar reads a book. ’Tis a gift and a burden, one you and those two men share.”

Rennie struggled for comprehension. “Why? How?”

Lil smiled gently. “The ‘how’ is easy: your fathers all gave themselves to Sherwood, heart and soul. Sherwood gives back. Those who have met the god possess a magic that flows through them and manifests in many ways.”

“I have never met the god.”

“Can you be so certain? He comes to us in many guises. ’Tis he guards the spirit of Sherwood, keeps the folk who are connected to the land safe, and the flame of hope burning in their hearts. Do you think the Green Man cares for lords and barons? He rewards those who see—and hear and feel—him best.”

“Where is he, then, this green god?”

“Beneath your feet, dancing through the air, in Sparrow’s eyes, and in Martin’s smile. The longer you stay here, the more strongly will your powers come to you. And when they ripen, you will need to make a choice.”

“What kind of choice?”

“Eventually, child, you will bond with both of them.”

“Sparrow and Martin?”

“Aye, but you will need to bestow on one of them the fullness of your heart.” Lil gazed into the far distance. “As I did, before you.”

Rennie’s mind leaped ahead. “Geofrey? Did you love him, then, full well?”

“Not love as you imagine it. ’Tis the love of the Lord for his Lady, and all men for all women—a holy, as well as a carnal, thing.”

“I do not understand.”

Lil reached out to smooth Rennie’s hair. “Nay, but you will.” She smiled sadly. “I half pity and half envy you. Promise me one thing: you will stay here and learn all those here have to teach you, even as in the past you learned from me.”

“I will try.” Rennie frowned. “But you know how I hate being told what to do.”

“Oh, that I do know!” Lil laughed with affection.

“Very well, I do so promise, if you will promise me something in return: you will be here when I need you.”

“I will try, love. But you need to be able to rely on yourself.”

“Say that I will see you tomorrow.”

“That is when Geofrey will be laid to rest. Alric and I must be there.”

“Where?”

“Beneath the great tree at Oakham.”

“Let me come.”

Lil gave Rennie a hard look. “Well, then, yes. Sparrow may bring you. But you must heed all he tells you. I will speak with him now.”

Why Sparrow, Rennie wondered, and not Martin? She seized Lil’s arm and immediately felt Lil’s serenity, her grief—and strength. “Promise me a second thing, Mother—that you will not abandon me.”

****

“Here.” A bundle landed in Rennie’s lap, soft deerskin and well-worn cloth.

She looked up into Martin’s blue eyes. “What is this?”

“Clothing. If you wish to go to Geofrey’s burial, it must be as a lad. Anyway, those rags you are wearing are fit only for the fire.”

Rennie narrowed her eyes at him. Was he not a fine one to talk, an outlaw by birth, who had lived his whole life rough, in the forest? He wore leather leggings, overwrapped with deer-hide thongs, and a leather jerkin so soft it molded to his broad shoulders, loosened in front to show a strong, tanned throat. No denying Martin Scarlet was a comely man and a challenging one, given the way he stared back at her, tit for tat. Rennie did not want him to get the idea he could give her orders of any kind, and she did not like the implication that her own clothes might be manky. Yet there was some appeal in the prospect of wearing men’s clothing, and disappearing into a disguise.

She scrambled to her feet, hampered by the bundle, and Martin reached out a hand to assist her. The instant their hands met, palm to palm, sensation came rushing, so strong she almost fell down again.

Darkness, light, courage, intensity, and searing anger, burning up a great bitterness the way flame consumes dry tinder. She could feel his spirit, and it knocked the breath out of her, swayed her right back on her heels. She stared into Martin’s face and saw his eyes widen, the irises clear gray-blue, and knew he also felt the blazing connection.

And what did he sense in her, then? Her overwhelming frustration? Her bone-deep loneliness and yearning for light? Her ever-present fear of abandonment?

He gasped and, as soon as Rennie stood on her feet, extracted his fingers from hers. Wordless, they stared at one another while Rennie’s heart began to pound.

Then Martin swore, soft and deep. “By our Lady!” Something kindled in his eyes, and he stepped toward her.

Just as quickly, Rennie slipped away.

“Wren.” He spoke her name like claiming.

Instinctively, she shook her head. No. Too intense. Too terrifying.

“Martin?”

The spell, fast-woven, broke when someone spoke his name. Rennie looked round to see a young woman approaching with a smile in her eyes.

A lovely, slender thing she looked, with rosy cheeks and fair hair all tucked up into her cap, save a few strands. Dimples flashed when she smiled at Martin. “I am to attend Geofrey’s burial with you. Father says I might.”

Martin nodded woodenly. “’Tis well, Sally. This is Lil’s girl—Wren—come to join us, from Nottingham.”

“Welcome, Wren! ’Twill be a fine thing having another lass about to help me deal as fit with these lads.”

“Aye.” So, this was the young woman said to have given Martin her heart. But how did he feel for her? Impossible to tell now; his expression had closed like an oaken door.

“You live in Oakham?” she asked, striving for politeness.

“Aye, just my Da and myself, since Mother died.” For an instant her expression, transparent as clear water, clouded.

Martin spoke. “Sal’s mother was cut down by Sir Guy’s men last winter.” His anger surged once more. Rennie felt it clearly, even though they no longer touched.

“I am sorry,” Rennie murmured.

Martin shrugged stiffly. “The flaming Sheriff thinks it his right to destroy the homes—and the lives—of those who sympathize with us.” He gazed at Sally for a moment. “Take comfort, Sal, in the fact that Sir Guy met his just end, as will Lambert, after him. So have I promised Wren.”

Sally’s gaze clung to his worshipfully.

Martin strove for a lighter tone. “Now, Sally, perhaps you can help Wren into her lad’s disguise.”

He went off quickly, and Sally turned her eyes on Wren. “Why has he promised to kill Sir Lambert, do you know?”

“Aye, you will hear it soon enough. I faced off with Lambert in the kitchen yard, and am now banished to Sherwood, in hiding.”

“Faced off with him? How is that?”

“He thought he could take what I was not willing to give.”

“Oh!” Compassion filled Sally’s eyes. She stole a look after Martin, making it more than clear where her desire lay. “It is an evil thing, indeed, when a woman’s most prized possession is not hers to bestow as she will.”